Savile Documentary

[DrunkCountry]

I'm guessing this is in some way linked to the alleged Paul Merton outburst on HIGNFY that may or may not have happened:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/tv-and-radio/2012/sep/28/jimmy-savile-abused-girls-alleged

[MojoJojo]

There was a previous thread on this, I think.

The supposed HIGNFY outburst is almost certainly false - guests don't match or something like that.

[Howj Begg]

....and SOTCAA admitted writing it.

[DrunkCountry]

There was a previous thread on this, I think.

The supposed HIGNFY outburst is almost certainly false - guests don't match or something like that.

Yeh, couldn't find the thread but thought this warranted its own anyway given the rumours that have circulated for years. 

Edit: but I didn't know about the admission, so cheers.

[Prospero13]

If Jonathan King is acceptable here, he did the good paedophilla right?, then what's wrong with Savile? 


Where's your acne pitted, scarfaced, anti Zionist, (translation anti semitic) public school Indie Kid? Doesn't return your spaniel devotion, does he?

[Doomy Dwyer]

I'd rather have three nonces than one Prospero 13.

I made a brief living as a Jimmy Savile impersonator. The work wasn't full time, and to be honest it didn't really pay enough to call it a living. But I did impersonate Jimmy Savile for financial gain, briefly. That much is true. It was the early nineties and Techno was all the rage. Wasn't really my cup of E to be honest, which is a shame, because at the time I was living in Kent. As many people will testify, Kent is a place with few - if any - redeeming features. But the late eighties/early nineties were a time when to be in Kent was moderately less dismal than usual. And to be young was even slightly better.

The Second Summer of Love had largely passed me by, sadly. For once I was in the centre of things, not looking back longingly at a feast I'd never sample as with so many other counter cultural movements. Raves were all around me, in the fields, in the woods and in the farms that surrounded me like razor wire. It was like living in 'The Matrix' sequel, the one where everyone starts writhing around to tribal beats in slow motion. But better, because it was realer and thus handier for the shops. Of course, when one is standing in the eye of the hurricane, one is oblivious to the chaos that surrounds one. I was blind to the allure of the rave and scornful of their supposedly mindless pleasures. I was, at that time, obsessed with punk, the anti-religion of the Letterist International, and the pure blankness of nihilism. I was taking the wrong type of drugs, and drinking far too much of the right kind of drinks to appreciate the beats and the rhythms of the music that filled the air around me. I chose, as I always seem to, to dwell in the past, trying to figure out what it was that went wrong then in order to see what was wrong was with what was now.[nb](then, now then) [/nb] This was a mistake, the heft and the burden of which I would drag behind me for the rest of my days. I sneered at their music, their shallow hedonism and their little day-glo sticks that they waved about like twats.

Altern-8, Castr8tion, TechniQue, 808, NJoi, Guru Josh, DJ Davvey Dee, Oceanic, Sons of a Loop de Loop Era - every day new and exotically named groups, DJ's, bands, bedroom producers - I don't know what the right term is - but there was magic afoot and the air was filled with sounds. Music had changed - Vocals, Guitar, Bass and Drums, your classic line-up that had reigned from time immemorial was deader than day old dog shit. It was hard to take if, like me, you were steeped and raised in music that sprang from the beautiful blues root. Here were people knocking out symphonies in their bedsits, anonymously, joyously and subversively. It was punker than punk. Of course, we didn't know that at the time. All things exist in opposition. You couldn't like both, as prosaically illustrated on the front cover of one edition of the NME which showed a couple of faceless Young Turks dressed in Vics smeared face masks and chem warfare suits destroying guitars. In the contracted binary world of tabloid music journalism lines were being drawn. And I found myself standing on the wrong side of that line. But salvation was at hand. Fleetingly.

A couple of lads I'd been at school with were dabbling in the new sounds. They regaled me - eyes pinned, jaws grinding and bodies in constant motion to a beat inaudible - over numerous drinks in our solitary local with tales of an Eden within reach - of all nighters in local fields, of the people they'd met, of the brotherhood that was linking hands across the country, united in good times, dancing - and a strange creeping militancy. The last point of which was often, if not always, intentionally lost amidst the sensationalist reportage of the times, and even to this day. It wasn't immediately obvious from the records and the odd E'd up non-interviews and novelty features that music mags deigned to feature back then, but something truly challenging was in motion. It would be curtailed in quick time by the usual correcting agents of the status quo - government crackdowns, NIMBYism, and gangland coercion and control - three sides of the same filthy coin - but this was, temporarily a bloodless revolution. Which is always nice. But never enough. Anyway, my ex-school friends had put out a local record that had done fairly good business and was a favourite at raves. They called themselves the 'Techno Prisoners', which I thought was catchy, and their big song was called 'Jim'll Fix It' and consisted of a loop of Sir James repeating the following lyrics over repetitive beats -

"Now then, Now then

Now then , Now

Now then, Now then

Now then, Now

Now then, Now then

Now then, Now

How's about

How's about

How's about

That then?"

The recorded version only lasts about eight or so minutes, but they'd landed themselves a gig in Bolougne, France and wanted to play the song  live, avec Jimmy himself. Remembering my borderline proficiency at impressions, finding themselves temporarily flush, and emboldened and stupefied in equal measure by our shared inebriation and youthful vitality, it was agreed that I would be the surrogate Jimmy. I agreed to don the metallic tracksuit, golden pudding bowl toupee and outsized cigar combo and chant the meagre lyrics whilst performing a Bezlike jig. They'd pay the ferry, which wasn't much in those days of £1 tickets, and there'd be booze aplenty plus whatever chemicals were going spare. What could possibly go wrong?

It all went wrong is what went wrong. I was pissed before boarding, the boys were nervous, tripping and jumpy, and the crossing was as rough as old arseholes. We hunkered down, trying to get our wits together, all the time hammering the duty free. I was dressed as Jimmy the whole time, in a Brandoesque affort to get into character. In truth, I'd lost the rest of my baggage somewhere along the line, so it wasn't as if I had any choice in the matter. But the lads seemed impressed by my commitment and I didn't have the heart to shatter their illusions. At one point there was a disagreement, a tussle and Jez's watch got broken. He copped the major hump over this and sulked for a couple of hours, so to break the tension I told him I'd trained as a watchmaker in Zurich and that I could probably mend it. It'll give you some idea of how fucked up things were by this point that he believed me unquestioningly. He handed me the watch and I ran off with it shouting "JIM'LL FIX IT! JIM'LL FIX IT!" before tossing it over the side of the ferry, which I thought was hilarious.  However, Jez and Steve had obviously reached some sort of Rubicon of unacceptability. They called me every cunt under the sun, and told me to fuck off, they'd do the gig without me. Which was fine by me, as I hate doing impressions, particularly Jimmy Savile, because anyone can do him. The only problem as far as I could see was that I only had about ten francs on me to last until the return ferry, which was the following day. That and being dressed as Jimmy Savile.

The bastards left me in the pissing rain. I bought a couple of bottles of wine and some croissants and shivered it out waiting for the return ferry, blissfully unaware that I was dressed as a necrophiliac from the future.

I was very pleased to hear that the gig was a disaster. 

[Hangthebuggers]

[Nuclear Optimism]

So what's this Merton business then?

[MojoJojo]

http://www.users.zetnet.co.uk/rogerb/jokes/HIGNFY.txt

... although reading it now slightly ashamed to have suggested it could have been genuine.

[katzenjammer]

I was in the audience for a HIGNFY episode with Savile as a guest in about 1999, nothing like the text in that transcript happened so if that was his only HIGNFY appearance it is completely made up.  The episode I was at was possibly the most boring episode I ever saw.  Diane Abbot was the other guest.

[Saucer51]

If Jonathan King is acceptable here,

Not to everyone.

[Mr Eggs]

All these swines trashing Sir Jimmy's reputation make my blood boil.......He was a NECROPHILIAC, goddammit!

[Butchers Blind]

In all seriousness,  did he touch up underage girls and bugger corpses?

[Ginyard]

I think I missed that episode. I remember the James Bond one.

[small_world]

Fupping hell. Doomy Dwyer is a genius.

[BlodwynPig]

WRONG, Einstein was a genius, Schubert was a genius, Doomy is beyond that...so much more.

[Brundle-Fly]

Very funny, Doomy. Are you still in touch with these blokes?

[DrunkCountry]

Justin Lee Collins gets everywhere.

[Tiny Poster]

If Jonathan King is acceptable here, he did the good paedophilla right?

Nah, ephebophile mate.

[steveh]

More in the Sunday Mirror today: http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/jimmy-savile-documentary-tv-star-1351439

[Jemble Fred]

Ugh, why did I click on that link.

And why the fuck does the Mirror think that the BBC has any liability today? Do they seriously think the managers from the 1970s are all still working at the Corporation, happily taking licence payers money, thinking 'ooh I hope nobody finds out about what we let Jimmy get away with!'? The modern BBC has about as much culpability for Savile's reported crimes as any of us has for the Viking invasions.

[BlodwynPig]

Odd. As I was looking at the Mirror article and scrolled down to the "victim today" (picture of a girl's back), suddenly a horse or zebra in a Jonathan King wig popped up and danced around the screen. Turns out it was a trailer for Madagascar 3, but it was deeply offensive and uncalled for. I thought Saville had turned to bestiality and subjected his victims to impersonating other entertainment nonces.

[Viero_Berlotti]

A disturbing account from an ex-pupil of Duncroft Girls Approved School.

The first time a celebrity visited Duncroft I hung back, reluctant to meet the esteemed gentleman. Up until very recently, I could only refer to this man as 'JS' because he was still alive and I did not want a law-suit on my hands; I have now no reason whatsoever to hide the truth any longer because he died a few weeks ago and I had some reporters and a camera crew in my living room at home whilst I actually spoke of these events. The fact that the good old British Broadccasting Corporation then successfully 'gagged' the reporters makes no difference at all. Sadly, that reporter (a relative of Miss Maggie Jones no less) then handed my personal details to all manner of other reporters who are now plaguing me with telephone calls and begging me to re-do the interview with them. I am only one week away from major bowel surgery and speaking of it on camera upset and scared me more than merely writing it down does -- although that isn't easy either.

The celebrity visitor to Duncroft was none other than Sir Jimmy Savile OBE.

Girls flocked to gain attention from him. He came the first time in a smart, orangey-red sports car. It was probably something wonderfully expensive, but I've never been that interested in cars so I don't remember. Anyway, it was powerful and low to the ground. A group of girls set to with a will, supervised by Theo, to clean and polish it. Their 'reward' was to be taken on an outing with Sir Jimmy.

Jimmy Savile smoked huge, smelly cigars, but he always brought a huge quantity of duty-free cigarettes with him which he shared out between the girls. Once I realised there were free cigarettes to be had, I became much more interested.

Miss Jones, the headmistress, spent hours with Jimmy Saville; I could hear them chatting and laughing from her study. On those days, the food was much better prepared and presented. I looked forward to Jimmy Savile visiting because it meant pleasant food, rides down the lane in his sports car and extra cigarettes.

Sadly, it also meant one had to put up with being mauled and groped when he pulled into a lay-by some five miles along the road. I wasn't the only girl that Sir Jimmy favoured with this either. In fact, he often tried to press me to 'go further' than simply fondling him and allowing him to grope inside my knickers and at my partly formed breasts. He promised me all manner of good things if I would give him oral sex.

In fact, when he vowed one day, that if I gave him oral sex, I and a few other girls could come to BBC Television Centre and be on his television show, I agreed. Fortunately, due to the lithium I was taking, I have very little recollection of that event, although I do remember gagging violently as I tried to comply and the alarmed Sir Jimmy reaching across to fling the passenger door open and urge me to vomit 'outside the car'.

Maybe I did vomit. I do not recall. In any event, Jimmy was pleased with me and told me he would make arrangements with Miss Jones to have me and some other girls on his show regularly.

I told Tonia and Frances what had happened. I was mightily surprised to learn how Frances had also experienced an almost identical event when 'out for a drive' with him the previous week.

"I wouldn't give any bloke a blow on a promise," Tonia retorted. "You see the colour of their money first, then only do what you absolutely have to. Lucky for me, I'm fat and he doesn't fancy me. I only had to give him a wank!"

We giggled about it. How strange; we had all been abused by a very well known celebrity, renowned for his 'good deeds' and unending work with people less fortunate than himself and yet we were laughing, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. My insides twist now at those vague memories. Maybe it is a good thing I do not have total recall.

More than a month passed by and I still hadn't been sent 'home' for a weekend - for which I found myself profoundly grateful. Other girls went and returned, some of them happy, others clearly upset and miserable. I really did not want to have to see my horrible mother or even Nana.

Sir Jimmy Savile did keep his promise. The first time we were taken to London there were eight of us. All the rest of the girls had gone home for the weekend. We were escorted into Television Centre and taken to see Sir Jimmy in his 'dressing room'.

The air hung thick with his foul cigar smoke. He laughed and joked with Miss Jones, Theo and every girl close enough to speak to. We were to be introduced to some of his guests on the show before it began.

Now my recollections of meeting with these guests are very vivid, not least because at least one of them has since been prosecuted for sexual misconduct with minors. Don't get me wrong. Not every celebrity we met was a closet paedophile.

Over several weeks, I met a great many male and female celebrities, some of whom I remember fondly for their intelligence, wit and general pleasant demeanour. However, of those who had similar tastes to Jimmy Savile - a liking of under-age girls, I can only recall vague disgust and horror.

One particular celebrity, a very popular comedian of the time, whom I shall simply refer to as 'F', absolutely stank of booze and sweat. His hands wandered incessantly; he had absolutely no qualms whatever about any one of the girls seeing what he was doing to any of the others. The fact that we sat in his dressing room with him, drinking vodka or Bacardi rum whilst he blatantly selected which girl to humiliate amazes me. I cannot recall where Miss Jones and Theo were. Surely, they must have known what was going on?

Even so, there were no acts of violence or threats. No-one was hit or taken against their will. I refused 'F' because getting anywhere near him made me heave. He smelled far too much like my step-father for my liking. 'F' made some rather cruel remarks about my lack of breasts by way of getting back at me for refusing him. Everyone laughed whilst I burned with humiliation.

Another celebrity, whom I can only refer to as 'G' showered those he sexually abused (on the day we met him) with expensive perfume, cigarettes and promises of tickets to one of his shows. He didn't touch me, although I watched in a detached fashion as he had full sex with one of the other girls in the dressing room into which we were all crammed.

I am perfectly certain the BBC had no idea whatsoever of the goings on. Stars were not disturbed in their dressing rooms as a rule. Jimmy Savile often took us all out after the show had aired - celebrity guests and all; this only made it even easier for abuse to occur. Miss 'Maggie' Jones always acceded to requests from celebrities to take girls elsewhere, although she pretended to be stern with the men, extracting solemn promises to have the girls back by the time we had to leave.

To this end, I spent a very pleasant hour with David Bowie in an exclusive London coffee-shop come bar. I can mention Mr. Bowie without fear of reprisal as the man was a perfect gentleman. His conversation was intelligent; he was sensitive and most concerned about me and the strict regime at Duncroft. He sympathized with me when I told him all my hopes and dreams had been dashed before they'd even been truly born. He further gave me some good advice (now I look back on it), telling me to live each day to the full, as it comes, and simply see where life leads. With astonishing foresight he told me that all subjects would soon be studied by people of all ages and it was never too late to start out in a new direction.

I told him I often wrote poetry which I should one day like to convert into songs. His odd coloured eyes twinkled as he told me writing poetry was a good start. He said he'd try to keep in touch and also, if he used any of my material, he'd pay handsomely for it.

Sadly, I only ever saw him once. That he was successful and very busy is without doubt, but I often wonder if he ever recalls that skinny, mousy-haired girl he passed an hour with after the Jimmy Savile television show.

The list of celebrities I met during weekends in the company of Jimmy Savile is a long one. I acquired an autograph book and had almost filled it before I left Duncroft. I've no idea what happened to the book. I moved about so much in later years it became lost. I should like to have it and look back on it - although maybe not. Doing so might revive some memories I have mercifully blanked out and forgotten.

http://www.fanstory.com/displaystory.jsp?id=363399

[SockPuppet]

Famous man likes me->Famous man sleeps with me->Famous man buggers off->I'm a bit miffed but forget about it->Famous man dies 50 years later->The dead don't sue.

I think that covers it.

[Viero_Berlotti]

Famous man uses power and influence to illegally have sex with vulnerable teenagers under the age of consent.

I think that covers it.

[Braintree]

A disturbing account from an ex-pupil of Duncroft Girls Approved School.

http://www.fanstory.com/displaystory.jsp?id=363399

I am not the only one wondering who F and G are, am I? Guessing they are still alive which is why Keri doesn't name them.

[Lfbarfe]

If Jonathan King is acceptable here, he did the good paedophilla right?, then what's wrong with Savile? 

There are curious double standards at work here, it's true. Personally, I'm surprised when I find out that someone connected with Radio 1 in the 1970s wasn't consorting with jailbait. Let us consider Ed 'Stewpot' Stewart, and these choice lines from his autobiography, quoted by Danny Baker in, arguably, the greatest book review ever written.

"I met my wife when she was 13, in 1970..."
"...my wife started on my stomach – and nothing else! – when she was 13..."
"I arrived (at her parents) at 7pm and was greeted at the door by what I can only describe as a 13 year old apparition! She was simply stunning."

[Lfbarfe]

Ugh, why did I click on that link.

And why the fuck does the Mirror think that the BBC has any liability today? Do they seriously think the managers from the 1970s are all still working at the Corporation, happily taking licence payers money, thinking 'ooh I hope nobody finds out about what we let Jimmy get away with!'? The modern BBC has about as much culpability for Savile's reported crimes as any of us has for the Viking invasions.

As I understand it, Panorama began a similar investigation, which was then called off. I think that might be why the 'modern BBC' is under scrutiny over this issue. Other than that, I agree with you. The sins of the fathers, etc. However, I find it very hard to believe that the likes of Bill Cotton Jr, Jim Moir and Roger Ordish turned a blind eye to what was going on. They can't have known.

[Saucer51]

If these women are telling the truth, I think it's a shame they didn't come forward when Savile was alive, but then I think shame is the sticking point anyway. I don't blame victims at all for being reluctant to speak out. The legal system is as fair as it could ever be to the victims/alleged victims of sexual abuse but I still think that having to prove your abusers guilt whilst at the same time not looking like some seedy blackmailer must be harrowing.

[Braintree]

If these women are telling the truth, I think it's a shame they didn't come forward when Savile was alive, but then I think shame is the sticking point anyway. I don't blame victims at all for being reluctant to speak out. The legal system is as fair as it could ever be to the victims/alleged victims of sexual abuse but I still think that having to prove your abusers guilt whilst at the same time not looking like some seedy blackmailer must be harrowing.

But they did, one complained to the police in 2007.

So what happened? The rumours of his links to important people aside I suspect there was the the attitude that it was a long time ago,
he'll be dead soon so what is the point of investigating and they were a bunch of damaged fantasists from care homes after money


Plus these women are in their forties/fifties, there mindset is "You don't talk about that sort of thing" and when you do it is something to be ashamed of. It sounds like Saville was a manipulative man and that he (plus any others he bought over for the ride) were telling these girls that nobody would believe them because he was SIR Jimmy Saville.