25-06-2025
Need some respite in these bleak times? These shows had me sobbing at my radio
Being an audio junkie, my ears are currently filled with little else but war. I tip my hat to the excellent, reactive work done by podcasts such as The Daily T, Americast, The Rest Is Politics (both UK and US) and The News Agents, who all may as well be broadcasting live, 24 hours a day at the moment. Yet while all and sundry on social media demand that you 'do not look away' from Gaza or Tehran or Tel Aviv, sometimes you have to. It was with some relief that I tuned into Moominsummer Madness (Radio 4, Sunday), the latest of Radio 4's delightful adaptations of Tove Jansson 's work, and the ideal way to mark midsummer.
The plot was beautifully absurd, with a volcano causing a great tsunami to flood Moominvalley, forcing the Moomins to take refuge on, of all things, a floating theatre. You could look for analogies about refugees and displaced people and resilience in the face of oblivion if you wanted to, but why on earth would you want to? The world hardly needs analogies on those subjects at the moment. As the Moomins pootled about the flooded valley, fretting about marmalade and lost toothbrushes, the best thing to do was to switch off entirely and give yourself to the unsettling weirdness of a tale set in a land where the sun never sets.
As with all of Jansson's work, it's for children and yet, at the same time, not entirely for children. There is a tweeness about the Moomins, and a childlike optimism that can be off-putting if you're not quite in the right mood, but there is always a darkness around the edges.
As the volcano erupted, Little My (Clare Corbett) talked of children's toys being burnt, while she later enquired how Snufkin (Alex Waldmann) was going to 'settle his score' with the dreaded park keeper: 'What are you going to do with him? Hang him? Boil him?' The miserable Misabel (Rosanna Miles) sobbed at the water's edge as she pondered the beauty of the moon and 'all the sadness there is'. It's like Paddington having an existential crisis.
The Moomins had no idea what a theatre was, so had to learn the hard way via a haughty rat called Emma (Naomi Wirthner) who declared, horrified, 'You don't know a thing about theatre!' I have heard countless Radio 4 dramas in my time, but rarely have I heard a production that brimmed with such life and vigour. And I can't recall a time when I heard a voice cast having such a whale of a time, particularly Samuel West as Moominpappa, who learnt all about the stage and decided that he simply must write a play (we've all been there).
The script – adapted by Robin Brooks – was a gem. 'A theatre is the most important sort of place in the world,' said Emma. 'It's where people are shown who they could be if they wanted, what they'd like to be if they dared, and what they really are.' 'You mean it's a reformatory?' replied Moominmamma (Ann Bryson).
On the other side of the world, where the sun has disappeared, they celebrated midwinter. There is no better way to mark this than by listening to the World Service's annual Antarctic Midwinter Broadcast (Saturday), which was marking its 70th anniversary. Began in 1955 by Donald Milner, the broadcast is intended for the few dozen hardy scientists and support staff at British research centres in the Antarctic. It is nothing more than messages from loved ones and a few music requests, but each year it somehow manages to make me sob. Listening to it, I feel like Misabel, overcome by the beauty of human endeavour and connection.
They have broadband at the bottom of the world now, yet there remains something mysterious and romantic about broadcasting to people stranded, for 12 months, on a windswept rock. Cerys Matthews introduced the missives from the UK, aimed at Rothera base and South Georgia (including Bird Island with its four inhabitants – I hope they like each other), a patchwork of jaunty 'hellos', choked-up parents, proud grandparents, woofs and miaows, homemade poems and shanties, and private jokes.
It's heartwarmingly nerdy and impossible to pick a favourite message: 'Nick and Anne say, 'Hope you're having a *cool* time'.' 'Please get rid of that awful beard, love Mum.' 'Don't get too hammered David.' The one that sent me over the edge was five words long. 'Hello son. I love you.'
Between the Moomins staging some hammy cod-Shakespeare and the families of British scientists beaming their messages of love halfway across the world, the radio offered up a different perspective on humanity this week. It was much needed.
