IN her study of the presentation of the Great War in television documentaries, Emma Hanna notes that such histories serve much the same purpose as war memorials. Both, she argues, are carefully constructed representations of the past, artfully composed so that the story they portray ‘will be accepted in the moment of their creation and by the society for whom they are created’. But here Hanna is ploughing a lone furrow. Invariably, the small screen, as distinct from cinema, is ignored by cultural historians, dismissed as nothing more than mere entertainment. Yet, the past enshrined in historical documentaries has an immediacy, power and influence that no single monument or, for that matter, written history, could ever attain. Indeed, so all pervasive is television that many academic historians fear that it undermines the public's ability to appreciate the complexity of historical events by propagating inaccuracies and myths, an ‘agreed’ version of the past. Simon Schama has neatly summarised such academic navel-gazing as:

In articulating these fears, academics are not only tacitly admitting to the power of television but also acknowledging the influence that the medium has in shaping public memory. Such power has, unsurprisingly, long been appreciated by those within the television industry. Producers and directors have consistently maintained that the medium is particularly suited to the broadcasting of history, as its strengths lie in ‘telling stories and anecdotes, creating atmosphere and mood, giving diffuse impressions’.