“...Some hick country town”: Watching ‘A Country Practice’

[Mel O'Drama]

​

Boxed sets making up the entire series have been sitting in my DVD cupboard for over three years now. The thought of diving in has been simultaneously exciting and hugely daunting, with thirteen years’ worth of story adding up to 1088 hour long episodes: that’s significantly more than double Sons and Daughters’ screen hours!

As far as my background with the series goes, I feel I’m in the sweet spot. Back in the day I watched just enough of the series for there to be an element of nostalgia to this deep dive. At the same time, my memory tells me I only watched regularly for a relatively short period for a run of would what have probably been mid-Eighties-ish episodes. This means many faces will be instantly familiar, and some names will come back to me but - almost certainly for the first seasons - the stories will be all new.

ACP is very character-driven and far less heavily serialised than a traditional continuing drama. Each week’s key story takes place over two hour-long episodes, usually being introduced in the first and resolved by the end of the second (in that regard, it resembles 1966 Batman more than it does something like Sons and Daughters). There are some serialised elements to the relationships and arcs, but these generally bubble away to form this small town’s backdrop, occasionally being brought to the foreground in their own two-part story for any significant moments. I believe this is this format remains the template for the entire run.

This comes with a benefit. Almost all of whatever I did watch, I have forgotten. It’s possibly doing the series a disservice to say that it’s forgettable, but I’d say there’s a different psychology to watching a series of stories set almost in isolation compared to investing in a serial with multiple overlapping arcs and stories demanding attention in each episode. With ACP, a new viewer can come in, watch one two-parter and be told everything they need to know, which perhaps demands less retention of details.

There’s one important exception for me in terms of memory - one particular story I remember very clearly because it hit so hard… and I realise now it’s possibly THE best-remembered ACP story for many other viewers for the same reasons. Without giving away details of the plot, I’ll just say the story was called Molly. And if you know, you know.

 

[Mel O'Drama]

Season One

​

In General Practice (a.k.a. Wandin Valley)


Firstly, it’s unlikely I’ll be writing a new post about every story as I watch. With a series of this length, it’ll probably be more like a check-in every now and then. Whatever it ends up being, though, I wanted to get down some initial impressions after the first two episodes.

For each title given, by the way, we can assume there are two parts. It would get very cumbersome to write “Part I” and “Part II” for each story, so I’m just planning to do this in cases where I have only watched one part at the time of writing.

The DVD menu calls this opening two-parter “Wandin Valley”, whereas all sources I’ve found online suggest that this was only used internationally, with "In General Practice" being the original title going back even to when it was first conceived and pitched by James Davern back in 1979 (Ten passed and it was snapped up by The Seven Network. That old rivalry runs deep and it’s not the last example of this relating to this particular series). Either works. The story is about two GPs with different struggles, but the first thing we see in the opening scene is a gold Mercedes pulling up to a sign that reads “Wandin Valley 9km”.

The woman in the car was instantly familiar but it took me a few seconds to place her as Dasha Bláhová: Maria Ramsay from early Neighbours. My exclamation of “Oh, it’s her” actually made me miss the first few lines and I had to re-watch it afterwards. Of course, this is early Eighties Seven Network so I’m hoping for lots more familiar faces dropping in for an episode or two as we go along.

Indeed, I also got to exclaim “Oh, it’s him” when none other than David Palmer appeared on screen as a gruff widower who runs a farm while his fifteen-year-old daughter wants to go on the pill so she can have sex with her older boyfriend. The series is refreshingly frank about this, as is the daughter who refuses to hide behind things like painful periods. Naturally, as we watch, we realise the boyfriend is a wrong ‘un who is more concerned about getting his end away, which he does with someone else when he refuses to wait a month. The teen angst is real and Seven loves this kind of stuff (one of the earliest Neighbours episodes had a very similar “I wanna go on the pill” storyline with Scott’s girlfriend Kim, while early Home and Away had fifteen year old Roo skipping the pill altogether and getting pregnant, requiring her to snare another character to take the blame). Still, it’s a nice little arc that does its thing well and gives Tom Richards the chance to to get beneath the bluster to show someone who genuinely cares for his daughter (not that we see the character again. After all, Tom Richards has to depart in order to attend to his son’s incestuous affair over on that other series).

Dasha plays a heavily pregnant woman who has gone into labour a month early after learning of her husband's affair with an old lover. This gives her Sue Ellen Syndrome where she doesn’t want anything to do with her baby until the staff bring the baby in and leave her alone in a room with the baby as she cries. Fortunately, it pays off (given the mother’s strength of feeling it seems to me it could have gone disastrously wrong).

The real familiarity, though, comes from meeting our regulars. I’m pleasantly surprised by how many I remember as having been present in my viewing era. There’s the big softie of a policeman, whose name I correctly remember as Frank. He’s wooing clinical receptionist Lorrae Desmond whose real name is stuck in my mind, even though I couldn’t remember her character is Shirley (and I had to look it up even as I wrote this). She’s much quirkier than I remember, with a penchant for sitting under a pyramid frame in her living room which she believes restores her health and ages her wine. She also may or may not smoke grass (depending how you read her line to Frank about this in a bid to put him off pursuing her).

Shirley’s daughter is vet Vicky and she is being wooed by adorable blonde GP Simon Bowen, new in town and unable to get patients due to the closed ranks (it’s Simon who utters the line featured in the thread title, when he tells her about the curse of having a silver spoon in his mouth, and how, despite his father and grandfather being GPs in the city, he couldn’t get a role there so had to buy into a practice in this small town). Both of these I remember well.

There’s also a sister with attitude, Judy. I recognised her, but couldn’t place where from. Then I realised it’s from this series but later on. The characterisation and look seems different, so I’m guessing she may have softened as the series evolved. Here she’s delightfully outspoken… sometimes inappropriately so, which adds to the fun.

Series lead is Shane Porteous - a name and face I also remember well (that iconic credits image of him pulling up with his elbow out of his Land Rover is taken from the end of the second episode). Much is made of how dishy he is - and he does get a scene emerging from a swimming hole in barely-there trunks showing a very toned body - while Grant Dodwell is getting rejected left, right and centre and stays overdressed at all times. Let’s hope for some more balance in this department. Something I don’t remember at all is the character’s alcohol dependence. I’m guessing he may have cracked it by the time I watched, but it’s certainly an interesting element, and darker than I’d expected. We haven’t explicitly been told about what went wrong for him that caused a gifted surgeon to take up practice here, so that’s some intrigue.

One character I don’t remember is the Scandinavian matron who, when she can’t be out riding, talks to the framed photo of her beloved horse at work. I think she’d left by the time I watched, replaced by the more matronly matron. Anyway, I’m enjoying Marta so far, but I did find it amusing that the opening scene of this “slice of Australian life” series was between two women with thick Northern European accents.

In the first episode, there’s a dotty older lady waiting in reception at one point who is played by the actress who would go on to be a mainstay as the series’ dotty old lady. I’m fairly sure the character is different, though. Absent so far are the eccentric older characters who I remember hanging out at the pub. From what I’ve seen in skimming information, a few of these arrive early in Season Two, but it also appears a couple more regular characters will arrive in the coming episodes.

Watching this series slowly unfold looks set to be a nice, gentle ride.

 

[Willie Oleson]

Boxed sets making up the entire series have been sitting in my DVD cupboard for over three years now.

I remember you mentioned buying the set, something like "a sweet deal".
For what it's worth, it's also happened to me (that big Big Valley box set).

Each week’s key story takes place over two hour-long episodes, usually being introduced in the first and resolved by the end of the second (in that regard, it resembles 1966 Batman more than it does something like Sons and Daughters).

Flying Doctors (on the ground)?

 

[Mel O'Drama]

I remember you mentioned buying the set, something like "a sweet deal".

Indeed it was. I paid $AU500 for the entire series as a bundle in a ViaVision sale. It does sound a lot until you consider it's the best part of 1000 hours' worth of television.

For what it's worth, it's also happened to me (that big Big Valley box set).

That's the trouble when there are so many soaps and just not enough time.

Flying Doctors (on the ground)?

You're not far off the mark at all there. ACP may feel less "outback" and have a smaller budget, but both have that rural Aussie feel with quirky or rugged characters everywhere you look and lots of medical drama.

Both have Brett Climo at various points as well, so that's another common selling point.

 

[Carrie Fairchild]

Watching this series slowly unfold looks set to be a nice, gentle ride.

I look forward to reading your thoughts on the show. I’ve vague memories of it, mainly who the different characters were, as opposed to specific storylines.

Boxed sets making up the entire series have been sitting in my DVD cupboard for over three years now.

For what it's worth, it's also happened to me (that big Big Valley box set).

The boxsets of Dynasty and Howards’ Way are staring down at me from a shelf, waiting for me to finish them despite having bought them years ago.

The thought of diving in has been simultaneously exciting and hugely daunting, with thirteen years’ worth of story adding up to 1088 hour long episodes

They split the hour long episodes into two here, but it aired 4-5 days a week, so the entire run was completed within 12 years (1985-1997) on Irish TV.

ACP is very character-driven and far less heavily serialised than a traditional continuing drama. Each week’s key story takes place over two hour-long episodes, usually being introduced in the first and resolved by the end of the second (in that regard, it resembles 1966 Batman more than it does something like Sons and Daughters).

Flying Doctors (on the ground)?

A Country Practice is a funny one, as it’s essentially as you describe it above, yet it is referred to as a “soapie” in Australia. Whereas similarly themed shows like Flying Doctors, All Saints and G.P (which was basically ACP in the city) aren’t. I think ACP’s twice a week broadcast pattern may be the reason but you rarely see it referred to as a medical drama, like the others are.

There’s one important exception for me in terms of memory - one particular story I remember very clearly because it hit so hard… and I realise now it’s possibly THE best-remembered ACP story for many other viewers for the same reasons. Without giving away details of the plot, I’ll just say the story was called Molly. And if you know, you know.

For a long time, and possibly still today, this was regarded as a landmark moment in Australian TV drama. I remember it getting a special mention on a show celebrating 50 years of Australian TV.

Indeed, I also got to exclaim “Oh, it’s him” when none other than David Palmer appeared on screen as a gruff widower who runs a farm while his fifteen-year-old daughter wants to go on the pill so she can have sex with her older boyfriend. The series is refreshingly frank about this, as is the daughter who refuses to hide behind things like painful periods.

I was surprised to read about some of the harder hitting storylines that the show covered, as my vague memory of it was a gentle drama that my granny used to watch in the afternoons.

 

[Willie Oleson]

but you rarely see it referred to as a medical drama, like the others are.

Maybe it's more like Inverness "General Hospital"

 

[Mel O'Drama]

A Town Tragedy


Already I’m intrigued about the background to these early episodes.

As mentioned, I’m aware that James Davern had written In General Practice as a pilot a couple of years before it came to fruition. Since this second story introduces a few new characters not seen in that first story, I find myself asking whether it’s because the pilot was (a) shot earlier or (b) was filmed alongside the series, with Davern thinking of additional characters in the intervening years. Was it always the plan to introduce more regular characters gently as the episodes unfolded, or is the second story ensemble the “series” version compared with the first episode’s “pilot” cast?

Not that the changes are major. There are no recasts, no changes to sets or settings, everyone looks the same and the title sequences remain the same (other than two additional characters in the second story’s opening credits). This suggests the two stories were produced very close together.

My feeling - and this is just conjecture - is that the additional characters weren’t in the original pilot script but were written into the series in the pre-planning stage, with the decision taken to leave the pilot script more or less intact and add the others in the second story. My view on this may change if more regulars are introduced in the coming episodes, but for now that’s enough to help me sleep at night.

The key new faces in this story are Brendan and Molly Jones. Brendan and Molly are a cute pair - together or individually - and they’ve very quickly been integrated into things.

As I watched Brendan splitting his time between nursing and getting things straight on the farm, the familiarity came back to me. As a male nurse, he’s something of a pioneer - something that’s acknowledged in dialogue. There’s no real controversy over it, just mild surprise from a couple of characters, but I can’t think of a male nurse who appeared on-screen earlier. The Young Doctors’ focus seemed to be on photogenic young women, so if they had any male nurses I missed it. Certainly, Brendan was on screen over half a decade before Casualty’s Charlie Fairhead who came to symbolise - and arguably popularise - the role on British television.

Just as with Simon in the first story, Brendan’s medical background allows him to quickly spot that Terence is a gifted surgeon leaving him with the same question of why this surgeon has ended up in a small rural hospital, only to receive the same answer from other characters: that it is nobody’s business but Terence’s. This serves a double purpose. Not only does it keep the intrigue bubbling away, Brendan’s curiosity integrates him fully into the character dynamics. And, they endear him to the audience who have similar questions. It’s a winning function for a character.

And then there’s Molly. How interesting to have an eccentric, borderline comedic character played by - to repeat a phrase used earlier - a photogenic young woman. And without the usual props of her being “other” in some physical way. There are no goggle glasses. She’s not overweight. She’s not a bookworm. The “other” element mainly comes from her being too “city”. She hasn’t adapted her dress to her surroundings but there’s also a sense that she’s very out there by any standard. We see her glam up her wellingtons, which is perhaps more acceptable in 2026 than it would have been in 1981. In one scene with Brendan, she wears a large necklace on which are hung - front and back - about a dozen plastic spoons of different colours, set about two inches apart at regular intervals. It’s not even acknowledged in dialogue. It’s simply there, and because Brendan simply accepts it, we, too, accept that this is simply Molly.

The little comedic touches work well for me. In one of Brendan and Molly’s first scenes, we deduce the apple didn’t fall far from the tree when their housewarming present from Molly’s mother is a chandelier. Later in the episode there’s a scene with Molly talking to someone at the pen of Doris the pig. The camera pans up to show Doris’s pen is now adorned with the chandelier (talk about keeping up with the literal Joneses). It’s just enough.

Debuting is part two is Bob Hatfield, apparently a one-off fairly minor character who will come to be a more permanent part of the Wandin Valley scenery.

Along the same lines, there’s ornery Miss Bird, who gives Brendan a baptism of fire as his first patient. It’s the first of three roles for Colleen Clifford, an actress born in the Nineteenth Century). Again, the character will appear on a more recurring basis come Season Two and - incredibly - the actress will still be seen on the series in other roles more than a decade after this.

The meatier story this time out is of a respected married townswoman who is killed by a drunk driver, with much talk about the fact that she is in the car of a local businessman evidently heading out of town with a packed suitcase, a note addressed to her husband and no ring on her finger (even her friend Shirley has to admit “rings don’t fall off”).

As well as tapping nicely into the Peyton Place element of the way information travels quickly round a small town, fuelling (sometimes cruel) gossip and speculation, it also presents a moral dilemma for various regulars uncovering pieces of information - the ring; the letter; the cases. Given the circumstances, the question is how much of this information they give the woman’s grieving husband. Do they have the right, with the best of intentions, to conceal something that would cause nothing but hurt. The path taken is relatively satisfying. It’s not so much about whether their choices end up being the “right” or “wrong” ones, but about the fact that, one way or the other, any choice made is going to have a consequence to someone, even if it’s the person who says nothing.

 

[Mel O'Drama]

I’ve vague memories of it, mainly who the different characters were, as opposed to specific storylines.

Same here.

The boxsets of Dynasty and Howards’ Way are staring down at me from a shelf, waiting for me to finish them

Oh, I hope you get round to the rest of HW at some point. I'm quite rusty on the later episodes, and I think it's now over a decade since I last watched the entire series, but it's always good to see it get some love.

They split the hour long episodes into two here, but it aired 4-5 days a week

Sounds like Irish TV was at least a little more consistent than the ITV network. I think the later years were stripped this way on most ITV franchises, though. According to Wikipedia, my region showed it 5 nights a week from 17:10-17:40, which surprised me as I think of the Home and Away slot. H&A certainly started there in 1989 and I'd thought it had stayed there for most of the Nineties.

For a long time, and possibly still today, this was regarded as a landmark moment in Australian TV drama. I remember it getting a special mention on a show celebrating 50 years of Australian TV.

I can believe it.

It will be interesting for me to see this story from a long-term viewer perspective. When I first dipped into ACP in the late Eighties, it was one of the first episodes I ended up watching*, so I didn't have much connection to the characters. It's a testament to the series that it hit hard even to a new viewer.



* Even weirder, I only began watching the series partly because I'd read about this story in a book about soaps and realised there may be more to the series than I'd thought. It's quite bizarre that I should tune in only to immediately see that very episode.

I was surprised to read about some of the harder hitting storylines that the show covered, as my vague memory of it was a gentle drama that my granny used to watch in the afternoons.

It promises to be interesting. I have much the same image of the series as this very gentle and innocuous programme that was on around 2:15pm in between bland gameshows and things like Farmhouse Kitchen. Already my eyebrow raised when Molly called her temperamental generator a "son of a bitch" at least once.

 

[Mel O'Drama]

The Ininerants

My feeling - and this is just conjecture - is that the additional characters weren’t in the original pilot script but were written into the series in the pre-planning stage, with the decision taken to leave the pilot script more or less intact and add the others in the second story. My view on this may change if more regulars are introduced in the coming episodes

And in the very next episode, hypochondriac Esme Watson is introduced… a more fully-formed version of “Norma” seen in the first episode. We now see that new supporting characters (beyond the “one and done” guests) are being introduced in each story, which suggests the first episode may indeed have been produced along with the series rather than as a separate pilot. At the same time, if the plan all along was to introduce Esme, I’m now puzzled about why Joyce Jacobs would play Norma a few episodes before stepping into Esme’s shoes. Since both of them haunt the waiting room of the surgery, is Esme simply a revised version of Norma? Was one of them intended for a different actress? Was Esme written for Joyce after she appeared in a pilot? Or perhaps Joyce just fitted in well with the cast and it was decided to cast her in this second small role. Both parts, after all, are very small. Combining her two characters, Joyce probably has less than a minute of screen time in the entire first season, and it’s not that unusual for actors to play several small parts in Aussie drama, even if it is more unusual for them to be so close together. Whatever the case, Esme is here, adding background colour, and this small moment is far from the last we see of her.

Esme is after her annual dosing up to steady her nerves because of the imminent arrival of the titular characters: travelling fruit pickers, who she feels are apt to cause trouble in the town but who, more rational characters observe, never do.

The rational side is proven when we spend time with three characters from that community: a young boy whose distended stomach worries medics enough to seek him out and take him to hospital for tests; his struggling mother, working in difficult conditions to put food in her son’s mouth even if she herself gets none, and her father-in-law who provides a connection to her late partner. It’s a decent little arc that wraps up with a happy-but-not-too-neat suggestion that they will be given a home by Bill, a kindly farmer who shares a hospital room with the boy and falls for his mother (which appears to be mutual).

Bill, by the way, has neglected to take his cystitis medication, meaning he staggers into the hospital in agony and is the first ACP character to drop into a dead faint (a traditional faint, anyway. The mother’s collapse at the end of Part I is shown more from a POV of a camera falling into fruit bushes). Shirley’s response is enjoyably Australian - she tuts and curses him out for the inconvenience.

A dilemma about this ward situation is a nice way of reminding us we’re in a small town. Marta and Brendan discuss where to put Bill because they are full. Since we only see mother and son in their respective hospital rooms (she having passed out from worry, fatigue and overwork), it leads me to wonder if two rooms is the entire capacity.

Esme is not entirely wrong, mind you. The darker side of the intinerant community is shown with a prowler frightening people of the town.

I am, admittedly, quite easy when it comes to a jump scare, but I really never expected a moment in ACP to get me this way. The scene where Molly returned home and this strange man barged out of a darkened side room past her made me jump out of my skin (I may have shouted). It was even pre-empted by some sinister music, letting the audience know that something wasn’t right, so it’s not like I wasn’t warned. I’m going to blame it on the loud sting that played as it happened.

Balancing this, there was a nice line of dialogue that made me chuckle when Frank came round afterwards. Molly, looking on the bright side, said it was good that the stranger could at least see there was nothing at the Joneses’ home worth stealing. Looking over the kitchen, Frank - rather too quickly - agreed “He’s probably still running”.

A later scene with the prowler returning to the house while Molly and Shirley are inside was nicely balanced, with some genuinely creepy imagery - a ghoulish face appearing at the window outside - yielding almost comical screams from the women. It’s pleasing that Frank was shown to be competent in apprehending the prowler, since most of his other scenes - focussing on the romantic undercurrent - have put Shirley firmly in charge, while Frank comes off as seeming oblivious or unworldly.

The prowler is a drug addict who has also caused trouble at the hospital, feigning illness in a bid to get a fix of pethidine and when that fails, ransacking the place. It’s the first time this series has addressed the subject (unless we count alcohol addiction) and I like to hope it will be done in a more substantial way further down the line. This particular story is one-sided, with the addict being someone we observe and talk about through the eyes of regular characters. We don’t know anything about him, his experiences or his feelings.

The everyday stuff is really finding its legs: Molly making a dress for Vicky as part of a barter arrangement for Vicky’s veterinary services is sweet, and very much evokes Barbara Good; Shirley’s dinner, intended to put Frank off his pursuit with her terrible cooking went wonderfully off-plan when it turned out he was a really good cook; adding insult to injury, when Vicky - in her new dress - returned from her date with Simon in tow, the two men ended up sharing cooking tips in the kitchen while the two women sat frustrated in the living room (the gentle humour sold with the subtle gender stereotype reversal).

Then there’s Doris refusing to mate with a mate supplied by a local farmer. For a moment, I wondered if one of the pigs was going to be ACP’s first gay character (after all, I recently watched an Eighties Bergerac which featured a gay horse). Instead, there’s a curious feminist angle with Doris booting out the mate for wanting to sleep and cuddle instead of satisfying her, which wins Molly’s approval. Of historical interest, the would be mate’s owner is played by future director extraordinaire Baz Luhrmann.

 

[Mel O'Drama]

They Shoot Cows Don’t They?



For the first time, I’ve noticed the main stories are linked by a common theme. In this case, it’s ageing, and knowing when to let go or bow out gracefully.

Take poor old Pat Turner, run ragged looking after her invalid father Arty who shows no gratitude. She feels guilty at the idea of leaving him in hospital for a few days - on Terence’s orders - so they can both get some respite. Then, after he sets fire to the ward with one of his sneaky fags, she has to wrestle with the idea of him going into a home. Pat’s face was very familiar and given her look I thought it had to be either Sons and Daughters or Prisoner. Turns out she was Beth Newman in S&D (her character there is described as a prostitute, but I can barely remember anything else about her at this point).

Arty sees sense after a good talking to from respected elder Emily Page, who points out he’s been a terrible father, but he expects Pat to be a perfect daughter. Played to perfection by Aileen Britton, Emily fascinates and commands the screen, being linked to Simon through a relationship with his grandfather when they were young, she then forms a very watchable bond with Simon himself through a relationship of mutual respect.

Emily is troubled, though. Stricken with debilitating and progressive arthritis, she flatly announces at a dinner party that she plans to take a fatal overdose when things take a turn for the worse. Why, she asks, should she drag her loved ones to their early graves looking after her simply to prove she has the resilience to hang on for another couple of years, and it seems a fair point.

Then the time comes. Something I find interesting is that the writing doesn’t explore whether it’s all a cry for help rather than an earnest attempt to die. Emily has already announced her intention to die by suicide, then takes the overdose within days and into the bargain, she gives Simon - one of the people who knows of her intent - some mysterious envelopes to deliver the next day. Neither characters nor writers question whether they’re being played. It’s all taken on face value. And no matter what the motive, the outcome is a fairly happy one, with Emily’s life being saved and Simon telling her about a new medication that may help her condition. It sounds very neat, but there’s a sense that there will be a price to pay, with Emily having to come to terms with her condition and living with pain. All in all, it’s a very strong arc. Sadly, it looks like Emily won’t be back on screen, but we will get to see Aileen Britton further down the line.

Simon’s quite in demand this episode. In addition to Emily, there’s a rather superfluous sub-plot with an attractive young woman with enormous tits making frivolously unnecessary appointments with him so that he can examine her (cue choked up “You look healthy to me” lines as Simon fails to avoid gazing at her ample bosoms). Turns out the poor gal is lonely, so she’s steered towards youth clubs.

Then there’s the titular cow, destined for the knacker’s yard, she is rescued on impulse by Molly when she is looking for a guard dog at the sales yard. Then Molly quickly learns that you can’t argue with nature, and “No-Name” (so called because Brendan feels Molly will become too attached to their working animals if they name them like pets) deteriorates to the point where it’s cruel to keep her alive.

Vicky brings the shotgun, and Molly decides to do the deed herself. Only she can’t. So Brendan does.

Of course, they cast the prettiest, daintiest little cow to play No-Name, which adds to the vulnerability (and manipulation). I find myself wondering how they got the cow to act so lethargic and floppy. Was she drugged? Were there clever techniques? Or can cows, like dogs, be trained to “act”? I was particularly bothered by the imagery of this real cow with a (presumably) real shotgun pressed into her forehead, looking passively up at the camera. As an animal lover, I have to question if she knew what this meant. And how do you explain to a cow that it’s just a performance?

Anyway, along come newly engaged Bill and Sandra from the previous story, bringing an adorable calf to repay Molly for providing Sandra with a dress and makeover to impress Bill. So all’s well that ends well. For everyone except poor No-Name.

 

[Carrie Fairchild]

I’m aware that James Davern had written In General Practice as a pilot a couple of years before it came to fruition. Since this second story introduces a few new characters not seen in that first story, I find myself asking whether it’s because the pilot was (a) shot earlier or (b) was filmed alongside the series, with Davern thinking of additional characters in the intervening years. Was it always the plan to introduce more regular characters gently as the episodes unfolded, or is the second story ensemble the “series” version compared with the first episode’s “pilot” cast?

My feeling - and this is just conjecture - is that the additional characters weren’t in the original pilot script but were written into the series in the pre-planning stage, with the decision taken to leave the pilot script more or less intact and add the others in the second story.

We now see that new supporting characters (beyond the “one and done” guests) are being introduced in each story, which suggests the first episode may indeed have been produced along with the series rather than as a separate pilot.

Regarding the pilot and later introduction of ongoing characters, I've gleaned this from the Super Aussie Soap book. The pilot and subsequent season one episodes were indeed produced together. Filming began in August 1981, with the series premiering in November of that same year. While the network appear to have left the pilot script intact, it was felt that there wasn't enough characters in it to sustain an ongoing series, so further regular / recurring characters were added to the subsequent early episode scripts.

Sounds like Irish TV was at least a little more consistent than the ITV network. I think the later years were stripped this way on most ITV franchises, though. According to Wikipedia, my region showed it 5 nights a week from 17:10-17:40, which surprised me as I think of the Home and Away slot. H&A certainly started there in 1989 and I'd thought it had stayed there for most of the Nineties.

Our ITV region used to air it in the afternoons, around 2pm, before CITV would start. They dropped the show in 1998, rather randomly into the early episodes of what would be its final Seven season. I'd presume they'd bought the rights to the full season, so I don't know why they didn't see it out to the end or at least burn off the episodes in a different timeslot.

It promises to be interesting. I have much the same image of the series as this very gentle and innocuous programme that was on around 2:15pm in between bland gameshows and things like Farmhouse Kitchen. Already my eyebrow raised when Molly called her temperamental generator a "son of a bitch" at least once.

According to Wikipedia, some ITV regions didn't air episodes featuring storylines that they deemed unsuitable for daytime viewing. The only other time that I recall them doing this was when it was implied that Shannon (Isla Fisher) was in a relationship with a woman, who she subsequently moved to Paris with. I think they edited out a lot of that storyline, to the point that her onscreen departure didn't make a great deal of sense due to the amount of scenes that had been cut.

 

[Mel O'Drama]

The pilot and subsequent season one episodes were indeed produced together. Filming began in August 1981, with the series premiering in November of that same year. While the network appear to have left the pilot script intact, it was felt that there wasn't enough characters in it to sustain an ongoing series, so further regular / recurring characters were added to the subsequent early episode scripts.

Thanks for the clarification. I would have always wondered otherwise, so I appreciate it.

You're lucky to have that book. It's been on my wish list for a very long time, but I've yet to source a semi-reasonable priced copy.

They dropped the show in 1998, rather randomly into the early episodes of what would be its final Seven season. I'd presume they'd bought the rights to the full season, so I don't know why they didn't see it out to the end or at least burn off the episodes in a different timeslot.

Episode 1000 came along early in that season, so I wonder if that magic number was a factor. Like you, I would guess episodes would have been purchased by the season, but is it possible they were bought by the hundred instead? It's the only thing I can think of that would reasonably explain no more being shown after early Season Thirteen.

According to Wikipedia, some ITV regions didn't air episodes featuring storylines that they deemed unsuitable for daytime viewing.

That would have been reasonably easy to do with the format of this series. Unlike the H&A example, there would have been very little lost in continuity by skipping a two-part story here and there.

Now I'm very curious about which episodes would have been deemed unsuitable. Funnily enough, the last episode I watched had several discussions of whether or not a paraplegic man could make love, with some allusion to the mechanics of it all. One of the characters raising the discussion is the sexy Matron, who then goes above and beyond by putting theory into practice.

 

[Mel O'Drama]

Coming Home


Yet another familiar face is added to the roster with this episode. This time it’s a furry one with the arrival of Fatso the wombat, knocked down by Simon in his MGB, nursed to health by Vicky who then forces him back on Simon. Fatso is then taken to the surgery where he immediately sets about stealing every scene in which he appears.

Other animals included a pair of cats at the veterinary practice - one of which was supposed to be anaesthetised and appeared to be either under for real or dead. Then there was the distressed cow, stuck in mud who distracted Vicky while Simon was driving her to an upmarket hotel for a date. The pair ended up stripping down to their underwear so as not to ruin their glad rags while rescuing the cow. Vicky got the better deal, with a long slip under her dress, while poor Simon was more exposed in just the briefest of light blue briefs (and a bit of strategically placed mud). The cow was fine.

Marta’s horse put in a couple of appearances, first being ridden to the scene of a young man in distress while swimming in a waterhole, then later providing a hoist as part of a method devised to help the young man leave the water after his swim.

The man in question is a man already under Marta’s care, a paraplegic named Lachie Hughes (not “Lucky”, as I first thought I’d heard when his mother introduced him, which I thought was a little bold). Lachie’s mother, by the way, is played by Edna Ramsay from Neighbours (also Pippa Fletcher’s kleptomaniac mother, where her character was once again mother to a wheelchair-bound son).

Lachie begins with the almost stereotypical chip on his shoulder, which soon gives way to infatuation with Marta. She initially keeps distance between them but something I found interesting was that the question of ethics never came up. Her initial reasoning was that he wasn’t ready.

But then they share intimate conversations together, and Marta opens up to him about escaping from Hungary while her lover was not so lucky and is believed to have been shot dead. This cleared up a tantalising comment she had made in The Itinerants when Brendan had suggested the hospital should keep a gun for safety, but she forcefully rejected the idea, saying she had seen enough of guns. The fact that the conversation has gone so deep tells us something about her feelings, since she doesn’t appear to have shared this with colleagues.

The intimacy leads to a desire on both their parts to take things further and again it’s a little surprising just how on board with the idea everyone is. She is completely frank with Terence and they talk through how it will work practically (apparently the paralysis begins at the nipple line, but there is spasming in the legs which is a good sign when it comes to love making), and touch upon whether Marta herself is comfortable with it. But not once is it mentioned that as a patient of hers Lachie is considered vulnerable and the relationship inappropriate. Lachie’s father mentions in passing getting an older, less attractive Matron to tend to Lachie which will prove less distracting, but I don’t think it’s explicit that the nurse/patient relationship has ended (and even if it had… it’s still morally questionable). Indeed, Lachie’s father makes himself scarce for the night so the pair will be alone in the house (Lachie’s mother having been hospitalised with a scary lung blockage).

All apparently goes to plan, and Marta rocks up late for work the next morning, still in the same clothes and with a smile pasted on her face. Terence approves.

Then comes the clincher… things have been too successful. Lachie is so happy with the way it went, he races off to Sydney to show his old girlfriend what he can do. Cue poor lonely Matron Martha’s heart quietly breaking as she wishes him well. If one can get past the moral ambiguity, it’s really quite touching.

 

[Carrie Fairchild]

Episode 1000 came along early in that season, so I wonder if that magic number was a factor. Like you, I would guess episodes would have been purchased by the season, but is it possible they were bought by the hundred instead?

This would make sense. It was treated as a year round, 4-5 days a week serial in a lot of the UK regions initially, so I could see them block buying episodes rather than buying per season.

Now I'm very curious about which episodes would have been deemed unsuitable. Funnily enough, the last episode I watched had several discussions of whether or not a paraplegic man could make love, with some allusion to the mechanics of it all. One of the characters raising the discussion is the sexy Matron, who then goes above and beyond by putting theory into practice.

In addition to Shannon’s departure storyline, I’ve a vague recollection of ITV editing out a storyline in H&A where Duncan made a homemade bomb after reading about it online.

The pair ended up stripping down to their underwear so as not to ruin their glad rags while rescuing the cow.

If I remember correctly, this scene eventually ends up in the opening credits.

 

[Mel O'Drama]

It was treated as a year round, 4-5 days a week serial in a lot of the UK regions initially, so I could see them block buying episodes rather than buying per season.

ITV's purchasing and distribution of programmes is one of those areas that seems like a rabbit hole. I'm guessing each ITV region had different negotiations or contracts and of course each treated their imported series (especially Australian ones) very unevenly until the late Eighties (with Return To Eden a possible exception). It means we'll never truly be able to know how many people watched shows like ACP or S&D because there are no collective figures.

Then, of course, there was the year when most regions dropped ACP altogether so they could sync up on Richmond Hill.

I’ve a vague recollection of ITV editing out a storyline in H&A where Duncan made a homemade bomb after reading about it online.

That does sound like something that could have caused a little panic for ITV... especially if it was due to air at a time when it mirrored something going on in the news.

If I remember correctly, this scene eventually ends up in the opening credits.

It is the kind of scene that fits. Nothing says A Country Practice more than two doctors rolling round in a muddy cowfield.

I remember a scene with a party hat was used as the "funny" credits clip for those two when I was watching it, which probably narrows down my viewing era. I'm quietly confident it would have been somewhere around Season Four or Five.

 

[Carrie Fairchild]

Then, of course, there was the year when most regions dropped ACP altogether so they could sync up on Richmond Hill.

ITV and Richmond Hill is a funny one. Given that it was a Grundy show, and Neighbours was at the height of its popularity in the UK at the time, I understand ITV going all out to secure the rights to the series (they apparently paid £600k for it) in the hope of having a Neighbours style hit. However, them buying the rights coincided with the show being cancelled in Australia, so before it even went to air on ITV, they knew they were going to get less than a year out of it. Yet, they went to the effort of networking it and displacing shows like ACP to accommodate it. Maybe they were hoping to get a year of decent ratings out of it or maybe they felt they had to something with it, given the amount of money they spent on buying it.

 

[Mel O'Drama]

However, them buying the rights coincided with the show being cancelled in Australia, so before it even went to air on ITV, they knew they were going to get less than a year out of it. Yet, they went to the effort of networking it and displacing shows like ACP to accommodate it.

I have wondered if ITV always intended to air Richmond Hill in the daytime, or if - had the series not been cancelled in Oz - they would have had a go at the early evening, which was the big ratings hitter for Neighbours.

Of course, Home and Away began just four months after RH on ITV, so presumably that was being lined up as the great hope even before RH began airing.

Funny thing is, I have no memory of ACP being pulled. In fact, I feel quite confident I didn't begin watching it until 1989. Whether it's because my region didn't pull it or I simply began watching when it resumed I couldn't say.

 

[Mel O'Drama]

Secrets


When these episodes aired in late December 1981, Sons and Daughters was less than a month away from its first transmission. ACP seems to be serving as either a springboard or dry run for a number of actors who would have major regular roles in S&D. We’ve already had David Palmer in the pilot story. This episode features two more of the family: Beryl and John. Sadly, they don’t have scenes together as they’re in separate stories, but the connection is enough.

This got me wondering about the shooting schedules for the series. Did they match up - with each being filmed something like 4-6 weeks ahead of transmission - or did ACP, with fewer episodes and its more upmarket hour-long format, have the luxury of shooting further in advance? If the filming-to-TX time was similar for both shows, this would mean Leila Hayes and Peter Phelps practically went straight from this to S&D. And that’s not all… I’ve noticed there’s yet another key S&D cast member in the next episode coming up.

I had initially wondered if this was a way of breaking newbie Peter Phelps into television work ahead of a major role in the upcoming series, but looking at his IMDb I now realise he was fresh off a long-running role (over 600 episodes) in The Restless Years, meaning he was doing well for work. I hadn’t realised he was so experienced at the time S&D began as I’d always had the impression of him being a new “find” for that series.

Leila only appears in Part I. It’s the kind of mumsy role with which she would become associated, but here it’s distorted, with her character being so insufferably overprotective of her asthmatic son, laid back Brendan is triggered enough to give her a good talking to. It’s a strong performance from Leila who isn’t afraid to show the ugly, domineering side of motherhood.

I love that we’re still learning fragments of the main characters’ backgrounds. In a more conventional soap, we learn about characters more quickly by necessity, because the characters are the story. ACP is different because it’s frequently the one-and-done guest characters who supply the story, while the regulars react to it in ways that help us learn about them gradually. It feels we can go on for years and still be learning new facts about characters that feel completely organic.

The previous episodes had Marta talking about her past. Here it’s Brendan. The way Mrs Burns is with her asthmatic son reminds him of his own mother, who had behaved the same way with Brendan’s asthmatic brother, making him so dependent upon his inhaler and her that he ended up dying. There’s a strong message in there about the way mental outlook can impact recovery for better or worse. By episode’s end, Mrs Burns seems to have got the message.

That same theme of outlook impacting result runs through the other stories in these episodes. When Maurie Wilson’s bus is seen at the scene of an accident, Maurie denies being there most convincingly. His son, newly returned to Wandin Valley and played by Phelps - is very eager to be a bus driver but Maurie won’t let him near the bus. I really thought I knew where this was going.

Then Maurie has a seizure, and it emerges he is in such strong denial, he just continues with his business, risking his life and the life of townspeople. Simon is the regular most involved, and takes it upon himself to hound Maurie into reasonableness. It works of a fashion.

continued...​

 

[Mel O'Drama]

Secrets

continued


The most haunting variation on the theme comes with Jan Hardy, the wife of a prominent town councillor, played by Maggie Dence (best known to me as Dorothy Burke from Neighbours). Hers is a car involved in the same accident as Maurie’s bus and she is admitted to hospital after a clear breathalyser test to treat her injuries. She insists upon leaving too soon, but soon reappears, visibly drunk and upset. Then she begins coughing up blood.

Since Terence’s alcohol dependence still seems to be up in the air, there’s a low key air of hypocrisy to him being the one to challenge both Jan and her husband her over the fact that they won’t face up to her problem. It’s a nice little touch that Terence can be seen pouring himself a glass of whisky here and there in ostensibly unrelated scenes - something he has been doing consistently but subtly through the entire season. We’re not even told anything about Terence here. We’re simply shown, and if it registers, it registers.

There’s a scene late in Part II which is touching in itself, but even more poignant in hindsight. Jan’s husband visits her hospital bedside, clearly disinterested in being there and seems set to leave after around twenty seconds. She reaches for his hand, evidently frightened, telling him he doesn’t have to go, and he says he can stay a few minutes more. That’s when someone comes into the room, and John takes the opportunity to extricate himself, pointedly removing her hand from his in the process. Minutes later, Jan haemorrhages and is unable to be saved.

The visual of the staff working on her, face, clothes and bedding covered in blood is the grimmest, most visceral medical scene yet. It’s certainly the bloodiest. Paired with the two seizures we see Maurie have, it’s a grim episode all round.

And it doesn’t end there. There’s also the spate of animal poisonings, with strychnine being used to kill seven local dogs. And it’s not just dogs affected. Molly finds a dead Joey.

I must say, I do wonder about the very still animals used in this series. We’ve already seen it whenever Vicky does surgery. The animals are clearly real and also evidently not conscious. Are they subjecting animals to risky anaesthesia for realism in our entertainment? Are they sourcing dead dogs and kangaroos? Or, god forbid, are they killing animals to use? Am I watching the world’s longest-running snuff series? Considering the series’ focus on animal lovers, I like to hope it’s just very effective techniques fooling me.

As to the identity of the poisoner. I’m pleased to say I called it in their one and only scene ahead of the reveal, which had a major red flag. When Vicky is warning locals of the poisoner, she speaks to a woman with a cat who says she always keeps her cat indoors since her other cat died. The line could have been a nice little detail that meant nothing, but I saw Chekhov’s Gun at work, and since the poisoner was targeting dogs…

Still, the reveal is nicely done, with the woman taking her poisoned cat to Vicky distraught because she thought she’d thrown all the poison away. There’s also a little irony to the fact that the cat is saved while none of the dogs could be. I’m not sure quite how to feel as it leans a little into the mad cat lady trope, but there is at least some sympathy to be garnered from understanding that she’d seen her cat torn apart by dogs.

Vicky’s revenge is interesting. She simply adds the cost of replacement dogs for those killed onto the bill to save the cat. It’s pay up or get turned in, and Vicky is paid.

I’ve grown a little weary of the way Shirley treats Frank. Their sparring feels very one-sided. He’s straight down the line with her, and she’s quite consistently being a bit of a bitch to him. I can see it may be the “treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen” thing which is as truthful as it is ugly. One sees this behaviour and it’s never attractive (Vicky seems to have inherited this trait), or perhaps they’re going for a Hepburn/Tracy-type tension. It’s just beginning to feel tedious.

In these episodes it was taken to the Nth degree, with Shirley refusing a breathalyser or produce her driving licence in the wake of the car accident (yes, she’s involved, too). Her pointless bloody-mindedness is amped way up to the point of seeming almost out of character. At one point, almost the entire main cast (I think Molly is the only absentee) is at the hospital trying to convince her to see reason while there are patients going unseen. The whole thing got dragged out for two episodes, and ends with her being even more self-righteous when Maurie is proved to be the cause. Not that she was being accused in the first place.

 

[Mel O'Drama]

Alternatives

I’ve grown a little weary of the way Shirley treats Frank. Their sparring feels very one-sided. He’s straight down the line with her, and she’s quite consistently being a bit of a bitch to him. I can see it may be the “treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen” thing which is as truthful as it is ugly. One sees this behaviour and it’s never attractive (Vicky seems to have inherited this trait)

Almost immediately, the series has highlighted this. In the course of this episode, Vicky reprimanded Shirley over her dismissive treatment of Frank. Vicky, too, has been criticised for her own treatment of Simon. It’s gratifying that the characters acknowledge this frustration and diffuses my own as a viewer.

Vicky found some competition for Simon in the form of an old friend of Molly’s from the city, model Bianca Forbes-Hamilton. Nebulous, vain, entitled and shallow, Bianca is kind of a proto Charlie Bartlett, with a dash of some of those comic characters who would later appear in Neighbours or Home and Away (think H&A’s Marilyn).

ACP gets plenty of mileage from poking fun of her in these two episodes. She totters round the farm in high heels, driving Brendan to distraction with her name-dropping and “fabulous”es. She’s chased flat on to her face when trying to feed Doris the pig. When Vicky realises she’s after Simon, she gets her revenge by “kindly” offering to take Bianca on her rounds to see some cute fluffy animals. Then she takes her to a calf being birthed. Just when Bianca is on the verge of throwing up, Vicky emerges from the barn and asks if she wants to come and see the cow eating the placental bag before they go for afternoon tea… which finishes the job. Bianca heaves over the fence while Vicky watches in satisfied amusement. The final indignity for poor Bianca came when Molly took her advice and put kerosene in the outside loo to clean it… but neglected to warn Bianca in time when she went out there with her morning cigarette in hand. You wouldn’t think daft scenes of someone getting comically blown up would work in between some of the heavier scenes in this episode, but it feels wonderfully balanced and the Bianca material is a genuinely funny diversion. It’s even a little disappointing that this is the last we’ll see of Bianca, if not actress Tina Bursill.

With the whole business helping Vicky take Simon a little less for granted, Shirley is similarly encouraged to do the same. She also overhears a conversation between two men asking why women can’t simply be direct about what they want and cut out the manipulation. Her response to this, and her concession of an olive branch to Frank, is to fake a puncture so that Frank will stop and help her. It’s something, I suppose, though I did like the ending we almost got when Frank drove by without stopping, before changing his mind and reversing.

The theme of bickering couples who have taken one another for granted continues in the story of an older couple, former loves reunited after many decades when both end up staying in the hospital. It’s a sweet story, sold with the use of quotes from John Shaw Neilson (who receives a special credit over the end titles.

Notably, as one of the poems was read, I recognised the music to be that flutey romantic piece used when John had his dreams about Angela in early Sons and Daughters. As if it’s not surreal enough that John had appeared in the previous story, the woman to whom the poetry is read here is Lily, played by none other than Pat McDonald - weeks before she (and the flutey tune) would launch that series.

Continuing the degrees of separation, Pat’s former Number 96 co-star Bettina Welch (the former nasty Maggie Cameron). Bettina plays a controlling grandparent who believes his mother and her new partner aren’t suitable parents. We get a sense of her character, Mavis Carmody, when she marches imperiously into the surgery and makes demands of Terence. When he refuses to examine her grandson without the mother’s consent, she drags her grandson along to Simon who obliges. What none of them know at first is that the grandson has acute leukaemia and - after months of treatments in hospital - the mother has opted to go the alternative medicine route knowing that he is going to die anyway. Finding this out drives Mavis to push harder and push her hotshot lawyer son to go for custody of the son in whom he’s shown no interest.

Where this gets really gripping is when Terence gets dragged into things. Somewhat reluctantly, he agrees to testify on behalf of the child’s mother if needed, so Mavis’s son digs up dirt on him and tries to use it as leverage. This pushes Terence into getting drunk and crying in despair. In a brilliant touch, we’re still not given details of Terence’s background. It’s evident that Marta knows, but Simon is bewildered and is told only that Terence had badly let down a child in the course of his duties.

Sobering up, Terence goes to tell Mavis he has every intention of testifying, no matter what the consequences. Independently of this, Simon pays Mavis’s son a visit out of loyalty to Terence, and makes a threat of his own involving a powerful relative of his own who is an even more powerful lawyer. Mavis, though, tells Simon she has already made up her mind and what he has said has no bearing on her decision which turns out to be the right one. It’s somewhat predictable to a jaded viewer, but no less satisfying an ending for it.