Britain's buccaneer broadcasters: my story of Radio Caroline

A raging storm. A gale force wind was blowing in the North Sea off the East Coast of England one night during the winter of 1966. I was "spinning the discs" on the midnight-six a.m. shift aboard Great Britain's infamous, but dearly beloved, "Pirate" Radio Station, Caroline South. The 650-ton coastal freighter Mi Amigo, registered in Panama and flying a Panamanian flag, carrying a Dutch crew and a staff of English speaking deejays, technicians and news readers, was the home of the Radio Caroline operation, and tonight she was under siege. The boat was rockin' in more ways than one as I turned-up the monitor speakers in the cramped studio to full volume, blasting out the music of the Rolling Stones in a vain attempt to drown out the sounds of the storm that was raging outside.

Waves pounded the side of the ship and she lurched violently each time they slammed into her. The shrieking winds howled through the stays that secured the giant 160-foot transmitting antenna to the foredeck. Chains and metal plates clanked and creaked as the vessel swung into the storm, held only by her forward anchor, and the whole ship shuddered violently as she tugged at the forward anchor chain. I held on to the edge of the mixing console as the boat rose violently, up and down in the heavy swells. The music played on, turntable arms weighted down with heavy English pennies, which were scotch-taped to them in an effort to prevent them from skipping off the surface of the 45rpm records. I turned on the microphone, did some kind of ad-lib when, just as I introduced the next record and turned off the microphone, the door crashed open and a member of the Dutch crew lurched into the studio holding a life jacket. "You'd better put this on," he shouted, "if this storm gets any worse the anchor isn't going to hold and we'll have to abandon the ship." I struggled into the life jacket and said a silent prayer.

A real alternative to Auntie BBC. To understand how such a broadcasting operation could come into being, let's flashback in time, to the early 1960's, when a different kind of radio service ruled the airwaves. The British Broadcasting Corporation — "Auntie" as she was affectionately called by some — was just about the only game in town up until early 1964. The BBC Home Service and the Light Programme, as they were called, had changed their program offerings very little over the years. Shows were presented in block format and were usually a mixture of light or serious classical music, radio dramas, comedy shows and news. Down at the bottom of the list was the occasional "pop music" show. To be fair to Auntie BBC, she did her best to be "all things to all people" and, being funded by government revenues derived from license fees paid by the listeners, she was at the mercy of bureaucrats and politicians.

The smallest boat to rock the nation. O'Rahilly had heard about a new radio station called "Radio Veronica," broadcasting to Dutch listeners from a ship anchored off the coast of Holland and, at last, he knew what he could do to make his radio fantasies come true. After summoning all of his resources and convincing investors that this was "an idea whose time had come," O'Rahilly purchased his first ship, the MV Fredericia which he then began equipping with all the necessary gear to begin transmitting. Soon, with the studio equipment, transmitter and huge transmitting antenna all in place, Fredericia sailed from her dock in Ireland and took up her position in international waters three miles out to sea and 12 miles from the nearest port of entry, Harwich, on the East Coast of England. Then, on March 28th, 1964 at 12 noon, with Canadian Simon Dee at the microphone, Radio Caroline turned on her 10kW transmitter and began her tumultuous life, broadcasting over a frequency of 199 meters on the medium wave band to a listening audience whose ears were hungry for a steady diet of non-stop rock 'n roll music.

A new transmitter, a new antenna and a new frequency. For the next couple of years things proceeded smoothly and the Caroline's began building vast and loyal audiences, numbering in the millions, throughout the British Isles and across the European Continent. But then a series of events took place that were to make the lives of Radio Caroline, her disk-jockeys and crew and Ronan O'Rahilly as stormy and turbulent as the seas upon which they floated their feisty little station.

It all began on January 20th, 1966 when a violent North Sea storm snapped the forward anchor chain of the Mi Amigo and, in the dark and rain swept seas, she began drifting towards the shore. As the vessel drifted out of control the deejay on duty that night began broadcasting a "May Day" message to any vessels in the area which might be close enough to come to their rescue. Simultaneously the ships captain transmitted a similar message over the maritime frequencies, a desperate call for help in a time of distress. But it was too late to save the drifting ship and a few hours later the Mi Amigo crunched up on the eastern shores of England near Clacton-on-Sea. The lifeboat crew from nearby Harwich was quickly on the scene and set up a breeches buoy to begin lifting the disc-jockeys and crewmen off the stricken vessel and onto the shore.

On Caroline's payroll In the summer of 1966, "Swinging England" was the place to be. The British "musical invasion" of America was at it's height and music was everywhere as bands and musicians consolidated their ever-strengthening position in an ever burgeoning music industry. The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Jim Hendrix, The Kinks, Peter and Gordon, The Hollies, Cat Stevens, Dusty Springfield, Gerry and the Pacemakers were just a few of the acts that had jump-started the musical revolution of the mid-sixties. Chelsea, Kings Road and Carnaby Street were the places to be, and the sweet smell of success — and marijuana — was everywhere. The Pirate Radio Stations were reflecting the mood of the day filling the airwaves with popular music, both British and North American. These were heady times for the Pirates, who were not only satisfying the musical taste of their audiences, but were also helping to set musical trends by introducing new and upcoming artists. Having worked at a small radio station in Canada, I was enthralled when I arrived in England and began listening to these pirates of the airwaves as they shared their shipboard adventures with their listeners. Little was I to know that I would soon be joining them at sea.

Touring the offshore radio ships. When I set out into the early morning fog on the supply tender that first day, I really had no idea what I would find anchored out there. A gleaming white cruise ship perhaps? I was in for a rude awakening. The tender plied a daily route, carrying mail and passengers to several of the offshore radio stations anchored off the East Coast of England, stopping at Radio England / Britain Radio, Radio London and, finally, at Radio Caroline. Our first stop was at Swingin Radio England which shared quarters with her sister station Britain Radio aboard the MV Laissez Faire a ship that, reportedly, had at one time transported the corpses of American GI's, casualties of the Vietnam War, back to America. The Laissez Faire was a gloomy vessel and life aboard was said to be Spartan. The disk-jockeys quarters were on the lower decks, where they "camped out" in sleeping bags and there were few amenities. "Swingin' Radio England" and Britain Radio were owned by an American consortium which had directly transposed a slick, tightly-formatted, Top-40 radio format, complete with American deejays, onto the British airwaves. It was a format that was, ultimately, to prove unsuccessful. British listeners just weren't ready for that kind of "high energy" radio, preferring a more laid-back and "chatty" communication.

Next stop was Radio London, "The Big L," housed aboard the MV Galaxy, a vessel that was once a Navy mine-sweeper. The ship still bore the utilitarian gray color of a military vessel, with streaks of rust accenting the hull. Against the gray sky and gloomy green seas that morning, she looked grim and foreboding. She certainly wasn't a visual representation of the "Wonderful Radio London" image that was portrayed in the jingles and deejay patter that interspersed the music on The Big L. But living conditions on the Galaxy were a lot better than those aboard the Laissez Faire and the deejays and crew were friendly and welcoming. Finally, about a mile further out to sea, we reached our ultimate destination, Radio Caroline. As we drew near, the stern of the 650-ton coastal freighter MV Mi Amigo loomed out of the fog like a forgotten shipwreck. Its rusting hulk rose up and down in the swell of the North Sea and my stomach rose up and down with it as I prepared to set foot on deck for my first taste of life as a Pirate on the high seas.

A band of scurvy knaves. One of the first people I got to know was Mike Ahern, a young man from Liverpool who had once appeared on stage with the Beatles at the Cavern nightclub in Liverpool. Mike is still one of the best on-air communicators I've ever heard. Years later, after leaving Radio Caroline, he went on to host the number 1 rated morning show in Brisbane Australia, then returned to London where he worked at Capital Gold before heading into semi-retirement some years ago, though he came back to Britain to do programs on Country 1035 and nowadays he can be heard on Northern Norfolk Radio, where he works together with Andy Archer.

The Emperor Rosko — Mike Pasternak, son of Hollywood movie mogul Joe Pasternak — was the hip, jive-talkin' Yank who did his show with his side-kick Alfie the Mynah bird perched on his shoulder. Rosko went on to be the darling of the French Airwaves on French Radio Luxembourg. Today he produces syndicated radio shows out of his own production studios in Beverly Hills.

Dave Lee Travis was a big, bearded bear of a man from Lancashire, with a heart as big as his ego. Full of fun and practical jokes, DLT hosted the lunchtime show on Caroline South. Dave was recently featured on the television program "This Is Your Life" and continues his broadcasting career with the BBC, where he left in 1994. Since then he worked on several stations and nowadays he can be heard on GWR's Classic Gold with a syndicated program, Garrison Radio - the Army's in house radio and on BBC Three Counties Radio.

My second home. Once aboard I soon got to know my way around the Mi Amigo which, compared to the other vessels I'd seen, was extremely habitable. An amidships superstructure housed the main studio, a small production studio / news booth, dining room / lounge, galley, heads and shower. Below decks were four sleeping cabins each with two bunks, a small seating area, a desk and two lockers. In a larger cabin, slightly forward, was the record library, filled with 33rpm albums and 45rpm single records. It also contained a listening area and comfortable seating on chairs and couches. All of these areas were the principle domain of the on-air staff and studio technicians. The ships captain and his Dutch crew — deckhands, engineers, cook and stewards — all lived in quarters housed below the bridge at the stern of the vessel.

Topside, secured firmly to the forward deck — although on several occasions it would prove to be not quite firmly enough — was the huge 160-foot transmitting antenna. Just below decks was a cabin housing the 50kW Continental transmitter and a standby 10kW transmitter. The studios were moderately well equipped with Spot master cart machines, three turntables, a couple of Ampex reel-reel tape machines, fold back monitors and a mixing console above which was housed the famous Caroline ships clock. At the back of the studio was a porthole that could be kept open when the weather was warm. It was also handy for checking out the local weather conditions for the South East coast of England. Outward appearances aside, the MV Mi Amigo was actually quite well equipped and maintained, something for which I was grateful as she was to be my second home over the next year and a half.

Life on board. Life on board was filled with short bursts of intense activity and long stretches of dull routine, which could become very boring. Since most shifts were only three hours in length, there was a lot of time to fill. During the summer months life was pretty good, we would idle away the hours fishing, swimming — when the tides weren't running — or simply lazing on the upper deck, drinking beer and reading mail. Winter was more difficult to cope with as the bitter winds and violent storms forced us to remain inside. A lot of time was spent watching TV, reading, sleeping and playing cards or answering fan mail from the thousands of letters we received every day!

The live-aboard amenities were quite adequate. The dining room / lounge area contained a large galley table where the cook and steward served our main meals. There was a fridge containing soft drinks, beer and snacks and a lounging area with a 14" black and white television. The meals were hearty and included plenty of Dutch-Indonesian food, for which I soon acquired a fondness. Each of the deejays, newsreaders and technicians was given a weekly allocation of beer and cigarettes, accommodations were provided, earnings were tax-free and there were many other perks. For most of us it was a career move that we were glad we had made.

The dispute about Rough Towers. In January 1967 a dispute erupted over "squatters rights" on an abandoned wartime defense fort, constructed on stilts and located several miles out to sea. A number of Pirate Radio operators had occupied several of these forts in the hope of starting their own radio stations. One of them, known as Rough Towers, situated six miles off the coast of Felixstowe, Suffolk became the object of a bitter struggle between the Caroline organization and a rival company.

Ronan O'Rahilly had put two men on the Rough Towers fort in order to establish occupancy rights. Meanwhile an individual by the name of Roy Bates the 45-year-old owner of Radio Essex which, like Radio Caroline, broadcast from a vessel carrying the Dutch flag, had his sights set on the same piece of property. Bates sent four men out to "get rid" of the other two, triggering a war, which we were to become caught in the middle of.

A hearty welcome. When the tender arrived to take me back to shore for my first week of leave I was not prepared for the overwhelming popularity and listener adoration that awaited me and the other Radio Caroline deejays. The novelty of the Pirate stations, the mystique of the deejays who played music on the high seas and the burgeoning British music scene all contributed to a kind of mass hysteria that made the Pirate Radio deejays "rock stars" in their own right. Everywhere we went, doors were opened to us. The press made a fuss over us with never ending articles about life aboard the ships; the popular nightclubs and discos provided us with free memberships and admissions and record companies vied for our attention, trying to get airplay for their artists. Payola was not unknown in the industry and many deejays boosted their earnings with supplemental cash incentives surreptitiously handed to them by record execs.

The Marine Broadcasting Offences Act. The British Government had never been pleased with the upstart attitude of the Pirate radio stations but, because they were located more than three miles out to sea, beyond the territorial limit of the British Isles in International waters, there was nothing that could be done to stop them. All that was to change when, in January of 1967, the Government under Prime Minister Harold Wilson took the first step towards outlawing the Pirate Radio stations by introducing Parliamentary legislation known as "The Marine Broadcasting Offences Act."

There was a great deal of debate in Parliament. Conservative M.P.'s fought in support of the "Free Radio Movement" while the Labour Party proposed to make it a crime for anyone to supply, work on, or be in any way involved with the Pirate stations. Outraged listeners flooded government departments with petitions. "We Want Our Caroline" became a popular slogan that was taken up by Caroline fans everywhere. A group recorded a song called "We Love the Pirate Stations" which, naturally shot to the top of the charts. The Press, too, featured frequent articles in support of the Pirates. Almost everywhere people were ready to support us in our fight to stay on the air. But it was not enough and, in August 1967, the British Government passed the Marine Broadcasting Offences Act into law. Those who defied the new law could face severe penalties so, on August 14th, 1967 we did our last shows and said goodbye to our listeners. Then we packed our bags and boarded the supply tender for the trip back to shore. As we pulled away from the Mi Amigo we looked back silently at her rusting hulk slowly disappearing into the early morning mists and all of us felt a deep sadness and loss for the place that, for so long, had been our home away from home.

A new era in broadcasting. But, as we went quietly about our lives, the memories stayed with us. The cold winter storms, the summer sunsets over the North Sea, the cry of the gulls, the hum of the generators, the smell of diesel fuel mixed with sea air, the clanking of the anchor chains. These, and the ever-present music that introduced a new era in broadcasting all over Britain, would always be a part of our lives. For us they are still the memories that were Radio Caroline, "The Smallest Boat To Rock the Nation."

Although the Marine Broadcasting Offences Act effectively closed down most of the British offshore radio stations Radio Caroline was not to be silenced for many years to come. When the Act became law, one deejay, Johnny Walker, stayed aboard and continued broadcasting. Supplies continued to be shipped in from Holland but, since it had become illegal for British companies to even advertise on Radio Caroline, the positive cash flow was starting to reverse itself. In March of 1968 the company that operated the supply tender was owed money and they seized the Radio Caroline ships. In May of 1972 the Mi Amigo was sold at auction. But it was resold to the Caroline organization, which can be read more about in another chapter.