Saturday 30th November saw the National Film Theatre on London's South Bank play host to this year's annual showcase of the BFI's important Missing Believed Wiped initiative, which aims to recover and premiere material from classic programmes previously thought lost to posterity. This year's event boasted perhaps the most impressive line up of newly rediscovered treasures since the ambitious initiative began, and served to highlight the - often under appreciated - diversity of talent and style being produced during British television's crucial formative years.

Introduced by Steve Bryant and the BFI's new researcher in residence, author Dick Fiddy, Missing Believed Wiped 2002 was broken down into two distinct 130-minute sections; the first of which was, Programme 1: Comedy Extravaganza.

The section began with an entertaining extract from the opening episode, donated by Paul Stroud, of the early Arthur Askey sitcom Arthur's Treasured Volumes: A Blow in Anger, a series that used the simple yet imaginative device of the diminutive comedian's (real-life) daughter reading from a book on his shelf, which served as the lead-in to the events of the episode. Although sadly all too brief, the excerpt more than ably demonstrated Askey's genial, superbly honed comedic talent to great effect, particularly when potentially disastrous moments such as dangerously wobbling scenery were deftly incorporated in to the story itself via the great comic's legendary mastery of the ad-lib. One can only hope that the future will see further material from this engaging series brought to light. Next on the agenda was a lengthy section from Scott on Money, one of a number of the Terry Scott sketch and song themed editions that were early BBC2 comedy successes, recently returned to the BBC. Donated by Steven Sigel and boasting a script by Marty Feldman and Barry Took, this particular edition saw Scott showcasing his - often sadly under-utilised versatility as a comedy character actor to excellent effect. The highlight of the extract being a wonderfully realised, hilariously inept, white tie and tails Hollywood musical pastiche that saw Scott partnered by the much loved and much missed talents of the incomparable Rita Webb, and a send-up of an earnest current affairs programme whose seemingly innocuous subject matter cloaked a funnily subtle and courageous (for its time) sub-textual take on the subject of homosexuality. Although on the whole interesting, the comedy quotient of this particular offering was only intermittently rib-ticklingly funny, but nevertheless served as an invaluable reminder that Terry Scott's comedic talent was considerably wider in range than is usually taken for granted.

Next we were presented with one of the unquestionable highlights of the entire section, a special edition of the legendary Goon Show specially filmed in 1965 and originally intended to form part of the then forthcoming Harry Secombe and Friends. Ultimately, the recording was deemed to be only partially successful and was never fully broadcast. However, the entire twenty-eight minutes of footage was preserved by Peter Sellers himself, and was presented at the event via the Peter Sellers collection at the NFTVA. As anarchic, fresh and innovative today as the day it was recorded, this hilarious near half hour of previously unseen lunacy was an unreserved joy from beginning to all too soon end. With the legacy of the Goons arguably more appreciated today than ever before, it seems almost unimaginable that it was thought at the time unsuitable for broadcast. However, with the benefit of hindsight, its slightly rough-edged, almost dress rehearsal air of inspired insanity, was probably the deciding factor at the BBC of the time in the decision not to screen it in full. A genuine gem from a collection of bone fide comic geniuses, this wonderful find is literally screaming for a dedicated video/DVD release to the very widest of audiences.

Although on most occasions the Goons would be an impossible act to follow, in this particular instance the comedic quality was successfully maintained by virtue one of two episodes of another hugely influential comedy classic recently returned to the BFI by Kevin Marsland. The show in question, the unquestionably direct progenitor of the mighty, Monty Python's Flying Circus; was the equally legendary satirical comedy classic, At Last the 1948 Show. Sharp, biting, inventive and surreal by turns, this example of the David Frost produced series effortlessly vaulted the hurdle of the passing of decades to retain its well deserved reputation as being one of the prime movers in the massive evolution of television comedy during the sixties. Bold, bright, endlessly inventive and boasting the appealingly bimboesque figure of "The Lovely" Aimi MacDonald to boot, this particular comedy classic was a well-deserved icing on the delectable comedic cake served up by the preceding Goon delicacy. Why this innovative series failed to be fully networked across the entire ITV region at the time of its original release will probably remain one of British televisions greatest mysteries.

The first programme was brought to a conclusion by a recently rediscovered (within the BBC itself by Andrew Martin) long-believed lost episode of another classic sketch comedy series, Marty. Although a fondly remembered series showcasing the undoubted talents of the bug-eyed Marty Feldman, sadly this particular offering was arguably the most disappointing of all the material on offer in the comedy section. Although boasting one particularly savagely satirical sketch aimed squarely at David Frost himself, the remainder of the material ranged from only mildly amusing to wholly unfunny. Although indisputably an important find, sadly this particular edition was unusually unrepresentative of the overall high quality of the standard of humour that the series could claim as a whole. Perhaps with hindsight, this particular offering might have benefited from being shown earlier in the running order. However, coming as it did directly on the heels of two quite superlative examples of comedic television at its very best, this particularly weak edition of Marty was probably always doomed to suffer in comparison.

Following a short break the event recommenced with Programme 2: The Avengers and More, a somewhat more eclectic mixture of items ranging across the broad spectrum of television music and drama.

The section began with an excerpt from the little seen 1965 Spike Milligan series Muses with Milligan, donated by Ash Stewart. This lengthy 15 or so minute extract featured an odd and uneasy mixture of cool jazz and poetry readings, leavened by a welcome dash of Milligan's trademarked and wholly unique surreal humour. While the musical sets were light and generally pleasing, they wholly failed to jell with the somewhat stolid and uninspiring poetry readings rendered rather self-consciously by the authors themselves. A genuine oddity, this extract proved to be an interesting - if somewhat testing - insight into a genuine televisual curate's egg.

Following directly on from Spike Milligan's obscure opus, the next extract featured the undisputed King of Skiffle, the late Lonnie Donegan in an excerpt from his 1960s series Putting on the Donegan. Although there exists the possibility that the particular edition of the show from which this excerpt was taken still resides somewhere in the vaults of the ATV archive, it was nevertheless a welcome opportunity to see a sadly missed master of his craft performing at the very peak of his musical powers. Next on the agenda was indisputably the most unintentionally hilarious piece of the entire event. An extract from a 1950s drama made in the then still relatively rare High Definition Format, titled I Passed by Your Window. Basically a two-handed extended scene featuring a man and a woman taken from a longer play, what elevated this extract to the giddy heights of sheer surreally kitsch high-camp delightfulness, was the wholly clashing styles of acting employed by the performers. With the man electing to play his role with a decidedly Victorian melodramatic air of intenseness and the woman choosing the light and fluffy Noel Coward approach, the inherent dramatic tension of the work itself swiftly degenerated into an almost surreal, Harry Enfield Cholmondley Warner-esque style sketch of gut wrenching, eye-watering, unintentional hilarity of the very highest order. Breathtakingly badly acted, throat-chokingly funny in the worst possible way; the entire extract charmingly and innocently delivered an almost Edward D. Wood brand of ineptly unknowing non-drama in the most devastatingly funny fashion possible, without setting out to do it that way deliberately. A total, but very funny, insanely bad gem of a drama.

From the unintentionally amusing dizzy heights of "I Passed by Your Window", quality television was dealt a further near deathblow by the next offering, one of a number of surviving episodes from the now almost forgotten 1950s anthology series The Errol Flynn Theatre. Donated to the NFTVA by the series producer himself, one Norman Williams. From the aging and clearly dissipated former Hollywood heartthrob's innocuous and painfully unamusing introduction, to the decidedly over-ripe histrionics of the story's stars, "The Transfer" was a woefully unamusing excursion into the supposedly whimsical world of a ghost story which was neither technically accomplished nor dramatically inspired. That such undoubted talent as a young and still obviously inexperienced James Donald and the older and vastly experienced - but obviously not wiser - Brian Ahearn could be squandered in such a slight and badly executed piece of sub Boris Karloff Presents nonsense was both painful and embarrassing to watch. Clearly the lowest ebb of the entire event, and an undoubted low water mark for British television anthology series as a whole.

Next on the agenda was what was clearly the most anticipated item of the entire event for many of the eagerly awaiting audience. Initially discovered on the UCLA online-catalogue of holdings by NFT member David Wood, "The Avengers: Girl on a Trapeze", holds the distinction of being not only one of the few first season episodes to survive, but more importantly perhaps, is also the only episode of the entire series not to feature Patrick McNee's John Steed character. Sadly, while boasting a characteristically powerful performance from the late Ian Hendry as Doctor David Keel, the scope and ambition of the story is critically compromised by obvious budgetary constraints and the all too noticeable limitations of being entirely studio bound. As an undoubtedly important addition to the restoration of this classic series early years the rediscovery and return of the episode is clearly to be welcomed. But unfortunately, as a piece of televisual drama in its own right as well as an example of what the series would later evolve in to -and is rightly celebrated for, Girl on a Trapeze failed to be anything more than an historically important curio whose ambition was, sadly, larger than its technical ability to deliver.

And finally, rounding off the proceedings, was an extract found within the NFTVA's Rediffusion collection featuring location footage segments from the Ratcatchers episode "The Heel of Achilles". Disjointed, unrelated and of interest mainly because of the quality of the location work, the greatest mystery which begs to be uncovered regarding this footage is why exactly at one point during an action sequence the haunting and memorable theme from Callan makes an unexpected appearance on the soundtrack?

By turns amusing, exciting, intriguing, disappointing and every now and again just plain laugh out loud hysterical; when all is said and done and the nostalgia rush of first viewing has receded, Missing Believed Wiped 2002, can be judged an overall success. That work of such obvious historical importance is safe in the hands of clearly dedicated, knowledgeable and resourceful individuals such as Steve Bryant, Dick Fiddy and the rest of the BFI team is to be applauded and supported to the best of all our efforts.

Here's to the next Missing Believed Wiped event ...and the possible treasures it will have to offer up to us.