Coughs and sneezes spread diseases

Public information films made me the woman I am today

White Wedding by Billy Idol would probably have been a very enjoyable tune for me, were it not for the fact that it opened a particularly dramatic episode of Juliet Bravo, about a schoolgirl dying of a heroin overdose.

This ep of the TV police drama opens in September 1985 by panning slowly round the girl’s needle-strewn bedroom, until it comes across her body and radio, from which Idol is crooning. Despite the knowledge that he’s probably the most unmenacing ‘punk’ there is, coming as he did from leafy Surrey, Idol’s vocals send a shiver down my spine to this day.

What a sensitive young creature I was, you may think

Well yes. But in my lily-livered defence, it wasn’t just this episode that put me on perpetual edge. It was the combined effect of all the plot lines, public information ads, posters and generally terrifying stories coming together to create a low-level feeling of everyday terror.

If it wasn’t for Neighbours and Scott and Charlene, plus the otherwise regrettable oeuvre of Stock Aitken and Waterman (particularly Big Fun), then who knows where I’d be now. They certainly lightened the load.

But was it just my impressionable young age, or were these ads unsuitably heavy handed? Please allow me to work through this, and feel free to hold my hand while I do so. (Although: stranger danger.)

Flares, pylons and fags

The government’s public information films in the 70s were dramatic, but at least they knew their place. They were shown in the breaks between episodes of Worzel Gummidge and Bod.

The idea was to keep us safe from the minefield of daily accidents such as falling into reservoirs and flying kites into electricity pylons. Terrifying yes, but as long as I never looked at a pond or touched a kite again, I’d be ok. (Perhaps this explains my lifelong love of The Great Indoors.)

Then there were the clunky collaborations with celebs such as Marc Bolan warning young girls off fags if they wanted to get jiggy with the local lads. Again terrifying, but also avoidable.

The age of fear

But then came the 80s when everything had a six-figure budget attached to it, which I blame for the sophisticated output and darker tone. These ads were for everyone, not just kids.

Now you have Shakespearian thespians like John Hurt narrating the dangers of AIDs via crashing tombstones and foreboding tones last heard echoing through the Old Vic.  

And Ridley Scott-esque adverts about what will happen to your ears, nose and lungs if you smoke. Natural Born Smoker stayed with me into my teens, making me check my reflection every time I mustered the courage to take a puff on cigarette, to ensure my nostrils hadn’t enlarged with the exhale (vanity being my main concern).

But there’s something else that happens here

Suddenly these issues start infiltrating our family dramas, which is where that Juliet Bravo episode comes in. The following year, in ‘86, we have Zammo from Grange Hill who is so addicted to heroin that his storyline spins off into a hit single, Just Say No, which is then used by Nancy Regan’s anti-drugs campaign. EastEnders follows suit with Nick Cotton chasing the dragon around Albert Square.

This was shocking at the time. I had friends who were banned from watching Grange Hill. That episode of Juliet Bravo was criticised by the media and politicians who felt that too much detail was shown about how heroin could be taken (I remember girls crowding around some foil in a toilet). They thought it might encourage children to copy what they’d seen.

They needn’t have worried on my account. I did notice one outcome though - it was the scaremongering itself people seemed to adopt rather than the drug habit.

In the playground one day for example, Sarah Edwards (I will hunt you down) dared me to touch a piece of moss on a brick wall, then told me I was going to die that day. I believed her and went home to break the news to my family who quickly reassured me.

I also remember asking someone who gave me a balloon if it would lift me up and take me away. Having watched this long and quite strange film about crossing the road I think I must have got confused and associated everything – even balloons – with probable death.

Personal responsibility

The final excuse I’m giving myself for being so terrified of all this was that it felt as if it was all - to use modern parlance - on you.

Take this ad about fireworks which features a mother explaining to a passer-by why her little girl is in a bad mood. She (mum) had followed all the protocol, she says, but her daughter still went and picked up a hot sparkler and now her fingers are all bandaged up. “What a silly girl then,” says mother.

Of course, at this point, it really is all on you because we’re hurtling towards the age of individualism, of Thatcher’s ‘no such thing as society’ – perhaps all this was just preparing the way.

In the 60s on the other hand, it was still down to the women to take care of things. This short ad about how to behave during Christmas party season is one of an incredible collection in the British Film Institute’s archive of public information films, which includes ads on how to answer the telephone and how to resist the techniques of door-to-door salesman. “Don’t ask a man to drink and drive” the little ladies are told.

The age of empathy

Where are we now? Well from Trainspotting to Breaking Bad we’ve seen drama reflect hard hitting issues but with much more nuance and realism. I’m not sure public information has kept pace.

These days the government employs behavioural psychology and nudging rather than finger wagging, believing we can make our own minds up. But this softly softly approach irks me as much as the finger wagging stuff.

What exactly is ‘Winter strong’? Compared to this I think I prefer to be told it straight. I can cope. And nothing will ever be as terrifying as the idea of boiling a kettle on a boat.

Thanks for reading everyone, do feel free to hit the heart button. And thank you to those who read last week’s piece on Storytelling secrets from 3 classic pop hits. Have a great weekend (don’t have nightmares!).