Those in Peril. The adventures of a radio play.

My novel 'Those in Peril' started out its chequered life as a Saturday
Night Theatre radio play with the ponderous title: 'The Long, Lonely
Voyage of U-395'. It was first broadcast in 1980, produced by the late
Glyn Dearman, and starred Peter Ustinov's lovely daughter, Tammy.

As with many of my stories, the idea came from a seemingly
inconsequential footnote in history: Karl Doenitz's memoirs. He was the
flag officer commanding Germany's U-boat force during the crucial years
of WWII. Doenitz was an odd character. Cold-blooded as hell it seemed to
me because he made no mention of the death of his son-in-law in a U-boat
in his memoirs. What he did mention, and in some detail, too, was the
'Laconia' incident in which a U-boat torpedoed a troopship loaded to the
gunwales with axis PoWs. The situation was, according to KD, so
desperate that a senior German U-boat commander used an international
distress frequency to request, in effect, a temporary cessation of
hostilities to mount a rescue operation.

I've not heard the radio play for nearly thirty years, I'm not even
certain I have a tape recording or even a copy of script. Every now and
then I fill a skip with inconsequential dross. I've got a BBC list of my
'not in archive' programmes somewhere. If I bestirred myself to look it,
I'm pretty sure that the BBC have lost it, too.

So, for the novel I fictionalised everything, not mentioning the Laconia
incident and I even got the Bundesarchiv to give me a U-boat whose
number was never assigned: U-395. My  story focussed on a U-boat towing
a lifeboat crammed with survivors from South American waters to Brest
ââ this was the eye-catching centrepiece of the so-called Laconia
incident.

Some years later I toyed with the idea of a novel version of my radio
play. I wrote a synopsis that went to my editor. She loved it and, if
memory serves, I think it was she who came up with the brilliantly
punchy new title.

Radio plays are ephemeral entities. Their job is to entertain for an
hour or so. They are broadcast one day and forgotten in a week and,
unlike TV programmes, unlikely to be home recorded. They are mayflies of
the airwaves.

Books are far from ephemeral. The conscientious author of a historical
novel will have sufficient regard for his public to do some spadework to
get a few basic facts right. With a brief to write around 120,000 words,
I needed to open up the story. A 90 minute radio play can be sustained
with a narrative thrust that's focussed on a maritime rescue but it's
not enough for a 120K word novel.

I was in strong position to do some serious digging in the search for
another angle because, with my documentary series 'The War in Secret'
and 'The War Being the Wire', together with my early radio play 'The
U-boat that Lost Its Nerve' [1], and my novel 'Churchill's Gold', I'd
carved myself a profitable little niche on U-boat matters. I had a large
library and had built up a circle of generous contacts who were experts
in the field.

One of whom was a historian I had the good fortune to meet during my
long hours in the London Library. He was an irascible rascal: a
controversial German-speaking historian with a wicked sense of humour
who gave generously of his time in guiding me through the quirky
labyrinths of the Bundesarchiv and translating documents for me.

Another great guy who provided unstinting help was the naval historian,
Donald MacIntyre. I used to visit him at his lovely home in Little
Chart, Kent. His knowledge of U-boats was astonishing. If memory serves,
he sank seven of them during WWII. Mostly by ramming. He sank Otto
Kretchmerâs U-99 and took him prisoner.

What interested me about the Laconia affair was whether or not the
appeal by a senior Kriegsmarine officer to the allies to suspend
hostilities during the rescue operation carried the weight of the OKM
ââ the German navyâs high command. The historians I sounded out on
this were of the opinion that it did because the appeal was broadcast on
an international frequency by a senior Kriegsmarine officer and was
never rescinded by the OKM. Not that that did Doenitz much good during
his trial at Nuremberg and the signal was ignored anyway.

With that question out of the way, the next one was: who wouldâve been
the most likely person in Britain to take the decision to ignore the
signal and to go on kicking the crap out of U-boats at every
opportunity? The historians were unequivocal on this point. The very
strong likelihood was that all senior naval officers, including the
various c-in-cs and the general staff wouldâve deemed it inappropriate
to act without referring the matter to the war office. And that meant to
Churchill because he took a keen interest in the minutiae of all U-boat
matters. He once observed that the only thing that really frightened him
during WWII was the U-boat menace. So, based on sound reasoning, I went
ahead in the novel and worked much intrigue and politicking into an
early draft of the novel.

I was far from happy with the result. The politicking in Berlin and
London was all too long on chat and conjecture and short on action. I
racked my brains for inspiration in some desperation because I was
seriously considering abandoning âThose in Perilâ altogether.

I think it was my agent who suggested that I read the original Radio 4
typescript again. Amazingly, the agency had a copy. I did so and the
answer was there in a single throw-away line by a character who observed
that the OKM were keeping a close watch on sailings from Brazilian
waters in the hope of preventing the British getting their hands on
top-quality Brazilian quartz crystals which were a vital component in
the manufacture of oscillators for use in Asdic sets. The oscillators
were the pingerâs.

I realised that I had what Alfred Hitchcock referred to as
âMcGuffinsâ. They could be anything. A little gadget or a drawing
ââ anything ââ it didnât matter what so long as they drove the
characters in the story frantic to get their hands on them. I wanted my
McGuffin to have a definite purpose ââ a tangible dimension. My
knowledge of sonar was zilt. By that happy serendipity that bless some
writers from time to time, my neighbour was Frank Pierce a wartime
boffin who copped an OBE for his pioneering work on Asdic. Even more
fortuitous: his former boss, Jock Anderson (a pioneer of centimetric
radar) lived only about four miles from me in Haslemere. With the
invaluable of those two experts I was able to create a most convincing
McGuffin imaginable: a small sack of quartz crystals. It enabled me to
rework the book completely, losing all the London-Berlin cutaways. There
was enough meat on my McGuffin to focus about 90 per cent of story on
the battle with the Atlantic.

The result was âThose in Perilâ as it is today. A novel that has
come a long way from itâs Radio 4 beginnings. It has been translated
into several languages, gone through several reprints, and become what
Leon Griffith would call âa nice little earnerâ.

That ought to be end of the story but itâs not. Recently my backlist
of titles has attracted the eager interest of film companies looking for
non-theatrical release material. One company in particular were quite
taken with âThose in Perilâ but a little worried that five hours of
heaving Atlantic would hit boredom thresholds. I suggested my discarded
politicking scenes and produced a bible with it worked into the plot.
The joys of cut and paste! They were delighted. Just what they wanted.

When I suggested that much of the material in the miniseries of âThose
in Perilâ could be used as background filler sequences in a low budget
âIndictment at Nurembergâ movie I thought they were going to fall on
my neck in glee.

Iâm not going to write the scripts, heaven be praised. All I have to
do is manage a wry chuckle on the way to the bank.

        [1] 'The U-boat That Lost its Nerve' was the story of U-570 --
        the U-boat that surrendered to an RAF Coastal Command Hudson off
        Iceland. The Hudson unsportingly broke through the cloudbase and
        lobbed an anti-submarine bomb at the U-boat. My play resulted in
        a commission from Roy Skeggs of Hammer Films/ Cinema Arts
        International Ltd in 1977 to write a screenplay entitled 'U-570'
        23 years later an American film company came up with a
        bastardised version of much the same story which they called
        'U-571'! They couldn't use the proper title so shift they
        shifted the number up one! Amazing cheek that resulted in
        questions beginning raised in parliament in 2000. I was
        sufficient incensed by the liberties that the filmmakers had
        taken to write an article about the fraud for the Daily Mail.
        The text of 'Lies. Damned Lies and Hollywood' is available on:

        http://www.jamesfollett.dswilliams.co.uk

        Fictionalising a drama is one thing, but messing with basic
        facts even to the extent of having Americans play a part in the
        capture of a U-boat when they were not involved in WWII was
        unforgivable. The only American involvement in the capture of
        U-570 was the manufacturer of the Hudson.

-- 
James Follett. Novelist. (G1LXP) http://www.jamesfollett.dswilliams.co.uk
Power Corp are to make a movie of James Follett's ICE.
http://scripts.digicc.com/powtv/prog_synopsis.php?id=655

date: Mon, 26 Nov 2007 14:59:47 +0000 author: JF