CHAPTER TWO: The battle with Radio Atlanta.

     Anchored three and a half miles off Felixstowe, Suffolk, and with our 168 foot mast, we gained immediate attention from passing ships and people on shore. Yes, we were strange. We were a new mark on the ocean horizon. The tall mast made our ship look unique. I felt it had an appearance of grandeur, it was a visual statement, but more so, it was a huge audio statement. We were definitely here. Our music blasted through the barricades of the British establishment's music censorship. We were about freedom. At this time there was still concern about rock 'n' roll. Rock 'n' roll seemed to encourage a freedom that was unpredictable, from Elvis' undulating hips, to the sexual implications of the beat. Until that Easter Sunday in 1964 when we went on the air, Britain had only thirty minutes of pop music a week from the BBC Light Programme and an evening of crackley music broadcasting from Radio Luxembourg, a radio station that played only a one minute taste of each record. And then, suddenly, because of us, there was rock 'n' roll galore. And not only that, we were a bunch of young guys, full of life, and willing to risk everything on the high seas to share this music. Ronan was only twenty four and some of us were younger. In Westminster and Whitehall there was a lot of head shaking, tut-tutting and finger wagging but the music was our boss, not the British government. Our way was for expression and freedom, for life and fun.

The M.V. Mi Amigo

     A few weeks after we went on the air our supremacy was challenged. I had just finished an on-air show, with the last number being Good Golly Miss Molly by the Swinging Blue Jeans, when I looked out the porthole and there, close by, large against the horizon, was another ship with a tall mast. Was this another broadcasting ship, I wondered.
     I went running up to the bridge. Simon Dee and the captain were looking out to sea with binoculars. “What ship is that?” I asked.
“I'm not sure” said Simon “but they have a very tall mast.”
Looking to the captain, I said, “How about getting them on the radio and finding out who they are? And what they are doing here next to us.”
     The captain picked up the radio phone and said “This is M.V. Fredericia of Radio Caroline, the captain speaking. Do you read me?”
From the speaker coming through loud and clear, we heard “Yes, we read you. This is M.V. Mi Amigo of Radio Atlanta.”
     I felt a rush in my belly. My mind was rushing through many questions. I thought “What the hell's happening?” Without a second thought I took the microphone from the captain and asked “Who is Radio Atlanta? Where are you from?”
“We're from Australia.”
“Thanks” I said. “OK. Over and out.”

Captain Mackay with disc-jockey Chris Moore (left)

     I felt stunned. What was going on? We were meant to be the king. We owned the waves. What was another radio ship doing here? And so close - only three miles away. Something's not right I thought. I turned to the Captain and said “Radio Atlanta from Australia? We'd better get Ronan on the line quickly.”
     Simon was staring out at the ship and then, before we could move, the radio came alive. “This is Ronan. Caroline, do you read me?”
I grabbed the radio phone. “Yes! This is Tom. Good you called. We were just about to call you.”
“There is a ship near to you. Can you see it?” asked Ronan.
“Yes” I said. “They say they are M.V. Mi Amigo. Radio Atlanta from Australia. What's going on?”
“I know.”
“Who are these guys” I asked “and why are they anchoring next to us?”
“Well, Tommy baby, we've got competition. Another radio ship is going to start broadcasting in a few days.”
“In a few days!!” I said with exasperation. “In a few days?”
“And they're going to be broadcasting only three miles away from us!”
“Three miles” I shouted “That's going to confuse everyone.” Now I was annoyed.
“It already has confused our potential advertisers.” Ronan replied. “There is a hold on all advertising until they can determine which one of us has the larger audience.”
“For God sakes Ronan. We've been on the air just a few weeks and we've already got competition from Australia? Who is this Radio Atlanta guy anyway?”
“Look, cool it, Tommy baby. It's OK. The man's name is Allan Crawford.”
“Allan Crawford?” I started to remember. “I know. That's the publisher and record company owner from Australia.” I remembered Ronan mentioning his name before about some other ship at Greenore, when he was rigging out Radio Caroline. But I had thought no more about it. “What are you going to do now?” I asked.
“I've called for a meeting with Allan Crawford. But for now, you go on with the show. We've got to keep our listeners in the pink. That's all that matters.”
“OK Ronan, we'll give them a hell of a fight.”

Radio Atlanta letter heading (from the Offshore Multimedia CDROM)

     And in that moment, from a distant speaker, came our radio music, the Beatles with Can't Buy Me Love.
     Now there was a new tension in the air. An unknown. A feeling of uncertainty. We had stormed into a wide open field where the desires of much of the population of Great Britain were not being satisfied. Where the thirst for rock 'n' roll, fun and life were waiting for an opportunity to feast. We had come to unleash an endless party of music, fun and, maybe but unspoken, a promise of permissiveness. The contraceptive pill had arrived and there was youthful desire in the air. This was meant to be our party but now, right next door, there was Radio Atlanta. Now what? Ronan had said that the advertisers were delaying until they could find out who had the larger audience. Advertising was our life blood. So in the meantime, would we go broke? These were the questions that surged around in my mind as I returned to the studio.

©Tom Lodge 2002