By all accounts Mr Bertram was a pious, god-fearing man – so why did he commit suicide?  Cork is asked to investigate and discovers that even the most respectable-looking people can have secrets …..

The Case of the Respectable Suicide allows us to take a peek behind the veneer of Victorian respectability.  Although our first sight of Bertram is his lifeless body, the reading of his will allows the audience to grasp his character very quickly.  To his servants he leaves an engraved bible and five shillings to be donated to the charity of their choice.  To his estranged wife Sarah (Joy Stewart) he bequeaths his “bible and instruments of self discipline in the earnest hope that inspired by the one and spurred on by the other she may yet turn away from the life she has led and stand before the throne of judgement a repentant sinner.”

The main beneficiary of Bertram’s will is his housekeeper Mrs Holland (Diana King) who is left the house and the residue of his estate.  This is a powerful motive for murder, although Sarah must also be considered since Bertram refused her a divorce and she’s been “living in sin” for the past five years.  But his death means that she’s now free to remarry.

Bertram wasn’t quite the man he seemed to be though.  Just before he died he’d read the front page of a scandal magazine called The Pillory which had a headline alleging he’d assaulted a child twenty years ago.  The facts beyond this are never elaborated upon, although several characters read on and express various emotions.  The owner of The Pillory, the Reverend Septimus Barrow (Norman Scace), is an interesting chap.  He maintains that he prints such stories in order to smite the Lord’s enemies whilst the cynical Cork is of the opinion that he runs nothing more than a crude blackmail operation.  This front page never made it to press, so Cork wonders if it had been given to Bertram to encourage him pay hush money in order to suppress it.

It’s possible to view Bertram as a hypocrite – keeping a public face of piety whilst hiding this skeleton in his cupboard.  But his estranged wife Sarah shows true Christian compassion towards him.  She’s suffered more than most from his actions, but has come to see that he’d spent the last twenty years attempting to make amends for his one lapse.  Unfortunately he chose to do this in such a harsh and uncompromising way that he’d poisoned their marriage almost as soon as it had begun.

Diana King was an incredibly experienced actress with numerous television and film credits.  She’s very watchable as Mrs Holland, someone who appears to have much in common with the respectable Mr Bertram.  Although it’ll probably come as no surprise to learn that she has secrets as well ….

Stand-out performance in the episode though comes from June Watts as Betram’s maid Polly Read.  Watts only had a handful of credits between 1961 and 1966 and it’s a mystery why she never enjoyed a much longer career.  It’s clear that Polly knows more about matters than she’s letting on and from the time Cork enters the house he plays with her, rather like a cat plays with a mouse.  This is first seen after he observes her listening at the keyhole during the will reading – he proceeds to question her in the hallway and every time he asks a question he moves towards her, forcing the girl to retreat.  It’s an effective way of making what would otherwise be a fairly static scene into something more visually interesting.  Later, Bob catches her trying to burn the scandal paper and she’s marched off to the station for questioning.  Once she’s told them all she knows we see Cork’s softer side as he throws her a coin for her bus fare home.  Although Polly is a fairly conventionally written character, Watts makes something of the role and certainly lifts the story up a level.

At the start of the episode we meet Inspector Bird (Arnold Diamond).  Bird has nothing to do with the main story, but it’s the first time we’ve seen any of Cork’s superiors and it’ll come as no surprise to learn that he enjoys an uneasy relationship with the testy Sergeant.  Bird is presented as a bean-counter – always fretting that too much money is being spent – whilst Cork bemoans the fact that lack of resources are hampering his investigations.  That Bird has no confidence in Cork’s progressive attitude is made clear when the Inspector tells him that microscopes don’t catch villains, policemen do.

This was the first of Julian Bond’s eight scripts for the series.  Bond would contribute to many popular series of the era (The Saint, Ghost Squad, Redcap, Public Eye, Armchair Theatre, Out of the Unknown, Upstairs Downstairs) and this story is up to his usual high standard.  Possibly not the most taxing mystery ever, but it’s a joy to watch for several reasons – not least for the continuing relationship between Cork and his willing young disciple Marriott.

Kate Seymour (Eira Heath) is a music-hall performer who’s caught the attention of the Hon. James Stratton (Michael Meacham).  Stratton is infatuated with the girl and plans to marry her, much to the dismay of his well-heeled friends (one of whom warns him that “you can’t make a napkin out of a dishcloth”).  And those closest to Kate, such as her mother Bessy (played by Cicely Courtneidge), are just as keen to put a spike in their union.  Bessy has a low opinion of the male of the species anyway, bluntly telling her daughter that “if you look hard enough you’ll find something rotten in all of them.”  The delivery of anonymous letters to Kate, alleging a string of infidelities on Stratton’s part, is clearly designed to break up their intended marriage and the infuriated Stratton sets off to request the cooperation of the police.

The Good Old Days (BBC, 1953- 1983) painted an unforgettable (if rather idealised) picture of the Victorian/Edwardian musical hall and The Case of the Stage-Door Johnnie taps into a similar nostalgic atmosphere.  Presumably it was lack of budget that prevented Cork from filming in a real theatre (and even if they had, no doubt they would have struggled to hire enough extras to make it look full) so they had to recreate it in the studio.  It’s a decent effort, although a little suspension of disbelief is required.

Part one is set in and around the theatre and is notable for the absence of Cork and Marriott.  But it does enable Stratton and Kate to be brought into sharp focus as well as giving Cicely Courtneidge some pithily delivered lines.  We also see a young David Burke, who plays Arthur Stephens – one of Kate’s old flames.  Some twenty years later Burke would return to the Victorian era to play Dr Watson to Jeremy Brett’s Sherlock Holmes.

When we eventually get to see Cork, he begins by ranting at the hapless Chalky.  “Do you know the crime figures are rising? Do you realise we’re hampered, harassed and neglected? Do you realise we fight on so that you and your family can sleep safe in your bed at night? And you tell me that you’re too busy to make the tea?”  But there’s a sense that his treatment of the unfortunate Chalky is done with his tongue in his cheek (although whether Chalky sees it the same way is another matter!)

If his bad mood was genuine then it seems to have dissipated by the time he meets Kate.  He apologies that he’s got a piece of stickjaw toffee stuck in his teeth and offers her some for later.  They both rhapsodise about favourite sweets, with Cork telling her that “a lady in Chapel Street I know makes them, all home made. Humbugs, winter warmers, acid drops …”  Their chit-chat is only brought to an end when Stratton gently reminds Cork that they’ve come to the theatre on business.  It’s yet another nice character moment for Barrie.

Cork’s continuing disdain for the niceties of the social hierarchy is demonstrated during his interview with Stratton’s friend Lord George Creighton (Jeremy Longhurst).  Creighton, not happy with the tone of the interview, asks Cork to remember who he’s talking to.  “Personally I don’t care a damn who you are” responds the Sergeant.  Remarkably Creighton isn’t too upset at this sharp retort and goes on to say that Stratton shouldn’t marry outside of his own social strata – he believes that to do so would help to weaken the aristocracy’s bloodline.  Creighton is something of a hypocrite, he’s happy to sample the joys of working class girls but wouldn’t ever consider marrying one of them.

The Case of the Stage-Door Johnnie is a fairly low-key story, but Sergeant Cork wasn’t a series that always had to have a serious crime at its heart.  Cork deduces who wrote the letters and after he confronts them is happy to consider the matter closed.  Richard Harris (later to co-create Shoestring amongst many other notable credits) provided his one and only script for Cork and it’s a well-observed character piece.  Courtneidge tends to steal the show as the indomitable Bessy, keen to live her own dreams through the success of her daughter, but Eira Heath also impresses as Kate.  We’re later told that Kate is never going to be the next Marie Lloyd (despite what her mother thinks) and Heath has to tread a fine line to show that Kate is a competent, but not outstanding, performer.  Michael Mecham has less of a sharply-defined role, but does the best that he can whilst David Burke is far from subtle, but entertaining, as Arthur Stephens.  Another good episode.

Cork and Marriott venture into the countryside to investigate the murder of Lady Langford.  Her husband, General Sir Gerald Langford (Brewster Mason), is a distinguished old solider, whilst his late wife was much younger (and had previously been an actress).  After viewing where the body had been found the pair venture to Langford’s palatial house and begin to peel away the layers of this intriguing mystery.

Cork’s check suit (presumably it’s his country wear) is a sight to behold.  But whilst his appearance is a little distracting, Cork’s analytical skills remain just as sharp in the country as they are on the streets of London.  Sir Gerald is convinced that his wife was killed by a mysterious madman, but Cork is quick to contradict him – he believes that the murderer will be found much closer to home.  A little later Cork outlines his detective’s philosophy to Marriott. “You have to cultivate a mind that traps details like a spider’s web snares flies. And always work on the assumption that things are never quite what you think they’re going to be.”  Rather delightfully he breaks off from his monologue to wonder if he’s becoming pompous in his old age, telling Marriott that if so then Bob has his permission to boot him up the backside!

The General is wheelchair bound, so that seems to eliminate him, but he has a house-guest (the mysterious Jean-Pierre Ducane) who seems a likely suspect.  British-born Robert Arnold, playing Ducane, sports a very broad French accent.  British actors playing every nationality under the sun were very common during this era of television, but if you think he’s going rather over the top there’s a clever twist later on which explains why.

Brewster Mason is rather odd casting as Langford.  The General is presumably supposed to be in his sixties, but Mason was only in his early forties when this was made.  A fake beard and wig aren’t really enough to sell the illusion that this is an elderly man, especially when the camera favours him with close-ups that show his unlined face.

Director Anthony Kearey adds a few flourishes to the production.  A particularly memorable shot is that of Ducane, as seen though the barrel of Langford’s rifle.  Apart from a few brief scenes elsewhere, the bulk of the story takes place in Langford’s house (which is attractively decorated with mementos from the General’s time in India).

So this is effectively a country house murder mystery – and in time honoured fashion it concludes with Cork gathering all the members of the household together before revealing the murderer’s identity.  This was Jon Manchip White’s sole writing credit for Cork, which is a pity as The Case of the Knotted Scarf is a very decent murder-mystery with an unexpected ending.  Since there aren’t that many suspects it’s possible to have a stab at working out who the murderer is (although I have to confess that I didn’t get it right!).

Sergeant Cork is an excellent example of just how good a mid sixties studio-bound VT series can be.  Running for a total of sixty six episodes, it was made on something of a production treadmill – the first production block of forty episodes ran from April 1963 to September 1964.  Following a break, there was a second production block of twenty six episodes which were recorded between March 1965 and March 1966.

This meant that an episode would have to have been designed, rehearsed and recorded every two weeks.  Given the relentless nature of the production process it’s remarkable that the quality of the series remained as high as it did.  There are, naturally enough, some lesser episodes over the run, but the general quality remained very high.

A major part of its success has to be down to the two main regulars, Cork (John Barrie) and Bob Marriott (William Gaunt).  Barrie is always incredibly watchable and manages to highlight many facets of Cork’s character over the duration of the series.  Cork is a crusader and an innovator, with a highly developed sense of justice.  Bob is initially a bewildered intruder into Cork’s world, but quickly develops an a wry sense of humour and becomes a perfect foil for the unpredictable sergeant.

Sergeant Cork is set in the late Victorian era, at the time when science was beginning to make a breakthrough in the detection of crime.  In some ways Cork isn’t too dissimilar from Sherlock Holmes – since he also was keen to find scientific ways to fight crime.  And they also both live for their work (there’s no Mrs Cork, for example)

Bob has decided on a career in the police force.  It’s interesting that he can just turn up for an interview with Superintendent Nelson (John Richmond) and find himself working as a detective the same day.  But Nelson does explain that recruiting people into the detective branch has been difficult.  “Some people, you see, regard the CID as an experiment, some regard it as a failure and very few regard it as important.”  He decides to assign Bob to Sergeant Cork.

Our first sight of Cork sees him using his long-suffering general factotum Chalky White (Freddie Fowler) as a guinea pig (Cork is testing various methods of taking fingerprints).  He mentions to Bob that the Americans have been using fingerprint identification for several years and the possibilities of introducing such a system in Britain clearly both intrigues and stimulates him.

With an air of absent-minded enthusiasm, Cork’s character is quickly defined – he’s somebody who is quick to embrace any scientific advance in the fight against crime. But since Superintendent Nelson has already told Bob that the CID is not highly regarded, it’s plain that Cork (due to his unorthodox methods) will face a struggle to convince others that he’s not simply a crank.

In these early scenes, Bob finds himself bewildered by Cork’s tangential enthusiasm and it takes a little while before he’s able to find his bearings and settle in.  To begin with he’s not even sure what case they’re supposed to be investigating – until Cork eventually explains.

After Mr Oxley dies in his bed, the question has to be, was it suicide or murder?  Suspicion falls on his beautiful young widow Julie Oxley (Jean Trend).  But Dr Cato (Peter Halliday) reports to the inquest that he found traces of chloroform in Oxley’s stomach and from this declares that the man took his own life.  For the local police this seems to close the case, but Cork is far from convinced and he’s quite forthright (in a manner that will be become very familiar) in making this clear to Superintendent Bradnock (Gerald Case).  Cork is no respecter of seniority and isn’t at all cowed by Bradnock’s initial hostility.

John Barrie hits the ground running.  His questioning of Mr Oxley’s mother Kate (Hilda Barry) is a classic scene.  Although Cork gives the impression of being an affable sort, his cross-examination shows that he can also be ruthless.  Whilst Mrs Oxley professes a deep love for her son (and also makes it clear that she believes he was murdered by his wife) Cork is relentless in exposing the fact that she held her son in contempt.

Suspicion falls on Clive Graham (Christopher Guinee) after he’s spotted throwing a bottle of chloroform away.  Graham runs the cafe owned by Mr and Mrs Oxley and certainly seems to be on intimate terms with Mrs Oxley.  But Mrs Oxley appears to be heavily implicated as well – despite her tearful protestations of innocence to Cork.

Jean Trend (a familiar face from the likes of Emergency Ward 10 and Doomwatch) gives a good performance as Julie Oxley.  Mrs Oxley’s histrionics are impressive, but they cut no ice with the suspicious Cork.  Another actor who’s instantly recognisable is Peter Halliday as Dr Cato.  Halliday didn’t often use a Welsh accent (despite being Welsh-born) so The Case of the Reluctant Widow is something of a rarity.

With a final surprising revelation, this is a very decent opening episode.  It’s a pity that the existing telerecording (like most of the series one episodes) is rather hacked about (the adcaps have been very clumsily edited out) but that’s only a minor niggle.