The Little Book of the 1950s E-Book

Stuart Hylton

• Herausgeber: The History Press
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013

Beschreibung

The Little Book of the 1950s is a fast-paced and entertaining account of life in Britain during an extraordinary decade, as we moved from post-war austerity to the swinging sixties. There are dramas, tragedies, scandals and characters galore, all packaged in an easily readable 'dip-in' format. We can see how major national and international events impacted on the population at home, the progress made by technology and the fads and fancies of fashion and novelty. We also see how different the world of the 1950s was to the one that we inhabit, though some things (like Cliff Richard) never change from one millennium to the next. Even those who lived through the decade (and are therefore experts on the subject) should find plenty to remind, surprise, amuse and inform them on these pages.

Leseprobe

Acknowledgements

I have a hundred and one sources to whom I am indebted for the material in this book. I am not allowed the space to acknowledge them all and it would be invidious for me to mention just a select few and omit others. So I will. In no paticular order: Asa Briggs’ History of Broadcasting (volume 5) throws much light on the mysterious world of the pre-competition BBC. David Kynaston’s books Austerity Britain and Family Britain give a wonderful overview of the decade and the post-war lead-up to it. The Oxford Dictionary of Space Exploration provided a wealth of information for the space race chapter. I can also recommend Peter Hennesy’s Having it So Good: Britain in the 1950s, Dominic Sandbrook’s Never Had it So Good, Peter Lewis’ The 1950s, and Akhtar and Humphries’ The Fifties and Sixties – A Lifestyle Revolution. But the simplest thing is to Google any subject that takes your fancy in the book and be prepared to be amazed at the wealth of information that is out there on it – some of it even accurate! I apologise to and thank the many sources I was not able to acknowledge. And, of course, modesty prevents me mentioning my own small contribution to the topic – From Rationing to Rock.

Contents

Title

Acknowledgements

Introduction

1 Let Me Entertain You … Broadcasting 1950s-Style

2 Naughty Boys and Bad Girls

3 Sporting Disasters

4 On This Day …

5 Celebrations

6 Snappy Dressing – 1950s Fashion

7 Right and Proper – 1950s Morality

8 Transports of Delight – Getting About in the 1950s

9 The Things They Say About the 1950s

10 Tragedies

11 Crazy Cats – Teenage Music of the 1950s

12 1950s Food and 1950s Kitchens

13 Protest

14 The Space Race

15 And Another Thing …

Copyright

Introduction

For some people, the 1950s was simply the time they lived in whilst waiting for the swinging sixties to begin. However, for me they provide a fascinating hinge between the past and the present. Many of the features we take for granted as part of modern life, from widespread home and car ownership, to jet travel, rock and roll, the discovery of teenagers as a separate species, the moral codes to which society – sometimes reluctantly or imperfectly – still adheres today, right through to the idea of space travel as something more than the subject of comic-book fantasy, had their origins in the 1950s.

It was also the decade in which the nation started to shed some of the delusions of grandeur that it had entertained right up until the end of the Second World War and beyond. British ideas of being a world superpower and global police officer were put well and truly into context, as efforts to secure the Suez Canal met with ignominious defeat; most of our Empire inexplicably developed the idea that they might prefer to be independent, rather than continue being colonised by us. Upstart nations like Germany and Japan started having economic miracles, despite having lost the war and – Good Heavens – the United States even beat us at football!

It was not all bad news. We had the Festival of Britain to give a war-weary nation a pat on the back, the Coronation, uniting us behind a new monarch, and a hundred and one smaller steps towards making our lives more convenient, more exciting and more varied.

This is not a learned history of the decade. Others have already covered that ground admirably. This is a book for you to dip in and out of, as the mood takes you. You will find it populated with a rich assortment of villains, protesters and extravagant characters; you will see ideas and inventions, which we today take as commonplace, as they first emerge, and attitudes that you may have thought vanished with Queen Victoria. As American senator Jesse Helms almost once said, I may not know much about history, but I know what I like. I hope you enjoy.

Stuart Hylton, 2013

1

Let Me Entertain You … Broadcasting 1950s-Style

Television in its infancy

Whatever the choice of family entertainment you will find it in TELEVISION. It has brought a new meaning into home life and thousands who used to seek their entertainment outside, now find their television set a source of untold pleasure at home. Why not learn more about it?

(1950s advertisement for the new wonder of the age)

The 1950s was the decade in which television came of age. First, and foremost, there was the dramatic increase in television set ownership. When broadcasting resumed after the war, there were just 20,000 television sets, generally belonging to people living within 30 miles of the British Broadcasting Corporation’s (BBC’s) only transmitter at Alexandra Palace. As late as 1949, the majority of households had never seen a set in action, let alone owned one. Nonetheless, the potential market for television could already be seen – set ownership had already reached over 100,000 by the end of the forties. In 1950, the BBC opened what it boasted was the world’s most advanced transmitter at Sutton Coldfield, opening up the joys of viewing to an entirely new region. Set ownership took another leap, to 343,882, by March of that year. King George’s funeral, the coronation and the coming of commercial television helped swell the numbers to around 2 million by 1953 and 4 million two years later. The number of combined TV and radio licences exceeded those for radio alone for the first time in 1957, and by the end of the decade, 10.5 million television licences were being issued – 72 per cent of all households had a set.

Despite being monopoly holders of the national television franchise, many at the top of the BBC in the early 1950s took a very dim view of the upstart service. In their view: ‘ … it was not a medium to be taken seriously: pantomime horses and chorus girls were its natural ingredients; it was not suitable for news or current affairs.’

Worse still, it could have a toxic effect on broadcasting as a whole: ‘ … the high purposes of the Corporation would be trivialised by the influence of those concerned with what could be transmitted in visual terms.’

Accordingly, in 1950, the Corporation set up a 2,500-strong Television Panel, with the remit of helping the BBC to deliver: ‘… a keener, more sensitive and more intelligent appreciation on the part of all who see it of the world about us.’

(This from the organisation that would shortly give us Bill and Ben the Flowerpot Men). Television was thus starved of both cash and influence within the Corporation. In 1947, the total budget for television broadcasting was just £716,666, compared with the £6,556,293 allocated for radio, and had reached only £3 million by 1951. Prior to 1950, television was not even represented on the Corporation’s Board and thereafter its appointed champion was the Director of the Spoken Word (who does not sound like a pictures man). In 1956, a Director of Television was finally appointed, but Gerald Beadle did not own a set and saw the post as a means of winding down towards retirement.

At the same time as believing that television was a medium of no importance, officials at the BBC were also afraid that it would turn us into a nation of square-eyed couch potatoes. Modern viewers would find few grounds for such a fear with broadcasting as it was in 1950 – limited to just 30 hours a week. Programmes would start at 3 p.m. on a weekday (5 p.m. on Sundays) and would stop between 6 and 7 p.m., to enable parents to prise small children away from the set and get them to bed, and for older children to do their homework. Transmissions would normally close down entirely by 10.30 p.m. It was not until 1955 that the permitted hours of broadcasting increased to forty per week.

The battle over commercial television

At the start of the fifties, the BBC had a monopoly hold over all types of broadcasting. The values of Lord Reith, the pre-war Director General, still held sway in the corridors of Broadcasting House and the nation was given a diet of worthy, but often dull, programming. The arrival of a post-war Conservative Government under Churchill, in 1951, was the beginning of the end of the monopoly; Churchill had hated the BBC since the days of the 1926 General Strike, when he had tried to take it over as a propaganda tool. He regarded the Corporation as a nest of socialists, or worse. A White Paper was commissioned, which recommended licensing a new commercial television channel.

The nation was deeply divided on the subject; the case for keeping the BBC’s monopoly was advanced by the National Television Council, while the calls for a commercial alternative were led by the Popular Television Association. Each side recruited celebrities and other people of influence to their cause, and some rather overblown cases were made for them, particularly by the pro-monopolists. One of the leading voices for them was, of course, Lord Reith himself. Never one given to over-statement, he likened the influence of commercial television to smallpox, the bubonic plague and dog racing, and made a somewhat patronising comment to television’s growing audience. Easier hire purchase, he said, had enabled more poor people to acquire television sets, and Parliament had a grave responsibility to these people, to stop television becoming a by-word for crude and trivial entertainment. Meanwhile, Conservative politician, Lord Hailsham, likened the battle over commercial television to that of the nation’s survival in the Second World War. In those days, he said, the BBC had been the voice of freedom, and it was now in danger of handing over the greatest instrument for good that had been devised since the printing press, to purely commercial interests.

As we now know, the anti-monopolists won the day, and commercial television started broadcasting in the London area in September 1955. The parliamentary act authorising the new channels included a duty on them to ‘inform’ and ‘educate’ as well as ‘entertain’, but (no doubt prompted by the need to build audience share and advertising revenue) the new commercial interests were – or soon became – unashamedly populist. They would give the public what they wanted, not what some higher authority thought was good for them. (According to one ITV executive, the public wanted to see girls, wrestling, bright musicals, quiz shows and real-life dramas). They also had a much larger budget for programming than BBC TV, and were able to poach many of the BBC’s staff. Small wonder, then, that by the end of 1957, they had secured a 72 per cent audience share and were well on the way to becoming that infamous licence to print money.

Even after its establishment, a number of interests (including the Labour Party, some newspapers, senior clergy and academics) continued to lobby for commercial television to be closed down. The Spectator called commercial broadcasting ‘a monument to fraud and a daily reminder of the worthlessness of political promises’, and the Daily Express carried a leader in January 1956 calling for the authorities ‘to write off ITV as an experiment that went wrong and hand the wavelength over to the BBC before it got completely out of control’.

One of the interesting aspects of BBC programming during its monopoly years was its desperate desire not to abuse its prominence by seeming to be partisan, as seen in the fourteen-day rule, which forbade any matter due to be discussed in Parliament in the next fourteen days to be discussed on television. This was naturally something of a constraint on current affairs broadcasting and, by the mid-1950s, had become an obvious absurdity. Things came to a head in February 1955, when the programme In the News, one of the Corporation’s few attempts to be hard-hitting over current affairs, was stopped from discussing atomic bomb testing. The programme’s panel decided they would no longer be bound by the rule – which was simply a convention, rather than anything binding and statutory. The Postmaster General (the Minister responsible for television) tried to enforce it, but found he had no legal basis for doing so. This, and a media campaign, forced him to back down.

The BBC’s approach to television news was similarly blinkered. Until commercial competition forced them to review their approach, their newsreaders were not trusted to script their own reports, the names of the newsreaders were not announced to the viewers and their faces were not even seen (caption cards being shown on the screen instead). The only visual interest tended to come from cinema-style newsreels, which might be several days out of date. As Robin Day said: ‘Independent Television News set new standards for vigour, enterprise and pace for television news, making the BBC version look stiff and stuffy.’

What were we watching?

‘Television is a very unusual business. You don’t necessarily make more money in television if you provide a better product.’

(Sidney Bernstein, Head of Granada Television)

Here is a small sample of the treats in store for the 1950s television viewer.

When we were very young …

If you were very young, or had young children, from April 1952 you were likely to tune in to Watch with Mother, broadcast from 3.45– 4.00 p.m., between the midday nap and when the older children were getting back from school. Among its attractions were:

Andy Pandy(first shown in 1950) – a puppet whose taste in clothing would get him bullied at any modern school, and who lived in a picnic basket with a teddy bear, and a rag doll called Looby Loo. The programme always ended with the song ‘Time to go home … Andy is waving goodbye’.

Bill and Ben the Flower Pot Men(1952) – with its cliffhanger ending of ‘was it Bill or was it Ben’ who had committed this episode’s naughtiness? Readers may be interested to know that Bill and Ben had their real-life origins in William and Benjamin Brabban, the naughty younger brothers of the show’s creator.

Rag, Tag and Bobtail(1953) – featuring the glove puppets Rag, a hedgehog, Tag, a mouse, and Bobtail, a rabbit.

The Woodentops(1955) – a family of wooden dolls who lived on a farm with Buttercup the cow, Spotty Dog and domestic help in the form of Mr and Mrs Scrubbitt.

Watch with Mother would run until 1973.

Home on the range

For the older children there was a steady transatlantic supply of cowboys.

The Lone Ranger (who was not actually alone, but always accompanied by his faithful, Native American sidekick, Tonto). He was supposed to be an ex-Texas Ranger who went around righting wrongs on his white horse, Silver. He fired silver bullets and shouted ‘Hi-yo Silver, away!’ quite a lot. Deeply conscious of his duties as a role model to his younger viewers, the Lone Ranger taught the tiny tots to speak with perfect grammar and never shoot-to-kill.

The Cisco Kid and his companion, Pancho, were originally outlaws wanted for some unspecified crime, but went around performing Robin Hood-type services for the poor and oppressed. A similar role was assigned to the character Hopalong Cassidy.

Roy Rogers, with his golden palomino horse, Trigger, and his golden palomino wife, Dale Evans was famous for being the most heavily merchandised individual in Hollywood, after Walt Disney.

There were also home-produced, non-cowboy heroes. The novel Ivanhoe was published in 1820 and was written by Sir Walter Scott. It was about a knight in twelfth-century England, and when adapted for the screen, it provided an early outing for future James Bond, Roger Moore in the title role.

Robin Hood (feared by the bad, loved by the good) provided an opportunity for Richard Greene to run through cardboard forests, outwitting the wicked Sheriff of Nottingham.

From November 1958 onwards, children wanting non-fictional television could tune into Blue Peter, hosted by a former Miss Great Britain, Leila Williams and actor Christopher Trace, and which promised ‘toys, model railways, games, stories and cartoons’. The name comes from the flag flown by a ship about to embark on a voyage of adventure. The show’s original puppy died after making its first television appearance, sending researchers scurrying to the pet shop for a look-alike, which became known, after a viewer’s poll, as ‘Petra’. This purchase, and her upkeep, would have consumed a substantial part of the programme’s budget, which was initially just £180 per show.

Then there was Crackerjack, a series of children’s variety shows originally hosted by Aemonn Andrews that ran from 1955 to 1984. Among its defining features was the quiz game Double or Drop, in which contestants were given a prize for a correct answer and a cabbage for each wrong one. Drop any of your armful and you were ‘out’. There were also opportunities to cover a celebrity in gunge. The youthful audience were encouraged to shout ‘Crackerjack!’ should the presenter ever utter the word, and it gave the world such catch-phrases as ‘It’s Friday, it’s five o’clock, it’s Crackerjack!’ and (shockingly for a 1950s BBC children’s programme) ‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist!’

Grown-ups could watch things like Phil Silvers as the devious Sergeant Bilko, carrying out his latest money making scam, or, for domestic comedy, there were the scatter-brained antics of I Love Lucy and her bandleader husband, Desi Arnaz. By the end of 1956, the two television channels were showing, or had shown, no less than twelve different American comedy series. However, not all of the most popular 1950s shows for adults or children were American imports.

Evening all

The character Police Constable George Dixon first made his appearance in the 1950s film The Blue Lamp, in the course of which he was shot dead by a young gangster – not the most promising start to a role on which a career could be built, you might think. But five years later, through the miraculous healing powers of television, George Dixon was resurrected when the television series Dixon of Dock Green was launched. It would run from 1955 to 1976. Dixon (or rather the actor Jack Warner, who played him) was already sixty years old when the series started – a little mature to be pounding the beat – but he continued, thanks to a series of increasingly sedentary roles in the police station, and by stretching the audience’s credulity ever further, only ‘retiring’ from the force when aged over eighty. No matter, by 1961 the series, written by Ted Willis, was the nation’s second most popular television show, attracting an audience of 13.85 million. It was only as the grittier and more realistic cop shows – like Z Cars – began to air that Dixon’s ratings started to slip, for gritty and realistic Dixon of Dock Green was not.

Supposedly set in the East End of London (which in real life was, by this time, the stamping ground of the Kray twins and their like) Dixon’s police station seemed to deal with nothing much more than petty crime and the home lives of the police officers. You always felt as if the show’s villains were the sort who, when apprehended, would shake the arresting officer by the hand and say, ‘It’s a fair cop, Constable, you’ve got me bang to rights.’ Confronted by the real Kray twins, George Dixon would have sorted them out with a good talking to and a clip round the ear. But only once.

Hancock’s Half Hour

Hancock’s Half Hour was one of a number of 1950s shows that made the transition from radio to television, with the two series running together for some time. It was written by Ray Galton and Alan Simpson, and was an important influence in the development of the situation comedy. It moved away from the music-hall variety theatre approach of quick-fire gag cracking interspersed with music, towards the idea of a single continuous narrative in which character development was as important as free-standing punchlines.

Hancock played a down-at-heel version of himself – Anthony Aloysius St John Hancock – a largely unemployed actor/comedian residing at 23 Railway Cuttings, East Cheam. His principal support came from Sid James, his criminally inclined confidant. The rest of the supporting cast for the radio series (first launched in November 1954) included an array of British comedy talent, such as Hattie Jacques, Moira Lister, Andree Melly, Hugh Lloyd, Dick Emery, John le Mesurier, Richard Wattis, Pat Coombs, Rolf Harris, Kenneth Williams and Bert Kwouk. The television version ran from 1956–61, and the final series focussed more on the man himself, with its title being shortened to Hancock. Sid James was dropped from the show because Hancock was afraid that they were starting to be seen as a double act. It was from this series that many of his classic episodes came – the ‘Blood Donor’, the ‘Radio Ham’, the ‘Bowmans’ and the ‘Bedsitter’ – and they stand in comparison, over fifty years later, with any comedy programme that has been offered since.

Get rich quick

Lovers of quiz shows were well catered for by the new commercial channel. Two of their most popular formats were transferred across from Radio Luxemburg. Hughie Green (a man once described as having all the sincerity of a clockwork ferret) compered Double Your Money, which had contestants answering questions for a cash prize that doubled each time – starting at £1 and soaring to a dizzying £32. Contestants could then enter the Treasure Trail that led all the way to a possible £1,000 prize.

Michael Miles’ Take Your Pick featured the yes–no interlude, in which contestants were interrogated by Miles and had to reply without saying the words ‘yes’ or ‘no’ and being gonged out. They were then allowed to choose from a series of boxes, each containing prizes. Miles would try to get them to sell him the key to the box for cash, and the prize would turn out either to be something valuable, like a washing machine or a holiday, or a worthless booby prize.

The spice of life

One of the fears of the theatre was that television would kill variety, and nowhere was the competition more clear than in the case of Sunday Night at the London Palladium. Between 1955 and 1967 it was the flagship weekend show for the commercial channel – an estimated 20 million people saw Cliff Richard and the Shadows play on it, and vicars rescheduled their church services, so that God did not clash with his rock and roll representative on earth. The first show aired in September 1955, the week commercial television opened, with Gracie Fields as its star. Other mainstream famous guests included Judy Garland and Bob Hope, as well as popular music favourites of the fifties, like Bill Haley and His Comets, Johnny Ray and Liberace. A performance by the Beatles in October 1963 gave the English media the term ‘Beatlemania’ (though others claim to have been its inventor). It was a traditional variety show and, as well as supporting acts, also featured a knockabout game show, called Beat the Clock, for the audience and the diversion of the high-kicking chorus girls the Tiller Girls.

All white on the night

Another (to modern audiences more questionable) form of light entertainment was The Black and White Minstrel Show, in which a group of blacked-up minstrels sung medleys of popular songs in a setting glamorised by a group of female dancers, called the Television Toppers. Unimaginable today, the show aired from 1959–78 and drew some of the highest viewing figures of any programme, winning the international Golden Rose of Montreux. Accusations of racism from the late 1960s onwards took many years to dent the show’s popularity. Equally questionable in some eyes was the BBC’s engagement with other European broadcasters, which gave us Eurovision and its misbegotten offspring, the Eurovision Song Contest, first held in 1956.

The theatre strikes back

One way the theatre tried to compete with the upstart competition was with filth. One not-untypical provincial theatre offered The Revue Riot of the Year, entitled ‘We Couldn’t Care Less’ (only with the word ‘care’ deleted and replaced with ‘wear’). The advertisements said ‘Don’t wonder if there are girls on the moon – come and see these “heavenly bodies”!’ They promised ‘The latest rage from the American strip shows, the “wriggle dance”’ and asked, ‘Would you prefer to live in the nude? We show you what it would be like’. Match that, BBC TV! Cinema attendances also suffered from the competition, and they fought back with wider screens (Cinerama, 1952, CinemaScope, 1953, and Todd-AO, 1956), brighter colour and lavish productions that television’s budget and small screens could not match. They also had the added bonus of being in 3D.