That Was Satire That Was by Humphrey Carpenter

(Gollancz, £20)

THERE'S a line in the Lovin' Spoonful's song Do You Believe In Magic? which goes: It's like trying to tell a stranger about rock 'n' roll.

The meaning is simple: if you haven't heard rock 'n' roll you'll never know what it is. And there is a parallel here: if you weren't around in the early Sixties, you won't know what satire was.

Which is a pity for this is an excellent history of a brief spell in the 20th century when so much changed - and satire was at the forefront of that sea change.

Yet the boom of the Sixties - a glorious time in the annals of satire - lasted barely three years before disappearing almost without trace.

Although the performers were honing their acts in the Fifties, the Edinburgh Festival of 1960 started the boom with the appearance of what now seems a quaint little revue, Beyond The Fringe.

Of the four performers and writers - Alan Bennett, Jonathan Miller, Peter Cook and Dudley Moore - only Cook could really be classed a satirist and he figures large in Carpenter's book.

From the Fringe came the Establish-ment Club, where 'alternative' comedians performed, and Richard Ingram's Private Eye magazine (both, incidentally, heavily reliant on Cook's wayward genius) and finally satire's finest hour, That Was The Week That Was.

Looking back, it's hard to believe the BBC was brave enough to broadcast TW3. In the end their nerve held for barely 12 months - from November 1962 until a couple of weeks after Kennedy's death in November 1963 - but, oh, what a 12 months.

Producer Ned Sherrin, presenter David Frost - loathed and admired in equal proportions - and regular stalwarts such as cartoonist Willie Rushton (one of the funniest men around for three decades), Roy Kinnear, Lance Percival, singer Millicent Martin, actor Kenneth Cope and acerbic journalist Bernard Levin created a programme that touched the mood of the nation.

Brash, sometimes gauche, often missing the target and unfunny, it didn't matter. The public loved it: publicans moaned that in pre-video days, their pubs were emptying before closing time on Saturday. The Church spluttered. Mary Whitehouse raged and politicians grinned through gritted teeth - although everyone knew Labour would have it off the air when they came to power. It didn't matter.

The BBC got cold feet and TW3 was pulled. And that was that. Two lightweight copies were trotted out by the Beeb, the Establishment Club lasted another couple of years; only Private Eye survived - sometimes by the skin of its teeth.

It all seems so long ago now and you wonder at all the fuss. And that is the problem with Carpenter's book. Fascinating, compelling and often very funny, That Was Satire That Was is a fitting tribute to a fascinating period. But I can't help but feel that this is a book written by an aficionado for other aficionados.