This was one of the formative experiences of my early years and compulsive viewing on the telly for kids of my age in the 1960’s.

It was a “sci-fi” featuring an American nuclear submarine (a super-sub before the days of Liverpool’s David Fairclough).  It was called Seaview, which always struck us as a bit odd; why call an American nuclear submarine after a B&B in Filey?

Anyway, despite not recollecting any of the plots at all, a number of its repeated conventions were unforgettable.

Take its surface entry, for example.  It didn’t slowly cruise through the waves like any other sub; this thing launched itself at full pelt almost vertically until it slammed down forwards onto the surface.  Apparently with no damage to the ship or crew.

In contrast, any sort of tap to the vessel in its normal sailing would send its actors running backwards and forwards from one side of the film set to the other, in a comic attempt to simulate a heavy collision.

As kids we would eagerly anticipate this happening in every episode; and every time, equally exciting to us, was to hear the Captain get on the blower to ask, “Damage report, Kowalski”.

Sometimes, someone would go missing on board ship – a renegade crew member or a discovered spy, perhaps.  And always an inch-by-inch search of the Seaview would reveal nothing.  Ostensibly they would have vanished into thin air – a puzzle to everyone on board.

But not to us.  “He’s in the ventilation ducting” we’d shout.

And he always was.

Marvellous, marvellous stuff.