At first, the death of Ella Barnes looks like a simple case of drowning – but Mrs Sinkins (Wynne Clark) isn’t convinced.  She’s a member of the women’s protective league and had persuaded Ella to give evidence at a House of Lords enquiry into sweated labour.  Could the girl have been murdered to prevent her from attending?  Cork and Marriott venture into the slums of the East End to find out the truth.

Ella had worked at a sweat shop run by Brandel (Robert Cartland) who tells them that she was the ringleader of a recent strike.  All the other girls were fired and replaced with even cheaper (non English) labour but Brandel, for some reason, chose to take Ella back.

Although Brandel’s workshop is a pretty desperate place, Cork doesn’t rush to condemn him.  “In a way he’s just as much a victim as the people he employs. Brandel and the thousands like him who run these workshops don’t think they’re doing anything wrong. To turn out a cheap product you’ve got to have cheap labour. If you don’t turn out a cheap product you don’t survive.”

The cheapness of life is made clear after Cork speaks to several of Ella’s former work-mates.  One of them, Barbara Ellis (Rosemary Ashford), tells the Sergeant that she’s known several girls who’ve been fished out of the docks, so finds it hard to express sorrow over Ella’s death.  Mrs Brandel (Isa Miranda) later sums up the hopelessness of East End life.  “Work, work, work, for what? To eat, then more work. Maybe she’s more happy where she is. There is not much happiness here.”

Like many of the episodes we’ve already seen, as the victim is dead at the start of the episode Cork and Marriott (as well as the audience) have to build up a picture of them from the testimony of witnesses.  Whether they’re a saint or sinner will be determined from the facts they can uncover.  The news that Ella was four months pregnant, and her husband Alfred Barnes (James Kerry) had been absent for six, could be a vital clue (or it could just be a red herring).

The Case of Ella Barnes, like the earlier episode The Case of the Soldier’s Rifle, has a light dusting of social history (poor working conditions) but once again this is subordinate to the whodunnit part of the story and it’s true that Eric Paice’s script never quite succeeds in developing the misery and desperation of the sweat shops as fully as they could have been.  The guest cast is decent, although there’s a lack of stand-out performances.  But the solution to the mystery is well handled – the identity of the guilty party seems obvious, but things are not always as they seem ……

This is a fairly run of the mill episode then, although it’s enlivened by the usual high-quality production design (designer Anthony Waller creates a series of dock-based workshops in the studio very effectively) and there’s also some nice banter between Cork and Bob.

The army are called in to keep the peace during an industrial dispute – but when one of the strikers is shot dead it falls to Cork to investigate.  However, what appears to be a straightforward case turns out to be much more complicated.

Cork is the only man for the job, according to Supt. Nelson.  This irritates Inspector Bird who offers to lead the investigation himself – the way Nelson hurriedly turns down his kind offer is a clear indication that Bird (whilst Cork’s superior in rank) is decidedly his inferior as a police officer!  After Cork leaves, Bird has to grudgingly admit that he’s a decent officer, but believes (as does the audience, no doubt) that his abrasive manner will not go down well with the army bigwigs.  Nelson does give Bird another reason as to why he chose Cork.  Apart from his undoubted investigative qualities, Cork’s public profile continues to rise and his verdict, when reprinted in the newspapers, will carry more weight than most.  It’s another indication that the Sergeant enjoys something of a celebrity status, although it’s not something he trades on.

Like Cork and Marriott, the audience comes to the investigation with no knowledge as to exactly what happened.  Although the episode opens with the strikers confronting the army, when the shot was fired the camera was elsewhere.  Was the murdered man an agitator (as Major Edwards says), in the wrong place at the wrong time or killed for another reason?  Edwards (Basil Henson) makes his position clear from the start.  “The army doesn’t have to give reasons for what it does, it conducts its own investigations and I advise you to leave well alone before you find yourself in trouble. Clear?”  No surprise that Cork isn’t at all intimidated and instead continues to ask questions.

The murdered man, Strong, had been keen to stand up for his rights.  His brother Alf (John Boyd-Bent) makes this point forcibly to Cork and the union leader Ned Fisher (Charles Morgan) agrees (Morgan would become a very familiar face in the later run of the series, he returned for a lengthy spell as Supt Rodway).  The resentment felt between the workers and the management is spelled out by Fisher.  The workers were striking for an extra four-pence a day – and with the fruits of their labours (luxury furniture) being sold for a healthy profit, this seems a reasonable request.

Although Major Edwards and Cork didn’t exactly hit it offer when they first met, they do reach a rapprochement after Cork proves that the private soldier who claimed to have shot Strong couldn’t have done so.  Strong was killed by a revolver bullet, not one fired from a rifle, and the soldier had lied to cover up that he’d lost his rifle in the melee.  So could the factory owner Charles Robinson (Neil Arden) be responsible?  His dislike of Strong was well known and his death certainly seemed to meet with his approval.  If not Robinson, then Cork will have to cast his net even wider – maybe one of Strong’s fellow strikers pulled the trigger?

It’s probably not too surprising that the murderer turned out to be someone close to home – Cork was a fairly traditional series and a straightforward theme of social unrest would have been rather outside the series’ remit.  Instead, we have a reasonably satisfying whodunit with a light dusting of social history (poor working conditions, the army called in to keep the peace, etc).

The Case of Soldier’s Rifle was the second of two scripts by Bill Macllwraith (the first was The Case of the Two Drowned Men).  Interestingly, Macllwraith would later work on another Victorian detective series – Cribb.  Based on the novels by Peter Lovesey, it would be easy to imagine that Lovesey had been influenced by Cork (although he’s never said so).  But for anyone who enjoys Cork, Cribb is also well worth your time.

John Boyd-Bent (Alf) gives a rather broad performance, as does Jane Wenham as Strong’s widow, Ivy.  I wonder if this was more down to Macllwraith’s scripting, since The Case of the Two Drowned Men also had its fair share of histrionics?  The whodunit angle isn’t as satisfying as some of the other episodes, as the characters aren’t as well drawn (so don’t invite our sympathy or interest) but it’s still an amiable enough way to spend fifty minutes.

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.