The author circles around a few main ideas in all his volumes. Housing is one. Pay the slightest bit of attention to the news, pay attention to what obsesses Britons, and you will realise how central house building and property ownership is. It’s 80 years later and we still haven’t built enough houses in this country, which is why (a) they cost so much and why (b) that the rental market is soul destroyingly terrible. On the one hand, you’ve got columnists in The Times moaning about having to pay extra council tax on second homes; or moaning about not being able to sell their Isle of Wight lock-up-and-go holiday homes. On the other hand, there’s a vast silent army of suffering renters, many of whom are so frightened of debt collectors etc. that they won’t even register to vote. But all that is yet to come, in Family Britain, which is seeing (in those years) the end of the post-War Labour government’s dreams of planned new towns and the beginning of the Tory party’s ideologically driven hatred of anything resembling collective endeavour and their bizarre anti-pedestrian bent. In one episode Kynaston relates, the people of Stevenage have to go to great lengths to persuade the local government to fulfil its promise of a pedestrian zone in the town centre: a promise they were trying to renege upon, under pressure from their corporate masters.
So there’s discussion here of architecture and Le Corbusier, whose magnificent Notre-Dame du Haut chapel in Ronchamp celebrates its 70th anniversary this year, but who is better known for his nightmare housing blocks, which were always being debated in the UK. Everybody hated them, and yet. And yet, the authorities decided that they were better than nothing, and better than the working classes were used to.
Another big theme here is the idea of community. What we’re heading towards, even in 1952, is an ideology of individualism driven by property ownership and privatisation. Yes, old Thatch is waiting in the wings, but it’s clear from reading this that she was pushing on an open door. It was already clear in Austerity Britain that the British people wanted nothing more than privacy – so private housing in the suburbs was infinitely preferable, in the end, to utopian dreams about dense, high-rise living. Oh, but the community, people cried, but Kynaston points out that when you go looking for it, it’s barely there. It was barely ever there.
He points out that a lot of our ideas about working class communities of the past come from rose-tinted celebrity memoirs; but beyond these, there are very few primary sources that record working class communities. For sure, people were happy to have a spare key kept by a neighbour (they trusted them that far). But they were less happy to have people coming into their houses and nosing around. People were either snobbishly looking down upon people they considered beneath them, or secretly ashamed of their own circumstances. Either way, they didn’t want people dropping round unannounced. One of his chapters is called “I’ve never asked her in”, which is something one woman says about her neighbour.
As to the sociological research, there’s a lot of weight given to Mass Observation (which is still brilliant at evoking ordinary people’s voices: No! – I can’t talk ducks – look! I’ve got no teeth.), but elsewhere you come across the platform problem of middle class university researchers trying to get a handle on a working class culture that is always somewhere else. Which is not to deny that the working class exists, but to point out that an awful lot of people were happier to self-identify as “lower middle class” than to admit to being working class. He should have called the volume Aspiration Britain (or Deluded Britain, perhaps). That famous sketch by Cleese and the Two Ronnies (“I know my place”) is inaccurate inasmuch as people were able to fit five classes on the head of a pin: working class, lower middle, middle, upper middle, and upper class. Phew! And it was a real discussion that people really had. I remember having it myself, when I was at middle school (I think). And I remember feeling faintly ashamed of the idea of being lower middle class. Imagine how people felt about being labelled working class.
Another theme Kynaston keeps returning to is television. It’s well known that the Queen’s coronation in 1953 drove adoption of the relatively new medium. Kynaston points out that it is not a myth: around a million extra sets were in use in the summer of 1953 than there had been a year before. And a year after that, nearly another million. So TV was growing and growing, and it becomes part of the wider theme of community and property. As soon as people could sit behind their closed curtains watching telly of an evening, that’s what they did. In the early 1950s, cinema was still far and away the number one leisure activity, with people often attending several times a week. I’d quite forgotten the days of different cinemas in a town (with single screens, natch) showing different films. What’s on at the Odeon? What about the ABC? But television was coming, and while Parliament debated whether commercial television should be allowed, it was already working its way into the nation’s hearts.
The number two leisure activity, by the way, was ballroom dancing. Or dancing, I suppose. So funny to think that by 1970, people would just be sitting around in baggy jumpers watching Led Zeppelin.
So: housing, television, the coronation, what else? The Festival of Britain, of course, and the many many sporting fixtures that obsessed the nation. Winning the Ashes back in 1953; that same year, losing 6-3 to Hungary at Wembley, an event people were still talking about in my 60s and 70s childhood. And then there was the very gradual coming of more leisure time, mass exoduses to the seaside, but not (yet) by motor car. Kynaston also keeps returning to the DeHavilland Comet, Britain’s pioneering jet airliner that had an unfortunate habit of falling out of the sky. Metal fatigue. Comes to us all.
Another thread, and another one that continues to vex the nation to this day, was education policy. One researcher showed evidence that boys who sat an entrance exam a year after failing the 11+ and got into grammar school late often did better than their peers who had got in the first time. This threw a spanner in the works, sure enough. The fucking 11+, though. Still exists where I live, still seething about it.
Talking of fucking: another Kynaston thread is the law concerning homosexuality. There were so many cases of really quite prominent people being ruined by arrest and trial for their sexual activites. Not just Alan Turing, but members of Parliament, actors (John Gielgud), and even Daily Mail journalists. Pour one out for that guy, who was definitely working for the wrong paper. The Times, at the time, was surprisingly liberal about it all, as they later were with rock star drug busts in the 60s. I miss that sense that respectable national newspapers had some kind of rational response to things. Should the government have a say on what people get up to in bed? Liberalisation of the law is definitely bubbling under in 1953, but it was a long way off.
Other national obsessions. Princess Margaret! Should she be allowed to marry a commoner!? A divorcee? Should Churchill (who had secretly had a stroke) retire?
Finally, there’s the rationing. Interesting to read how it was mostly over before it was officially over, with plentiful supply in the shops of things that were still rationed, but didn’t need to be. Ration books still existed, but a lot of places didn’t bother asking for them. Sugar, butter, bacon, all stayed on the ration for much longer than they ought to have. Interesting too to note that butchers began to have trouble shifting the shitty meat/offal that had been all some people could get a few years before. Goodbye to scrag end and tripe and rabbit; and HELLO AGAIN TO WHITE BREAD.
It’s easy to forget that the hardships of WW2 dragged on in Britain for nearly 10 years. It is surely one of the things that did for the post-war Labour government. In 1952, tea came off the ration (phew!); sweets came off in 1953. But even then: sugar, butter, cooking fats, cheese, meat, and eggs were all still rationed. Margarine was available more generously than butter, but people hated the taste of and complained that 2 ounces of butter wasn’t enough. So the end of rationing really signalled a sea change, which (in the words often said by people arriving at the cinema in the middle of the film and watching the whole programme in the wrong order) is where we came in.
Part 2 of this volume begins in 1954, and it finishes in early 1957 with the resignation of Anthony Eden, not (apparently) because of the fiasco of the Suez Crisis that ended 1956 but because he was genuinely ill. In fact, Eden still had public opinion in his favour when he resigned. He was far more popular than Kier Starmer is now. The general public either did not know or did not care that the Suez adventure had been a shitshow. You can always count on the general public to have basically racist opinions, and very few were in favour of the Egyptian government taking control of the canal zone.
The question of race and racism pervades this book. While there were still relatively few immigrants living in the UK in the mid-1950s, it was still a topic of conversation: whether people wanted a person of colour driving their bus, for example, or collecting their fares. Somehow it always comes down to jobs that people don’t want to do. You could hold a gun to my head, and I wouldn’t want to work in a care home. Or offer me £50k a year: no way. You do the maths, Mr Starmer.
The period following the end of rationing is really all about the growth of consumerism. Spend! Spend! Spend! People were out in the shops, supermarkets were becoming more common, and the old ways were going. Traditional shopkeepers complained that customers, now they weren’t relying on ration books, showed no loyalty. I’m sure the shopkeepers themselves did nothing to contribute to customer disenchantment during those austerity years. 🙄
For a while, I thought (given the dates in the title) that this volume might end with the Woolton Village Fete on July 6th 1957, but then it was the Suez Crisis at the close of 1956 and that seems to mark some kind of dividing line in history.
When I was first getting into music, 1956 was the magic year, broad-brushed as the “year rock ‘n’ roll began”. Of course, things weren’t really that neat and tidy, but it was the year when society began to change, young people started thinking differently about fashion, and the spending power of teenagers became a thing. Somewhere in there is the beginning of the end of deference (though there’s still too much of that around, imo). It was also the year when television definitively took over the nation’s brains.
While reading this, I was also reading Philip Norman’s absolutely awful biography of George Harrison, and the contrast couldn’t be more stark. Kynaston relies on a range of sources – as you might expect – and keeps returning to some, like the diaries of Nella Last and Anthony Heap, oe Kenneth Williams, and the records of Mass Observation. But, using these sources, Kynaston weaves a rich tapestry—whereas you might be better off just reading Patti Boyd’s autobiography rather than bothering with Norman, since he relies so heavily on it.
Politically, this book makes you yearn for the post-war consensus, when it really didn’t seem to matter who was in charge. The NHS was safe. The trade unions were a strong check on government power. All was (relatively) well, even with the Tories in charge.
As always, this is beautifully written, fantastically detailed, but sometimes a bit of a slog, simply because the paragraphs are really long and so much happens in them. I remain less interested in the poltical doings than I am in vast dancehalls, Butlins holiday camps and people complaining about the price of deckchair rental.