The Queen of Clean | No Sex, Please! | 1
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Hey, Matt. Hi, Alice. Big question, but what do you feel about censorship? I think it's a load of ****. I think it's peddled by pernicious people who want to control what we think and say. I think it's effectively an assault on free speech and people who do it are absolute ****. Totally. Couldn't agree more. And it's just great to work on a platform where I'm completely free of it. 9th September 1971 Westminster Central Hall, London

From the lectern where she stands, Mary Whitehouse casts her eyes across the packed hall, taking in the huge banners of support being waved, the sea of people raising their hands skywards in joyful prayer. She could burst with pride. The exploitation of sex and violence by various different branches of the entertainment industry is the single greatest current threat to the nation's moral well-being. As Christians, we can come together and say no to this.

Mary watches the audience erupt. After she's finished speaking here, she'll be marching to Hyde Park, where fellow Christian and good friend Cliff Richard is due to play a set as the festival's star attraction. 25,000 people are expected to turn out. But just as she's about to resume her speech, she hears a ruckus. Several men and women charge into the back of the hall. Mary gasps as she makes out the words daubed across the banners they're holding.

Festival of Blight. A surge of anger grips her. She knows immediately who these people are. The newly formed Gay Liberation Front. Mary's spoken out against homosexuality a great deal recently and has targeted several publicity campaigns and magazines produced by these sinners. Mary stares in disbelief as more interlopers invade the hall's large balcony, unfurling a massive banner that says, "'Cliff for Queen.'"

Suddenly, several men, dressed as nuns, invade the stage. Mary's jaw drops as they run over to where she's standing and start kissing right in front of her. Mary can't take it all in. She grips the rostrum tightly. She feels dizzy, disorientated, like the devil himself has come for her. There's a commotion behind her as another group of protesters stand up and toss pages of gay pornography into the air. Others release mice into the aisles.

Hefty stewards now file in, trying to hold more protesters back. But they keep pushing forward, their eyes full of hatred and rage. One man reaches the stage. He strides over to Mary. She finds herself cowering in terror. He's only inches from her when two police officers drag him away. You need to come with us, Mrs Whitehouse, for your own safety. Mary doesn't know what to do. She's never felt so vulnerable.

Let us pray.

Mary clamps her hands together, leading a yelled prayer above the baying mob. She will not let these sinners with their depraved lifestyles stop her. She will not let anyone stop her. My dad works in B2B marketing. He came by my school for career day and said he was a big ROAS man. Then he told everyone how much he loved calculating his return on ad spend.

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As an Audible member, you choose one title a month to keep from their entire catalogue. New members can try Audible free for 30 days. Visit audible.com slash WonderyPod or text WonderyPod to 500-500. That's audible.com slash WonderyPod or text WonderyPod to 500-500. From Wondery, I'm Alice Levine. And I'm Matt Ford. And this is British Scandal. ♪

The show where we bring you the murkier stories that ever happened on these odd little isles. British scandals come in many shapes and sizes. Some are about money, some are about sex. They're all about power. But when we look at scandals a little bit closer, they turn out to be stranger, wilder, just plain weirder than we remember. So we're journeying back to ask who's to blame for what happened. And when the dust settled, did anything really change?

So, Matt, I'm aware of this trend that is forming on our show. There is a propensity for British scandal protagonists to be male.

Yeah, I think it's just a coincidence. Do you? Well, men gonna men, there are a lot of male rotters from the past, to be fair. There are, and if you turn on the news, plenty in the present. Which we'll see as well into the future, doing more and more of these shows. But of course, there are women who have been embroiled in British scandals, and I have a kind of era-defining one for you today. Oh, absolutely.

Is it Thatcher sinking the Belgrano? Great guess, but no. Oh, Waggath or Christie? A bit more serious than that. Gerry leaving the Spice Girls? I wish. Why didn't I think of that? No, that's going on the list, though, for sure. In fact, today we are talking about Mary Whitehouse, a one of a kind. To some people, she was a hero. She was a representative of Britain's silent majority, you know, taking on the liberal elite in London with their low morals and establishment attitude.

On the other hand, others saw her as a prude and a homophobe who represented everything that was wrong with the country. But either way, her campaigns were legendary and she took on everyone, be it the BBC, pornography, basically the whole of British society. There is a lot to discuss. This is episode one. No sex, please. June 1930. Crewe.

At Cheshire County Teacher Training College, 20-year-old Mary Hutcherson sweeps her dark brown curls out of her eyes and steals a look at her reflection in a classroom window. She applies her favourite rouge lipstick, smooths down her pretty summer dress, takes a deep breath and knocks on the office door. A man in his late 20s greets her, Mary's college tutor. Mary, what can I do for you? I wondered if you'd mind looking at this lesson plan.

Mary started here a year ago, after her parents secured a bursarship for her. Many girls of her age don't aspire to a profession, choosing instead to find a husband and become a homemaker. But with three siblings, including a sister with special needs following a bout of polio, money is tight in Mary's working-class household. And she enjoys her studies, having chosen art as her specialism. Mary loves expressing her creative side, but it's not the only reason she works so hard.

She's enamored with her tutor. He's dedicated so much time to helping her. It makes her feel special. This is excellent. Your passion for your subject shines through. He puts particular emphasis on the word passion, fixing his eyes on Mary. There's a change in the way he's looking at her now. She can't quite work out what it is, but she feels herself blush. Her family are devout churchgoers, and Mary doesn't believe in sex before marriage.

She's never even kissed a boy, so she's quite sure the Lord wouldn't condone the thrilling sensation she's experiencing now. I don't know, I think the Lord's a pretty forgiving guy. Also, we all remember the thrill of getting our first good bit of feedback, am I right? Yet she feels powerless to stop it. She watches as her tutor goes over to the door and closes it behind them. Then he stands so close to Mary, she feels she can hardly breathe. She knows she should move away, but she can't.

A knock on the door shocks Mary. A woman enters and the tutor quickly pulls away. Mary, this is my wife, Julia. Julia, this is one of my students. Mary comes back down to earth with a thud, the word wife ringing in her ears. She's never felt so ashamed. She runs from the room. She doesn't stop until she's through the college gates.

Catching her breath, she has no idea where to go. She can't face her parents right now. She's convinced they'll know what she's done. She remembers the horrified look on her mother's face when they found out a neighbour's daughter was having a baby out of wedlock. She can't bear that disgust being directed at her. Instead, she heads to the local church. Approaching the statue of Christ above the altar, she drops to her knees.

Mary clasps her hands together, whispers a silent prayer, begging God to forgive her. She feels a sense of relief when she's done, only to see the vicar approaching. He beckons her to sit beside him on a nearby pew. Mary's heart thuds again. Is her shame so obvious? Whatever's upsetting you, Mary, trust that God has the answer. Mary's touched by his kindness. In her hour of need, the Lord was there for her. She'll never forget it.

She promises herself then and there that she'll banish any further thoughts of passion and the fear and danger it brings. God is the answer, and she will never veer from his path again. 25 years later, the summer of 1955, Wolverhampton. Mary watches as her 10-year-old son, Richard, plays with their youngest, Christopher. Looking through the kitchen window, she sees 12-year-old Paul pottering around the garden with her husband, Ernest.

Mary pokes her head through the open window. Come on, you two, time for tea. Feeling the evening chill, Mary pulls her housecoat tightly around her. Her hair is no longer the unruly mess it was in her youth. It's tightly wrapped around rollers and worn under a headscarf unless special occasions demand otherwise. Mary is every inch the typical Birmingham housewife, and every day she thanks God for blessing her with the life she has. She knew instantly Ernest was the one.

A quiet man with a steady job in sales. For him, she feels none of the tumultuous feelings she harboured for her tutor. More a deep fondness. They face tough times, like when Mary gave birth to stillborn twins a few years ago. Ernest was her rock. Quietly supportive, never overly emotional. Mary leads the family in saying grace before they eat. Ernest glances at his newspaper as he digs into his hotpot. He shakes his head as he reads.

It says here that in America, they're trying to develop a pill women can take to prevent pregnancy. It's being driven by these new feminists. Mary almost drops her fork in shock. But that goes completely against nature. Mary lowers her voice, but not so much the children can't hear.

Why on earth would they want to encourage intercourse if not for the goal of having children? Mary notes a slight flicker from Ernest as she says that. I bet she did. Well, I mean, I can think of other reasons, Mary. On the whole, I think you're right. They've had separate bedrooms since Christopher was born eight years ago. She suspects Ernest would prefer a different arrangement.

Where will it end, Ernest? Some of this rock and roll music I hear on the wireless these days, honestly, it's scandalous. It'll be coming over here soon, infecting good, God-fearing people. Later, lying in bed, Mary can't sleep. She can't shake what she's heard. Ernest wailing through the walls. Birth control threatens the core of the family, the very heart of God's plan. It's as if something has awoken inside of her.

She creeps out of her room, tiptoes through the dark house, and picks up the newspaper Ernest was reading earlier. She flicks to the relevant page. She's been so busy with the house and the boys, she's become disengaged. She needs to know more about what's happening in the world, about this loss of morality, and if there's anything she can do to stem the tide of change. A few days later, when Ernest comes back from work, he pops his copy of The Times on the kitchen table.

Mary waits for him to leave the room before picking it up and once again flicking through the pages, more hastily this time. She stops at the letters page. A grin spreads across her face. There in black and white is a letter she's written, expressing her horror at the new birth control being developed. Such science is nothing less than playing God. And we have to ask, what gives us the right to meddle?

It's surely against all that we in this Christian country consider holy. Seeing her name at the end of the letter, Mary feels a buzz of satisfaction she's never experienced before. She decides this will be the first of many letters. She'll no longer remain silent. For the sake of all she holds dear, of this country's decency and morality, Mary vows she will do more of God's work. ♪

Sixteen years later, June 1963, Maidley Secondary School, Wolverhampton. As the break bell rings, Mary turns to the class. Pack away quietly, please, children. Mary checks over the various artworks her pupils have created, based on her still-life fruit bowl arrangement. She's pleased to see some very decent interpretations. Mary started teaching art at this Telford Comprehensive 18 months ago, after Ernest had a car accident.

A suicidal serviceman was laying in the road and Ernest spotted him too late, hitting and killing him instantly. The subsequent inquest cleared him of any blame, but the experience was so traumatic he suffered a nervous breakdown. Ernest has wrestled with bouts of depression ever since, forcing him to give up his sales job. That's why they decided Mary should become the breadwinner. The arrangement is unconventional, but it works.

At the age of 53, Mary wasn't sure she'd easily take to teaching again. She hadn't stepped in a classroom since before the boys were born. But the truth is, it's given her a new lease of life. She prides herself on her ability to inspire and shape these young minds. Mary makes her way outside for playground duty and immediately hears giggles from behind the bike sheds. Expecting to find the usual suspect smoking cigarettes, she gasps at the sight that greets her instead.

A group of boys and girls mimicking the sounds and actions of sexual intercourse. What on earth do you think you're doing? Haven't your parents told you that this behaviour outside of marriage is sinful? The boys snort, while the girls don't even look ashamed. One of them shrugs, nonchalant. Well, miss, we seen how well them girls did, you know, Mandy Rice-Davis and Christine Keeler. We thought we'd give it a go. Mary's shocked to her very core.

How on earth do these 15-year-olds know about the sordid Profumo affair? How do you know about that? It was on telly last night, the BBC News. Mary tries to process what she's heard. Children learning about illicit sex out of wedlock from the television news of all places. She thinks back to her own shame and fear at college. Now she worries about her pupils being exposed to such danger at an even younger age.

Back home that night, Mary gathers the family in front of the TV. She's horrified. A Scottish sketch show called Between the Lines features actor Tom Conti dancing provocatively with an attractive woman. The sexual connotations are obvious. Mary looks at the clock. It's only 6.45. Is this what the BBC considers family viewing? Mary goes to her study and takes out a folder of letters.

She's now a regular writer to various national newspapers. But this time, she stares at the paper, unable to start. Somehow, it doesn't seem enough. Instead, she picks up the phone and calls the local vicar. Hello, Reverend. Do you think I'd be able to use your church hall? I need to hold a meeting about the threat of TV to our Christian way of life. Yeah, ring me back in five minutes. I'm just watching Tom Conti and it's very good.

Mary knows she can't be the only person who feels this way. She's going to mobilise the Christian community to help her warn others. If she can drum up some local support, who knows where it could lead? Nine months later, 5 May 1964, Birmingham Town Hall. Mary stands in the Grand Hall, gazing up at its impressive ceiling.

Impeccably turned out in knitted twinset, pearls and her favourite horn-rimmed glasses, she has the look of someone more at home judging a women's institute cake competition. But today, following in the footsteps of Buddy Holly and the Rolling Stones, Mary is the venue's star attraction. The meeting's chair approaches her. It might take longer than we thought to get everyone seated. Last count, there were 37 coaches outside. You know we can only fit 2,000 people in the hall, right?

Mary nods her thanks and waits for him to go, before frantically re-reading the speech she's prepared. She wasn't expecting anything like that number, but it seems ordinary folk have come from all across the country to hear her say her piece. There are reporters from every national newspaper as well, plus camera crews from the BBC and its rival ITV. Mary wonders if the Beeb will be quite so keen to film when they hear what she has to say. She lifts a glass of water to her lips.

then taps the mic and clears her throat. The room falls silent. Mary's legs are trembling so much she thinks they might buckle beneath her. But she forces herself to begin. A year ago, we sat down at 6.45pm to watch television as a family. And what we saw was the dirtiest programme. I decided then to see what else was deemed acceptable family viewing. I was shocked by what I discovered.

Some of the audience look like they're straining to hear. Mary realises how weak she must sound. She clears her throat again and forces herself to speak more clearly. Television, in particular the BBC, is pouring poison into millions of homes. They call their output kitchen sink drama, comedy and satire.

But in fact, as early as tea time, we're being served up a menu of homosexuality, prostitution and intercourse in the guise of modern dramas and situation comedy. And this is becoming the topic of excited conversation in cloakrooms and playgrounds all over the country. We need to stop this. Mary is met with a burst of applause.

She then lists specific dramas she's deemed offensive and already written to the BBC about, including Trevor by local playwright David Turner. Mary was dismayed when she first watched it, a show about a newly married couple experiencing sexual problems on their honeymoon. But then a man jumps from a seat and begins walking to the stage.

I am David Turner, and this meeting is a disgrace. You're trying to stifle creative freedom. If you're going to slander my work, I demand a right to reply. Turner reaches the podium and starts clambering up to the stage. Mary is stunned into silence, no idea how to respond. But to her amazement, members of the audience jump to her defence.

You're not welcome here, peddler of filth. You should be banned. A large group of nuns stand and begin stamping their heavy shoes on the floor to drown out Turner's voice. As stewards wrestle him from the stage, a bunch of uniformed schoolgirls cheer his removal. Then a low murmur emanates from the back of the room. It becomes louder as more people join in. Mary thinks she recognises a few notes. It couldn't be what she thinks it is, could it?

As the voices become louder still, it's unmistakable. The audience is singing Jerusalem. Mary feels invincible. She returns to the mic, making up a manifesto on the spot. Like all good politicians do. Ladies and gentlemen, this is just the beginning.

All of us here believe in a Christian way of life for our children and our country. And we deplore present attempts to belittle or destroy it due to the propaganda of disbelief, doubt and dirt that the BBC pours into homes. We must fight back. There are loud cheers. Feeling stronger by the second, Mary goes on.

We'll go right to the door of the BBC in London, tell them exactly what we think of their shows. Maybe we'll go to Downing Street too. Mary drinks in the support. She never quite believed it before, but she does now. She could be the woman to clean up the nation's TV.

It's incredible that thousands of people have turned up to hear her opinions on what she saw on telly. As someone who regularly holds abuse at the TV, this fills me with hope. Yeah, obviously she's put voice to an opinion that's widespread and people very much see themselves in her. Yes, this isn't just about she didn't like the telly. This is a resistance movement.

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One month later, June 1964, Broadcasting House, London. In his generously proportioned wood-panelled office on the seventh floor, Sir Hugh Carlton Green puffs on a pipe as he watches the news. He can feel his blood pressure rise, and it's not because of the tobacco. It's the woman he's currently watching, Mary Whitehouse. In her tight twinset and formal hat, wagging her finger at the screen, she's directing all her disapproval at him.

This is a battle to save the nation's moral health. Sir Hugh Green is a subversive who's trying to destroy the family and the importance of Jesus and usher in communist rule. Green turns off the TV and slams his pipe down so hard that his deputy, Harmon Grisewood, flinches. I thought I told you that woman wasn't to be featured in any BBC output. Well, yes, but the problem is what she's doing is news.

Green sees it as his job to reflect the new liberalism of the swinging 60s by taking more risks, and he's making good progress. On his watch, the corporation has launched youth music show Top of the Pops, sci-fi kids show Doctor Who, and gritty police drama Zed Cars. These are all programs that embrace change, and they've all been targeted by White House. At 54, he and Mary may both be the same age, but their ideologies couldn't be further apart.

Sir Hugh, maybe if you agree to meet with her? Absolutely not. I won't lower myself. Who does she think she is anyway? Did she go to university? No. Has she ever worked in broadcasting? No. What does she know about the tastes we're trying to cater to? You can already see how these divisions emerge because it's not just about prudish people. There is a class element to this as well. Absolutely, a very us and them mentality. But if she feels she's being listened to, she might...

Before Griswood can reply, Green's PA shows in David Turner, the playwright who interrupted Mary's town hall meeting.

Ah, David. Wonderful to see you. Turner gets out a book full of scribbled notes and proceeds to talk through a new BBC drama Green has commissioned. I've incorporated everything we discussed. Our setting is the fictional Midlands town of Swizzlewick and our main character, a local councillor called Mrs Smallgood, is launching a misguided freedom from sex crusade.

Perfect. You need to get writing immediately, David. I want it ready for broadcast in three months. Green ignores the horrified look on Griswood's face. He knows what he's doing. He's sure that once Mary Whitehouse sees this, she'll be so shocked, she'll scuttle back to Wolverhampton where she belongs. She may have come this far, but she's no match for him.

This is such a terrible idea because not only are they using a scripted drama to attack Mary, they're turning her into a cultural figure. They're reinforcing her. This is going to be completely counterproductive. They're giving her gravitas. I mean, it felt like he understood the risk that she posed, but now he's just completely underestimating her. August 1964, Wolverhampton.

Mary's jaw drops as she tries to make sense of what she's watching. It's the first episode of a new show called Swizzlewick. The neighbourhood busybody, Mrs Smallgood, looks remarkably similar to herself. And she's joined by a flaky, cardigan-clad character called Ernest the Postman. Mary remains fixed on the screen and totally silent for the next five minutes.

Finally, glancing at Ernest, she realises he's watching her more closely than the TV. Clearly worried about her reaction, Mary is stung, but she refuses to show it. Instead, she laughs. Is this the best the BBC can do? A childish parody? I shan't even dignify it with a response. Best just to ignore it. But just as Mary's about to turn off the TV, the Ernest character is shown taken ill.

Lying down on the sofa, he explains he's suffering from guilt after hitting a dog with a football. Oh, that is too far. That's dark. Mary feels suddenly nauseous, but it's quickly replaced by rage. Attacking her is one thing. Dragging her family into it is quite another. The next day, going through her morning post, Mary opens a large envelope.

A typed manuscript falls out, accompanied by a note scrawled on BBC paper. It reads, Mary sees what she's holding is an advance copy of next week's Swizzlewick script. She flicks through it, getting to a scene involving a corrupt counsellor's interaction with a prostitute called Blousey. Mary smiles as she realises she has the opportunity to exact revenge.

She can make a pre-emptive strike. She picks up the phone and calls the Conservative Postmaster General. Mr Bevans, a rather sordid script has come to my attention. I wonder if there's anything you can do. That evening, Mary celebrates as she hears the scene has been cut from the next week's episode. By now, Mary's learned a thing or two about how to use the media for her own ends.

She gets straight on the phone to the national newspapers to take credit for her successful censoring of such degrading material. The next morning, Mary picks up a copy of the Daily Express. "'Wears Blousey!' screams the header of a story on page five. It reports that writer David Turner has disassociated himself from the show in a protest at the unethical cut. Mary beams with delight."

She knows that if Turner is angry, Green will be furious. Even better, this publicity will make her campaign bigger than ever. Mary's playing Green at his own game, and she's winning. March 1965, Birmingham School of Art. In the common room, Richard Whitehouse concentrates hard as he cues up his final ball on the pool table. He's on the black, one shot away from glory, when a familiar voice cuts through his focus.

It seems to me that the BBC is trying to offend. Take the recent Wednesday play, Cathy Come Home. It glorifies abortion, which I might remind you, is still illegal. Richard misses his shot. He sighs and looks at the small black and white TV in the corner of the room. There, being interviewed by ITV News, is his mum. Oh, man.

You yourself have spoken of your own decision not to have a medical abortion back in the 1940s when you were told the twins you were expecting would be stillborn. And that was a decision you made based on religion? Yes, and I've never regretted it. Abortion is murder. To willfully destroy any of God's children is a sin. Richard winces. Does she have to make everything so public? His opponent on the pool table follows his gaze to the television.

Hey, Rich, she's got the same surname as you. Any relation? Richard blushes furiously. God, no. The friend turns to the rest of the group, grinning. Imagine having to put up with that old battle axe at home. Later, he follows his pals to the student union bar. Richard doesn't usually drink, but right now he feels like drowning his sorrows. Can I join you? Richard looks up to see a stunning blonde girl standing beside him. He can't believe his luck.

Several drinks later, she puts a hand on Richard's knee. He sways slightly as she moves closer, whispers in his ear, Fancy another drink back at my place? Richard isn't very experienced with girls. Having followed his parents' religious beliefs with little question, he certainly hasn't considered sex before marriage, but he throws caution to the wind. Why not?

Richard stumbles to his feet. But as he turns, he notices she's talking to a couple of older men, one of whom is giving her cash. What? Richard makes his way over. Who are these guys? Then Richard spots a jotter pad one of the men is holding. He grabs it and sees it's full of notes about him. Richard rushes out into the cold night air. Not only is he embarrassed, he's furious. Not with the tabloids, but with his mum.

Because of her holier-than-thou attitude, the British media is desperate to catch her out. And he's getting caught in the crossfire. He can't bear to think what details the article would have contained. Richard watches his friends exit the bar, chatting and laughing, not a care in the world. He feels a surge of envy and tears sting his eyes. All he wants is a normal life like them. But his mum is making that impossible. ♪

The 29th of November, 1965. Broadcasting House, London. At his desk, Sir Hugh Green is going through his latest pile of complaints from what he's dubbed the Mary Whitehouse Brigade. Not only does she insist on bombarding him with letters herself, she's encouraged housewives from all over the country to write in too. They put pen to paper about everything from dramas featuring swear words to history shows considered too violent for young minds.

He opens a missive from the woman herself. Green sighs deeply as he reads. I must draw your attention to an objectionable programme called Monitor, featuring sequences from the play Caligula, which we considered vile and sadistic. It was claimed during the programme itself that this was good theatre because it demonstrated complete freedom. Is this freedom from the restraining influence of any decent instinct?

It's classic Mary, a stranger to context, choosing to completely ignore why a swear word or violent act might be used in a comedy or drama. Last week, she dubbed Doctor Who, one of the BBC's most popular children's shows, tea-time brutality for tots, calling its content sick and horrific.

At the same time, she's angered several creatives involved in what Green considers the jewel in the corporation's crown, The Wednesday Play, a series of gritty kitchen sink dramas for a new breed of young, talented writers. As Green throws Mary's latest effort into the waste paper bin, his PA enters looking nervous. Um, I think you should turn on the one o'clock news. Green turns on the TV.

He darkens at the coverage of Mary holding a press conference in nearby Fleet Street. I've decided to leave teaching to concentrate on my campaign full time. We will make it our biggest mission to tackle the daily dose of filth the BBC delivers to our screens. It's Sir Hugh Green himself who said that television is the most powerful medium for teaching. And I believe that to be true.

But what we must do is ensure he no longer gets to choose the abhorrent lessons that have been forced upon us. Green bangs his fist on the desk. Whitehouse is using his own words against him. He realises now she isn't just going after the BBC, she has a personal vendetta against him. And it seems like she won't rest until his head is on the chopping block. Finally feeling like he has no choice but to respond, he tells his PA to take a letter.

He is getting this so badly wrong. He is daring her at every turn. If anything, he's given her helpful advice.

When Green is finished, his PA remains rooted to the spot, looking cagey. Was there something else? Um, yes. Mrs Whitehouse rang earlier. She wants to come onto the channel to debate with you on air. Green thinks on this. He deplores censorship. But he deplores Mary even more. No. And any further requests from that crank to appear on any show we put out will be refused. She's officially banned from the BBC. What?

Green is determined to silence Mary Whitehouse once and for all.

Two years later, December 1967. Broadcasting House, London. Sir Hugh Green ushers Lord Charles Hill into his office.

They haven't had much contact since Hill became chairman of the BBC a few months ago, so Green's looking forward to getting to know the chap. Hill's last position as chair of the Independent Television Authority essentially made them rivals, but that's all water under the bridge as far as Green is concerned. They're on the same side now. Asking his PA to bring in some tea, Green directs Hill's attention to the new painting taking pride of place above his desk.

It's a specially commissioned nude portrait of Mary Whitehouse with five breasts. OK, I think he's lost his mind. It's completely, completely mad. Actually, I do like it. Can I just make a small alteration? Can we have three more breasts, please? I think I'll just finish it off. That is way too far. I mean, to have a nude of an individual campaigner naked with five breasts, it's just very, very strange and inappropriate. Green chuckles as Hill looks stunned.

Quite something, isn't it? I like to look at it when I've had a difficult day. It cheers me up no end. Lord Hill looks agitated as he sits. Green doesn't care. He's used to people telling him his war with Mary Whitehouse has become too personal. That painting will do that. It will tip the balance, won't it?

His defence is that she started it. Oh my God, this is like he's five years old. And it's touches like this painting that reminds Green whatever attacks she launches, he will always have the last laugh. So to what do I owe this visit, Charles? It's been brought to my attention that a Beatles film you're planning to screen on Boxing Day is rather unsuitable viewing for the Christmas period. Green is momentarily confused.

You mean Magical Mystery Tour? I hardly think... Lord Hill interrupts. Apparently, the song entitled I Am The Walrus features the lyric, Pornographic priestess, boy you've been a naughty girl, you let your knickers down. Sir Hugh almost spits out his tea. Picking that one line out of the whole film and taking it literally is ridiculous. This can only be down to one person.

Don't tell me. Our complainant is one Mrs Mary Whitehouse. On this matter, I think she might have a point. At Christmas time, a great many children will be up later than usual, keen to watch their favourite pop combo. Green is appalled. Is Hill really siding with Mary?

Can't you see this is just her stirring up another pointless argument? The woman rails against everything. Her latest target is till death do us part. She's taken to counting the number of times Alf Garnett says bloody per episode. One might argue that by commissioning such shows, you're merely trying to make her more outraged. I met Mrs Whitehouse a few times during my time at the IBA. She always struck me as a reasonable woman. It suddenly hits green.

Lord Hill is firmly Team Mary. Not just regarding the Beatles film, but on everything else too. If Green doesn't make a stand now, who knows what else he'll be asked to take off air. What if I refuse to cut this song from the film? Lord Hill looks at Green gravely. He has his answer. He'll effectively be signing his death warrant. He has to choose between his principles and his job. For Green, it's a no-brainer.

but he still finds it hard to say the words. I will not withdraw this film from the schedule, nor will I reduce it or edit it or show it in any way less than it was intended to be shown. Hill nods gravely, then gets to his feet. He looks Green firmly in the eye. You've had a good run as DG, Sir Hugh, but it's time for a change. I don't think anyone would think badly of you if you decided it's time to retire. Green holds Hill's gaze.

There's no emotion, no hint of compassion. Green knows that it's not a request, it's an order. If he doesn't go, he'll face the indignity of being sacked. He gives a small nod of acceptance and slumps back in his chair. He looks back at the multi-breasted portrait of Mary on the wall. Now it feels like she's mocking him rather than the other way round. He took her on and he lost. Mary Whitehouse has finally bested him. January 1968.

BBC Television Centre, London. Mary is surrounded by cameras, sitting before an expectant audience. She hasn't been this nervous since her appearance at Birmingham Town Hall nearly four years ago. That evening was life-changing, and Mary knows that this, her first BBC appearance on a discussion show called Talkback, could be too. Finally, with Green ousted and his ridiculous ban lifted, she'll be seen on the nation's biggest TV channel. She has to make this count.

But with Ernest in the audience and Hill watching from the wings, she suddenly feels an unbearable pressure to perform. She finds the heat from the studio lights stifling. The audience momentarily become a blur. When Mary manages to refocus, she takes in the other three guests on the panel, now sitting in chairs nearby. Then she realises the host, David Coleman, is introducing her.

And finally, we welcome the head of the National Viewers and Listeners Association. She's also to many the unwelcome, self-appointed, moral voice of Britain, Mrs Mary Whitehouse. There's muted applause from the audience.

As the discussion gets underway, it's obvious to Mary that they and the other panellists are vehemently opposed to her views. Just the other day, I was told of a television appearance by Mick Jagger where he used his microphone as a phallic symbol while singing a song called Sympathy for the Devil. This wasn't even broadcast late in the evening. Innocent children would have witnessed this unholy depravity. There's derisive laughter from the audience.

So you didn't see it yourself? You were told about it. How can you comment on something you didn't see? We don't live in a nanny state, Mrs Whitehouse. Why should we all be forced to share your Puritan values? Riled up, Mary tries to brush off the criticism. I have no problem being called a Puritan. The Puritans danced, they sang, it was a joyful life. Now Coleman gets stuck in. Puritan is one thing, but what about those people who dub you a crank? Mary can't help but feel ganged up on.

Once again, she's David to the establishment's Goliath. But realising this could be her very argument, she regroups. That's just it though, isn't it? Ordinary members of the public like me who dare to speak out, London liberals like you call us cranks in the hope of silencing us. That's exactly why I intend to act for all those ordinary people who don't have a public voice. There's a ripple of applause from the audience.

Mary feels a surge of adrenaline. She goes on, speaking more confidently. There are many who feel exactly as I do. You may not agree with us, but surely it's our right to be heard. Every one of your panellists today has accused me of trying to stop freedom of expression. But what about the freedoms of people like me? Can't we express ourselves publicly without fearing ridicule and abuse?

The applause gets louder. By the time Mary's finished, there are even a few cheers. When the cameras stop rolling, Lord Hill and Ernest rush over to congratulate her. Well done, Mary. You certainly showed them who's boss. I hope you feel at last you've been heard. Yes, thank you, Lord Hill. So what's next? Lord Hill looks confused.

There's so much more to be done. The permissive society isn't going to be fixed overnight, and I need to keep spreading the message of the ordinary people. Lord Hill seems flummoxed. He clearly thought this would be enough to placate Mary, but she's more fired up than ever. Now she has the BBC as a mouthpiece, she has no intention of losing momentum. Mary Whitehouse is just getting started.

This is the first episode in our series, The Queen of Clean. A quick note about our dialogue. In most cases, we can't know exactly what was said, but all our dramatisations are based on historical research. If you'd like to know more about this story, you can read Quite Contrary, an autobiography, and Mightier Than the Sword, both by Mary Whitehouse. Ban This Filth, letters from the Mary Whitehouse archive by Ben Thompson, and you can watch Banned, the Mary Whitehouse story, on BBC iPlayer.

I'm Matt Ford. And I'm Alice Levine. Wendy Grandeter wrote this episode. Additional writing by Alice Levine and Matt Ford. Sound design by Rich Evans. Script editing by James Magniac. British Scandal is produced by Samizdat Audio. Our associate producer is Francesca Gilardi Quadrio Corzio. Our producer is Millie Chu.

The senior producer is Joe Sykes. Our executive producers are Jenny Lower Beckman, Stephanie Jens and Marshall Louis for Wondery. Wondery.

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