Space Patrol

In 1960s children's science fiction, where Gerry Anderson's marionette marvels like Supercar and Fireball XL5 tend to dominate the discussion, it is both baffling and unfortunate that Space Patrol — a sharply written, genuinely imaginative puppet series from the same era — has remained so often overlooked. The timing of its broadcast is perhaps the key to its neglect; had it arrived a few years earlier or later, it might now enjoy the same cult status as its more famous contemporaries.

Created by Roberta Leigh, a former collaborator of Anderson's, Space Patrol ran for 39 half-hour episodes and offered a unique vision of interplanetary adventure. Set in the year 2100, the series chronicled the exploits of the United Galactic Organisation — a sort of cosmic UN made up of Earth, Venus, and Mars — and followed the crew of Galasphere 347 as they patrolled the solar system to maintain peace and order.

At the centre of the action is human captain Larry Dart, accompanied by his Martian crewmate Husky (aptly named for his girth and appetite) and the ever-logical, mild-mannered Venusian Slim. The crew receive their orders from the cantankerous but endearing Colonel Raeburn, whose office is run with stern efficiency by his Venusian secretary Marla. Scientific know-how is supplied by the eccentric Professor Haggerty and his ever-curious daughter Cassiopea, lending the series both comic relief and a touch of warmth.

Where Space Patrol truly distinguishes itself is in its tone and style. While Anderson's series increasingly leaned toward spectacle and heroic derring-do, Space Patrol offered a slower, more considered form of storytelling. The scripts, all penned by Leigh herself, were remarkably sophisticated for a children's audience — intelligent, occasionally poetic, and frequently laced with sly humour and philosophical musings. The science may have been of the imaginative variety, but it was presented with care and thoughtfulness.

The voice cast — including Dick Vosburgh, Ronnie Stevens, Libby Morris, Murray Kash, and Ysanne Churchman — brought a richness and character to their roles that lifted the material even further. The voice work is expressive and solid, helping to imbue the otherwise limited puppets with a surprising emotional depth.

Visually, the series does show its limitations, with a more modest budget than the lavish Anderson productions. However, these constraints were countered by sheer inventiveness. The model work, although occasionally crude, has a charming, stylised quality, and the Galasphere design — spherical and faintly otherworldly — remains one of the most distinctive spacecraft in early 1960s TV science fiction. The show's use of sound is particularly notable: the eerie, theremin-heavy score and vocal distortions create a truly otherworldly atmosphere that lingers long after the credits roll.

The story of Space Patrol's survival is almost as remarkable as its content. Once feared lost, all episodes were rediscovered in 16mm format, stored in Roberta Leigh’s garage — a lucky and almost poetic twist of fate for a series about forgotten corners of the universe. The subsequent DVD release thankfully allowed a new generation to appreciate what was, and remains, a high watermark in children’s science fiction.

Space Patrol deserves far greater recognition than it has received. It may not have had the explosive effects, or marketing might of the Anderson juggernaut, but in its quiet, intelligent, and quirky way, it carved out a singular space of its own. For those willing to look past the strings and sets, there lies a thoughtful and engaging series that more than holds its own among the titans of televised science fiction.

A hidden classic — and one well worth rediscovering.