There’s a character on Postman Pat that I hate, passionately. Bill Thompson, the child of Alf and Dorothy, is a snarky little sod with an attitude problem. There’s a part in an episode about a treasure hunt, where he says “I’d be finished by now if I didn’t have to wait for you slowcoaches”, which invokes in me an almost physical loathing. Even the Postman Pat fandom page describes him as “conceited”. I’ve spent so much time watching Postman Pat with my baby that I’ve conjured up Succession-worthy backstories to explain Bill’s flawed personality – is it the pressure of being promised his dad Alf’s farm from an early age?
This is what happens with children’s television, once you become a parent and suddenly find yourself watching it. You know you’re watching something created for children, but you cannot help but impose onto it an adult sensibility. For example, people often remark that Postman Pat is objectively a terrible postman – always losing the thing he is supposed to be delivering. I counter that since Royal Mail privatisation and the transformation of his role into “special delivery”, he is probably on a zero-hours contract, not to mention constantly being asked to do things, such as flying a helicopter or catching a pony, that are well beyond a usual postman’s duties. My father, when visiting, pointed out that Pat being constantly tracked on an app by Ben in the office is an accurate portrayal of the kind of surveillance capitalism many workers are now forced to contend with.
We may enjoy picking holes in what our children watch, but parents in Britain are immensely privileged to have such high quality children’s television, especially the BBC, whose CBeebies channel and programmes are world leaders. It’s one of the few things the UK can feel proud of on the global stage at the moment. That’s not to say that other countries’ offerings are poor – I grew up with Sesame Street (the US), and we love Bluey (Australia). TV adaptations of books such as Barbapapa (France) and the Moomins (Finland) are rightfully canonical. And of course work by people of many nationalities airs on CBeebies – one of our favourites, the hilarious animated series Small Potatoes, was created by American Sesame Street writer Josh Selig and also aired on Disney in the US.
So I’m open to the notion that I may be culturally biased in thinking that our programming is superlative. I’m not sure, however, that there are many nations in the world that have their finest stage actors delivering lines such as “Hello Tombliboos!” with the same gravitas as “Out, out, brief candle!” (Derek Jacobi), or juggling Wolf Hall with being the voice of an animated rabbit (Mark Rylance). And from a diversity perspective it feels radical: I have become quite emotional seeing how CBeebies includes children with disabilities.
British children’s television is internationally exported, with programmes such as Teletubbies becoming an enduring international sensation, In the Night Garden relying heavily on global sales and even Quentin Tarantino saying he loves Peppa Pig. I suppose that’s the thing about children’s television – whoever you are, if you’re a parent, you’re probably watching it.
Which is one of the reasons why it’s surprising it doesn’t have a thriving critical climate: it’s as worthy of scrutiny as any gallery opening or work of fiction, or indeed, adult TV. One of the few writers to turn their critical attention to it was Charlie Brooker, whose Screenwipe series was a characteristically intelligent and caustic examination, but that was 15 years ago, and a one-off. Perhaps it’s not considered serious enough to be worthy of consideration, or there’s a residual misogyny about it, as something children “watch with mother”. Yet it shapes the identities, values, and interests of the next generation.
If anything, revelations about the darker side of children’s television and the abusive crimes of some of its past stars show that the industry and its output should be subjected to a healthy amount of adult scrutiny as part of our wider cultural experience, rather than sequestered, dismissed or ignored. Perhaps there’s an assumption that the readership isn’t there for regular print reviews. Personally, I would gobble up a sarcastic essay on the hideous modern incarnation of Peter Rabbit, perhaps placing Beatrix Potter in a colonial context. A piece the Guardian ran on Bluey last year was, in my opinion, a tour de force.
Last year, the government pulled a £44m fund designed to support the sector, and the BBC is facing budget cuts. The societal neglect of children’s programming is partly behind why kids are deserting public service media in favour of YouTube and TikTok, and there is a real risk that distinctly British programmes for young viewers could vanish from screens and be replaced with imported shows.
More investment in the industry so that it can foster diverse creative talent, and the big ideas to compete with the streaming platforms, is crucial. But also, I think, our cultural attitude to children’s content needs to change. At the moment, I don’t think as a nation we truly appreciate the joy and innovation that goes into the work that is beamed into our homes every single day.
I may hate Bill Thompson, but I’ll put up with him to see how that programme makes my little boy laugh with delight. As a family, we’d be lost without Postman Pat, and I suspect we’re not alone.
What’s working
I did a bumper Ikea order recently, and after asking people for their favourite products, fellow mother and writer Alex Lloyd’s recommendation of their £3.50 foldable “sick bowl” (every family needs one!) has been the clear winner, earning its keep mere days after purchase when the whole household was hit with a bug, cat included. Having still not recovered from the Mumsnet sick bowl controversy of 2019, I feel obliged to tell you that this will be its sole purpose.
What’s not
The paddling pool at Coram’s Fields, or the baby pool at Parliament Hill Lido – both closed for repairs – and apparently we are in for a scorcher here in London. The unfairness of it makes me furious. Thankfully, Islington council has come to the rescue with sprinklers in one of their parks, so at least some local kids will be able to cool off.
Rhiannon Lucy Cosslett is a Guardian columnist and author
