It is virtually impossible for the children of today to imagine the impact Wanderly Wagon, its clunky special effects and its cast of affable scaredy cats, kindly old ladies, space age villains and sarky puppets had on kids born in the 1960s and 1970s.
It shaped our lives and – arguably – it saved some of them too.
Today we live in a world of endlessly streamed cartoons and round-the-clock child-centric TV broadcasts in high definition, but back then Wanderly Wagon was our lot and we were delighted to have it.
If you lived beyond the Pale and had access only to RTÉ’s solitary channel, there was nothing else on offer to engage a childish mind on a channel which started broadcasting at 5pm in the summer and 4pm in the winter months and showed little else but grey panel shows featuring monochrome men smoking and talking about farming.
That is why the fantastical adventures of the ragtag bunch of O'Brien, Godmother, Rory – who mysteriously disappeared in the mid-1970s never to return – Judge, Forty Coats, Mr Crow, Foxy, Sneaky Snake and Dr Astro were so fervently embraced by younger minds.
It is why we were glued to our televisions of a Friday evening , transfixed by the opening credits and the ethereal vocals. “Here comes the wagon, the wanderly, wanderly wagon, the most unusual wagon you ever knew,” an angelic woman would sing to a backing track of prog rock and clunky images of the flying wagon and some standing stones that, in hindsight, looked to have been borrowed from the stage of a Spinal Tap concert.
Never mind The Den, or Zig and Zag or Bosco, Wanderly Wagon is the most important children's series ever made by RTÉ and, over the course of its 15-year run which started in 1967, Eugene Lambert's character O'Brien was the channel's most beloved creation.
You always knew where you were with O’Brien and his ample belly, accentuated by an unfortunately yellow three-piece suit, his tousled hair and his affable but sheepish grin. And you always knew that while he was a bit of an eejit and kind of a coward and likely to make rash decisions betimes, he would make us laugh. And we loved him for it.
And we loved how kindly Godmother kept him on the straight and narrow. And we loved his wise dog Judge and his sarky bird Mr Crow – whose mood was scarcely helped by being forced to live in a cuckoo clock. The indignity of it all. The plot – such as it was – detailed the adventures of the puppets, O'Brien, Godmother and Rory – and latterly Fortycoats – as they flew across Ireland in their magical horse-drawn caravan rescuing princesses, fighting the evil Dr Astro and generally adding to the gaiety of a nation unspoiled by high-tech wizzardry and special effects.
Safe Cross Code
But it wasn’t just the programme that became part of our lives; a spin-off tried to save them and Judge was to the fore on that score. He was the voice of road reason for an entire generation as he fronted a long-running Safe Cross Code campaign.
Not only did the Lambert-voiced cloth-eared dog star in the ads, he took his safety message on the road, visiting countless schools to remind road-crossing children to always look for a safe place, not to hurry but to stop and wait and the rest. And he gave us badges with his furry face on them.
And we were delighted by the badges because it was a simpler time, a time which appears to be over now for good.
Now the building housing Lambert Puppet Theatre, founded in Monkstown, Dublin, 46 years ago, is to be sold. The theatre’s director, Liam Lambert, whose father Eugene founded the theatre, has confirmed the recession and an arson attack are the reasons behind the move.
“It is extremely hard to be closing the theatre with all of its memories. I am sure it is going to affect an awful lot of people,” he said. While the theatre will be sold, it is hoped the business can continue as a touring company.
