If you grew up in 1970s Britain, there’s a good chance that at some point just before the evening news, you sat transfixed by a scruffy green dog called Roobarb and his smug pink feline nemesis, Custard. What you probably didn’t know at the time was that the man responsible for those gloriously wobbly, handmade cartoons was one of the most important figures in the history of British animation.
In October 1974, Roobarb made his debut in that magical five-minute slot on BBC Children’s TV just before the news. Alongside the likes of Paddington, Bagpuss, and The Magic Roundabout, Roobarb and Custard became one of the great classics of the era.
What made the show so special? For a start, the narration by Richard Briers, delivered with perfect understatement and quiet, gentle humour. And then there was Roobarb himself — curious, optimistic, and endlessly ambitious, despite his plans never quite working out. Custard, the pink cat, sat on the sidelines and watched with quiet satisfaction. Two characters, one field, and infinite imagination.
There were only 30 episodes made, all screened in 1974, but they have been repeated many times since. A Channel 5 reboot appeared in 2005, though without Bob Godfrey’s involvement — and I think it rather showed.
So who was Bob Godfrey? Born in 1921 in West Maitland, Australia, he moved to Britain with his family as a child. He served in the Royal Navy during the Second World War, and afterwards found himself part of a generation rebuilding Britain creatively and culturally.
Godfrey didn’t set out to become a children’s television legend. He began in advertising, which turned out to be the perfect training ground — demanding speed, creativity, tight budgets, and strong visual identity. He co-founded Biographic Films in the 1950s and later established Bob Godfrey Films in London, where he developed his now-iconic style: loose line drawings, minimal animation, bold colours, and surreal humour.
His most distinctive technique was what animators call “boiling lines” — drawings that shift slightly from frame to frame, creating a sense of movement even when characters are standing still. It gave his cartoons their wonderfully alive, handmade quality. Compared to the polished output of Disney, Godfrey’s work looked imperfect — but that imperfection was entirely deliberate, and children responded to it instinctively. I know I did.
In September 1976, Bob Godfrey returned to that five-minute BBC slot with something that is, even now, almost impossible to describe. Noah and Nelly in the Skylark followed Noah and his wife Nelly as they sailed around the world in a flying ark powered by large balloons, crewed by two-headed talking animals (one happy face, one miserable face), and saved from disaster on a regular basis by Nelly’s seemingly inexhaustible knitting abilities.
Cheerfully chaotic and completely bonkers and I mean that as the highest possible compliment the show ran to 30 episodes and, while rarely repeated since, remains one of those shows I remember with real affection.
Bob Godfrey’s influence on British animation is enormous. He taught at the Royal College of Art, where he shaped generations of future animators. Nick Park, the creator of Wallace and Gromit, has cited Godfrey as an inspiration. In 1975, Godfrey won an Academy Award for his animated film Great, telling the story of Isambard Kingdom Brunel — and I actually remember seeing that at the cinema. What an amazing talent.
He passed away in 2013, aged 91, but his work lives on. Roobarb still charms, Noah and Nelly still baffles and delights in equal measure, and his handmade, imperfect, gloriously British style can still be felt in British animation today.
Do you have happy memories of Roobarb and Custard, or Noah and Nelly? I’d love to hear from you — leave a comment below or join the conversation in our Facebook group.
Take care,
Oliver
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