Orlando

Orlando remains one of those curiously overlooked gems of 1960s children’s television: inventive, charming, faintly eccentric – and, most significantly, the only programme ever to put the indefatigable Sam Kydd squarely centre-stage. For a man whose career spanned hundreds of films and television episodes – often in fleeting bit parts, as an extra, or as the dependable supporting face who would reliably pop up for a scene and steal it with barely a line – Orlando was both an anomaly and a delight. Kydd was one of British screen entertainment’s most prolific workhorses, yet this was the first and only time he was asked to carry a series on his own broad shoulders.

The character of Orlando O’Connor first drifted onto screens in the Moroccan-set adventure series Crane, where his beachcomber chumminess provided a wonderfully lived-in counterpoint to Patrick Allen’s more tightly wound hero. When Crane moved on, Orlando – already a favourite with audiences – was repatriated to Britain and reimagined for this new teatime vehicle. The early format was amiable if slight: Orlando running a boatyard at Drake’s Landing, accompanied by Long John Turner (Gregory Phillips) and Triss Fenton (Margo Andrew) in a run of self-contained stories.

It was only with the second series that the show found its stride. Out went the isolated adventures, and in came broader arcs and a fresh London setting – shot largely in the then-raw, undeveloped Docklands. Here Orlando discovers the murder of an old friend, leading him into an unlikely partnership with teenagers Steve and Jenny Morgan (David Munro and Judy Robinson), who have inherited their uncle’s detective agency. The dynamic between Kydd and the young leads proved warm, sprightly and gently comic; the trio embarked on cases that balanced intrigue with the good-natured charm that Kydd radiated so effortlessly.

The third series maintained this pleasing formula, but the fourth plunged headlong into the decade’s growing appetite for high camp and gadgetry. Influenced by American imports such as Batman and The Man from U.N.C.L.E., the show introduced flamboyant villains and even an arch-nemesis, Moosh – an evil doppelganger played, naturally, by Kydd himself, gleefully sending up his own persona. Plots grew more fantastical, Orlando’s trusty talisman “Gizzmo” rescued him from scrapes with improbable regularity, and the tone embraced a pop-art silliness that modern viewers may find either endearing or baffling.

Across its remarkable 76 episodes – a staggering output over three years – Orlando became a fixture of ITV’s Tuesday afternoon schedule. It even spawned a full-colour strip in TV Comic, a testament to its popularity with younger audiences. The guest cast list reads like a roll call of British acting talent: Ben Kingsley, Norman Chappell, Michael Gough, Ian Ogilvy, Clive Dunn, Leonard Sachs, Trevor Bannister, Roger Delgado, Penelope Keith, Bob Todd and many more all passed through Orlando’s world.

Sadly, like so much children’s television of its era, Orlando has fallen victim to archival neglect; only four episodes are known to survive. Its run came to an end when Rediffusion merged with ABC to form Thames Television in 1968, and viewers’ attention soon shifted to the flashier thrills of Freewheelers.

Yet, looking back, Orlando stands as a rare showcase for Sam Kydd’s extraordinary screen presence – warm, cheeky, endlessly watchable – and a reminder that one of Britain’s busiest supporting actors was more than capable of carrying a series when finally given the chance.