FIFTY years ago last Friday, the waiting was over for York and the whole of the North. For years, households in the Midlands and the South had been able to do it and, indeed, a million and more did it every night. Finally, it was our turn. The North, too, was ready to be spellbound by the magic of television.

On Friday, October 12, 1951, the Holme Moss transmitter on top of the Pennines was activated. Before then, Yorkshire had been able to receive TV pictures beamed all the way from the West Midlands, but the reception was terrible.

Anticipation of the arrival of decent telly had begun weeks earlier. Press advertisements extolled the virtues of the different TVs on the market. The Regentone T15 promised "clear, steady pictures" through a 12-inch tube and cost 89 guineas; but for 57 guineas, you could pick up an HMV Emiscope ten-inch set. Both were housed in walnut cabinets.

Among the many electrical retailers hoping to cash in on the TV craze were the York Cooperative Society, Micklegate; York Relay Services, Parliament Street; Wigfalls of Low Ousegate; John Naylor & Sons, Market Street; and F Knowlson, Gillygate. All were offering demonstrations of the new medium to a willing audience - TVs were being licensed in York at the rate of 20 a day.

Successful results from Holme Moss's test transmissions left York Corporation hoping "the threatened rush of aerials over the roofs of the estates will be averted," the Evening Press reported on September 14, 1951.

The housing authorities were keen "that tenants will adopt cheaper indoor-type aerials". Planning permission for outdoor aerials would be granted grudgingly, although the corporation needed to see an insurance certificate indemnifying it against damage to the property.

Meanwhile, Askham Lane residents had to seek special permission from the Air Ministry before erecting an outdoor aerial, because of low-flying aircraft.

The appearance of TV aerials gave rise to a joke. 'One of the distinctive H-masts is installed on the chimney of a York house. The next day, a sign appears on the chimney of the neighbouring property: "Washing Machine Installed".'

To have your own telly was certainly a status symbol. And, in a special report for the Evening Press of September 20, 1951, correspondent FE Moore presciently predicted life would never be the same.

"In across-the-fence chats, in the workshops and factories, in restaurants and, inevitably, in the queues 'last night's television' will soon become the major topic of conversation in the North as it already is in the South and Midlands," he wrote.

TV at this time had only one channel, BBC, which broadcast in the late afternoon and again from 8pm until about 10.30pm. Nevertheless, FE warned that it could disrupt the family routine.

"Television's first impact is on the housewife. It can interfere with housework. To watch the afternoon programmes, she will find herself speeding up her routine to be finished before 3pm...

"The youngsters will probably skimp their tea at first to see Children's Hour. By the way, it is simply not possible to watch a television screen and eat properly at the same time."

Mr Moore suggested placing the set on either side of the fireplace. "Casual looking, with frequent glances away from the screen, in a dimly-lit room, will spare you eye strain and headaches."

He also had advice on how to prevent TV taking over. Television "should be treated in the same way as are visits to public places of entertainment in the town. Select the programmes that seem likely to appeal and have 'an evening indoors'.

"At other times, give it a rest."

The BBC's transmissions from Alexandra Palace, London, had begun in 1936. On September 1, 1939, a Mickey Mouse cartoon was being shown when television was blacked out for security reasons at the start of the war. The same cartoon was shown on June 8, 1946, when television re-opened to cover the Victory Parade.

In the Evening Press, an unnamed writer from the south of England who had been watching from the pre-war days lamented the state of 'modern' TV. On the box today, he wrote in October 1951, "you will get a little more slapstick and a little less sophistication than there was in pre-war television".

Nevertheless, the service was addictive. "If they put up the licence to £25 a year we would pay it," he wrote. "So would most of the million-odd set owners." Why?

He quoted a lorry driver whose whole family loved TV. The man's reaction had ominous implications for leisure businesses: "We're saving 35 bob a week on cinemas and visits to the local."

Finally the big day arrived. At 8pm on October 12, Lord Simon of Wythenshawe, chairman of the BBC governors, switched on the £350,000 Holme Moss transmitter. That night, Northern viewers watched announcer Sylvia Peters introduce the new service. Richard Dimbleby interviewed some of the special guests gathered at a reception in Manchester Town Hall, including England footballer Stanley Matthews.

The celebrations continued with a variety show broadcast from London, entitled "Hullo Up There!"

York Viewers Watched TV Opening was the headline on the Evening Press report the next day. "Clustered around sets in cosy dining rooms, packed into dealers' showrooms and peering through TV shop windows in the city, they saw dark-haired Sylvia Peters, wearing a new 40-guinea gown, provided by the BBC, make the first announcement... Reception in York was excellent, with hardly any interference." The following night, the BBC was broadcasting a star-studded music hall extravaganza from the Theatre Royal, Leeds. Gracie Fields was on the bill, with the ventriloquist Peter Brough and his 'dummy' Archie Andrews.

But then disaster struck. Thieves stole Archie from the train taking Peter Brough from London to Leeds. Brough was "frantically re-writing" his script to explain Archie's absence, the Press reported.

One of the first Yorkshire television viewers was Vic Naylor. He had recently taken over as head teacher at Stamford Bridge Primary School, a post he would retain until retirement 31 years later. Mr Naylor bought a 12-inch Ferguson model. "In the early days a demonstration film was shown briefly in the afternoon, and children came into the school house in turn and saw it," he recalled.

"By pushing the table into the corner and squashing up on the floor with the taller ones standing at the back we could get about 30 in at a time."

As more people owned sets, after-school viewing began to dwindle. But, Mr Naylor writes, "there are still quite a number of people in the village who had their first sight of television in t'ord boss's house!"