The tone of the call that came out of the blue seemed entirely at odds with its subject matter. Brian Jameson was being contacted about his own creation – Balamory, the wildly successful TV show for pre-schoolchildren.
But the coded language of the ‘messenger’ who reached out to him seemed closer to a spy thriller. The caller even said the conversation may have been easier if the two had met on a park bench.
Mr Jameson says he ‘froze’ at the news that the era-defining children’s programme of its day was being revamped for a 2026 return – more than 20 years after the last original episode went out.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I definitely want a say on how the new Balamory is developed.’
At that, the caller finally cut to the chase. ‘To be brutally honest, Brian, you don’t have a say.’
The actor-turned-producer was left shaking. Balamory was his baby – born to a large extent from his childhood experiences holidaying every summer in the Western Isles. Without him, the ratings smash broadcast as far afield as Australia, Hong Kong and South Africa would never have existed. Now, it seemed, he was out in the cold.
‘I came away from this unsought phone call wishing it had never happened.’
That call now forms the climax of Mr Jameson’s new book, What’s the Story, which – as the blurb on the cover rightly warns – is not for children.
Andrew Agnew as PC Plum, with Julie Wilson Nimmo as Miss Hoolie
Not for their ears the story of his wife Donna’s unsuccessful audition for the part of Miss Hoolie, the show’s anchor and emotional heart. She sang Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend, but throughout the performance she replaced the word ‘diamonds’ with the name of a sex toy.
And better the children remain unaware that many of the scenes for the show were filmed in a Glasgow basement which used to be a morgue.
The book traces the Edinburgh-based producer’s journey from his early childhood in Salisbury, Wiltshire, and his family’s visits to the Isle of Harris for holidays in the 1950s.
The ferry conveying them from Kyle of Lochalsh across the Minch to Stornoway on Lewis became his ‘ship of dreams’ while Harris itself was an ‘enchanted Neverland Island’. That childhood wonder at island life never left him.
He developed an interest in acting and attended RADA, receiving his diploma from stage and screen legend Richard Attenborough. A slew of theatre productions followed. In his first, he appeared alongside Dame Joan Plowright and Sir Anthony Hopkins.
His first professional stage kiss, meanwhile, was with Dame Maureen Lipman. Moments after it, he lost his balance and tumbled backwards on to his bottom to howls of laughter in the audience.
Of all his TV appearances it may be his role as a hospital doctor in Only Fools and Horses which is most watched today.
The 78-year-old tells the Mail: ‘I wasn’t that familiar with the show at the time, but during rehearsals I marvelled at the genius at work, as writer John Sullivan and David Jason plotted the intricate business of spitting grape pips into a church collection box.’
A regular berth as a presenter on Play School followed – a show on which he felt quite at home.
He writes: ‘Pre-school television was at the bottom of the BBC’s snobbery pile. Current affairs and drama were at the top. I relished being a skank at the bottom.’
His years on Play School proved a ‘vital stepping stone’ in going on to create Balamory, he says.
But he was to discover the corporation certainly did not consider this brainchild to be anywhere near the bottom.
Years later, during a period of convalescence from a heart attack, the idea for a soap opera for pre-schoolchildren began to germinate. It would be community-based in a photogenic rural town with memorable characters living in colourful houses.
Kirkcudbright was considered as a location. Applecross in Wester Ross became a new favourite. Indeed, it was under the working title Applecross that 126 episodes of the world’s first pre-school soap opera were commissioned by the BBC.
All freelancer Mr Jameson had to do was sign the contract. Troublingly, it did not account for the fact he had brought the idea to the BBC in the first place. He writes: ‘I asked for residuals or royalties. My request was refused. I was given an ultimatum: take it or leave it. I didn’t want to leave it.’
It was on a trip to Tobermory on Mull that the perfect location presented itself. The houses on the waterfront were already painted in bright colours. Excitedly, Mr Jameson ran to a phone box, called his colleagues and recited some newly composed lyrics.
‘What’s the story in Tobermory, wouldn’t you like to know, what’s the story in Tobermory, where would you like to go?’
At first, no one seemed enthusiastic. There were the significant budgetary implications of shooting on an island accessible only by ferry – and only then in decent weather. Then there was the fact that Tobermory couldn’t possibly be the programme’s title. It was already the name of a Womble.
But gradually the idea took root – and, by using the fictional name of Balamory, the lyrical idea for the title song could stay. The project moved on to developing characters and casting them.
The plum role was that of nursery teacher Miss Hoolie, and executive producer Lucille McLaughlin thought she may know the perfect match – actress, singer and comedian Donna Krachan.
What she didn’t know was that Ms Krachan was married to Mr Jameson, who was due to sit in on the audition where candidates were supposed to sing a song of their choice and tell an anecdote.
He chose not to tell his colleagues on the panel of the relationship. ‘I wanted an honest, unbiased reaction to her performance,’ he says. ‘Donna played along as if she didn’t know me, answering questions and telling her anecdote.’
The original cast of Balamory, which has been broadcast as far afield as Australia, Hong Kong and South Africa
Privately, Mr Jameson had suggested she sing a song from her stand-up routine. She plumped for her X-rated Marilyn Monroe parody. ‘Jaws dropped!’ writes her husband. ‘Outside, a window cleaner froze mid-wipe.’
Ultimately the role went to actress Julie Wilson Nimmo. ‘The part absolutely went to the right actress,’ says Mr Jameson now. ‘Julie became Miss Hoolie. Donna’s audition was an important part of the whole process; it was hilarious but she wanted to pursue a career in education.’
During nine months of 2002, 126 episodes of the show had to be completed – a massive undertaking of scripting, scheduling and shooting. And out of that period the budget would stretch to just three weeks in Tobermory.
The indoor scenes were filmed in locations around Glasgow, including the smallest studio at BBC Scotland’s then Glasgow HQ at Queen Margaret Drive – studio C, a former mortuary.
In Tobermory, locals did not exactly welcome the crew with open arms. There were grumbles about road closures and the landlord of the guest house where Mr Jameson was staying made no effort to conceal his resentment.
‘He repeatedly blocked my phone messages,’ remembers the author. ‘I began to feel as isolated and uneasy as Sergeant Howie in The Wicker Man. When I finally challenged the landlord about my lack of contact with the outside world, he turned violent. He chased me up the stairs where I locked myself in my room.’
Gradually the town warmed to the idea of hosting a soap opera. By the time the cast and crew arrived to film the next series, ferry sailings had doubled and a Hollywood-style visitors’ tour of the characters’ houses had been launched.
The success brought fresh challenges. Crowds gathered for every filming session and many wanted autographs. Toddlers banged on the doors of real houses hoping to meet their fictional owners. One hotelier, whose property was supposed to be Josie Jump’s house, is reputed to have become so fed up with toddler tourism that he claimed to have buried poor Josie under the patio.
Balamory was shortlisted for a welter of TV awards and Mr Jameson bought a ‘trendy black kilt’ to wear to the ceremonies. For one such affair, where Julie Wilson Nimmo was due to receive a gong, she, her fellow actor husband Greg Hemphill and Mr Jameson met at the Ritz beforehand.
‘I was asked to leave, accused of wearing a dress,’ he says.
‘I was bemused, but Julie and her husband Greg Hemphill were loyal to the last, and we all got up and left. Afterwards, at the Radio Times presentation ceremony, we regaled the story to the likes of Jonathan Ross, Helen Worth and an assortment of Doctor Whos.’
Ultimately 250 episodes were made in that original four-season run and Balamory became the stuff of children’s TV legend.
For Mr Jameson, who had brought the idea to life, created the format and shaped every element, it was surely the crowning achievement of his career.
Balamory was the creation of actor-turned-producer Brian Jameson
Yet his ownership of the programme remained in question. When plans for a fifth series were mooted there was ‘an acknowledgement’ that mistakes had been made and a proposal to formally recognise his intrinsic ownership.
But series five never arrived and the issue continued to niggle with Mr Jameson, so he spoke to a media lawyer.
He writes: ‘I was unprepared for the combative, adversarial back and forth that followed. My benign Auntie BBC, in her voluminous, comforting bloomers, suddenly turned into a snarling rottweiler. Her lawyers were defiant. The legal jousting began to turn nasty.’
His costs hit £40,000 and he came to realise a court case might take him to six figures.
He tells the Mail: ‘The legal opinion was that I had a very good chance of winning ownership. But it was a David and Goliath situation and, apart from the mounting debt, there was also the psychological toll.’
In his book, he writes: ‘My bravado melted away. Threats of litigation were quietly laid to rest. Business and relationships resumed as if nothing had happened.’
The postscript is perhaps the bitterest pill of all. On being informed two decades on that Balamory was being revamped and that he had no say in it, he briefly wondered if he should resume his legal action.
But he resolved to take a different tack. His own production company Tattiemoon would bid to produce the new series. He was, after all, ideally placed to develop the next chapters. According to his vision, all the characters would return bar Suzie Sweet. (Mary Riggans, the actress who played her, died in 2013.) But a new generation of characters – younger family members of the originals – would be introduced.
Excitement built around cast members at the prospect of a reunion and, Mr Jameson admits, he and colleagues at Tattiemoon became ‘wildly confident’ in their bid, knowing that the soul of Balamory lay in it.
The commission was secured by a rival bid from Lion TV, an outfit which Mr Jameson points out had no experience in pre-school TV.
‘The Balamory cast were loyally incensed at our rejection,’ he writes. ‘“Sod the b******s,” said one.’ His mood darkened further as he learned of the successful bidder’s plans for the revamp. ‘News trickled through that only half the original cast was being contracted,’ he writes. ‘One of those cast members was being evicted from their coloured house and demoted to a subsidiary character.
‘From her shop, the sadly departed Suzie Sweet was having her name removed. Somebody had got the wrong end of the stick and did not understand the show’s fundamentals. Balamory was a soap opera. The story was continuous. The memory of Suzie would have been a life lesson. What was happening was an insult to the audience, old and new.’
On plucking up the courage to watch one of the new episodes, Mr Jameson says he was dismayed to find the new regime had taken his blueprint but ‘forgotten the DNA’.
Mr Jameson reveals the secrets behind the show in his new book
‘The DNA has been lost in the revamp by slashing the regular cast by half and stripping away certain core elements: the weather’s influence, the emphasis on an island and its community, the wildlife, and the fact that the show is a soap opera with a continuous story and characters grounded in reality.’
He adds: ‘As a result, the warmth, the heart, the fun, and much of the comedy have gone, as well as the show’s appeal across all ages.
‘In the book, I say that the whole pitching process felt as rigorous as the Hatton Garden Heist – i.e. that what I had created was being taken away and melted down into something of lesser worth.’
Has the experience coloured his attitude to the BBC?
‘No,’ he replies. ‘I continue to value the BBC, but the BBC is made up of individuals, and some get it right, and some don’t.’
He points out he started writing the book before there was any talk of a revamp. This was never a score-settling exercise.
‘People had often asked, “So you are the bloke who created Balamory; how did that come about then?” It was a difficult question to answer between the vol-au-vents or over a pint of Belhaven, so I decided to write it down.’
The first episode of the revival series amassed 1.5million viewers in the first 28 days after its April airing – making it the biggest new CBeebies episode of 2026.
When asked for comment, a BBC spokesman said: ‘We have recognised Brian’s contribution to the original series of Balamory with a production credit in the new series.’
They have indeed. A line in the closing credits reads: ‘Created by Brian Jameson at BBC Scotland.’ Interesting wording.
But the creator is out of the picture – and wondering whether the real story in Balamory is that of a corporate takeover.
j.brocklebank@dailymail.co.uk
■ What’s the Story by Brian Jameson is published by Mad Alice and is out on September 2, priced from £16.99 on Amazon and in bookshops. _
www.brian-jameson.com
