Millionaires About the House

The early 1970s saw a substantial amount of the British film industry being dedicated to sitcom spin-offs.  I’ve covered many of these in this blog from ‘On the Buses’ to ‘Steptoe and Son’.  Perhaps a slightly less well known series to be given the spin-off treatment is ‘Man About The House’.  The scenario for the series and film is of a three way flat-share between two women (Paula Wilcox and Sally Thomsett) and a man (Richard O’Sullevan).  The flat forms the upper floors of a house owned by an older couple (Yootha Joyce and Brian Murphy) who later went on to have their own sitcom and film entitled ‘George and Mildred’.

As with most 1970s sitcom spin-offs, one shouldn’t tune in expecting anything akin to Olivier doing Shakespeare.  But for a late night Saturday laugh with a good dose of nostalgia, they often hit the mark.  I quite like the ‘Man About The House’ film. Primarily for Yootha as Mildred, whom, as I approach her age like a runaway rollercoaster, I find myself adopting as a role model.  Battling on in the face of adversity with a perfect coiffure and an acerbic one-liner disguising a platinum heart, she is an inspiration.  However it’s also an excellent film with which to play at “spot the seventies star bingo.” Cast members from ‘Dad’s Army’, ‘On The Buses’ and ‘It Aint Half Hot, Mum’ have walk-on parts, and there is a rather odd cameo from Spike Milligan.

Another reason to watch ‘Man About The House’ is for the street scenes of the North West London district.   Both the street signs and the appearance of Maida Vale tube station give clues to the general location of filming.  If you know this area well, no doubt it is a fascinating window on the area just prior to the re-gentrification that took place in the later 20^th Century.  The house that is occupied by the main characters is one of those north London residences that have had three lives.  Originally constructed in a neo-Georgian style at the turn of the twentieth century, these town houses were spread over three or four floors, and were occupied by well-heeled middle class families and their servants.  By the mid 20^th Century, many of the wealthier types had moved out of central London, presumably for leafy Metroland and the rural idyll – especially easy with Marylebone station being just down the road.  These houses became run down and separated into flats – as shown in this film.  As the storyline shows us, many did not survive this loss of status and were swallowed up by developers, hungry for office block foundation space.  But those who did survive had a considerable change in fortune, when their value as a sturdily built and spacious home in an envious location was recognised.

The street sign near the Roper household says Myddleton Terrace NW8.  Several websites, including reelstreets.com tells us that the townhouse row is in reality Alma Square in Maida Vale.  Another search for properties for sale in Alma Square confirms that today, these are very desirable residences indeed.  At the beginning of April 2013 I found two properties for sale here.  One – a four-bedroomed house – had just been sold at £3.5 million.  A two-bedroomed flat here was on the market for £1.5 million.  I doubt that it’s the film location pushing up the prices!  Modern day streetviews show Mercedes parked where George and Mildred’s Morris Minor once stood.  Fans of theirs will know that for their own spin-off film, they had swapped Maida Vale for a suburban new-build.  What a mistake!

http://www.reelstreets.com/index.php?option=com_films_online&task=view&id=1455

Bus Shelter

The 1970s television series ‘On The Buses’ spawned a total of three films, showing how hugely popular this programme must have been.  For television to be popular it must have some kind of relevance to viewers, and I think that ‘On The Buses’’ popularity stemmed from its ability to tap into the concerns of working people and their families.  And as the daughter of a bus conductor/driver who began work in the 1970s, I have been assured that many of Stan and Jack’s situations are quite accurate for the time!

I have already covered the original ‘On the Buses’ film and ‘Holiday on the Buses’ (see links below), where I was reminded of pieces of everyday life which have now been swallowed up by modern day commercialism.  But when I watched the second film in the series – ‘Mutiny on the Buses’, I realised that there is one way in which our modern life has failed, and that we are now backtracking to the lifestyle depicted in the film.

A thread running through this film is Stan’s engagement to Suzy the Clippie.  She tells him that she wishes to marry him as soon as possible – and as she is holding back certain benefits until their wedding night – Stan too is keen to exchange vows.  However the sticking point is their inability to find somewhere to live.  Stan attempts to save the money for a deposit on a flat – with Suzy’s chosen flat secured, he is as good as married.  However, when his brother-in-law (Arthur) loses his job, he finds himself being forced into contributing more into the family household pot.  Because Stan’s current living arrangement is sharing the family home with his mother, sister, brother-in-law and nephew.  Suzy is given the option of joining them all as a new member of the family. However, she is positive that this will never happen and as the flat becomes further out of reach of Stan’s pocket, the engagement is called off.

To the modern viewer, this household set up is unusual.  We now expect to have our own home and to live apart from our extended family.  In the latter decades of the 20^th Century this idea of universal home ownership was aggressively pushed to us all.  But this is a relatively new phenomenon.  Throughout history, housing has been at such a premium that two or three generations have routinely lived in the same house.  Young couples couldn’t afford to pay out rent on their own place and neither could outside care of the elderly be afforded.  When my parents first married and until I was around two years old, the three of us lived with my Mum’s parents.  As I was born in the same year that ‘Mutiny on the Buses’ was made, this shows that Stan’s home really wasn’t out of the ordinary –as I said at the beginning, this is what made the show popular – it was familiar to viewers.  My parents moved out of my grandparents’ home when they got to the top of the waiting list for a council flat.  Good council housing gave many families the chance to make their own way and have a home of their own.  But then we were all pushed into buying houses, it was what we were all told to aspire to.  Prices have now reached such a point through the high demand that I think we are facing a return to the multigenerational home. 

4 Generations of my family, 1973

I think that many of the problems relating to housing today can be traced back to the selling of these council houses.  The first step on the family home ladder has been rendered considerably more difficult to get a toehold on, leaving families chasing a deposit that they will struggle to manage while they line the pockets of greedy opportunist private landlords.  Stan’s fiancée gives us a clue to when this change was beginning.  Young, impressionable people were already reaching out for property that they really could not afford to take on.  One feels that Suzy would never have been satisfied to make do on a busman’s wages and would always be wanting to go one better.  He really was better off without all that.

http://historyusherette.blogspot.co.uk/2011/10/bus-to-shops.html

http://historyusherette.blogspot.co.uk/2012/01/is-it-ship-is-it-train-no-its-sealink.html

Letsby Avenue

Regular readers will know that I have a soft spot for George Formby.  I find him a tad frustrating at times, but his cheeky songs and gormless ways are rather endearing.  And as a historical resource his films are really quite useful.  I recently watched ‘Come on George’ (1939) as part of some research that I have been carrying out into horse race betting on film.  I didn’t find a huge amount of gambling information here – although the betting mad policeman was an interesting character.  However, George’s lodgings in the film did lead me down another little path.

After getting a job in a stables, George needs to find a room to stay in locally.  A loveable young tyke of a lad who hangs around the stables and seems to be operating very much on the same wavelength as our hero offers a solution.  He lives with his grandfather, who happens to have a room going spare for lodgers.  The deal is sealed when the boy tells of his pretty older sister. What the boy omits to tell George is that his grandad is the village bobby and that his potential room is the police cell.  George is taken to a substantial looking house with a large, lush garden, maintained by the under-employed Sergeant.  The boy’s sister quickly turns the cell into a guest bedroom by utilising skilfully placed pictures and fabrics.  George accepts the room and the Sergeant and his grandchildren get a bit of extra spending money from his rent.

This is a little window onto how police forces used to be organised, before being rationalised into the set-up that we are familiar with now.  Once, most substantially enough sized villages did have its own police house, where the local bobby was permanently stationed.  Residents knew where to find the policeman as and when he was needed and in the days before telephones they could pop down and physically fetch him out.  This lack of a telephone is the key as to why this expensive method of policing was in force - that and the rarity of cars.  The bicycle is as far advanced transport-wise as the police got in the shires during the 1930s!

Constabularies did have to ensure the provision of a house as necessary, and I presume that this led to counties having uniform types of houses being built.  I know that here in north Derbyshire, I can instantly recognise the village police house in a town or village, even where it is no longer in use as police property.  Plain and utilitarian and with a broad-armed presence, they all have that same look about them.  I rather like to see them, there’s something comforting about them. 

A typical ex-police house in north Derbyshire

But the type of policing as shown in ‘Come On George’ is long gone.  His landlord/sergeant can let out the cell because he rarely has any crime to deal with.  Back then, everyone in these sorts of villages knew everyone else and their business so well that you might as well not bother committing a crime.  People would likely know what you’d done before you even did it.  Society has changed now.  There’s more to pinch, more distractions, more isolation and fast cars to get away in.  So the police have had to change too, to bigger and more centralised stations with fleets of fast cars and a helicopter to get around in.  Watch ‘Come On George’ and mourn the loss of the village bobby that everyone knew.

A Bunch of Tea Leaves

The 1941 film ‘Love on the Dole’ was adapted from Walter Greenwood’s play of the same name.  Although set in the worst of the depression in the early 1930s, there is obviously a wartime propaganda element to the film, as it was made in the darkest days of World War Two.  Permission to make the film – withheld for the 1930s, was granted as it showed a nation that will always fight back, no matter how low circumstances take us.

Opinion on how realistic the play and film is seems to be divided.  Some saw it as a marvellous depiction of the working classes while others found it mawkish and the characters too one-dimensional.  I think there are relevant arguments on both sides, and would summarise the film as an early, naïve attempt at one of those kitchen-sink dramas which were to reach their zenith twenty years later.

Whether the scenario is a wholly accurate representation of life in Salford in the 1930s or not, I found one aspect which I am sure the film does depict quite faithfully.  That is the scenes where a group of women gather together in one of their houses to dabble in occult activities.  If there is one thing that history shows us about human nature, it is our tendency to retreat into superstition when times get tough.  From making offerings to fertility deities to make the crops grow, to believing in a heaven which is a reward for battling through this mortal hell, it is human nature to retreat into some kind of fantasy to give ourselves reason to carry on.  This group of neighbours in ‘Love on the Dole’ are looking for a light at the end of their pawn shop and hunger-riddled tunnel.  They need a reason for their lives and more importantly, a reason to continue living it.  Rationally, the only certainties they have are poverty, sickness and death.

And so, the women read the tea-leaves, which hint at that old chestnut – a dark stranger on the horizon.  Well, wouldn’t it make it easier to get out of bed in a morning if someone had told you that one of these days something different and exciting will happen?  They hold a séance and have a chat with their loved ones – the people that they miss, and find comfort in both the fantasy of an afterlife where they will see them again; as well as a humanisation of that which they least understand. ‘Love on the Dole’ showcases the activities that went on in order to “read the future”.  It also shows that those women who were considered to hold the talents necessary to do this had kudos.  The ringleader in this activity is shown to have a higher standing in her small society.  Cultivation of these talents – presumably passed down from mother to daughter – could be a profitable activity.  Perhaps this also might have been used as an explanation for a personal problem or ailment that lack of access to medical treatment rendered a mystery. 

My great-great-grandmother has gone down in family history as being our own witch.  All we know is that she had the “sight”.  And that she also had a lot of headaches.  As her direct descendant down the female line I should probably be cultivating this “sight” myself! Rationally, she probably got migranes and saw strange things during the course of them – as some people do.  I would imagine, if she was an attention seeking drama queen (a bit like me and definitely like my youngest daughter) then she would play on this – even make a shilling on the side and if she could milk it enough then why not?  Times were hard and entertainments few.  It would be easy for us to mock those women from the viewpoint of our rational and so called sophisticated society.  But would I have done the same?  Definitely. 

Murder Most Old-Fashioned

I’m not a one for detective fiction or whodunits. The plethora of detective/police/mystery fodder on television these days leaves me bored and bewildered.  I quite like the Poirot series with David Suchet, but this is because of the glimpses of my favourite Art Deco style.  Quite often I’ll be so enamoured of a building that he’s visiting that I miss a vital piece of plot and get lost.  But I don’t really care, I’ll just look at the scenery.  Similarly, with the Miss Marple films of the 1960s, everything else is second fiddle to the leading lady.  Margaret Rutherford IS Miss Marple.  Others may disagree, but to me, her casting in this role is both Rutherford and Marple’s finest hour.  The plot of the film is almost irrelevant.  The jowl-wobbling, cape-tossing, murder enthusiast spinster is everything.   Especially sat on the train at the beginning of ‘Murder She Said’ (1961); being in turn haughty, playful and incredulous.

It is during this scene that Miss Marple witnesses the murder, around which this first film in the series pivots.  An express train is in the process of overtaking the slower stopping train on which she is travelling.  One compartment which draws alongside hers on the adjacent track has the privacy blinds drawn.  Suddenly, one shoots up to reveal a woman who is being strangled and in the final death throes.  On my most recent viewing of this film I found myself musing that this simply could not happen anymore.  The days of private compartments in which you could carry out a pre-meditated murder are long gone.  I’ve always quite hankered after the old train compartment, which I vaguely remember from my 1970s childhood – particularly travelling to Cornwall in one on a Golden Rail holiday circa 1979.  A compartment with just room for around 8 people seems a bit cosier and more civilised than our completely open carriages of today, where you are continually subject to 80-odd peoples’ conversations and opinions.  And if you are unlucky enough to have to take an aisle seat there is the constant by-pass of large-hipped people and their myriad forms of baggage.

However, viewers of ‘Murder She Said’ are reminded that this old sort of carriage seating had its dangers.  Originally, compartments didn’t even have a connecting corridor, which did lead to attacks.  The first railway murder, described in the fascinating book “Mr Briggs’ Hat” by Kate Colquhoun, shows how the closed compartment style of travel sealed the poor Mr Briggs’ fate.  Even with a connecting corridor, blinds could be drawn by those seeking privacy.  Very unsafe indeed.

The 1963 follow up film ‘Murder at the Gallop’ showcased another obsolete form of pre-meditated murder.  That is, poisoning by town gas.  A disembodied hand attempts to finish off Miss Marple herself (noooo!) by turning on the unlit gas supply to her bedroom heater as she naps.  Given a long enough exposure in a poorly ventilated room, this would have been a killer, much more so than today with our natural North Sea gas.  Town (or coal) gas was produced as a by-product of burning coal, and contained a hefty dose of carbon monoxide.  Suicide by placing the head in a gas oven was extremely common before the mass change over to natural gas in the 1960s and 70s.  Of course, Miss Marple woke up while in the midst of being gassed.  Many wouldn’t have and would have found themselves efficiently and cleanly murdered, with little evidence to go on to track down the perpetrator.

It is interesting to see how changes to the way that we live our lives has also resulted in a change to the way that murderers could plan their crimes.  It’s just as difficult to envisage a modern-day Marple…as it is to envisage her as anyone other than magnificent Margaret.

Bless This Planet

‘Bless This House’ is one of those spin-off films from a 1970s sitcom.  All the successful series from this era did it - from ‘Steptoe and Son’ to ‘Are You Being Served’ – with varying results.  Some are watchable if you’re not in the mood for anything taxing; while others are an embarrassment – British cinema’s dying gasp.  ‘Bless This House’ (1972) comes somewhere in the middle of the scale – predictable and hackneyed in places, but with a liberal enough sprinkling of laughs to keep you watching.  It’s also a feelgood factor to see so many familiar faces from your childhood viewing.  Sid James, Terry Scott, June Whitfield, Peter Butterworth  and, well, I was going to say Robin Asquith but the only other thing that I know him from is the Confessions films and I’m sure I didn’t see those as a child!

When I last watched ‘Bless This House’, I settled down with my sewing box.  Films like this, easy to follow and so very familiar, are a cosy background to another task.  Two relaxing hits in one.  Three in fact, as these two are invariably accompanied by a cup of tea and some chocolate.  ‘Bless’ means an hour and a half of bliss.  You can allow your imagination to have a wander too, and this time I was blessed with quite an interesting idea along with a realisation that things aren’t always as modern as they seem.

The film opens with Mrs Abbot (Diana Coupland) and Mrs Lewis (Patsy Rowlands) collecting what many would call junk.  It’s their intention to open an antiques stall in a specialist market place and they are busy building up stock by rummaging in jumble sales.  One person’s junk is indeed another’s treasure, as a charity shop fanatic myself, there’s no need to convince me of this.  Armed with my copy of the latest Vogue magazine in order to read up on what I should be looking for, I rattle through the rails looking for discarded sartorial treasure.  I’m proud of my eclectic wardrobe, where very few items cost me more than a tenner and many of them were made to fit well and to last.  When I tire of them, I either give them back to charity or sell them on eBay, sometimes even getting my original outlay back.  Cheap and environmentally friendly!

While watching ‘Bless This House’ I was replacing some shabby buttons on an otherwise decent linen cardigan, with a set from my extensive collection (thanks to Nan and Oxfam).  It wasn’t long before I had the idea of setting up an Etsy shop to sell on some of my old (otherwise known as vintage) sewing kit.  And following that thought came another about some things never changing.  I am by no means the only person going around second hand sales and later selling on my finds – it’s a booming business out there in cyber space.  I had lazily thought that this was something new that had been born out of our new way of life, half spent in the ether.  But having watched ‘Bless This House’ I can see that I was wrong.  Of course I was.  Didn’t I spend my teenage (pre computer-age) years riffling through the stalls on Sheffield flea market?  Doesn’t every town have its antique/second hand quarter which goes way back in its establishment?  The only difference is that now more people can afford to do it, as the overheads of this activity have been reduced to a listing fee.  We’re all digging out our junk in the hope that it’s treasure – and now that we are well into the disposable society age there is more of it in circulation.

I can’t quite decide if ‘Bless This House’ recognises the environmental connection to this junk recycling.  Sid and Diana’s daughter (Sally, played by Sally Geeson) spends much of the film protesting against environmental damage.  Had the connection between recycling and the environment been made back then?  Again, quite lazily, I had assumed not.  In fact I wouldn’t have said that there was much at all in the way of environmental awareness back then but it seems I was wrong.  Sally supports her mother’s venture. Perhaps even in 1972 some did recognise the need to re-use materials.  There was certainly a lot less waste back then, as the small dustbins that I remember from my childhood attest.  What a shame that it took so long for the need to recycle to really take off…and let’s hope that we get better at it.

http://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/SewsAttic

Keep Soldiering On

‘The League of Gentlemen’ (1960) is a magnificent crime caper film, liberally sprinkled with familiar film faces.  Jack Hawkins, Richard Attenborough and Bryan Forbes are just three of those faces.  And of course if there’s Bryan, Nanette Newman is often found in the vicinity.  And there she is, in the bath, being cheeky.  Clearly this film has something for everyone.

The plot involves a former army top brass type (Hawkins) bringing together a motley collection of former soldiers.  Each served in World War Two and has something shady to hide from these times.  None of them have settled into a respectable post war life either.  Hawkins has researched each man carefully over a long period of time, and has allocated each of them a role in a perfectly planned bank robbery.  Both the promise of an equal share in a large sum of cash, along with the fact that they each have nothing to lose, means that they all accept the job.

Hawkins moves the men into his rambling old country house where they settle into an army-like existence as they plan, construct and rehearse.  They are all only too pleased (despite minor grumbles about potato peeling and room sharing) to return to the old life.  At last, after years of drifting, they have some form to their lives and a goal in sight.  At first glance, this barracks style set up could be for comedy effect – grown men playing at being in the army like a bunch of kids let loose in an old disused base camp.  But, there is a serious bit of social history behind this.

While watching, I got the firm impression that this structure to their lives had been a serious psychological hurdle in its absence.  They were all lost in a futile search for something that was unobtainable in peacetime.  I began to wonder if this had been a common or recognised problem in the two or three decades following the war.  It wasn’t really something that had occurred to me as both of my Grandads had returned from their war service to settle into steady jobs.  But, on giving it more thought, there will have been those whose wartime experience was so intense that a return to normality was difficult to deal with.

Three dapper post war gents.  The one with the pipe is Grandad.

A brief Google brought up a fascinating website which immediately answered all of my questions – and more.   http://www.alanallport.net/main/psychology-of-demob/ contains a section of blog entries, all concerning real ex-service personnel’s feelings on returning home.  In summary, common problems emerging from this resource include:

·        Missing being ordered about and having every day mapped out for them

·        Missing a clear sense of hierarchy and camaraderie

·        Adjusting to a life where there is no immediate danger around every corner

·        Adjusting to being back in civilisation after long periods in remote outposts

·        Feelings of depression in returning to a home where austerity, bomb sites and exhaustion are the order of the day

One entry relates the story of a man so unable to cope with life in Civvy Street that he pretended to be a wanted man in order to secure himself a spell in prison. 

That many returning soldiers faced these problems is obvious when you think about it.  But it took Mr Hawkins’ exploits to make me think about it. Film really can open your eyes to history.