Television in Boston.

In December 1948 Mr. Ron Diggins of West Street, the well known wireless expert, invited a newspaper reporter to a top room of his establishment to see the latest wonder - television. Although reception was not perfect, the fact that the impulses were being picked up at all was remarkable, for Boston stood far out of the usual 40 mile radius which was supposed to be at that time the maximum extent of reception from Alexandra Palace. Sets operating around Boston had to be considerably boosted up by amplifiers but while this improved reception of the images it also magnified interference.

Mr. Diggins twiddled with various controls and tuned in the focus of the image and there appeared on the screen a lady announcer who told of what was to come and what had gone. Then followed a sequence of pictures - actually from a film - ranging from horse racing to high speed motorcycle racing. There was an opera in progress, acrobats, ballet, the launching of a ship and a French vocalist singing a song and altogether it was described as "a wonderful entertainment."
Visibility was marred by a constant succession of bright light flashes or illuminated dots, which Mr. Diggins explained were caused by cars, buses and the general traffic in West Street below. Below could be heard the noise of a bus or some other vehicle gaining speed and changing gears and every movement was recorded on the screen by a series of flashes. There were others too, constantly flickering and interfering with reception. These, Mr. Diggins said, were set up by spark plugs on cars and a score of other electrical gadgets within picking up distance. To demonstrate he asked that an electrical drill to be switched on in the room below and as soon as it started the picture disappeared.
It was thought that when the time arrived that we had a transmitter within reasonable and effective distance it would not be long before television was so perfect as to be in demand for almost every home - how trrue that statement became.

Ron Diggins.

A few years ago Ron Diggins was officially named the world's first disc jockey by specialist music-mixing journal DJ Magazine.

Ron was a professional radio engineer with a business in Boston providing public address systems

"I'd been playing background music and doing voice-overs out the back of my van at school sports days and the like," he told the Boston Standard. "It was nothing to do with dancing – that was the last thing on my mind." But in September 1947, the farm girls from the Swineshead Land Army decided Ron’s gear could be put to better use: "They were passing the office, saw the van and came in to ask if it could be used for dancing. They were having a harvest supper with some of the Italian POWs. Well, I'd never thought of it before, but I didn't want to lose the booking – so I said I'd give it a go."

"Back then there was just the waltz, the quick-step and the Palais glide – and I always ended up with the National Anthem," he explained. "It was unheard of at the time to play records at a dance and it just took off from there – although I had no idea how things would snowball."

Ron’s 78s proved wildly popular, no doubt because his record selections gave audiences slightly grander music than they were used to. "When I started out, the ordinary village halls danced to live piano and drums – that's all. If it was something extra special, they'd have a violin as well."

Three ladies enjoying Ron's music.

In 1949 he built his famous ‘Diggola’ a wonderful art deco mobile DJ booth modelled on the bandstands of the jazz era. The first of six, it came complete with double decks for 78s, a home-made mixer, lights, microphone, amplifier and ten speakers. "It took me about six weeks to build the first Diggola. We couldn't get plywood in those days, so soon after the war. So I had to make it out of coffin boards."

Ron's Hillman Estate Mobile Disco.

In the ’50s Ron Diggin's fame had spread so widely around south Lincolnshire that he had to hire two other DJs to keep up with his bookings. His success angered the Musicians’ Union, who used their clout to prevent him playing larger venues. So sadly, though he’d set his heart on it, Ron never played Boston’s Gliderdrome. He retired in 1995 after playing around 20,000 parties. The most he ever charged was £50.

"I've invented nothing," he insisted on his 90th birthday. "I put the same things to a different use, that's all."