The Adventurers Handbook

For many children of the 1970s and 80s, Christopher Lillicrap is an instantly recognisable name. Starting off with Playboard in 1975, Lillicrap would go on to front other series such as We’ll Tell You a Story, Flicks and Busker, whilst also writing for Rainbow and Fimbles.

So surely I, of all people, should have been aware of him. But I wasn’t. Somehow, as a child devotee of all things television, he completely passed me by. It was only when I started delving deeper into British television that I discovered who he was.

Archive television is a vast landscape, though, so there are plenty of excuses for my ignorance. Anyway, Lillicrap, eh? The kind of name guaranteed to cause titters amongst children, but it turns out he was also a highly accomplished performer. Capable of presenting, playing the guitar and singing, his was a talent perfectly formed to slot effortlessly into children’s television of the era.

I don’t think Curious British Telly has ever covered any untransmitted pilots, but this is all set to change today. I’ve managed to track down an untransmitted pilot featuring, and written by, Christopher Lillicrap. Produced by Television South West in 1989, the pilot of The Adventurers Handbook never made it to air and didn’t result in a full series. But what exactly was The Adventurers Handbook all about? And did audiences miss out on a classic?

Firstly, let me tell you how I managed to watch The Adventurers Handbook, as I hate the thought of you assuming I broke into an archive (or Christopher Lillicrap’s garage) at midnight and stole it. Instead, I found it lurking on the BFI Replay service. Since its initial launch, it's benefitted from a few new additions, but it’s still light years behind the offerings available at the BFI Mediatheque. However, The Adventurers Handbook was now on there, so its extreme obscurity was of great interest to Curious British Telly.

So, The Adventurers Handbook. I guess it can best be summed up as an endless stream of Christmas cracker jokes. Naturally, it’s more than that. Well, a little more than that. The premise is that Lillicrap plays Ivor Nautilus Trepid (I N Trepid for those at the back), an eccentric, possibly ex-naval captain who lives in a treehouse cluttered with exotic memorabilia. Mr Trepid has written The Adventurers Handbook, the book that gets you out of a scrape when you’re in a jam.

Except, it doesn’t act as an instructional guide at all. In fact, I’m not even sure why it features, as the majority of the content comes from the various segments sprinkled throughout the programme.

The Frantic Phone In finds people calling in to set up a corny gag (“I think I’m a fly” - “Well, buzz off!”). The letters section has Lillicrap donning a blonde curly wig to play Miss Adventure, reading out letters that once again provide a setup and payoff (“I’d like to know what lies at the bottom of the sea and shivers” - “A nervous wreck!”). There’s also Wonders of the World, which promises to reveal such wonders as a man-eating fish, which is literally just a man eating some cod.

It is, as you can see, incredibly corny. Children do, of course, love a corny joke, and my nine-year-old daughter is clear evidence that this relationship hasn’t changed in the 37 years since The Adventurers Handbook was recorded. However, despite the great energy on display, the concept is very one-note. Something like The Joke Machine on ITV had far more variety going for it, hence why it ran for four series. The Adventurers Handbook needs something else, probably sketches, to provide a palate cleanser between the relentless gags.

If one thing does stand out about The Adventurers Handbook, it’s that the real strength lies in Lillicrap’s performance. Taking on all the characters, with a wide range of accents and personalities, you can’t doubt his dedication to the pilot. This isn’t surprising, as he was also the co-writer, along with Colin Davis. Sadly, for everyone involved, Lillicrap’s performance wasn’t enough to carry the pilot over the finish line and into a full series. Instead, it joined countless other pilots on the commissioning scrapheap.

Did it deserve a full series? I can’t say it did, as it feels too throwaway, especially when there were so many more interesting and innovative programmes on Children’s ITV at the time, such as News at Twelve, Erasmus Microman and Knightmare. The Adventurers Handbook may not be a lost classic, and its flaws are hard to ignore, but it remains an intriguing showcase for Christopher Lillicrap’s talents. And, for that alone, it deserves rediscovering.