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Three of a kind ...

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Emery, Elizabeth, and Richard Utz, eds. Medievalism: Key Critical Terms. Medievalism, 5. Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2014. pp. 229. $99.00 (hardback). ISBN: 978-184-3843-856 (hardback).

Matthews, David. Medievalism: A Critical History. Medievalism, 6. Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2015. pp. . $90.00 (hardback). ISBN: 978-184-3843-924 (hardback).

Reviewed by:
Kathleen ForniLoyola University, Marylandkforni@loyola.edu

David Matthews' Medievalism: A Critical History and Medievalism: Key Critical Terms edited by Elizabeth Emery and Richard Utz are valuable resources for both newcomers to the field and experienced practitioners, whether theoretical or recreational. Matthews offers a fresh overview and compelling meta-commentary on the history and practice of medievalism, focusing on its uneasy relationship with medieval studies. Emery and Utz provide an encyclopedia of essential vocabulary (e.g., authenticity, gothic, primitive) written by leading scholars, often accompanied by brief but engaging case studies. Both volumes are marked by the topical, innovative, and solid scholarship that characterizes the Medievalism series edited by Karl Fugelso and Chris Jones. And both are gorgeous books featuring useful illustrations, and eye-catching artistic covers by graphic designer Simon Loxley. The studies work quite well in tandem, providing an historical analytical survey of medievalism and a handy reference guide--with both offering a number of fruitful topics ripe for further scholarly exploration.

Matthews' account of the history and contemporary status of medievalism is both highly readable (he is an elegant stylist) and frequently provocative. Offering an overview of primarily Anglophone medievalism from its origins in the sixteenth century to current popular and canonical manifestations, Matthews convincingly maintains that the Medieval Revival in 1840s Britain, flourishing in a period of social unrest and revolution, "was unique and never to be repeated" (xi). The mid-nineteenth century also saw the rise of medieval studies, professionalized and institutionalized between 1870 and 1925, a period coinciding with the decline of broad interest in medievalism. In the late twentieth and now early twenty-first centuries, one finds a decline in academic medieval studies coinciding with a rise again in public engagement with medievalism, especially in popular culture. For the future health of the profession, Matthews convincingly maintains that medieval studies needs to more closely link itself with medievalism studies. And the latter could use some disciplinary focus, relying more coherently on cultural studies (itself a malleable and flexible theoretical field).

Medievalismis most useful for Matthews' effort to define his terms and to account for our interest in the medieval past. Based on Leslie Workman's definition, medievalism is both the "process of creating the Middle Ages" and "the constructed idea of the Middle Ages." The cover reproduction of John Everett Millais' The Knight Errant (1870), depicting a nude woman chained to a tree being rescued by a knight in shining armor who has killed her captor, iconically encapsulates two dominant conceptions of the Middle Ages pervasive in medievalism of all ages: the gothic grotesque (violent, dark, barbaric, primitive) and the romantic (chivalric, pastoral, pre-industrial, communal). The long-held contradictory, dualistic conception of the Middle Ages in part accounts for its pervasive cultural appeal as a time both worse (supporting an historical narrative of progress) and better (often appealing to forces of conservatism). In short, the medieval represents a bewildering array of associations ranging from retrograde religion to the carnivalesque, illicit sexuality to sublime spirituality.

The Middle Ages, however, is conceived of less as a chronological time period than as an ideological construct, useful in times of social or political crisis and change. Medievalism has historically flourished as a cultural response to social unrest and revolution and in the resultant quest for national self-definition. Although perceived to reflect the effort to reinforce the status quo by appealing to hierarchical feudal order, the invocation of medievalism is not wholly conservative. The Middle Ages is also imagined as embodying communal socialism, a lost world of workers' rights and liberties, before the advent of capitalism, or indeed industrialism. Matthews describes these functions as relevant to the mid-nineteenth century, but similar contemporary ailments (technological advancements, social upheaval, questions of national self-identity) perhaps account for the resurgence in popular interest in the medieval in the early twenty-first century.

Matthews also explores how we contact the medieval through reenactment, role-play, and tourism, focusing on the hyperreal slippage and palimpsestic nature of efforts to embody the past. He suggests that groups such as the SCA (Society for Creative Anachronism) provide not only the opportunity for self-fashioning but also provide a substitute for church or workplace (i.e., trade unions) communities. But if medievalism is well entrenched in popular culture, Matthews finds less evidence of its influence in modern high art or canonical literature. His tentative suggestion is that medieval culture suffers from infantilisation and that the idea of the medieval continues to be a (repressed) construct against which all forms of modernity, dating back to the sixteenth century, are measured.

One might assume by the title that Key Critical Terms, a project inspired by the late Leslie Workman, would be a handy reference guide to cover one's secondary-source backside when invoking the idea of, for instance, simulacrum or presentism. But the collection of thirty essays is intended as far more than a theoretical primer since key terms such as medieval, medieval studies, neomedievalism, and medievalism itself are missing (nonetheless, several topics, including "Authenticity,""Middle,""Modernity,""Gothic," and "Lingua" address the problems of terminology). Instead, the essays address subjects seminal to both the theory and practice of medievalism and problematic vocabulary related to larger theoretical constructs (Marxism, gender studies, culturalism) utilized by medievalism studies. The reader is left with a firm grounding in the depth and scope of the scholarly field and various recreational pursuits of both amateurs and specialists. Ranging from "Archive" (the indeterminacy of archival resources) to "Troubador" (their influence on the Romantics), the topics address common misconceptions of medieval cultural practices ("Christianity,""Heresy,""Genealogy,""Love"); aspects of performance medievalism ("Gesture,""Feast,""Resonance,""Spectacle,""Reenactment"); theoretical lenses ("Trauma,""Play,""Memory,""Transfer"); ideological uses of medievalism ("Myth,""Purity"); and characteristics of medievalism ("Humor"; "Co-disciplinarity"). Indeed, the range of interests reflected in Key Critical Terms attests to the eclectic vitality of medievalism studies and captures the intellectual excitement of this burgeoning field. Most of the essays, purposefully and tantalizingly brief, will no doubt provide inspiration for further research and consideration. As with Matthews' study, a central concern throughout is the relationship between academic medieval studies and medievalism studies and practice, and the blurring of traditional boundaries between these fields--to the intellectual and imaginative benefit of both.



Reinventing King Arthur: The Arthurian Legends in Victorian Culture (The Nineteenth Century Series) 1st Edition
by Inga Bryden

In her systematic reassessment of the remaking of the Arthurian past in nineteenth-century British fiction and non-fiction, Inga Bryden examines the Victorian Arthurian revival as a cultural phenomenon, offering insights into the relationship between social, cultural, religious, and ethnographic debates of the period and a wide range of texts. Throughout, she adopts an intertextual and historical perspective, informed by poststructuralist thinking, to reveal nineteenth-century attitudes towards the past. Starting with a review of the historical evidence available to Victorian writers and an examination of how historians of the time represented Arthur, the author connects Victorian accounts of Arthur's quest to contemporary scientific and historical searches for origins and knowledge, and to his appropriation by competing religious movements. She shows how writers explored the dynamics of heroism by recruiting Arthur and his knights to define codes of chivalric service, and to personify the psychological complexities of love. Finally, the legend of his death and transportation to Avalon is deconstructed and placed in the context of cultural attitudes towards commemorating the dead and theological debates about the afterlife. Inga Bryden engages not only with well-known Arthurian texts by Tennyson, Swinburne, Morris and Rossetti, but with lesser-known works by Bulwer-Lytton, Robert Stephen Hawker, Sebastian Evans, Diana Maria Mulock, Christiana Douglas and Joseph Shorthouse.


Hurrah for National Tweed Day!

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Donald John Mackay lives on the Isle of Harris in Scotland and produces the much sought-after, hand-woven Harris Tweed. When in 2004 he was able to secure a deal with Nike he played a key role in introducing Harris Tweed back to the mainstream market, where it is now available in numerous fashion lines around the world.



Hurrah for National Tweed Day!
Camilla Swift
 3 April 2014

As I’m sure many of you will be aware, today is a very important day: National Tweed Day. To be honest, I don’t quite understand why they chose the first day of Aintree rather than some time during Cheltenham, but hey ho. The 3rd April it is.

Tweed might be seen as a bit of a fuddy-duddy fabric, more suited to young fogeys and Cirencester types than the catwalk. But in recent years it has seen something of a renaissance, and the tweed industry – particularly Harris tweed – can be seen as something of a British success story.

In the 2000s, Harris tweed was struggling. In 2009, one mill on Stornaway was forced to close due to falling sales; in 2008 just 500,000 metres of the cloth were produced. But since then tweed has firmly put itself back on the map, with brands from Nike to Chanel using it in their designs. In 2012, over a million metres of Harris tweed were produced; the highest output in over 15 years. They still have some way to go (in the ‘60s, about seven million metres were produced a year), but things are certainly on the up. Strict guidelines also ensure that it’s not turned into a mass-produced item, as they insist that the tweed is hand woven in islanders’ homes, rather than in factories.


Politics has certainly played its part. Since 1909, the Harris Tweed Association has protected the use of the name ‘Harris Tweed’ from imitations. In 1993 the fabric was granted its own Act of Parliament, the Harris Tweed Act 1993, which granted the tweed its own legal definition:

‘Harris Tweed means a tweed which has been hand woven by the islanders at their homes in the Outer Hebrides, finished in the islands of Harris, Lewis, North Uist, Benbecula, South Uist and Barra and their several purtenances (The Outer Hebrides) and made from pure virgin wool dyed and spun in the Outer Hebrides.’

These days, the Harris Tweed Authority stamps and inspects every 50 metres of Harris tweed, meaning that no imposters can creep through the cracks. That doesn’t stop people from trying though. Even the BBC has tried to bring in some phonies; in 2011 they came under attack when it was found that the production of Matt Smith’s new Dr Who jacket had been outsourced to China.

So there you go; I hope you’re all wearing your tweed with pride today. And if anyone is off to the Outer Hebrides anytime soon, I’d recommend you pay a visit to Donald John MacKay (MBE, no less!) in what he describes as ‘just a shed behind a house, on a road by the sea’. I can assure you, you won’t be disappointed by either the islands or their tweeds.

Serge Gainsbourg: “our Baudelaire, our Apollinaire de la chanson” or egocentric and narcissistically decadent ‘poseur’? “Jane and Serge” FROM SATURDAY 07 APRIL UNTIL SUNDAY 04 NOVEMBER Musée des Beaux Arts, 25 rue Richelieu, Calais.

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Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin in Paris in 1973. Photograph: Michel Clement/AFP/Getty Images


He was a great man. I was just pretty': photos tell story of Jane and Serge
Exhibition in Calais captures intimate moments from Birkin and Gainsbourg’s relationship

Maev Kennedy
Fri 6 Apr 2018 13.13 BST Last modified on Fri 6 Apr 2018 22.00 BST

Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin in Paris in 1973. Photograph: Michel Clement/AFP/Getty Images
The English singer and actor Jane Birkin met Serge Gainsbourg in 1968 when she was 22 and left the French singer and songwriter more than half a lifetime ago in 1980 – yet at 71 her name is still rarely mentioned without being bracketed with his.

As an exhibition of photographs – called, inevitably, Jane & Serge – opens in Calais, she seemed philosophical about the oversight. Among scores of glamorous images of the couple, the largest photograph by far, blown up to the size of a barn door, is of his handsome if haggard features cradling not Birkin but their dog Nana.

“That’s what happens when you are with a great man,” she said. “He was a great man. I was just pretty.”

She was equally cheerfully accepting of the fact that much of her fame still rests on one scandalous song, the ecstatic moans of Je t’aime ... moi non plus, recorded in the year she met him, and an international hit despite being banned in many countries.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest  Jane Birkin and Serge Gainsbourg take a break as they drive through Oxfordshire in 1969. Photograph: Krause & Johansen/Andrew Birkin
“It was surprising to be banned by both the Vatican and the BBC,” she said. “And it was funny to have the BBC orchestra playing it because they wouldn’t play it on Top of the Pops.”

Birkin is halfway through a world tour of orchestral versions of Gainsbourg songs, and added: “If I am singing in Argentina in two weeks’ time, it is because of Je t’aime.”


The photographs were taken by Birkin’s brother, Andrew, a film scriptwriter and director, who had been photographing his sister since he first bought a cheap camera in his teens. Some in the exhibition are family snaps, while others – including the couple mugging for the camera on a red doubledecker bus – come from a magazine photo shoot. All had been carefully filed away for half a century, and some he had never seen printed before.

He met Gainsbourg almost as soon as his sister did, when he was working with Stanley Kubrick on the eventually aborted project for an , and she wrote from the set of the film Slogan, begging him to come and keep her company and cheer her up from her daily encounters with “a horrible man”, who was mocking and teasing her. Gainsbourg was, and remains a giant in French cultural circles, but Birkin was already well known from film roles including a famous nude scene in Michelangelo Antonioni’s .

Birkin said: “I fell in love with Serge, Andrew fell in love with Serge, Serge fell in love with Andrew, we were a trio.”

Her brother had no partner or children at the time, and regularly joined the couple and their children – her daughter Kate from her marriage to the composer John Barry, and Charlotte, born in 1971 – and dogs for holidays. Andrew Birkin took photographs continuously, documenting long lunches, smoky evenings, sleepy mornings, and less familiar views of the moody Gainsbourg roaring with laughter or playing rowdy games with the children. The gallery in Calais is a few miles up the coast from many of the happy seaside settings.

“I had never met anyone like him, I adored him,” Andrew Birkin said. “It was not sexual – or maybe that is not what a psychiatrist would say. We did kiss on the lips.” Their intense triangular friendship survived the breakup of his sister’s relationship. He last saw Gainsbourg a few months before his death in 1991, at his house in Paris with its black and chrome interior, where fans still lay floral and painted tributes on the pavement.

 “He took me back to his bedroom with the big black bed in the big black room. He had a pile of film videos – not good films, terrible American cowboy things – he put one on, and he was fast asleep in two or three minutes. I left in the small hours and I never saw him again.”

“It’s a bit weird,” Jane Birkin said, looking around at walls lined with her own shining young face, and Gainsbourg’s crumpled features usually wreathed in cigarette smoke, “it’s a bit like being dead.”

She left because his melancholy and heavy drinking made him impossible to live with, she said, but thinks in many ways they were better friends and he wrote her better songs after she left.

“You could talk back to him for once,” she said. “You were not just his creation any more.”

• Jane & Serge, Calais Museum of Fine Arts, until 4 November


Jane Birkin and Serge Gainsbourg take a break as they drive through Oxfordshire in 1969. Photograph: Krause & Johansen/Andrew Birkin



Jane and Serge in 1969. Photograph: Krause & Johansen/Andrew Birkin


Jane Birkin alongside her brother, Andrew, in 1964. Photograph: Krause & Johansen/Andrew Birkin

Serge Gainsbourg's 20 most scandalous moments
From writing saucy songs for Brigitte Bardot to propositioning Whitney Houston on TV, we recall the causes célèbres of France's premier pop poet

Francine Gorman
Mon 28 Feb 2011 12.10 GMT First published on Mon 28 Feb 2011 12.10 GMT



 Jane Birkin and Serge Gainsbourg
 French connection ... Jane Birkin and Serge Gainsbourg. Photograph: Hulton-Deutsch Collection/Corbis

Twenty years ago this week saw an event that brought the entire French population to a standstill. It was the day that Serge Gainsbourg – France's answer to David Bowie, Mick Jagger and John Lennon rolled into one smoke cloud of controversy – died of a heart attack. So what better way to commemorate his life and legacy than a look at the 20 most scandalous things he achieved during his career?

1. Writing suggestive songs for Eurovision-winning 18-year-old girls
1965 saw Frrench sweetheart France Gall take to the Eurovision stage to perform a Gainsbourg-penned entry, Poupée de Cire, Poupée de Son (later covered by Arcade Fire). A resounding win at the competition, combined with the success of their previous collaborations such as 1964's Laisse Tomber Les Filles led Gall to trust Gainsbourg to a point that she would sing more or less whatever he presented her with. A trust that would be well and truly scuppered with the release of Les Sucettes (Lollipops) in 1966, the story of a girl who is "in paradise" every time "that little stick is on her tongue". Upon discovering the dual meaning of the risqué lyrics, Gall refused to perform the song and never worked with, nor spoke to Gainsbourg again.

2. Dating the already married Brigitte Bardot

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In 1967 Gainsbourg became infatuated with the French siren who, while enduring a difficult time in her marriage, agreed to go on a date with him. So intimidated was he by her stunning looks that on the date, he lost all of the wit and charisma that he was renowned for. Thinking he had ruined his chances with the sultry blonde, he returned home to hear a ringing phone over which Bardot insisted that as an apology for his poor performance on the date, he write her the most beautiful love song ever heard. The next morning, there were two: Bonnie et Clyde and Je T'aime … Moi Non Plus.

3. Recording songs in steamy, sweaty vocal booths (also with Brigitte Bardot)
Understandably, this upset Bardot's husband. Upon hearing Je T'aime … Moi Non Plus, Bardot headed to a Parisian studio with her new beau to record it. Throughout the two-hour session, sound engineer William Flageollet claimed to have witnessed "heavy petting" in the vocal booth while the sighs and whispers were committed to tape. The song had been mixed and readied for radio when Bardot, remembering that she was married, revoked her consent for its release. News of the recording had reached her husband, German businessman Gunter Sachs, and after desperate pleas, Gainsbourg relented to Bardot's wishes and the version was shelved. Bardot later went on to release the recording in 1986. And also to divorce her husband.

4. "Enticing" and entrapping a young English rose
This was how the wooing of his next major love interest was widely reported, but it's not necessarily the truth. Distraught after the collapse of his relationship with Bardot, Gainsbourg occupied himself with a role in the 1969 film Slogan. Playing opposite him was a charming, young English actor called Jane Birkin. Under the impression that her co-star hated her, Birkin arranged a dinner with him over which Gainsbourg, 18 years her senior, fell in love. Unfortunately, due to the amount of alcohol consumed throughout the date, the first night the pair spent together was in a hotel room ... with Gainsbourg passed out drunk on the bed. The pair would remain a couple until 1980, and inseparable friends until the end of Serge's life.

5. Moaning and groaning on record
After shelving the original Bardot recorded version, Marianne Faithfull and Valérie Lagrange (among others) were approached to make feminine "noises", as it were, but both declined. A willing companion was, however, found in new love interest Jane Birkin. Rumours had circulated that the pair recorded some of the more intimate parts of the song by placing a microphone underneath their bed. In actual fact, the re-recording was undertaken in studios in Paris and London where the heavy breathing was claimed to have been meticulously stage-managed by Gainsbourg. Birkin has always denied the rumours of employing the under-bed recording technique ... for this song, anyway.

6. Getting rich by shocking the world
Je T'aime … Moi Non Plus brought huge success, notoriety, substantial record sales and worldwide outrage when it was finally released in 1969. It was No 1 throughout Europe, and was the first UK No 1 to be sung in a language other than English. By far Gainsbourg's most successful release, the song is recognised internationally as "that one with the organs and the girl having an orgasm?". The single sold millions and set the tone for what was to come next from the scandalous pair.

7. Getting banned by radio
Even though millions of copies of Je T'aime ... Moi Non Plus were sold around the world, the song was still considered too explicit for radio play. In the UK, it was the first No 1 to be banned by the BBC due to its explicit content. It was also banned in Spain, Sweden, Italy and even on French radio before 11pm. It has also been claimed that the Italian executive who permitted the release of the song was excommunicated by the Vatican, and in the US, limited sales and radio play led the single to peak at the oddly appropriate chart position of 69. However, Americans and Italians used thriftiness to get hold of the records, and in the end, all of this publicity didn't do the sales much harm at all.

8. Writing a concept album about falling in love with a teenage girl, who subsequently dies in a plane crash
This was always going to raise a few eyebrows, particularly when you get your young girlfriend to pose as the eponymous teenage seductress for the album cover. 1971's Histoire de Melody Nelson was Gainsbourg's first concept album, the story of a man who knocks a young redhead from her bicycle and falls in love with her. An ultimately tragic tale, the album is now recognised much more for its musical prowess than any underlying Lolita-inspired tones. With strings and arrangements orchestrated by the profoundly talented Jean-Claude Vannier, musicians from Beck through to Placebo and Portishead have cited this album as hugely influential on their work, demonstrating once again how Gainsbourg could overcome a scandal to emerge the immensely gifted hero.

9. Suffering his first heart attack at 45
In 1973, at the relatively young age of 45, Gainsbourg's years of smoking and drinking began to catch up with him and in May, he suffered his first heart attack. After collapsing in his museum-like home on Rue de Verneuil in Paris's trendy St Germain, an ambulance arrived to take him to hospital. Before leaving the house however, Gainsbourg insisted he be covered with his highly fashionable, extremely valuable Hermès blanket as the hospital's "own brand" ones were too ugly. Typical Gainsbourg, always one to go out in style.

10. Performing publicity stunts in hospital beds
While recovering from his heart attack, Gainsbourg began to miss the spotlight so called a press conference from his hospital bed during which he claimed he would reduce the risk of suffering a second heart attack by "increasing his intake of alcohol and cigarettes". Found hidden around his hospital room on his departure were pill bottles stuffed with cigarette butts, from the sneaky smokes he'd been illicitly enjoying while "recovering".

11. Casting his girlfriend in the role of the boyish-looking lover of a homosexual man
This is what Serge riled people with in 1976. The Gainsbourg-directed film, which shared the title of his hugely successful song Je T'aime ... Moi Non Plus was a complicated, explicit story following the difficult relationship of a gay man who falls in love with a boyish female (Birkin), and the sexual problems and emotional difficulties this inevitably leads to. The film was poorly received in France, and even more so in England where it was shown on only one screen – in an adult cinema in Soho.

12. Embracing Nazi rock
Paris, 1975. Thirty years after the end of the second world war. This would be a good moment, Gainsbourg thought to himself, to release Rock Around the Bunker, an upbeat concept album about Nazi Germany. The songs were set to swinging two-step beats, a return to a rockier feel after a few albums exploring more orchestral sounds. Opening track Nazi Rock tells the story of SS soldiers dressed as drag queens, dancing during the Night of the Long Knives. This song, combined with other tracks from the album such as Eva and SS in Uruguay led Gainsbourg, provocative as ever, to find himself in trouble for his comical take on a controversial subject.

13. Releasing a reggae version of the French national anthem
This has a tendency to incite hatred among your fellow countrymen. A stint in Jamaica was where Gainsbourg recorded his 1979 reggae-inspired effort, Aux Armes Et Caetera, of which the title track was a cover of the French national anthem, La Marseillaise. The album was a collaboration with reggae legends Sly & Robbie, who accompanied Gainsbourg on a subsequent tour that was plagued with bomb threats, cancellations and disgruntled protesting paratroopers. However, in true Gainsbourg style, the controversy was manipulated to work to his advantage, and the album eventually became one of his fastest sellers. Aux Armes Et Caetera sold more than 600,000 copies in France and is considered to be one of the earliest albums to have brought reggae to the mainstream.

14. Turning his house into a black, fabric-lined museum
Gainsbourg claimed to need the calming influence of black at his St Germain home to counter the relentless activity in his brain. Each item of his extravagant collection of objects was specifically placed around his house and according to Birkin, Gainsbourg would know if anything had been touched or moved. Surrounded by beautiful things, but also compelled by an impulse that would probably be described today as OCD, Gainsbourg strived to keep his home exactly as he wanted it. Being unable to treat the house as a home was reportedly one of the contributing factors to Birkin leaving him in 1980.

15. Setting a 500 franc note alight on French TV
For one thing, this was illegal. Yes. even if you are Serge Gainsbourg. 1984 would prove to be one of his more audacious years, seeing him cause all kinds of stirs. It was in this year that Gainsbourg burned a 500 franc note live on French TV in a protest against heavy taxation. Although an offence punishable by law, Gainsbourg would feel the heat from a different direction. As a reaction to the extravagant behaviour of her father, Charlotte's classmates would retaliate by setting her homework on fire, punishing her for her father's disregard for money.

16. Releasing a duet with his teenage daughter entitled Lemon Incest
This caused one of the biggest scandals of Gainsbourg's career. Recorded with 12-year-old daughter Charlotte in 1984 (as previously mentioned, one of his more outlandish years), the song caused uproar in France, and even made headlines in the UK. The title, a play on similarities between the words "zest" and "incest" was considered shocking enough, but it was the video that would be the major source of complaint. Young Charlotte was filmed in a nightshirt and knickers lying on a bed with her topless father, singing about "the love that we will never make together". The world was outraged, but the publicity led to increased album sales with Serge and Charlotte subsequently made a huge amount of money, proving Gainsbourg's recipe for success, once again, to be a winning one.

17. Promoting sexually driven puns
Looking again to 1984, as though inspired by George Orwell's authority-battling ideas, Gainsbourg once again managed to outrage the nation. In this year Love On the Beat was released, the title of the album being a play on the word "bite", a colloquial French term meaning "dick". The album was surrounded by controversy for Gainsbourg's application of sexually driven puns. Also featuring his most highly contested release, Lemon Incest, Love On the Beat would go on to become his most provocative album.

18. Explicitly stating his sexual desires to Whitney Houston on French TV
After a performance on the French prime time show of Michel Drucker in 1986, Houston found herself seated next to France's most notorious lothario for a post-performance chat. Little did she expect that the praise she would receive would turn into something sordid as Gainsbourg, in his best English clearly and confidently informed his host that he wanted "to fuck her". Houston's already highly blushed cheeks deepened a shade, and the scenario has never since been forgotten.

19.Taking his twisted ideas and ... making a movie out of them
As if the hysteria surrounding Lemon Incest hadn't provided quite enough drama for the Gainsbourgs, in 1986 Serge took it a step further when he wrote and directed Charlotte Forever, the story of a young girl (played by his daughter Charlotte) living with her widowed, alcoholic father. The film intertwined stories of incest and suicidal tendencies that French audiences found distasteful and difficult to understand. This reaction was upsetting for all involved in the film and to make things up to his daughter, Gainsbourg wrote her an album of the same name with poignant, touching duets. His audience forgave him, and Serge went on to record his final release, a rap album entitled You're Under Arrest.

20. Dying in style
Serge Gainsbourg would be found dead after suffering another heart attack at his home in Rue de Verneuil. It seems his decision to preserve his health by smoking and drinking even more didn't quite work out. France stood still on hearing the news, and fans flocked to his home to pay tribute to the country's most illustrious rock star. François Mitterrand, the president at the time, described Gainsbourg as "our Baudelaire, our Apollinaire ... he elevated song to the level of art". Although leaving a legacy of scandal, drama and controversy, Gainsbourg is now remembered much more for his artistic ability, music and charisma. Serge Gainsbourg is still a highly debated, yet widely adored character. He also achieved what he intended, to have us all talking about him, even 20 years after his death.




FROM SATURDAY 07 APRIL UNTIL SUNDAY 04 NOVEMBER
03 21 46 48 40
www.calais.fr
Musée des Beaux Arts
25 rue Richelieu
62100 Calais
Description        « Jane & Serge »

Family album by Andrew Birkin
While it is true that many photographics exist of Jane Birkin and Serge Gainsbourg as a couple, Andrew Birkin's series
is conspicuous for its intimacy and rarity. These images of a decade which is seen by many as symbolic of a true cultural
renewal offer an extraordinary diversity of stagings.
The exhibition at the Calais Museum of Fine Arts follows the recent rediscovery of private photographs by Andrew Birkin,
brought into the public arena in the form of a prestigious art book published by Taschen in 2013 under the direction of
Alison Castle: Jane & Serge, a Family Album by Andrew Birkin (Taschen, Cologne, 2013). It is partly based on information
and a selection of prints from that book. Featuring in turn family snapshots or series of commissions for the press, the
exhibition reveals the extent to which the private and public life of the artist couple formed by Jane Birkin and Serge
Gainsbourg were interwoven.
Yet the exhibition Jane & Serge, a family album by Andrew Birkin develops an original discourse, combining a selection
of Andew Birkin's photographs with a brief presentation of the cultural context. It draws visitors into a period of artistic
profusion and new freedoms, to this day epitomised in France by Jane Birkin. The exhibition also evokes the artistic
experimentations conducted at that time by Serge Gainsbourg, although these attracted less attention than the later
excesses of his decadent dandy persona.
This exhibition takes on its full significance being staged as it is in the city of Calais, the crossing point between France
and England. Serge Gainsbourg looked across the Channel for a more modern sound; his music is inspired by an
Anglo-Saxon legacy and his meeting with Jane Birkin, the young English actress who was to become his muse. Dated for
the most part between 1964 and 1979, Andrew Birkin's photographs bear testimony to this pivotal period for the artist,
between France and the United Kingdom.
The content of the exhibition has been developed by the Calais Museum of Fine Arts with the collaboration of Andrew
Birkin and the cultural projects agency Art Storm.
Openings           

until Sunday 4 November 2018



Ordeal By Innocence 2018 / Trailer - BBC One

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Ordeal by Innocence is a three part BBC drama that was first broadcast during April 2018. It is based on the Agatha Christie novel of the same name and is the third English language filmed version to be broadcast. The drama stars Bill Nighy, Anna Chancellor, Alice Eve and Eleanor Tomlinson amongst others.
The show was originally intended to be broadcast as part of the BBC Christmas programming but was held back initially due to one of the actors being accused of sexual assault.

Set in 1956, the programme opens with the death of Rachel Argyll, a wealthy heiress who with her husband, Leo Argyll, have adopted five children as they cannot have their own. Initially, son Jack Argyll is accused and awaits trial in prison before he himself is killed at the hands of another prisoner. Eighteen months later and the family is gearing up for a wedding; Leo Argyll is due to marry the Argyll family's former secretary, Gwenda Vaughn, when a mysterious stranger arrives at the door claiming to have an alibi for Jack for the night of the murder. The stranger, Dr Calgary, is unaware that Jack is dead and has come back to help get Jack released from jail. Because the family has received many visits from fraudsters claiming to be Jack's alibi, Dr Calgary's testimony is coldly received, and he is told in no uncertain terms to leave the family alone.

Dr Calgary is then threatened by the other son, Mickey Argyll, but is courted by Philip Durrant, the disabled husband of Mary who sees Dr Calgary as a cash cow. Dr Calgary is awash with disbelief, but telephones Leo Argyll and tells him that his wife's murderer is still on the loose.

Differences to the novel
Just like many other novels and stories by Agatha Christie, Ordeal by Innocence is set in the West Country of England. This production shifted the location to Scotland and it was filmed in and around Inverkip.

The family name in the book is Argyle, whereas it is spelt Argyll in the programme (although the pronounciation is the same). The main suspect character, Jack, is called Jacko in the book  and he dies in prison from pneumonia, not by being beaten to death by another prisoner.


With regard to characters, Kirsten Lindstrom, the family's housekeeper, is a middle-aged Nordic woman in the novel—a detail that plays a key role in the mystery's solution; in the miniseries, she is turned into a Scottish woman in her thirties, who is one of Rachel's foundlings. Dr Calgary is played with hints of mental instability, whereas in the book his testimony is seen as reliable from the very beginning. Other characters, such as Gwenda Vaughan, Mary Durrant, and Hester Argyll, are portrayed much more negatively than they were in the novel: Gwenda is bossy and smug, Mary is deeply embittered, and Hester is a secret alcoholic.


Ordeal By Innocence review - crime saga seamlessly sifts truth from lies
5 / 5 stars    
Careful choreography is the backbone of this Agatha Christie adaptation, which features a uniformly brilliant cast

Lucy Mangan
 @LucyMangan
Sun 1 Apr 2018 22.00 BST Last modified on Fri 6 Apr 2018 22.00 BST

A decanter to the skull. A gently spreading pool of blood beneath the body on the rug. The scream of a servant. A houseful of suspects assembles. We can only be watching an Agatha Christie.
WELCOME.
If Holy Week and the advent of spring seems like an odd time to give viewers the secular, murdery treat that is a Christie adaptation – this time of her 1958 story Ordeal By Innocence – well, that’s because it is.

The three-part mystery was supposed to follow in the footsteps of writer Sarah Phelps’ last two immaculate reworkings, And Then There Were None in 2015 and Witness for the Prosecution in 2016, and be the centrepiece of the 2017 Christmas schedule.

When one of the actors involved, Ed Westwick, became the subject of multiple historical sexual assault allegations, the decision was taken not to broadcast Ordeal By Innocence and to reshoot with a new actor, Christian Cooke.

The whole phalanx of actors – including Anna Chancellor as wealthy philanthropist and collector of waifs and strays Rachel Argyll (soon to have her skull decanted by the decanter); Bill Nighy as her widower Leo (soon to remarry with his frightful secretary Gwenda – played by Alice Eve, who at the last moment was unable to join them from the US and was split-screened in later); Morven Christie as the screaming servant; and Anthony Boyle as the apparent wielder of the fatal crystalware – reassembled in January and redid 35 scenes, with Cooke playing the volatile Mickey Argyll, one of Rachel’s multitudinous now-adult orphan charges, in 12 days.

If you didn’t know, you wouldn’t – a few stray icy breaths showing as they attempt to recreate a July setting in a Scottish location midwinter notwithstanding – be able to tell. The whole thing knits together seamlessly. It grabs you from the opening scenes, as Rachel is dispatched and Jack, always the most delinquent of her adopted children, is convicted – thanks to his fingerprints in her blood – of her murder despite his protestations of innocence. He is killed in prison.

So far so good. But half an arch won’t stand. Where is the rest of the premise?

A year later, as the family gathers at the ancestral home for Leo and Gwenda’s wedding and some illuminating flashbacks, it arrives. A nervous young stranger called Dr Arthur Calgary (a fine and unexpectedly moving, in Agatha’s customarily affectless world, performance by Luke Treadaway) turns up with a suitcase and a claim that he can alibi Jack.

The game, to quote Arthur Conan Doyle – the other master of detective fiction without whom neither the libraries nor TV schedules of England would long survive – is afoot.



 Cast members (left to right) Luke Treadaway, Anna Chancellor, Bill Nighy and Morven Christie. Photograph: James Fisher/Joss Barratt/BBC/Mammoth Screen/ACL

Like Christie on one of her husband’s archeological digs, the next hour is spent sifting the mingled sands of truth and lies. Discrepancies in Arthur’s story are discovered to arise from self-protection, not fraudulence. Bitter divisions in the family (and eyebrow-raisingly strong bonds – yes, Mickey and adopted sister Tina, I’m looking at you) are gradually revealed – none deeper and more bitter than that between monstrous mother and children.

Rachel, it turns out via a combination of flashing glances, elliptical threats and above all, the simple sense of barely repressed fury rippling through every atom of Chancellor’s being, is A Piece of Work. We know not why – yet? – but she is the devil in disguise and has given just about everyone in Denouement Hall a reason to bump her off.

From now on, it’s just a matter of letting the danse macabre unfold. Phelps doesn’t get in the way of Christie’s careful choreography. However, she – and a uniformly brilliant cast that also boasts Matthew Goode as the supercilious Philip, who’s clearly an absolute shit (especially to his wife, cowed Argullian daughter Mary, played with brilliant brittleness by Eleanor Tomlinson), even before he was embittered by being paralysed in a drunken car accident – flesh out and strengthen Christie’s characters, whom she was frequently happy to leave as ciphers in the puzzle she was laying out to solve.

The latest adaptations, rich, dark, adult and drawing on a backdrop of postwar grief and instability, are a far cry from the sunny – still murderous, but sunny – uplands scattered with millet seed for Joan Hickson to peck at as Miss Marple or the light-filled art deco apartments in which the leetle grey cells of David Suchet’s Poirot could do their work.

The audience’s innocence has been too battered by the ordeals of the past few years, perhaps, for them to pass muster now. We get the Agatha Christie adaptations, we need, it seems – and, in the last three outings at least, better than we deserve.


Ordeal by Innocence, episode two review – Agatha Christie’s legacy is safe with this masterful BBC adaptation
   
Ed Cumming
9 APRIL 2018 • 7:44AM

As the second episode of Ordeal by Innocence (BBC One) began, two of the characters had ceased to be. Monstrous philanthropist Rachel Argyll (Anna Chancellor) had been fast-tracked upstairs. In prison, having been fitted up for the deed, her monstrous son Jack (Anthony Boyle) followed suit soon after.

It was a good start, but frankly, they deserved to die. When the mysterious Dr Arthur Calgary (Luke Treadaway) turned up at Argyll Towers claiming to have an alibi for Jack, we realised that each of the dramatis personae had a good reason to bump off the old girl. So far, so traditional.

Less expected was that each of the others, unwittingly, presented a good case as to why they deserved to be murdered, too. Everyone was so unlikeable.

There was Bill Nighy’s widower Leo, smirking round the mansion. Gwenda Vaughan (Alice Eve), the former secretary with an eye on the inheritance. We must not forget skulking housekeeper Kristen (Morven Christie). Christian Cooke as Rachel’s pointlessly angry son Mickey Argyll. Matthew Goode, having a ball as disabled war hero Philip Durrant, was relentlessly cruel to his wife, Rachel’s daughter Mary (Eleanor Tomlinson, Demelza from Poldark). It takes a fine ensemble cast to make so many different characters so fabulously horrible. In fact, only Calgary and the deceased’s other daughter Tina Argyll (Crystal Clarke) deserved to be spared. Everyone else was free to shuffle off.

In Sarah Phelps’s post-war retelling, the threat of nuclear war looms in the background. A swift intercontinental ballistic missile would certainly have improved the civility of the breakfast table.

Three episodes might be one too many, but Ordeal by Innocence is a remarkably taut piece of writing. In murder mysteries the balance must always be struck between revealing enough so that the viewer feels that they could have worked out who did it, but not so much that they do. This is why almost all such programmes hinge on a detective: a Barnaby or a Poirot or a Lund. It’s not we, the intelligent audience, who are being deceived: it’s the blundering dick.


Without that device, here it must be achieved through hints and glances, quick cuts, and dialogue. By the end of the episode, there was a third death: another step that rightly threw us. For all our Scandi noir and sophisticated modern crime drama, Ordeal by Innocence proves that a masterful plot will endure beyond fashion. Christie’s reputation is safe in Phelps’s hands.

Servants . Life Below Stairs. VIDEO:The Autenticity of Gosford Park

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Servant tourism: how TV made us fetishise 'below stairs' culture
British stately homes and hotels are cashing in on our fascination with scullery maids and butlers. Is it because we love Sunday night drama, or do we just want to understand the jobs our ancestors did?

Harry Wallop
Mon 31 Oct 2016 17.25 GMT Last modified on Tue 19 Dec 2017 20.59 GMT

ITV’s big autumn hit Victoria featured an impossibly pretty Queen Vic, a brooding Albert and plenty of gorgeous sets and costumes. But unlike most other depictions of royalty on screen – including Peter Morgan’s Elizabeth II spectacular The Crown, which launches on Netflix this week – below stairs in Victoria featured as heavily as the political machinations in the drawing room.

Critics, most of whom lauded the show, raised eyebrows at the love-in between the monarch and her minions. One said it “felt more obligatory than it did organic”.

Daisy Goodwin, the creator of the show, insists the servants’ quarters were not added to keep focus groups or producers happy. “It was entirely my decision to add a below-stairs plot,” she says. “I keep hearing people say that the ITV executives forced me into it. Not at all. In fact, I had to slightly fight to keep the servants, because their storylines kept being cut back. I thought from the beginning that you need to have a counterpoint to what is going on upstairs.”

The accusations are understandable. Downton Abbey, which gave as much weight to the butlers, footmen and maids as to the aristocrats they served, was one of this decade’s biggest hit, both in the UK and the US.

A bit of spice behind the green baize door, mixed with some gentle class tension, appears to be a foolproof formula for TV gold, and one that stretches back to the early 1970s with ITV’s .

Yet the trend for fetishising servant culture has spread beyond the small screen; the National Trust and English Heritage – both of which reported record visitor numbers last year – are investing heavily in highlighting the servants’ quarters in many of their properties, while the gift shops increasingly reflect our fascination with domestic service over aristocratic lifestyles.

Visit Blenheim Palace, Sir John Vanbrugh’s masterpiece in the Cotswolds, and you can pick up a wide selection from the Below Stairs product range, including the butler’s scented candle with notes of cedarwood, frankincense and citrus. It has the aroma, the box explains, of “waxed wooden floors and a freshly laid fire in the butler’s pantry”. If that doesn’t take your fancy, there’s a House Maid’s lampshade brush, or perhaps the Valet’s clothes brush made from scented pearwood and is “suitable for cashmere”.

This autumn, our servant obsession appears to have moved up another gear. The Sir John Soane Museum in London opened a Below Stairs exhibition in September, featuring artwork created by modern designers as a response to the museum’s recently restored Regency kitchens.

The Pig at Combe, a new boutique hotel in Devon, has just opened a private dining room for 14 people in the original Georgian kitchen, which features a range, cast-iron pans hanging from the wall and flagstones on the floor. The hotel pitches the room as a “below-stairs experience” featuring Mrs Beeton’s recipes – though you would struggle to find quinoa, one of the ingredients on the menu, in her guide to household management.

Daisy Goodwin says she is not surprised consumers want to explore life below stairs. “There’s a couple of things going on. There is a revisionist view of history; it’s political correctness, possibly,” she says. “But there is also people’s genuine interest. I am always obsessed with the smell of the past. Nothing takes you faster back to the 19th century than seeing how hard it was to do your laundry, or how women had to deal with their periods.”

There is another reason why the historical pendulum has swung from the drawing room to the scullery: consumers are statistically more likely to have domestic servants than great landlords in their ancestry. At a peak before the first world war, there were an estimated 1.5 million people in domestic service in Britain, compared with 560 members of the House of Lords – and we are more aware than ever, thanks to the glut of genealogy websites and historical records online, which category we fall into.

This is certainly true for the visitors at Audley End, a fabulous Jacobean property in Essex, owned and run by English Heritage. Here you can admire a Holbein, a Hilliard miniature or a Canaletto, as well as the Robert Adam library in the main house. But the bigger crowds can be found in the servants’ wing, which includes a laundry, where children are allowed to turn the mangle, and a kitchen, from where the smell of bread is emanating and on the day I visit “Mrs Crocombe” issuing orders and criticising “Sylvia”, the second kitchen maid, for her slow apple peeling. Of course, both are actors. There are five in the house, all playing servants from the year 1881 and refusing to come out of character.

Tess Askew, 80, is visiting as part of the group from the Swanton Morley WI in Norfolk and is trying to engage Mrs Crocombe in a discussion about a microwave. The cook, in turn, pretends to be baffled about this “modern appliance” – an act that tickles the tourists.

Askew says the appeal of touring the old laundry and kitchens is partly seeing the lovely shelves of copper pots and jelly moulds, and partly “being housewives – we’re interested in how they used to do it”.

“There is a retro-chic about housework,” says Lucy Lethbridge, the historian and author of Servants: A Downstairs View of 20th-Century Britain, “usually among people who don’t have to do it very much. If you really have to clean, you don’t have much sentimentality about using lemon juice on your windows, or making your own beeswax polish.”

Many of the visitors at Audley End have researched their own family histories. Don Crouch, 58, a retired civil servant from St Albans, who is visiting with his wife and a friend, says: “A lot of people look back at their ancestors and have more connection with downstairs than upstairs life. Even fairly wealthy middle-class people are not well heeled enough to relate to upstairs life.”

His wife, Judith, has researched her family back to the 1780s and discovered her ancestors were drovers, labourers and sawyers. “I do find the class thing very interesting. I come from working-class stock. Although I maybe have gone up a little bit in the world, this,” she says, pointing to Mrs Crocombe, “is more what I would have experienced if I had been around then.” She works for the V&A, but is admiring the fine porcelain pie dishes.

Some historians, however, worry that though the reconstructions of servants’ lives here and at other stately homes are well researched, they can mislead modern audiences.

Dr Lucy Delap, a Cambridge lecturer whose specialism is domestic service, says that in the great houses – be they the Buckingham Palace of ITV’s Victoria or the real-life Audley End – the servants “were quite well paid, and their conditions were quite easy when compared to the majority of servants working in one- and two-person households. They didn’t have a green baize door and time off in the afternoon, and didn’t have rustic-looking wheelbarrows to move apples around in.”

Delap is a fan of Audley End and other heritage days where you can pick up the dolly or iron and feel the weight of a pre-electric domestic appliance, but too often people fail to realise how back-breaking the work was. “Being a servant was all about getting up early, working until midnight and getting chilblains,” says Delap. “People don’t think of it in those terms, because of the likes of Downton and Victoria. These romantic depictions of domestic service really efface the idea that this is a site of precarious, exploitative labour.”

I ask Askew if, born a century earlier, she would prefer to have been a member of the domestic staff or one of the Braybrookes, the aristocratic family who owned Audley End. “I’d like to think I’d be down here with what was really going on. I wouldn’t like to be up there with people curtseying to me. I like this kind of life,” she says.Some historians suggest below-stairs life is possibly back in fashion because it represents a golden era compared with today’s uncertainties. Lethbridge says: “It is an age, seen through rose-tinted spectacles, when we imagine the classes mixed in a paternalistic, co-dependent pyramid. The leisured class were at the top, supported by the labour of those at the bottom, who were in turn looked after. Maybe there is something in that highly regulated certainty that is attractive to us now.”

Most people do not, of course, connect the domestic servants of Victoria or Downton with today’s equivalent: the eastern European cleaner with no paid holidays, or the Deliveroo-rider handing over your evening meal. Or, for that matter, staff in large country houses – now often a hotel.

The most famous of these is Cliveden House, the Italianate pile owned by the Astor family and scene of legendary parties and the Profumo scandal. It is now owned by the National Trust but leased to one of Britain’s smartest hotels, which employs 150 staff to service the 48 rooms. If you book The Butler Did It break – which starts at £350 per night, per person – you can enjoy a private tour with the house butler, 53-year-old Michael Chaloner. Disappointingly, he stopped wearing tails a few years ago, but he is full of stories of famous guests, including Charlie Chaplin and Michael Jackson, as he shows you around the bits of the house that are usually off limits. This includes the amazing view from the roof, the Lady Astor suite (yours for £1,200 a night) and the below-stairs area.

Here, the historic bells used to summon staff are mere decoration. Most of the service corridors and former servants’ sitting rooms are turned over to the operations of a fully functioning modern hotel, with waiters and chefs scurrying past the stacks of firewood used in the great hall, and unused foldaway beds.

“A lot of the Americans don’t like seeing this bit,” Chaloner says. “But a lot of Brits do.” Below stairs, as Lethbridge points out, is so often a reminder of class, something “rotted deeply into our national psyche and our sense of ourselves”.

Chaloner adds: “I think people care about the staff a little bit more nowadays. When I first came here in the early 90s, people came here for their £1,500 lunches, the fattest cigars, and the most expensive brandies. They didn’t care two hoots about the people serving them. But now people are interested in the people who work in the hotel. The staff are part of the deal.”

In the lobby of the hotel, there is a small selection of merchandise on sale, including the DVD of Scandal, the film of the Profumo affair; The Lady’s Maid: My Life in Service by Rosina Harrison, a former maid of Nancy Astor; and scented candles. I tell him I’m disappointed there isn’t a butler version.

“What would it smell of? Boiled cabbage, old socks and body odour?” he laughs. “I am under no illusions about how grim life was below stairs back then.”

 Being a servant was all about getting up early, working until midnight and getting chilblains

• This article was amended on 1 November 2016. An earlier version said the original 1970s series of Upstairs Downstairs was broadcast by the BBC. It was made by LWT and shown on ITV.


 Servants: the True Story of Life Below Stairs, BBC Two, review
Michael Pilgrim reviews Servants: the True Story of Life Below Stairs, Dr Pamela Cox' new BBC Two series exploring the lives of servants.
4 out of 5 stars
By Michael Pilgrim10:00PM BST 28 Sep 2012

Dr Pamela Cox explores the secret history of servants at the beginning of the 20th Century for her new BBC Two series, Servants: The True Story of Life Below Stairs.

Dr Pamela Cox explores the secret history of servants at the beginning of the 20th Century for her new BBC Two series, Servants: The True Story of Life Below Stairs. Photo: BBC
The prodigious 19th-century letter writer Jane Carlyle had a frightful time with her servants. She went through 34 in 32 years. Hardly surprising since they were that breed of hired help known as the maid of all work, the sole domestic in a middle-class household.

One such, Mary, had the misfortune to give birth in a back room of Jane’s Chelsea house. Feet away, Jane’s husband Thomas Carlyle was busy taking after-dinner tea, the great essayist seemingly unperturbed.

This was not good. As Servants: the True Story of Life Below Stairs (BBC Two) explained, Mrs Carlyle was seen to have failed to keep her employee on the path to righteousness. There was no choice. Mary had to go.

Servants was presented by the academic Dr Pamela Cox. Given that Cox’s grandmothers were in service and that she teaches at Essex – a university not renowned for its right-leaning views – one might have expected a rant. Certainly, the picture painted was far from the gentle Farrow & Ball ambience of Upstairs, Downstairs and Downton Abbey, but it was not without affection.

Cox started her three-parter at Erddig, North Wales. In the 19th century, the estate employed 45 staff labouring for 17 hours a day. They had to shift three tons of coal a week, enough for 51 fireplaces and five ovens. Six hundred items of clothing were laundered a week and 60 pairs of boots polished daily. A laundry maid could be paid as little as £700 a year – at today’s prices.

The work was meticulous, repetitive and exhausting. Which makes you think that they have a secret underground room at Downton full of whirring German white goods doing all the work. Little else explains why the staff never look tired or sweaty.

None the less, Erdigg represented the paternalistic end of domestic service. Its owners hung what were known as loyalty portraits of their staff in a hall. The photos were charming, but the typed poems pasted beside them sounded more the sort of thing you’d write about a beloved puppy, than about the people who starched your shirt and blacked your footwear.

Though enlightened enough to acknowledge the staff, the family were witheringly dismissive of those who displeased them, as the clunky verses for Mrs Hale, a ladies maid, made clear: “Black was her dress, her face austere, and when she for Brighton did leave, no one here a sigh did heave.” Not what you’d call a positive reference for a future master, even if it does rhyme.

It wasn’t just a question of us and them. Servants themselves were graded into a complex hierarchy, governed by arcane rules, presided over by the butler, cook and housekeeper, the last a portly, dragonish figure who only had to jangle her keys to evoke fear in low-ranking hall boys.

The sense of benevolent orderliness, of people content in their allotted station, is, of course, a cosy Victorian fabrication, just like the conventions of Christmas. It is a myth that even now bathes us in warm nostalgia and persuades us to buy National Trust tea-towels. Cox’s cheerful pursuit for her subject suggested she even enjoyed the myth a bit herself, despite better intentions.


 "Below Stairs" is a study of servant portraiture in Britain and is illustrated with works by Hogarth, Gainsborough and Stubbs. Continuing the examination of traditional domestic life explored in the films "Gosford Park" and "Remains of the Day", "Below Stairs" is also the subject of a BBC Four documentary. Featuring portraits of all ranks of servant the book illustrates the shifting organisation of households through the centuries, and the highly complex relationships between employers and employees. Traditionally, portraiture in Britain has concentrated on recording the upper classes and the celebrated. Instead, "Below Stairs" explores the representation of the servant, be it in a grand or modest household, in the country or in the town, at the royal courts or at colleges and clubs. This groundbreaking selection of paintings and photographs tells a fascinating story about power, class and human relationships spanning over 400 years of social and economic history.



Behind the green baize door
While 'upstart' butlers may make news, servants have largely been invisible in the history books. In art and fiction, however, they have long been an iconic presence, writes Alison Light

Alison Light
Sat 8 Nov 2003 01.30 GMT First published on Sat 8 Nov 2003 01.30 GMT

Down ill-lit corridors the servant scurries, disappearing into darkened chambers, hurrying back to the kitchens or the courtyards, a blur on the edge of vision. Servants form the greatest part of that already silent majority - the labouring poor - who have for so long lived in the twilight zone of historical record. In the servant's case, though, anonymity often went with the job.

In mid-to-late 19th-century Britain, when live-in service was at a peak, servants' labour was meant to be as unobtrusive as possible. Relegated to the basements and the attics, using separate entrances and staircases (their activities muffled and hidden behind the famous "green baize door"), they lived a parallel existence, shadowing the family members and anticipating their needs - meals appeared on the table, fires were found miraculously lit, beds warmed and covers turned back by an invisible hand.

In the grander households the lower servants were often unknown "above stairs". The writer Vita Sackville-West recalled that at Knole her mother was supplied with a list of first names from the housekeeper before she doled out seasonal gifts. More conveniently, servants were often hailed by their work titles such as "Cook" or "Boots", or, if their own names were considered too fancy, given more "suitable" ones: "Abigail", "Betty", "Mary Jane" were all in vogue at one time. Deportment and body language, the bowed head, the neatly folded hands, all prevented servants from "putting themselves forward", though few employers were like the Duke of Portland at Welbeck, who expected his staff to turn their faces to the wall if they encountered the family.

Few, that is, except for the royal family, some of whose archaic practices were revealed last week by Paul Burrell in his book A Royal Duty (including the Sunday task of ironing a £5 note for the Queen's church collection). Royal servants have long been a source of fascination because of their proximity to rulers who were otherwise remote. Such relationships often caused friction at court, as when Queen Victoria allowed her Hindustani teacher, or Munshi, the 24-year-old Abdul Karim, to take his meals with the royal household. The Windsors may expect a feudal level of fealty from their staff and, as the self-styled "keeper of Diana's secrets", Burrell is one in a long line of upstarts who has overstepped the mark. Yet the history of domestic service, even at its most mundane, suggests that it has always been a job like no other, involving unusual intimacies and frequently encouraging both employers and their charges to invest in a fantasy of friendship.

From medieval times, litigious servants have sought redress in the courts (legal records offer some of the earliest evidence of their lives). But historians have long found servants to be awkward customers. Their numbers alone make a history of service daunting (in 1900, there were still more people working in domestic service than in any other sector barring agriculture). Though they were legion, so much about servants was singular. They were legally seen as dependents but in principle were free to leave. Their hours of work, time off and wages were often unregulated and the perquisites, or "perks" of the job, such as the quality of their board and lodging, varied enormously. Working in comparative comfort behind closed doors, deferring to employers and perhaps silently envious of them, the figure of the servant represents all that is the opposite of the articulate, organised or collectively minded. Feminised, indoor and intimate, domestic service is usually excluded from more heroic accounts of the making of the English working classes.

Yet domestic service was not simply a throwback to a pre-industrial world. The ideal of service was the cornerstone of 19th-century life, informing the language and structure both of public institutions and family life. The Victorians elevated dependence into a moral and social good. The idea of serving others (perhaps in the new civil "service" or as a "servant" of a bank or indeed, in the "services") was strengthened indoors by an evangelical Christianity. Domestic servants drew satisfaction and self-respect from their devotion to duty, though few were so inspired as Hannah Cullwick, Arthur Munby's maid and scullion in the 1860s. Up to her elbows in grease and muck, she welcomed the filthiest chores, as her diaries record, partly as a test of her humility and of her faith in a salvation achieved by hard work. But "being drest rough & looking nobody", also gave her the freedom to "go anywhere and not be wonder'd at".

Service could mean betterment, though rarely did a servant rise far above her station (Cullwick eventually married her master but she obstinately resisted playing the lady). In Merlin Waterson's The Servants Hall (1980), which describes 250 years of domestic history at Erddig, the Yorke family's modest country house on the Welsh marches, we learn that Harriet Rogers preferred to be a lady's maid and housekeeper than remain at home on an isolated farm. The Yorkes encouraged her reading and broadened her horizons but she remained single all her life and quietly put away her numerous Valentine cards. Servants made choices, though not in circumstances of their own choosing. If we fail to recognise this, they remain typecast as trouble makers or arch conservatives, as rogues or dupes or victims.

Servants haunt the 18th- and 19th-century domestic novel, conjuring up the fears and fantasies of their employers. As Daniel Defoe's diatribe of 1724, "The Great Law of Subordination Consider'd", testified, the unruly servant was a sorcerer's apprentice who could send not just the kitchen but the whole social order spiralling into anarchy. In Jane Austen's Mansfield Park (1814), when Fanny Price returns home to Portsmouth from her posh relatives, her first sight is of Rebecca, "a trollopy looking maid" who is "never where she ought to be". Rebecca's sluttish ways speak volumes about the moral impropriety of the family. Like Samuel Richardson's Pamela before her, Fanny is herself a servant morally worthy of a better station in life (Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre is one of her descendants). Her social climbing will reform but not threaten the upper classes. She looks forward to generations of middle-class mistresses whose superiority depends on keeping others firmly in their place.

It's almost impossible for us to see service except through an optic of class antagonism or exploitation. Yet the attachments between servants and their employers were often complex. No man, as they say, is a hero to his valet - certainly not Charles Darwin, whose butler, Joseph Parslow, douched and dried him everyday for four months, while Darwin tried hydropathy for his chronic diarrhoea and nausea. Parslow, who numbered among his many tasks donning leather gaiters to gather flower spikes from ditches or ferrying plant specimens back from Kew Gardens, often cradled Darwin like a baby in his arms. Thomas and Jane Carlyle got through servants at a rate of knots (one was dismissed by him as a "mutinous Irish savage"). Prostrated by headache, Jane was often comforted by another maid-of-all-work, Helen Mitchell, who rubbed her cheek with her own and soothed her mistress with companionable tears.

Servants might be officially invisible but they were central as providers, especially when their employers were at their most needy. The English upper classes have frequently recalled cold childhoods warmed only by confederacies with the servants. Rudyard Kipling's first memories, in Something of Myself , were of his Portuguese ayah and the Hindu bearer, Meeta, who held his hand and eased his fear of the dark. "Father and Mother" were associated with painful partings. Service, in other words, has always been an emotional as well as an economic territory. The valet, the housekeeper and the girl who emptied the chamberpots all knew this as they stepped over the threshold of someone else's house.

In most painting, as in literature, servants appear in supporting roles. But an exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery - "Below Stairs: 400 Years of Servants' Portraits" - gives faces to some of those whom history has effaced. British art frequently followed the Italian convention in which a servant, a page or secretary, a horse or dog, might be included to enhance the stature of the principal subject. Literally so with Van Dyck's portrait of Queen Henrietta Maria painted in 1633; she was quite tiny but standing next to dwarf Jeffrey Hudson added several cubits to her height.

Servants were among the first commodities to be displayed, along with the fashionable silks and porcelain, in small-scale "conversation pieces", family portraits from the 1720s. There are also plenty of walk-on parts for servants in genre paintings: pretty dairymaids in tidy farmyards, grooms exhibited with prize hounds in sporting scenes, ruddy-faced, fleshy cooks amid the slaughtered meat. Only rarely does a tremor of personality disturb these still lives.

"Below Stairs" concentrates on individual portraits of servants that have survived thanks to their employers' affection or caprice. The majority are "loyalty" portraits, meant to be exemplary and instructive, testifying to the benevolence of the masters as much as to the virtues of their staff. Erddig's enlightened squires had individual, informal portraits painted of the whole household, from the lowly "spider-brushers" to the cook, coachmen and gardeners, often with humorous scrolls attached detailing their lives and work. Loyalty portraits were popular too with the university colleges, museums, banks, clubs, hotels and other institutions. Paintings elevated trusty employees to the status of a symbol.

In their accompanying catalogue, curators Giles Waterfield and Anne French rightly warn that such portraits are anomalous. Only large establishments were likely to commission costly pictures and most British servants worked for the ever-expanding middle classes in far humbler situations. Rather than the butler or the housekeeper, the typical domestic in the 19th-century home or lodging-house was the "maid-of-all-work" or "slavey", like Dickens's "Marchioness" in The Old Curiosity Shop , whose half-starved existence comically belies her inflated title. Usually a young girl, often straight from the workhouse, such general servants came cheap (until the 1940s the majority of Barnardo's girls went straight into other people's kitchens).

Life-size or full-length, looking you straight in the face, it's a shock to encounter sympathetic images of people so often caricatured, reduced to cartoon or grotesquerie. Artists aimed at more than mechanical likenesses, "mere face-painting", as William Hogarth dubbed it. Bored with their patrons, painters were sidetracked by the servants whose faces were free of cosmetics and whose figures were less inert than those hampered by the trappings of wealth. George Stubbs's portrait of Freeman, the Earl of Clarendon's gamekeeper, for instance, shown moving in for the kill, is a force in his own right. Elderly servants, unlike their employers, didn't need to be flattered: the woodcarver with his spotted neckerchief, the weary housekeeper and the messenger at the Bank of England are given all their blemishes and wrinkles.

Loyalty portraits frequently commemorate long service and nothing is dearer to the conservative imagination than the image of the old retainer. Yet at the great houses, where the rewards for long service were most enticing, the speed at which servants could be hired and fired was often breathtaking. Even at Erddig there were clear limits to liberality. Elizabeth Ratcliffe, a lady's maid in the 1760s, was a talented artist who could put her hand to a mezzotint as easily as to her mending, but after one of her successes her mistress wrote to her son vetoing further exploits lest "I shall have no service from her & make too fine a Lady of her, for so much say'd on that occasion that it rather puffs her up". There are almost no portraits of ladies' maids in British art. Since the maid often dressed in the mistress's cast-offs, her Ladyship was afraid, perhaps, of being upstaged.

In reality, though, most servants have always been comers and goers, migrants arriving in the city and hoping to send money home, moving on to marriage or a better place. Ultimately, the servant portrait is poignant because it's a contradiction in terms. Its subjects, who often in life couldn't call their souls their own, are proudly dressed in a little brief authority. But even the most amiable portrait of the servant is always a portrait of the master.

In the 19th and 20th centuries, photography took over the loyalty convention, with group portraits of uniformed servants, often displaying their badge of office - a broom, a saucepan or a garden fork - formally posed outside the house. Such photographs remind us that live-in service does not belong to the distant past (I have one such memento of my grandmother in her days as a skivvy). Servants' testimonies, like those in the sound archives at Essex University, are often full of bitterness and shame. In her autobiography, Below Stairs (1968), Margaret Powell remembers how deeply humiliated she felt when her mistress told her to hand newspapers to her on a silver salver: "Tears started to trickle down my cheeks; that someone could think you were so low that you couldn't even hand them anything out of your hands."

Between the wars, as other employment became available, women, and particularly the young, voted with their feet. The decline of live-in service revealed just how hopelessly dependent many employers were. In the 1920s, for instance, Lytton Strachey's sisters, Pippa, Marjorie and Pernel (the former dedicated to women's suffrage, the latter principal of Newnham), had to ask their younger relatives to turn on the oven on the servant's day off. Dependence was often a matter of pride rather than practical incompetence. Opening the front door was especially unthinkable since servants were the gatekeepers to the outside world. Well into old age, Siegfried Sassoon, in impoverished isolation at Heytesbury House, kept up a façade of grandeur by asking visitors to come by the servants' entrance.

Of course there were people who remained a lifetime in other people's families, who were unstinting and generous and who believed what they were doing was worthwhile. Julia and Leslie Stephen's cook, Sophie Farrell, who was passed around Bloomsbury circles for many years, went on signing herself "yours obediently" to "Miss Ginia" (Virginia Woolf) all her life. Others were snobs who missed their privileges and the kindness of their employers. Once the old models of rank and deference collapsed, lives foundered; Frank Lovell, for five years head footman at Erddig, made a new start as a chauffeur just before he joined up in 1914 but the war years left him adrift. Disappointed and unsettled, he drowned in 1934, leaving his wife and young son believing it to be suicide. Servants often found it hard to adjust to a more democratic world.

But so did their employers. Although socialists and feminists might campaign for the poor, plenty assumed that housework was beneath them or that others were more suited to it. Margaret Bondfield, minister of labour in 1931, annoyed fellow Labour party members by refusing out-of-work Lancashire mill girls unemployment benefit if they turned down domestic training. The feminist Vera Brittain, whose unconventional household was shared with her husband and Winifred Holtby, her friend, depended on the servants, Amy and Charles Burnett, for years. It didn't prevent Brittain from bemoaning the lot of "the creative woman perpetually at the mercy of the 'Fifth Column' below stairs". Writers and artists wanted uninterrupted time and their servants duly emancipated them. Grace Higgens, for instance, "the Angel of Charleston", made it possible for Vanessa Bell to be a painter, cooking and cleaning for her for more than 40 years. "Ludendorff Bell", as her son Quentin called her, kept up the Victorian habit, nonetheless, of starting every day by giving her orders to the cook, who stood waiting while her mistress sat at the breakfast table. For all the photographs and portraits Bell made of Grace, they could never be pictured side by side.

By the 1950s, few British women expected to "go into" service but that is hardly the end of the story. In the last decade or so the domestic-service economy - an army of cleaners, child-minders, nannies and au pairs - has been rapidly expanding (Allison Pearson's recent apologia for the career woman, I Don't Know How She Does It, goes guiltily over the old ground of the mistress victimised by a manipulative underling). In this country much of the cooking and cleaning is done by low-paid casual workers, often migrants, in private houses as well as in hotels, offices and schools. Racial assumptions, as well as class feelings - as Barbara Ehrenreich and others have argued - are fostered by this division of labour.

All of us begin our lives helpless in the hands of others and will probably end so. How we tolerate our inevitable dependence, especially upon those who feed and clean and care for us, or take away our waste, is not a private or domestic question but one that goes to the heart of our unequal society. We rely constantly on others to do our dirty work and what used to be called "the servant question" has not gone away. The figure of the servant takes us not only inside history but inside ourselves.

· "Below Stairs" is at the National Portrait Gallery, London WC2, until January 11. Alison Light is writing a book about Virginia Woolf's servants, to be published by Penguin.


 Servants' Hall: A Real Life Upstairs, Downstairs Romance (Below Stairs)
Margaret Powell

Margaret Powell's Below Stairs became a sensation among readers reveling in the luxury and subtle class warfare of Masterpiece Theatre's hit television series Downton Abbey. Now in the sequel Servants' Hall, Powell tells the true story of Rose, the under-parlourmaid to the Wardham Family at Redlands, who took a shocking step: She eloped with the family's only son, Mr. Gerald.

Going from rags to riches, Rose finds herself caught up in a maelstrom of gossip, incredulity and envy among her fellow servants. The reaction from upstairs was no better: Mr. Wardham, the master of the house, disdained the match so completely that he refused ever to have contact with the young couple again. Gerald and Rose marry, leave Redlands and Powell looks on with envy, even as the marriage hits on bumpy times: "To us in the servants' hall, it was just like a fairy tale . . . How I wished I was in her shoes."

Once again bringing that lost world to life, Margaret Powell trains her pen and her gimlet eye on her "betters" in this next chapter from a life spent in service. Servants' Hall is Margaret Powell at her best―a warm, funny and sometimes hilarious memoir of life at a time when wealthy families like ruled England.


What the Butler Saw: 250 Years of the Servant Problem
by E. S. Turner 
This is a lively foray into a world where a gentleman with £2,000 a year was betraying his class if he did not employ six females and five males; where a lady could go to the grave without ever having picked up a nightdress, carried her prayer bookor made a pot of tea. It is the story of the housekeeper and the butler, the cook, the lady's maid, the valet and the coachman. Their duties are described in detail, and the story is told of the strife and even pitched battles that ensued between servants and the served. Here is social history from a fascinating angle, packed with droll information lightly handled, with many a moral for our own times.
Servants: A Downstairs View of Twentieth-century Britain Paperback
by Lucy Lethbridge 
Servants: A Downstairs View of Twentieth-century Britain is the social history of the last century through the eyes of those who served. From the butler, the footman, the maid and the cook of 1900 to the au pairs, cleaners and childminders who took their place seventy years later, a previously unheard class offers a fresh perspective on a dramatic century. Here, the voices of servants and domestic staff, largely ignored by history, are at last brought to life: their daily household routines, attitudes towards their employers, and to each other, throw into sharp and intimate relief the period of feverish social change through which they lived.
Sweeping in its scope, extensively researched and brilliantly observed, Servants is an original and fascinating portrait of twentieth-century Britain; an authoritative history that will change and challenge the way we look at society.

Remembering The King Who Invented Ballet, BBC4 / VIDEO: BBC The King Who Invented Ballet

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The King Who Invented Ballet, BBC Four
David Bintley takes a look at Louis XIV's impact on classical dance
September 2015 marks the 300th anniversary of the death of King Louis XIV of France and this documentary looks at how Louis XIV not only had a personal passion and talent for dance, but supported and promoted key innovations, like the invention of dance notation and the founding of the world's first ballet school, that would lay the foundations for classical ballet to develop.
Presented by David Bintley, choreographer and director of the Birmingham Royal Ballet, the documentary charts how Louis encouraged the early evolution of ballet - from a male-dominated performance exclusive to the royal court to a professional artform for the public featuring the first female star ballerinas. The film also looks at the social context of dance during Louis XIV's reign, where ballets were used as propaganda and to be able to dance was an essential skill that anyone noble had to have.
As well as specially shot baroque dance sequences and groundbreaking recreations of 17th-century music, it also follows Bintley as he creates an exciting new one-act ballet inspired by Louis XIV. Danced by 15 members of the Birmingham Royal Ballet, The King Dances features an original score by composer Stephen Montague, designs by Katrina Lindsay and lighting by Peter Mumford and receives its world premiere on television directly after the documentary.



Louis XIV, the King of France from 1643 to 1715, was a ballet enthusiast from a young age. In fact his birth was celebrated with the Ballet de la Felicite in 1639. As a young boy, he was strongly supported and encouraged by the court, particularly by Italian-born Cardinal Mazarin, to take part in the ballets. He made his debut at age 13 in the "Ballet de Cassandre" in 1651. Two years later in 1653, the teenage king starred as Apollo, the sun god, in The Ballet of the Night or in French, Le Ballet de la Nuit. His influence on the art form and its influence on him became apparent. His fancy golden costume was not soon forgotten, and his famous performance led to his nickname, the Sun King. In the ballet, he banishes the night terrors as he rise as sun at dawn. His courtiers were forced to worship him like a god through choreography. They were made clear of the glory of King Louis XIV and that he had absolute authority both on and off the dance floor. The ballets that young King Louis performed in were very different from ballets performed today. The form of entertainment was actually called ballets d’entrées. This refers to the small divisions, or “entries,” that the ballets were broken up into. For example, Le Ballet de la Nuit, comprised over forty of such entries, which were divided into four vigils or parts. The whole spectacle lasted 12 hours.

Throughout his reign, Louis XIV worked with many influential people in his court dances. He worked alongside poet Isaac de Benserade, as well as designers Torelli, Vigarani and Henry de Gissey, which made fashion and dance closely interlinked. Possibly his greatest contribution to the French court was bringing composer/dancer Jean-Baptiste Lully. Louis supported and encouraged performances in his court as well as the development of ballet throughout France. Louis XIV was trained by Pierre Beauchamp. The King demonstrated his belief in strong technique when he founded the Académie Royale de Danse in 1661 and made Beauchamp leading ballet master. King Louis XIV’s and France’s attempt to keep French ballet standards high was only encouraged further when in 1672 a dance school was attached to the Académie Royale de Musique. Led by Jean-Baptiste Lully, this dancing group is known today as The Paris Opera Ballet.

The king was very exacting in his behavior towards his dancing. In fact, he made it a daily practice to have a ballet lesson every day after his morning riding lesson. As the French people watched and took note of what their leader was doing, dancing became an essential accomplishment for every gentleman. Clearly ballet became a way of life for those who were around King Louis XIV. If one looked at the culture of seventeenth-century France, one saw a reflection of an organized ballet that was choreographed beautifully, costumed appropriately, and performed with perfect precision.[according to whom?] Louis XIV retired from ballet in 1670.

Jean-Baptiste Lully
Perhaps one of the most influential men on ballet during the seventeenth century was Jean Baptiste Lully. Lully was born in Italy, but moved to France where he quickly became a favorite of Louis XIV and performed alongside the king in many ballets until the king’s retirement from dance in 1670. He moved from dancer for the court ballets to a composer of such music used in the courts. By the time he was thirty, Lully was completely in charge of all the musical activities in the French courts. Lully was responsible for enlivening the rather slow stately dances of the court ballets.[3] He decided to put female dancers on stage and was also director of the Académie Royale de Musique. This company's dance school still exists today as part of the Paris Opera Ballet. Since dancers appeared in the very first performances the Opera put on, the Paris Opera Ballet is considered the world’s oldest ballet company. When Lully died in 1687 from a gangrenous abscess on the foot which developed after he stuck himself with the long staff he used for conducting, France lost one of the most influential conductors and composers of the seventeenth century. However, Lully did not work alone. In fact, he often worked in collaboration with two other men that were equally influential to ballet and the French culture: Pierre Beauchamps and Molière.

Pierre Beauchamps
Beauchamps was a ballet-master who was deeply involved with the creation of courtly ballets in the 1650s and 1660s.However, Beauchamps began his career as the personal teacher to Louis XIV. Beauchamps is also credited with coming up with the five fundamental foot positions from which all balletic movements move through. Beauchamps techniques were taught throughout France in secondary schools as well as by private teachers.[5] Contemporary dancers would astonish Beauchamps at their ability to have 180-degree turnout. Beauchamps dancers wore high-heeled shoes and bulky costumes which made turnout difficult and slight. One of the first things that Lully and Beauchamps worked together on was Les Fêtes de l’Amour et de Bacchus, which they called opéra-ballet. The opéra-ballet is a form of lyric theatre in which singing and dancing were presented as equal partners in lavish and spectacular stagings. The Les Fêtes de l’Amour et de Bacchus, one of their first and most famous collaborations, consisted of excerpts from court ballets linked by new entrées stages by Beauchamps. Customarily, King Louis and courtiers danced in the court ballets; however, in this new form of entertainment, the opéra-ballet, all of the dancers were professionals. Beauchamps not only collaborated with Lully, but he also had the great privilege to partner with Molière during his lifetime.

Beauchamps also originated the Beauchamp-Feuillet notation, which provided detailed indications of the tract of a dance and the related footwork. Starting in 1700, hundreds of social and theatrical dances were recorded and widely published in this form. Although this has been superseded in modern times by even more expressive notations, the notation is sufficiently detailed that, along with contemporary dancing manuals, these dances can be reconstructed today.

Molière
Molière was a well-known comedic playwright during that time period. He and Beauchamps collaborated for the first time in 1661, which resulted in the invention of comédie-ballet. His invention of comedies-ballets was said to be an accident. He was invited to set both a play and court ballet in honor of Louis XIV, but was short of dancers and decided to combined the two productions together. This resulted in Les Facheux in 1661. This and the following comédie-ballets were considered the most important advance in baroque dance since the development of Renaissance geometric figures.[6] One of the most famous of these types of performances was Le Bourgeois gentilhomme, which is still performed today and continues to entertain audiences.[1] The idea behind a comédie-ballet was a combination of spoken scenes separated by balletic interludes; it is the roots for today’s musical theatre. Many of Molière's ballets were performed by Louis XIV. According to Susan Au, the king's farewell performance was Molière's Les Amants magnifiques in 1670. Not only were these types of performances popular in the courts, but they helped transition from courtiers being the dancers to using actors and professional dancers, soon to be known as ballerinas.[1] The comédie-ballets helped to bring understanding between the court and the commoners as the transition from court ballets to a more common place ballet occurred.

With Molière writing the dialogue and directing, Beauchamps choreographing the ballet interludes, and Lully composing the music and overseeing the coming together of all the dancers and actors, these three giants of men worked together to create many beautiful pieces of art for King Louis XIV.



Ballet originated in the Italian Renaissance courts of the 15th and 16th centuries before it had spread from Italy to France by an Italian aristocrat, Catherine de' Medici, who became Queen of France. In France, ballet developed even further under her aristocratic influence. The dancers in these early court ballets were mostly noble amateurs. Ballets in this period were lengthy and elaborate and often served a political purpose. The monarch displayed the country's wealth through the elaborate performances' power and magnificence. Ornamented costumes were meant to impress viewers, but they restricted performers' freedom of movement.


The ballets were performed in large chambers with viewers on three sides. The implementation of the proscenium arch from 1618 on distanced performers from audience members, who could then better view and appreciate the technical feats of the professional dancers in the productions.

French court ballet reached its height under the reign of King Louis XIV. Known as the Sun King, Louis symbolized the brilliance and splendor of France. Influenced by his eager participation in court ballets since early childhood, Louis founded the Académie Royale de Danse (Royal Dance Academy) in 1661 to establish standards and certify dance instructors. In 1672, Louis XIV made Jean-Baptiste Lully the director of the Académie Royale de Musique (Paris Opera) from which the first professional ballet company, the Paris Opera Ballet, arose. Lully is considered the most important composer of music for ballets de cour and instrumental to the development of the form. Pierre Beauchamp served as Lully's ballet-master, the most important position of artistic authority and power for the companies during this century. Together their partnership would drastically influence the development of ballet, as evidenced by the credit given to them for the creation of the five major positions of the feet. The years following the 1661 creation of the Académie Royale de Danse shaped the future of ballet, as it became more evident to those in the French Nobility that there was a significant need for trained professional dancers. By 1681, the first of those who would now be called "ballerinas" took the stage following years of training at the Académie, influenced by the early beginnings of codified technique taught there.


The King Who Invented Ballet, BBC4
The programme is riveting, blending monstrous extravagance and social history
Martin Hoyle SEPTEMBER 11, 2015

Louis XIV may not have created ballet, admits David Bintley of the Birmingham Royal Ballet, but he was ballet’s first icon, as The King Who Invented Ballet (Sunday, BBC4 8pm) explains. Louis loved to dance, and his nickname “le Roi Soleil” seemed assured when as a 14-year-old the monarch appeared at the climax of a 13-hour spectacle, dazzling in gold, representing the sun dispersing the night’s blackness.

Follow that. And he did, creating the Grand Siècle which saw France’s apogee, its acknowledged greatness — but also bankruptcy, a legacy that would destroy his descendants.

Other creations included the Académie Royale de Danse and the school of the Ballet de l’Opéra where students still bow and curtsy to adults by royal decree.

The king gave up dancing after 75 roles in court spectacles but his influence continued and ballet spread to public theatres, with women also taking part. Above all, Louis established a style of grace and nobility, epitomised by the famous portrait by Hyacinthe Rigaud in which the king is in fourth position, one leg forward, toes turned out.

Bintley was starstruck by Louis as a boy and his film combines history, dance, spectacle — a beautiful book of costume designs for his famous 13-hour allegory shows werewolves, an anthropomorphic chessboard, fantastics and grotesques — and music: years of research and informed guesswork are used to recreate the original orchestration for a recording. Locations include Versailles, Paris and Birmingham, where Bintley prepares his new ballet, The King Dances, inspired by Louis’ apotheosis as Sun King.

The programme is riveting, blending as it does politics and culture, monstrous extravagance and social history. It leads into a complete performance of Bintley’s ballet, whose premiere was greeted with a mixed reception in June. But some aspects — lighting ranging from Stygian to dazzling; Stephen Montague’s score easily combining baroque and modern — work especially well on TV.


The Queen's corgis are dead / VIDEO: Queen Elizabeth and Her Royal Corgis | Country Living

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The Queen's corgis are dead: long live the 'dorgis'
Willow’s death marks first time the monarch has not owned a corgi since the second world war

Martin Belam and agencies
Wed 18 Apr 2018 11.24 BST Last modified on Wed 18 Apr 2018 11.39 BST

The Queen’s last remaining corgi has died, it has been reported. Willow, who was almost 15, was put down after suffering from cancer, making it the first time the monarch has not owned a corgi since the end of the second world war.

Willow was the 14th generation descended from Susan, a corgi gifted to the then Princess Elizabeth on her 18th birthday in 1944. The Queen has owned more than 30 dogs of the breed during her reign.

It was reported in 2015 that the Queen had stopped breeding corgis because she did not want to leave any behind after she died.

She still has two dogs, Vulcan and Candy, which are informally known as “dorgis” – a cross-breed between a dachshund and a corgi introduced to the royal household when Princess Margaret’s dachshund Pipkin mated with one of the Queen’s dogs.

Vulcan and Candy appeared alongside Willow on the front cover of Vanity Fair in 2016, shot by Annie Leibovitz to celebrate the Queen’s 90th birthday.

Willow was the last surviving corgi to have appeared alongside the Queen and the actor Daniel Craig in the 2012 London Olympics opening ceremony James Bond sketch. Willow, Monty and Holly had greeted the secret agent as he arrived at the palace to accept a mission from the Queen.
The dogs ran down the stairs, performed tummy rolls and then stood as a helicopter took off for the Olympic stadium, carrying Bond and a stunt double of the Queen. Monty died a couple of months after the sketch was filmed, and Holly was put down in 2016.

Buckingham Palace has declined to comment on Willow’s death, saying it is a private matter.


The Queen has been very fond of corgis since she was a small child, having fallen in love with the corgis owned by the children of the Marquess of Bath. King George VI brought home Dookie in 1933. A photograph from George VI's photo album shows a ten-year-old Elizabeth with Dookie at Balmoral. Princess Elizabeth and her sister Princess Margaret would feed Dookie by hand from a dish held by a footman. The other early favourite corgi during the same time was Jane.

Elizabeth II's mother, at that time Queen Elizabeth, introduced a disciplined regimen for the dogs; each was to have its own wicker basket, raised above the floor to avoid drafts. Meals were served for each dog in its own dish, the diet approved by veterinary experts with no tidbits from the royal table. A proprietary brand of meat dog biscuits was served in the morning, while the late afternoon meal consisted of dog meal with gravy. Extra biscuits were handed out for celebrations and rewards.

Crackers (24 December 1939, Windsor – November, 1953) was one of the Queen Mother's corgis, and nearly a constant companion; he retired with the Queen Mother to the Castle of Mey in Scotland. In 1944, Elizabeth was given Susan as a gift on her 18th birthday. Susan accompanied Elizabeth on her honeymoon in 1947. The corgis owned by the Queen are descended from Susan. Rozavel Sue, daughter of Rozavel Lucky Strike, an international champion, was one of the Queen's corgis in the early 1950s.

The Queen has owned over thirty corgis since her accession to the thrones of the United Kingdom and the other Commonwealth realms in 1952.

The Queen's fondness for corgis and horses is known even in places such as Grand Cayman; when Elizabeth and Prince Philip visited the island in 1983, government officials gave her black coral sculptures of a corgi and a horse as a gift, both made by Bernard Passman.

Sugar was the nursery pet of Prince Charles and Princess Anne. In 1955, her pups, Whisky and Sherry, were surprise Christmas gifts from the Queen to the Prince and Princess. Pictured with the royal family, the corgi Sugar made the cover of The Australian Women's Weekly on 10 June 1959. Sugar's twin, Honey, belonged to the Queen Mother; Honey took midday runs with Johnny and Pippin, Princess Margaret's corgis, while the Princess lived in Buckingham Palace. Heather was born in 1962 and became one of the Queen's favourites. Heather was the mother of Tiny, Bushy, and Foxy; Foxy gave birth to Brush in 1969.

The corgis enjoy a privileged life in Buckingham Palace. They reside in the Corgi Room, and continue to sleep in elevated wicker baskets. The Queen tends to the corgis in her kennel herself. She also chooses the sires of litters that are bred in her kennel. The corgis have an extensive menu at the palace which includes fresh rabbit and beef, served by a gourmet chef. At Christmas, the Queen makes stockings for pets full of toys and delicacies such as biscuits. In 1999, one of Queen Elizabeth's royal footmen was demoted from Buckingham Palace for his "party trick of pouring booze into the corgis' food and water" and watching them "staggering about" with relish.

In 2007, the Queen was noted to have five corgis, Monty, Emma, Linnet, Willow, and Holly; five cocker spaniels, Bisto, Oxo, Flash, Spick, and Span; and four "dorgis" (dachshund-corgi crossbreeds), Cider, Berry, Vulcan, and Candy. In 2012, Queen Elizabeth II's corgis Monty, Willow, and Holly appeared during the brief James Bond sketch when Daniel Craig arrived at Buckingham Palace for a mission to take the queen to the 2012 Summer Olympics opening ceremony. Monty, who had previously belonged to the Queen Mother, and one of her "Dorgis" died in September 2012. Monty had been named for the horse whisperer and friend of the queen, Monty Roberts. As of November 2012, it was reported that Elizabeth owns two corgis, Willow and Holly, and two Dorgis, Candy and Vulcan. It was reported in July 2015 that the Queen has stopped breeding corgis as she does not wish any to survive her in the event of her death. Monty Roberts had urged Elizabeth to breed more corgis in 2012 but she had told him that she "didn't want to leave any young dog behind" and wanted to put an end to the practice.

The dogs have traditionally been buried at the royal residence, Sandringham estate in Norfolk, at which they died. The graveyard was first used by Queen Victoria when her Collie, Noble, died in 1887. In 1959, the Queen used it to bury Susan, creating a cemetery for her pets.However, Monty was buried in Balmoral estate.

On several occasions, the Queen or her staff have been injured by the corgis. In 1954, the Royal Clockwinder, Leonard Hubbard, was bitten by Susan upon entering the nursery at the Royal Lodge, Windsor. Later in the same year, one of the Queen Mother's corgis bit a policeman on guard duty in London.

In 1968, Peter Doig called for the royal staff to put up a "Beware of the dog" sign at Balmoral after one of the corgis bit the postman. In February 1989, it was reported that the royal family had hired an animal psychologist to tame the dogs after they developed a habit of nipping them and the staff. In March 1991, the Queen was bitten after trying to break up a fight between ten or so of her corgis. She had to have three stitches to her left hand. John Collins, the Queen Mother's chauffeur, had to have a tetanus injection after he also tried to intervene. In 2003, Pharos, a tenth-generation offspring of Susan, was put down after being mauled by Princess Anne's English bull terrier Dottie. Anne arrived at Sandringham to visit her mother for Christmas and the corgis rushed out of the front door as they arrived. It was reported that "Dottie went for Pharos, savaging the corgi's hind legs and breaking one in three places."


The royal corgis are known all across the world and are closely associated with the Queen. The corgis have had numerous items dedicated to them, in particular being the subject of many statues and works of art. Because of the Queen's fondness for the Welsh Corgi, an increased number of corgis were exhibited in the 1954 West Australian Canine Association's Royal Show.Queen Elizabeth II’s crown coin KM# 1135, made of copper nickel of size 33 mm, issued during her Golden Jubilee year, shows the Queen with a corgi.

“The Compleat Gentleman: The Modern Man’s Guide To Chivalry.” By Brad Miner

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“The Compleat Gentleman: The Modern Man’s Guide To Chivalry.” By  Brad Miner

At a time of astonishing confusion about what it means to be a man, Brad Miner has recovered the oldest and best ideal of manhood: the gentleman. Reviving a thousand-year tradition of chivalry, honor, and heroism, The Compleat Gentleman provides the essential model for twenty-first-century masculinity.
Despite our confusion, real manhood is not complicated. It is an ancient ideal based on service to one’s God, country, family, and friends—a simple but arduous ideal worthy of a lifetime of struggle.

Miner’s gentleman stands out for his dignity, restraint, and discernment. He rejects the notion that one way of behaving is as good as another. He belongs to an aristocracy of virtue, not of wealth or birth. Proposing neither a club nor a movement, Miner describes a lofty code of manly conduct, which, far from threatening democracy, is necessary for its survival.

Miner traces the concept of manliness from the jousting fields of the twelfth century to the decks of the Titanic. The three masculine archetypes that emerge—the warrior, the lover, and the monk—combine in the character of the "compleat gentleman." This modern knight cultivates a martial spirit in defense of the true and the beautiful. He treats the opposite sex with the passionate respect required by courtly love. And he values learning in the pursuit of truth—all with the discretion, decorum, and nonchalance that the Renaissance called sprezzatura.

The Compleat Gentleman is filled with examples from the past and the present of the man our increasingly uncivilized age demands.

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A review of The Compleat Gentleman: The Modern Man's Guide to Chivalry, by Brad Miner
By: Terrence O. Moore

Posted: March 10, 2005
This article appeared in: Vol. V, Number 1 - Winter 2004/05


Edmund Burke's famous pronouncement that "the age of chivalry is gone" was perhaps premature. Sure, ten thousand swords did not leap from the scabbards of the French nobility to defend Marie Antoinette, but such a betrayal did not mean that "the unbought grace of life, the cheap defence of nations, the nurse of manly sentiment and heroic enterprise" was forgotten in Britain, or America. More than two centuries later, the spirit of chivalry has not been entirely eradicated from the human heart, even in our pacifist, feminist, postmodern age.

While teaching both college and high school students, I have found nothing to electrify a classroom as much as the topic of chivalry, which I always introduce with the simple question, "Is chivalry dead?" The reasons for student interest are straightforward: young women are curious to see how men used to treat women in a more mannered and moral age, and young men, for their part, are painfully aware that in many respects they are less manly than their forefathers. These students have usually been given little instruction by their parents and teachers on what it means to be a man or a woman. Perhaps no other image, then, can appeal to them as much as the knight on horseback who will, for the sake of honor, fight any man, and still bow in deference to every lady.

And yet, the story of chivalry has not gotten out. Maurice Keen, Richard Barber, and Georges Duby have written excellent academic histories of chivalry, but these works are aimed at a scholarly audience and make no attempt to explore the relevance of chivalry for our own time. Medieval narratives, especially Malory's Le Morte d'Arthur, are often tough reading and Hollywood blockbusters like last summer's King Arthur or A Knight's Tale from a few years ago are utter disappointments. But now Brad Miner, an executive editor at Bookspan and former literary editor for National Review, has given us The Compleat Gentleman, an attempt to trace the chivalric tradition from medieval times to our own and to return contemporary manhood to its moorings in this gentlemanly tradition.

After the fall of the Roman Empire, lawless young men on horseback roamed the countryside in search of a fight. They threatened any semblance of order, and especially threatened women. Gradually, these young men became less dangerous by accepting the code of knighthood. They promised to display certain virtues: loyauté, prouesse, largesse, courtoisie, and franchise. In return, they might gain property by marrying the daughter of a lord. Or they might make a considerable fortune and win glory by testing their mettle in frequent tournaments. Miner offers interesting snapshots of the knight's training, the knighting ceremony, and tournaments. These last, in particular, were crucial to the development of chivalry, having "the dual virtues of providing both a means of testing a knight's prowess and of expiating his violent energies." And Miner reminds us that tournaments in the heyday of chivalry were not celebrated in the fashion of the confined jousts of either Scott's Ivanhoe or cinematic lore, but rather in the form of a mêlée, a massive battle lasting all day and often engaging hundreds or even thousands of knights. Injuries were frequent, and death was not uncommon.

While Miner offers the basic outlines of medieval chivalry, he fails to recount certain facts and anecdotes that might do more to win our hearts. For example, as courtly philosophy began increasingly to shape the ideal of knighthood, a knight could be barred from tournaments for any unchivalrous behavior, including deserting his lord in battle, destroying vineyards and cornfields, or repeating gossip about a lady. Can we imagine a sporting event today in which players who had "talked trash" about a girl would not be allowed on the field? Who would be left to play? Miner makes excellent observations on William Marshal, "the flower of chivalry," but most of his other character sketches amuse more than they impress. Other knights should have appeared in this book. Consider Maréchal Boucicaut who while in Genoa running the government of Charles VI, once bowed to two prostitutes, whom he did not know. His page said, "My lord, they are whores." Boucicaut responded, "I would rather have saluted ten whores than to have omitted saluting one respectable woman." Another good lesson for a culture that too often treats respectable women as "ho's."

* * *

Miner classifies the chivalrous man as part warrior, part lover, and part monk, and addresses each aspect of this ideal in separate chapters. A reformed pacifist who prefers his sons to be Galahads rather than Gandhis, Miner clearly sees that a post-September 11 America is no place for milquetoasts. We are living in a fallen world and bad men want to do bad things to us. We must be ready to respond in kind: "a gentleman really must face the reality of violence and not reject it, but like any warrior he will turn to violence only as a last resort."

The chapter on the lover is not nearly as inspiring. Miner does a good job of explaining how troubadours and assertive ladies with questionable sexual histories, such as Eleanor of Aquitaine, could establish the quasi-religion of courtly love. He is also forthright about the difficulty such love poses to all contemporary moralists who want to adopt chivalry as a model: knights and ladies were often adulterers, most famously Guinevere and Lancelot. But Miner never mentions Wolfram von Eschenbach, the 13th-century Bavarian knight who tried in his Parzival to reconcile courtly love with marriage. Nor does he say anything about the reforms of the 14th and 15th centuries, that sought to turn weak-willed knights into true gentlemen. And most curious of all, he ends a chapter about love with a discussion of women in combat. According to his rather strained logic, the true gentleman respects women and gives them what they want. If she is strong enough and willing, then today's "woman warrior" should be allowed to fight alongside today's chivalrous man.

Miner's treatment of the gentleman is likewise far from "compleat." He does relate the history of the gentleman, the successor to the knight, from the Renaissance onward, but unfortunately he sandwiches this chapter between his first chapter on the knight and his three chapters on the warrior, the lover, and the monk, which all return to medieval themes. As a result, he never shows any of the improvements or adjustments that the culture of the gentleman made on the original model, especially with regard to sexual mores. And too often he considers gentlemanly advice books as a true reflection of how actual men thought and acted. Such a selective use of sources is understandable for the Middle Ages, but the historical record is far richer in modern times. His handling of the 18th century is particularly lacking: he focuses on Lord Chesterfield's letters to his illegitimate son, a work which Miner himself tells us was considered by Samuel Johnson to "teach the morals of a whore, and the manners of a dancing master." Only by confusing the century of Washington and Hamilton and Burke with the letters of Chesterfield could one conclude that the "heroic aspect of the gentlemanly character would begin to be lost in the mystification of manners." Miner actually gives no more than a passing mention to America's greatest gentlemen, the Founding Fathers. And he seems to think little of manners generally. The muddled section on politesse hardly recommends good manners at all but instead insists, "nobody has better manners or finer suits or more skill in debate than the devil himself."

Finally, Miner overlooks one vital aspect of modern manliness altogether. His tripartite knight roughly corresponds to the medieval conception of the three orders in society: oratores (those who pray), bellatores (those who fight), and laborares (those who work). Yet he substitutes lovers for workers, leaving no place in his scheme for what most gentlemen do in modern times: work hard to provide for their families. Calling for a return to the warrior ethic in these times is certainly warranted. But in practical terms, not all of us can serve in the military. And as Adam Smith knew and American history has shown, an industrialized power firm in its will and purpose will always prevail over a less developed enemy.

Despite its flaws, Brad Miner's book is a good introduction to chivalry and one hopes it will inaugurate a rich discussion over the qualities of true manliness. For that, we owe him our courteous thanks.

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Chivalry is Dead, Long Live Chivalry
Author of "The Compleat Gentleman: The Modern Man's Guide to Chivalry" argues the ideal endures.
Books By Christian Chensvold

 Ours is an age of conflicting messages. Human progress is simultaneously thwarted and thriving, technology both connects us and isolates us. And when it comes to masculinity, some cry it’s a toxic social construct that must be eradicated, yet it is concurrently celebrated in every big-screen depiction of superhero saving the world from destruction.

In 2004, Brad Miner wrote a non-partisan though deeply traditional interpretation of heroic manliness entitled The Compleat Gentleman: The Modern Man’s Guide to Chivalry. It is assiduously researched, soul inspiring, and quite literally a call to arms. Miner and his sons are all practicing martial artists, and he sees physical prowess and being “combat ready” as intrinsic qualities of any gentleman, who by definition is prepared to summon the courage to confront evil and to sacrifice himself for others.

Having recently discovered the book, I was immediately curious what relevance it may still hold to any but that small minority that binge-watches Game of Thrones on Saturday night and then attends services the following morning. Wouldn’t new cultural concerns, such the rise of social media, with its fake news and public shaming; #MeToo, the wage gap, and equity across the gender spectrum; free speech vs. punch-a-Nazi (that’s anyone who disagrees with you); and the teaching of white privilege/supremacy/colonialization made notions of gentlemanliness and chivalry more antiquated than ever?

I reached out to Mr. Miner and found that, like any true traditionalist, he hadn’t changed much, even if the world around him has.

* * *

Fourteen years after The Compleat Gentleman, has the call for chivalry and gentlemanliness become hopelessly quixotic, or is it needed now more than ever?

Brad Miner: Early on in the book I acknowledge that there is a quixotic character about all this, but I also assert that it has always been so. Thoreau, who is among America’s most overrated icons (only slightly less odious than his buddy Emerson), wrote that “the mass of men live lives of quiet desperation.” Maybe so, although I doubt it. But few are, or ever were, chivalrous. They may have intelligence, good manners, and humor — and those are fine qualities — but few will be willing to lay down their lives for others.

Increasingly, the active life is succumbing to the passive life. Social bonds are weakening, military enlistments are declining. If the trend of turning inward continues, we will be a diminished people. However, there will always be men — and women — who will seeks something better, higher, and more fulfilling.

So much has changed since the book came out. If you were to sit down and write the book today, how would all the social changes affect your thinking on chivalry and the role of the contemporary gentleman?

BM: Well, as to what I might change, the answer is nothing. The point of my book was to identify the aspects of chivalric and gentlemanly behavior that are not rooted in any particular time and place; that, with allowances for cultural change, are the same in 2018 as they were in 1118.

You’ve said our current president is much closer to a cad than a gentleman, and many think he’s far worse than that. Likewise, #TimesUp and #MeToo are exposing the worst side of male behavior. We seem to be in an indeterminate state in which there are shreds of the old chivalry but not enough to exert the controlling influence on men’s baser behaviors that it used to help curtail, and an imagined future of gender equity in which men no longer behave badly. Can you comment on this current limbo-like state?

BM: We’re not in “limbo” any more than in any previous moment in history. It’s our perennial existential predicament. If there is a difference between now and a time when chivalry was assumed to be among humanity’s highest ideals, it’s that in those other eras many men aspired to be chivalrous; now far fewer do. But never believe that chivalrous men were ever more than a minority. It takes courage to be a compleat gentlemen, because it is always countercultural. As Chesterton wrote, there are an infinity of angles at which a man falls; only one at which he stands upright.

In your book you describe the compleat gentleman as always combat-ready and physically able and willing to defend good against evil. How would you update your assessment of this in this age of polarized self-righteousness when who the bad guys are has become more subjective than ever. Could your views about “be ready to defend against evil” be misinterpreted?

BM: It’s true that chivalry is above all the worldview of fighting men. In my book, however, I acknowledge that not all compleat gentlemen are necessarily combat-ready. There are other ways a man can fight. But as to the thuggishness to which you refer, it bears no similarity to chivalry, given that in the incidents of violence by fascists right and left of which I’m aware, seem, in every case, to be expressions of cowardice.

As to my words being misinterpreted, that goes with the business of writing. And, as Antonio tells Bassanio in The Merchant of Venice, “The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.”

The current state of boys and young men continues to be troubling. They exhibit far more social pathologies than girls and far underperform in scholastic achievement, including college enrollment. The right says our culture has become too feminized, while the left says antiquated “toxic” ideas about masculinity are the problem. What are your thoughts?

BM: Any man – from his teens into his thirties – who succumbs to “feminization” deserves his fate. I’m neither a psychologist nor a sociologist, but if I were assigning a bird-dog researcher to nose out an answer, I first give him the scent of passivity. That’s a good place to start in the matter of violence too. Many boys now come through American schools being taught that their masculinity is toxic. It’s up to parents, fathers especially, to reject this. I think it’s entirely compatible with the development of young, chivalrous men that they should learn to smile through the stupidity – to listen to the nonsense and to reject it without engaging in too much confrontation. Take what is good; reject what is bad.

I write a lot about restraint in The Compleat Gentleman, even calling it the great “lost virtue.” Martial skills, sports, hobbies, reading that challenges the mind, lively conversation, and lasting friendships will sustain a young man through good times and bad. And I’d be remiss if I did not suggest that religious faith is also very important.

Third-wave feminism has also advanced significantly, aided by social media. And yet there are reports that anxiety and neurosis among young women is at a record high. How would you characterize the trade-offs we’re seeing as the old patriarchy and its courtesies continues to evaporate, replaced by a kind of bureaucratic chaperone chivalry (affirmative consent, chaperones during male-female business meetings) in the guise of gender equality?

BM: I must say this is the first time I’ve encountered the term “chaperone chivalry.” It’s an interesting turn of phrase, except I’m unclear what you mean by it. In my chapter on “The Lover,” I did my best to think through the implications of the obvious and ongoing changes in the relationship between the sexes. It’s clear to me that feminism has been good for some women – perhaps most – and bad for others. It’s also clear that sex roles have changed, for good or for ill. But it’s also clear that there are two sexes and that they are different. If feminists of whatever wave wish not to acknowledge those differences and, therefore, to reject the deference and support of good men, that’s their right.

Besides the cliché of being a doorman whenever a lady is near, what are things that a man can start doing right now to make himself more gentlemanly and chivalrous?

BM: He should stop thinking so much about himself. He should drop to one knee and thank God for giving him life, and he should swear never to act dishonorably.


Savile Row tailoring scandal in 1892. The Duke of York ( Prince George ) trousers scandal. DAVIES & SON

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“1892: Miss Fanny Hicks is forced to tell the Trade Union Congress in Glasgow that trousers made for Queen Victoria’s grandson the Duke of York (later King George V) were made in a Soho sweatshop where typhoid fever has broken out. Miss Hicks then discloses that Davies & Son (the Duke’s tailor) is a subcontractor of the sweatshop. The scandal of the Duke of York’s Trousers is recorded in The Pall Mall Gazette and compounded by the mysterious death of the Duke’s brother and heir apparent Prince Albert Victor in January 1892.”

“Davies & Son found itself in the centre of a royal Savile Row tailoring scandal in 1892 when trade union whistle-blower Miss Fanny Hicks told the Glasgow Congress that trousers intended for the Duke of York (the future King George V) had been made in a sweatshop in Mayfair’s Woodstock Street. Miss Hicks alleged that Davies & Son had outsourced the prince’s trousers and waistcoat to the sweatshops behind Bond Street where minors had recently died of scarlet fever. Furthermore, she claimed Davies & Son had also outsourced a uniform intended for Prince Eddy, Duke of Clarence and Avondale to the self same workshop. Prince Eddy had ostensibly died of influenza complicated by pneumonia at Sandringham House in January 1892. But the Pall Mall Gazette made the link between infected garments and the death of a man once removed from the throne of Great Britain. Another victim was the youngest daughter of Davies & Son customer Sir Robert Peel. Good came from the scandal of the Duke of York’s trousers for which, incidentally, Davies & Son was exonerated.”
James Sherwood


THE HISTORY OF DAVIES & SON
by James Sherwood

Davies & Son is the oldest independent tailor trading on Savile Row.
Thomas Davies set up shop at No 19 Hanover Street in 1804, a year after his late brother founded the eponymous bespoke tailor on Cork Street in 1803. It was an era when the landscape of the fashionable West End of London was still under construction. The Prince Regent had yet to command John Nash to build Regent Street as a wide, colonnaded boulevard between Soho and Mayfair. Work had not commenced on the world’s longest, grandest covered shopping arcade Burlington Arcade and it it would be another 42-years before Henry Poole opened the first tailor’s shop on Savile Row. Davies, whose silhouette painted in black ink and preserved in the company archive has been reinstated as part of the trademark, was clerk to banking dynasty and army agents Greenwood, Cox & Co. He was responsible for the commission of army uniforms so it stands to reason that when he took the reins of his brother’s firm that he had a ready-made naval and military business during the Napoleonic Wars. We know that Admiral Lord Nelson was an early customer of Davies & Son and also patronised hatters James Lock & Co and Meredith of Portsmouth; the firm that became known as Gieves Ltd and, later, Gieves & Hawkes. EST 1803 SAVILE ROW Bespoke Tailors The Hanover Street house was decorated in fine late Georgian style with stucco ceilings as elaborate as royal icing and a filigree mahogany staircase that snaked upwards to the four floors above. Arbiter of fashion George ‘Beau’ Brummell and his follower the Prince Regent favoured tailors Meyer, Weston and Schweitzer & Davidson. But we know Davies had an elite civilian clientele from its earliest years. When the firm was forced to leave Hanover Street in 1979 a bill dated 1829 was discovered issued to twice Tory Prime Minister Sir Robert Peel who founded the modern police force. When Davies & Son first felt sufficiently confident to claim they dressed ‘all the crowned heads of Europe’ is unclear because all but one of its customer ledgers did not survive. But by 1915 the firm proudly display HM King George V’s Royal Warrant on the company’s letterhead flanked by the crests of the Emperor of Russia, the Kings of the Hellenes, Spain, Denmark and Norway and Queen Victoria’s third son Prince Arthur, Duke of Connaught. The letter also tells us that Davies & Son had a shop at No 16 Place Vendôme in Paris opposite The Ritz hotel. Queen Victoria’s grandsons the Princes Eddy and George were the first British royal customers to patronise the firm in the 1880s. Davies & Son found itself in the centre of a royal Savile Row tailoring scandal in 1892 when trade union whistle-blower Miss Fanny Hicks told the Glasgow Congress that trousers intended for the Duke of York (the future King George V) had been made in a sweatshop in Mayfair’s Woodstock Street. Miss Hicks alleged that Davies & Son had outsourced the prince’s trousers and waistcoat to the sweatshops behind Bond Street where minors had recently died of scarlet fever. Furthermore, she claimed Davies & Son had also outsourced a uniform intended for Prince Eddy, Duke of Clarence and Avondale to the self same workshop. Prince Eddy had ostensibly died of influenza complicated by pneumonia at Sandringham House in January 1892. But the Pall Mall Gazette made the link between infected garments and the death of a man once removed from the throne of Great Britain. Another victim was the youngest daughter of Davies & Son customer Sir Robert Peel. Good came from the scandal of the Duke of York’s trousers for which, incidentally, Davies & Son was exonerated. Davies, Poole’s and Meyer & Mortimer put their outworking factories in order, Fanny Hicks was exposed as a union firebrand stirring up trouble and Angelica Patience Fraser - the tailors’ Florence Nightingale – embarked on a new crusade to end ‘sweating’ as well as to curb the drunkenness and vice that was virulent in the tailoring workshops of Soho and Oxford Street. Neither did the scandal deter the Duke of York who was still a Davies & Son customer when he acceded to the throne in 1910 and remained so until his death in 1936. One of the most poignant photographs in the Davies & Son archive shows King George V and Tsar Nicholas II of Russia at Cowes’ Royal Regatta in 1910 with their eldest sons the Prince of Wales and Tsarevich Alexei. The royal cousins are near identical and wear matching blazers and flannels tailored by Davies & Son. Within eight-years the Tsar and his immediate family would be executed by firing squad in the aftermath of the Russian Revolution. The Prince of Wales would reign for less than a year before abdicating the throne for the love of twicedivorced American Wallis Simpson. Another controversial customer from early 20th Century Russian history was the infamous bisexual Prince Felix Youssoupoff who recorded a 1903 visit to Hanover Street in his 1953 memoir Lost Splendour. The prince’s bulldog Punch tore the seat out of a fellow customer’s trousers. Prince Felix would be remembered as the man who shot the ‘mad monk’ Rasputin’ in 1917 and inadvertently speeded the downfall of the Romanov dynasty and the collapse of the Russian Empire. Another exotic customer in 1902 was the Maharaja of Cooch-Behar who ordered a tan goatskin motoring cap and two pairs of matching gauntlets. Establishment figures such as Liberal Prime Minister Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman also patronised Davies. Richard Walker’s Savile Row Story (1988) gives a curious insight into King George V’s relationship with Davies & Son. The King, like his father Edward VII before him who made a point of visiting Henry Poole on Savile Row socially, did not request that Davies wait on him at Buckingham Palace. ‘The firm created a room for his exclusive use and fitted it with panels and a tube-like hosepipe, which communicated with the tailors upstairs’. Presumably the fifth floor salon reserved for royal customers to entertain their lady friends the previous century had been decommissioned. In 1935 the last of Davies family relinquished the business and it was taken over by a cabal of cutters who continued to run the company until 1996. Between World War I and World War II, Davies dressed heroes Field Marshal Lord Alexander of Tunis, Field Marshal Haig and spymaster Colonel Edward Boxshall as well as villains such as founder of the British Union of Fascists Sir Oswald Mosley. United States President Harry Truman was tailored by Davies after World War II as was President John F. Kennedy’s father Joe. Like most establishment tailors in the West End excluding Huntsman and Anderson & Sheppard, Davies & Son did not dress show business professionals before World War II. After VE Day in 1945 Clark Gable, Bing Crosby, Tyrone Power and Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. visited Davies & Son on Hanover Street. Echoing many tailors who survived the privations of war and clothing rationing, Davies & Son would have to adjust to the fact that (in their own words) ‘our business was built on the clothing requirements of the aristocracy of Europe and Great Britain. Today our business is mainly with the affluent and famous abroad’. When Davies changed its address to 32 Old Burlington Street (now Anderson & Sheppard) in 1979 many historic records were transferred to the Westminster Library and only a minimum of the shop fittings from Hanover Street were salvaged. No 19 Hanover Street is still standing but any original features are hidden by the interiors of a wine bar. Should you wish to see an interior comparable look at Browns restaurant on Maddox Street housed in the former Victorian showroom of Wells of Mayfair: a tailor now incorporated into Davies & Son. With 90% of business transacted overseas after the war, Davies & Son’s cutters joined the rest of Savile Row aboard the Queen Mary and Queen Elizabeth for transatlantic trips to New York and, from Grand Central Station, all over the United States. Davies still travels frequently to France, Germany, Switzerland, Norway, Korea, Japan and, in the US, to New York, Chicago, LA, San Francisco, Dallas, Washington and Boston. Responsibilities on trips are now shared between owner Alan Bennett, senior cutter Patrick Murphy and senior salesman Graham Lawless. Mr Bennett has a formidable record in bespoke tailoring and is one of the very few members of the ‘50 Club’ who have worked for as many years or more on the Row. His training includes studying at the London College of Fashion and apprenticeships with Huntsman, Kilgour, French & Stanbury, Dege & Skinner and Denman & Goddard. Mr Bennett traded under his own name before saving Davies & Son from closure in 1997. He relocating the firm to No 38 Savile Row. Since the acquisition, Davies & Son has incorporated historic West End bespoke tailors such as James & James (who in turn bought-out the Duke of Windsor’s tailor Scholte), Wells of Mayfair, Watson, Fargerstrom & Hughes and royal and military tailor Johns & Pegg who hold the Duke of Edinburgh’s Royal Warrant. In addition to being a traditionalist Mr Bennett is one of the Row’s most creative cutters. In recent years he has collaborated with Guy Hills cutting suits made from Hills’s directional Dashing Tweeds cloth collections. It was he who sold Michael Jackson an Ambassadorial coatee in the 1990s giving the late king of pop one of his most iconic costumes. A new chapter was opened in Davies & Son’s story when former Huntsman head cutter Patrick Murphy joined Mr Bennett and Mr Lawless at No. 38 Savile Row in 2015. With so many once great names in Savile Row’s history sold to overseas investors and focusing increasingly on ready-towear, the few remaining firms in independent ownership gain authenticity and respect for maintaining standards and tradition. Tailors promising to revolutionise the Row or introduce modernity do not fool connoisseurs of bespoke tailoring. The aforementioned trust cutters and tailors who have practised the craft man and boy such as Messrs Bennett, Lawless and Murphy at Davies & Son

Anthony Horowitz / Sleuths, Spies & Sorcerers: Andrew Marr’s Paperback Heroes

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Anthony Horowitz, OBE (born 5 April 1955) is an English novelist and screenwriter specialising in mystery and suspense. His work for young adult readers includes The Diamond Brothers series, the Alex Rider series, and The Power of Five series (a.k.a. The Gatekeepers).

His work for adults includes the play Mindgame (2001), the two Sherlock Holmes novels The House of Silk (2011) and Moriarty (2014), Magpie Murders (2016) and The Word is Murder (2017). He is also the most recent author chosen to write a James Bond novel by the Ian Fleming estate, titled Trigger Mortis (2015).

He has also written for television, contributing scripts to ITV's Agatha Christie's Poirot and Midsomer Murders. He was the creator and writer of the ITV series Foyle's War, Collision and Injustice and the BBC series New Blood.

Horowitz was born in Stanmore, Middlesex, into a wealthy Jewish family, and in his early years lived an upper-middle class lifestyle. As an overweight and unhappy child, Horowitz enjoyed reading books from his father's library. At the age of 8, Horowitz was sent to Orley Farm, a boarding preparatory school in Harrow, Middlesex. There, he entertained his peers by telling them the stories he had read. Horowitz described his time in the school as "a brutal experience", recalling that he was often beaten by the headmaster.

At age 13 he went on to Rugby School, a public school in Rugby, Warwickshire. Horowitz's mother introduced him to Frankenstein and Dracula. She also gave him a human skull for his 13th birthday. Horowitz said in an interview that it reminds him to get to the end of each story since he will soon look like the skull. From the age of 8, Horowitz knew he wanted to be a writer, realizing "the only time when I'm totally happy is when I'm writing". He graduated from the University of York with a lower second class degree in English literature and art history in 1977, where he was in Vanbrugh College.

In at least one interview, Horowitz claims to believe that H. P. Lovecraft based his fictional Necronomicon on a real text, and to have read some of that text.

Horowitz's father was associated with some of the politicians in the "circle" of prime minister Harold Wilson, including Eric Miller. Facing bankruptcy, he moved his assets into Swiss numbered bank accounts. He died from cancer when his son Anthony was 22, and the family was never able to track down the missing money despite years of trying.

Horowitz now lives in Central London with his wife Jill Green, whom he married in Hong Kong on 15 April 1988. Green produced Foyle's War, the series Horowitz wrote for ITV. They have two sons. He credits his family with much of his success in writing, as he says they help him with ideas and research. He is a patron of child protection charity Kidscape.

Anthony Horowitz's first book, The Sinister Secret of Frederick K Bower, was a humorous adventure for children, published in 1979[11] and later reissued as Enter Frederick K Bower. In 1981 his second novel, Misha, the Magician and the Mysterious Amulet was published and he moved to Paris to write his third book. In 1983 the first of the Pentagram series, The Devil's Door-Bell, was released. This story saw Martin Hopkins battling an ancient evil that threatened the whole world. Only three of four remaining stories in the series were ever written: The Night of the Scorpion (1984), The Silver Citadel (1986) and Day of the Dragon (1986). In 1985, he released Myths and Legends, a collection of retold tales from around the world.

In between writing these novels, Horowitz turned his attention to legendary characters, working with Richard Carpenter on the Robin of Sherwood television series, writing five episodes of the third season. He also novelised three of Carpenter's episodes as a children's book under the title Robin Sherwood: The Hooded Man (1986). In addition, he created Crossbow (1987), a half-hour action adventure series loosely based on William Tell.

In 1988, Groosham Grange was published. This book went on to win the 1989 Lancashire Children's Book of the Year Award. It was partially based on the years Horowitz spent at boarding school. Its central character is a thirteen-year-old "witch", David Eliot, gifted as the seventh son of a seventh son. Like Horowitz's, Eliot's childhood is unhappy. The Groosham Grange books are aimed at a slightly younger audience than Horowitz's previous books.

This era in Horowitz's career also saw Adventurer (1987) and Starting Out (1990) published. However, the most major release of Horowitz's early career was The Falcon's Malteser (1986). This book was the first in the successful Diamond Brothers series, and was filmed for television in 1989 as Just Ask for Diamond, with an all star cast that included Bill Paterson, Jimmy Nail, Roy Kinnear, Susannah York, Michael Robbins and Patricia Hodge, and featured Colin Dale and Dursley McLinden as Nick and Tim Diamond. It was followed in 1987 with Public Enemy Number Two, and by South by South East in 1991 followed by The French Confection, I Know What You Did Last Wednesday, The Blurred Man and most recently The Greek Who Stole Christmas.

1994–present
Horowitz wrote many stand-alone novels in the 1990s. 1994's Granny, a comedy thriller about an evil grandmother, was Horowitz's first book in three years, and it was the first of three books for an audience similar to that of Groosham Grange. The second of these was The Switch, a body swap story, first published in 1996. The third was 1997's The Devil and His Boy, which is set in the Elizabethan era and explores the rumour of Elizabeth I's secret son. In 1999, The Unholy Grail was published as a sequel to Groosham Grange. The Unholy Grail was renamed as Return to Groosham Grange in 2003, possibly to help readers understand the connection between the books. Horowitz Horror (1999) and More Horowitz Horror (2000) saw Horowitz exploring a darker side of his writing. Each book contains several short horror stories. Many of these stories were repackaged in twos or threes as the Pocket Horowitz series.

Horowitz began his most famous and successful series in the new millennium with the Alex Rider novels. These books are about a 14-year-old boy becoming a spy, a member of the British Secret Service branch MI6. There are ten books where Alex Rider is the protagonist, and an eleventh is connected to the Alex Rider series (although not part of it) : Stormbreaker (2000), Point Blanc (2001), Skeleton Key (2002), Eagle Strike (2003), Scorpia (2004) Ark Angel (2005), Snakehead (2007), Crocodile Tears (novel) (2009), Scorpia Rising (2011), and the 'connector, Russian Roulette (2013). Horowitz had stated that Scorpia Rising was to be the last book in the Alex Rider series prior to writing Russian Roulette about the life of Yassen Gregorovich., but he has returned to the series with Never Say Die (2017).

In 2003, Horowitz also wrote three novels featuring the Diamond Brothers: The Blurred Man, The French Confection and I Know What You Did Last Wednesday, which were republished together as Three of Diamonds in 2004. The author information page in early editions of Scorpia and the introduction to Three of Diamonds claimed that Horowitz had travelled to Australia to research a new Diamond Brothers book, entitled Radius of the Lost Shark. However, this book has not been mentioned since, so it is doubtful it is still planned. A new Diamond Brothers "short" book entitled The Greek who Stole Christmas! was later released. It is hinted at the end of The Greek who Stole Christmas that Radius of the Lost Shark may turn out to be the eighth book in the series.

In 2004, Horowitz branched out to an adult audience with The Killing Joke, a comedy about a man who tries to track a joke to its source with disastrous consequences. Horowitz's second adult novel, Magpie Murders, is about "a whodunit writer who is murdered while he's writing his latest whodunit". Having previously spoken about the book in 2005, Horowitz expected to finish it in late 2015, and it was published in October 2016.

In August 2005, Horowitz released a book called Raven's Gate which began another series entitled The Power of Five (The Gatekeepers in the United States). He describes it as "Alex Rider with witches and devils". The second book in the series, Evil Star, was released in April 2006. The third in the series is called Nightrise, and was released on 2 April 2007. The fourth book Necropolis was released in October 2008. The fifth and last book was released in October 2012 and is named Oblivion.

In October 2008, Anthony Horowitz's play Mindgame opened Off Broadway at the Soho Playhouse in New York City. Mindgame starred Keith Carradine, Lee Godart, and Kathleen McNenny. The production was the New York stage directorial debut for Ken Russell. Recently he got into a joke dispute with Darren Shan over the author using a character that had a similar name and a description that fitted his. Although Horowitz considered suing, he decided not to.

In March 2009 he was a guest on Private Passions, the biographical music discussion programme on BBC Radio 3.

On 19 January 2011, the estate of Arthur Conan Doyle announced that Horowitz was to be the writer of a new Sherlock Holmes novel, the first such effort to receive an official endorsement from them and to be entitled The House of Silk. It was both published in November 2011 and broadcast on BBC Radio 4. A follow-up novel, Moriarty, was published in 2014.

In October 2014, the Ian Fleming estate commissioned Horowitz to write a James Bond novel, Trigger Mortis, which was released in 2015. It will be followed by a second novel, Forever and A Day, which is set to come out on 31st May 2018.

Horowitz was appointed Officer of the Order of the British Empire (OBE) in the 2014 New Year Honours for services to literature.

Writing for television and film
Horowitz began writing for television in the 1980s, contributing to the children's anthology series Dramarama, and also writing for the popular fantasy series Robin of Sherwood. His association with murder mysteries began with the adaptation of several Hercule Poirot stories for ITV's popular Agatha Christie's Poirot series during the 1990s.

Often his work has a comic edge, such as with the comic murder anthology Murder Most Horrid (BBC Two, 1991) and the comedy-drama The Last Englishman (1995), starring Jim Broadbent. From 1997, he wrote the majority of the episodes in the early series of Midsomer Murders. In 2001, he created a drama anthology series of his own for the BBC, Murder in Mind, an occasional series which deals with a different set of characters and a different murder every one-hour episode.

He is also less-favourably known for the creation of two short-lived and sometimes derided science-fiction shows, Crime Traveller (1997) for BBC One and The Vanishing Man (pilot 1996, series 1998) for ITV. While Crime Traveller received favourable viewing figures it was not renewed for a second season, which Horowitz accounts to temporary personnel transitioning within the BBC. In 2002, the detective series Foyle's War launched, set during the Second World War.

He devised the 2009 ITV crime drama Collision and co-wrote the screenplay with Michael A. Walker.

Horowitz is the writer of a feature film screenplay, The Gathering, which was released in 2003 and starred Christina Ricci. He wrote the screenplay for Alex Rider's first major motion picture, Stormbreaker.


Anthony Horowitz: 'People used to disagree. Now they send death threats'
By Danuta Kean
He had a privileged upbringing but then his family lost everything. As he takes his biggest risk yet, the writer talks about surviving his childhood – and the storm he caused about writing black characters

 @Danoosha
Sun 27 Aug 2017 16.00 BST Last modified on Thu 22 Feb 2018 13.19 GMT

‘I was called names when I was eight,” says Anthony Horowitz. “I will not tell you them now because I would be physically sick if they passed my lips.” The writer pauses momentarily, his brown eyes fixing mine. “I just couldn’t do it. These things do hurt.”

Tall, slim and wearing black jeans, the 62-year-old could, until this moment, have passed for a much younger man. But as he recalls his childhood, suddenly the years seem to catch up with him. We meet in the London offices of the TV production company run by his wife, Jill Green, to chat about his latest novel, The Word Is Murder. We are a stone’s throw from their penthouse in a renovated bacon factory. It seems rather fitting – because he certainly brings home the bacon. Horowitz, who has houses in Crete, Suffolk and London, is one of the highest earning writers in Britain.

On the walls are testimonies to his success: framed covers of his multi-million-selling Alex Rider novels about the boy recruited by MI6, whose adventures were turned into a film in 2006; a giant poster for his wartime detective drama Foyle’s War; and shelves laden with books and DVDs of his many hit shows, including New Blood, Injustice and Midsomer Murders. But for all this success, he is still haunted by a childhood of superficial comfort. His father was a solicitor, known as a something of a fixer for prime minister Harold Wilson. His nefarious business dealings weren’t revealed until his death: his millions had been squirrelled into Swiss bank accounts under assumed names; the money was never recovered and the shock of the family’s bankruptcy for Horowitz, then 23, gave him a lifelong horror of debt – and a ferocious work ethic.

What was lost was considerable: the family home, White Friars, was so big that when demolished it was replaced by no fewer than 16 five-bedroom houses. Both his parents were away much of the time, leaving Horowitz and his two siblings in the care of servants and his grandmother, a woman of such hellish cruelty he used her as the template for the eponymous villain in his children’s novel Granny.

Being packed off to boarding school at the age of eight could have been an escape. But this was the 1960s, when beatings were a way of life in such schools. At Orley Farm in Harrow, Horowitz was often left bleeding after six of the best. He worries that remembering such things sounds like whingeing, when other children lived in dire poverty. But, as the patron of the anti-bullying charity Kidscape, he says: “Emotional cruelty ignores wealth and position.” Such vicious treatment of children in boarding schools in the 60s, he believes, has had a detrimental impact on society. “It is why so much of this country is dysfunctional.”

It was not just the beatings that scarred the writer: being plump and Jewish made him an easy target for other boys. At night, he escaped by telling stories to schoolmates after lights out in his dorm. In those tales, he found salvation and developed an ambition to be a writer. It is clearly painful to recall. Why does he talk about it? “For one very simple reason,” he snaps back, with barely concealed irritation. “People like yourself always ask about it.”

I ask if he’d rather not be asked about his childhood and there is a long pause. “It’s not my business to tell you what you can and can’t ask me,” he says eventually. Written down, the words look harsher than they sound. “No, I’m happy to talk about it because…” He pauses, pressing his hands into his lap like a schoolboy sitting outside the head’s office. The PR sharing the room with us, nods and he enters into a convoluted explanation about how he regards the granting of an interview for publicity as a kind of contract in which “I provide you with the material you want”.

The PR, I suspect, is here to protect a writer with a reputation for shooting from the lip, making him a gift to headline-writers, which is why his audiences at book festivals are always peppered with reporters scribbling away. This very day, the Times is running with a story picked up from an event at the Edinburgh festival, in which he contested that theatres should not give critics free tickets because a savaging can kill a show. Within days, the Stage responded with an article by an actor in his play Dinner With Saddam castigating Horowitz for writing a flop that “shoehorned the tragedy of the 2003 invasion of Iraq into the format of a bawdy 1970s British sitcom”.

Although the father of two insists he is inured to such coverage, the admission that his son Cass offered to sit in on our interview suggests that it does get to him. In May, the Mail on Sunday reported that he accused his publisher, Walker, of pressuring him into dropping a black character because of “cultural appropriation”.

A Twitter storm erupted, led by Rivers of London writer Ben Aaronovitch. “If you don’t feel confident or just don’t want to write black characters, just say so,” he seethed. “Don’t pretend it’s political correctness gone mad.” Authors of colour, including Orangeboy writer Patrice Lawrence, accused the Rugby alumnus of hijacking the issue of diversity in fiction.

Horowitz sighs when I ask about the claim, strenuously denied by Walker. “I didn’t say anything that can be construed as contrary,” he says. “I was merely drawing attention to this movement of cultural appropriation, which is very strong in America.” His voice rises an octave and he adds: “I am not saying that it is shocking or wrong or disgusting. I did say, however, that its natural outcome would be that I would end up only writing about 63-year-old writers who live in Clerkenwell and have two sons.” He praises Lionel Shriver – “whose work I love” – for speaking out on the subject and insists that, far from disagreeing with political correctness, he regards it as “absolutely 100% right”.

The mobbing disturbs him, though. He thinks it’s symptomatic of a rage in society that has grown since the Brexit vote. “There is a rigidity in the way we have begun to think and speak. If we step outside certain lines on certain issues, we find not just people disagreeing, but disagreeing to the extent of death threats. When somebody says something untoward in the press, and I am not saying this about myself, people don’t just say that was a stupid thing to say. They say, ‘Lose your job.’ They want you to never ever have an income again.”

It is a theme that emerges in the new novel. The Word Is Murder is first in a series about Hawthorne, an ex-cop turned gumshoe who seems to be straight out of central casting: ageing loner, problems with authority, smoker, secretive, divorced. But, as the novel progresses, the carapace is demolished and, Horowitz promises, the next eight or nine books (he is undecided) will provide surprising revelations.

The book could be seen as Horowitz’s most audacious yet, since he has taken the unusual step of placing himself at the centre of the story, narrating Hawthorne’s exploits. It is an attempt at meta-fiction more usually the preserve of self-consciously literary writers like Martin Amis or Bret Easton Ellis and the author admits being nervous about the reception of his 46th novel.

The book certainly has its moments, in particular the laugh-out-loud funeral scene and a chapter in which Steven Spielberg and Peter Jackson discuss Horowitz’s screenplay for a Tintin movie. It is based on a real meeting he had in Paris.

 Writing saved me. Simple as that. When I was 10, and inadequate in many ways, writing was a lifeline
With 10 million words under his belt, Horowitz has long toyed with penning a guide that details everything from how to plot a novel to how to deal with TV executives. “I even started to write it. But it was dull and slightly arrogant and, at the end of the day, it just didn’t interest me.” He laughs, unfazed by failure, which he regards as a healthy corrective.

Whatever happens with this book, it will not hold back the creator of Alex Rider, who rattles off the projects he wishes to complete: a new children’s trilogy, more novels for adults, and several plays. As he talks, I can’t help thinking of that chubby schoolboy who tells stories to keep his spirits up in a school he will one day describe as a “cesspit”.

“My writing has saved me,” he says. “Simple as that.” He looks sheepish, before breaking into a smile. “When I was 10, and inadequate in many ways, writing was a lifeline. Now I have my life pretty much sorted out. In a world where everything seems to be uncertain, writing is the only certainty I have.”

The Word Is Murder by is published by Century. It’s available at the Guardian Bookshop.


Sleuths, Spies & Sorcerers: Andrew Marr’s Paperback Heroes committed heinous crimes against genre fiction: review
   
 Jasper Rees
17 OCTOBER 2016 • 10:00PM
https://www.telegraph.co.uk/tv/2016/10/17/sleuths-spies--sorcerers-andrew-marrs-paperback-heroes-committed/

Have we reached peak Marr? On Sunday mornings on BBC One, Andrew Marr is the new David Frost. On Mond
ay mornings on Radio 4, he’s the new Melvyn Bragg. The rest of the time, he’s a rent-a-presenter on a wide array of matters. Maybe they’re getting full use of him in return for an enormous salary, but Sleuths, Spies & Sorcerers: Andrew Marr’s Paperback Heroes (BBC Four) finds him finally spread too thin.

In each part, Marr considers a branch of fiction that’s never up for the posh prizes. Next week it’s fantasy epics, the week after spy novels, but he started with detective fiction. The first half was devoted to Agatha Christie, whose plots he anatomised before cheerfully admitting that he didn’t actually like her books. I’m no Poirot but that looks like a crime against the licence fee.

Marr pottered on through the century, investigating the genre’s rules and tropes (the locked room conundrum, the flawed detective, etc). To illustrate various plots he moved among a cast of actors who were dressed in full period garb, but clearly there wasn’t a budget for the whole century so Marr did a bit of acting himself. If he never again pollutes the airwaves with his array of appalling accents, so much the better. He later illustrated his bullet points with copious clips of Marlowe, Wexford, Rebus and co, with the result that the second half felt more like a hasty history of TV detective drama.

It was never clear if Marr had a clue what he was talking about. His concluding thesis was that, a century from now, crime fiction is where historians will look to find out how we lived, which seems a sweeping snub to literary novelists. There are a lot of these overblown claims for popular entertainment about: a recent BBC documentary said exactly the same about sitcoms.

The best feature of this episode was a series of absorbing interviews with the great practitioners of crime fiction including Sophie Hannah, Val McDermid and Ian Rankin, welcome partly for the sound and sight of Marr listening to experts, not larking about like a performing monkey.

THE ROYAL TABLE / At the King's Table: Royal Dining Through the Ages by Susanne Groom / For the Royal Table: Dining at the Palace by Kathryn Jones.

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At the King's Table: Royal Dining Through the Ages – October 15, 2013
by Susanne Groom
“Here are the feasts that really are fit for a king – or queen. This delightful book explores the history of royal dining from the bustling kitchens of the Middle Ages to the informal dinner parties of today. Susanne Groom, a curator at Historic Royal Palaces, considers the diets of monarchs from Richard II to Elizabeth II, revealing the exotic beasts served at medieval courts, the 48-day picnic prepared for Henry VIII and François I of France at the Field of Cloth of Gold, the romantic suppers made for Charles II and his mistresses, Queen Victoria’s love of nursery food, and the gluttonous appetite of Edward VII. We also learn about royal table manners, the earliest cookbooks, the hiring of flamboyant chefs and the intrigues of unscrupulous kitchen staff, the ever-changing health advice given to the sovereign, and the influence of royal diet on the average family fare. Full of lively anecdotes, colourful characters, rarely seen illustrations, and menus from state banquets, weddings, coronations and jubilees, Kings, Queens, Cooks and Kitchens is a treat for all culinary fans.”



For the Royal Table: Dining at the Palace – October 25, 2008
by Kathryn Jones
FOR THE ROYAL TABLE: DINING AT THE PALACE

Release date: Tuesday, 27 May 2008

This lavishly illustrated book gives a unique insight into nearly 500 years of royal dining, from Henry VIII’s tournament feast at Greenwich in 1517 to the magnificent State Banquets hosted by Her Majesty The Queen today.  Previously unpublished material from the Royal Archives, including historic menus and recipes, show how the royal tradition of hospitality has marked coronations,  cemented  diplomatic  relations  and  celebrated  family  weddings  and  christenings. For The Royal Table provides a glimpse behind the scenes at the preparations for a State Banquet and is published to accompany the special State Banquet display at the Summer Opening of Buckingham Palace (29 July – 29 September 2008).

Contemporary photographs show how Royal Household staff, including chefs, footmen, pages, florists and housemaids, guarantee the highest standards of presentation at a State Banquet.   The laying of the table begins two days before the dinner, and each place-setting measures exactly 45cm (18in) across.  During the meal, a system of ‘traffic lights’ keeps the team of footmen and pages synchronised; a blue light communicates ‘stand by’ and an amber light signals ‘serve the food’.  Each guest has six glasses (one each for red wine, white wine, water and port, and two for champagne – one for the toast and one for the pudding course).  A diagram of the arrangement of the glasses guides those who are unfamiliar with the sequence of service.

From the Royal Photograph Collection is a charming series of portraits of Queen Victoria’s footmen and pages, many of whom had started in royal service under her uncle, William IV.  Serving food in a royal palace presented particular challenges. Staff were instructed that ‘trays must be kept level so that there is no spilling of gravy or sauces’.  At Windsor Castle every dish had  to  be  carried  up  narrow  stairs from  the Great Kitchen to  the State Apartments.  The chefs always made twenty extra dishes for each course in case of a disaster.  Following the devastating fire of 1992, the restoration of the Castle included a complete refitting of the kitchen quarters, adding lifts to deliver the food.  Royal Household staff still prepare food in the Great Kitchen, the oldest working kitchen in England, where traditional copper pots from reign of George IV stand alongside high-tech catering equipment.

The style of dining has changed considerably over the centuries, as can been seen from the elaborate menus and recipes from past royal banquets.  At a lavish dinner given by Charles II for the Garter Knights at Windsor Castle in 1671, guests were served 145 dishes during the first course, and the catering included 16 barrels of oysters, 2,150 poultry, 1,500 crayfish, 6,000 asparagus stalks and 22 gallons of strawberries.

George IV employed the famous chef Antonin Carême, who had worked at the Napoleonic court and went on to serve Tsar Alexander I of Russia.  The book reproduces his recipe for Pike à la Régence – pike stuffed with quenelles of smelt, garnished with truffles, crayfish tails, sole fillets, bacon, eel, mushrooms, oysters, carp roes and tongues. Carême invented what was to become the king’s favourite dish, Potage de Tortue à l’Anglise (turtle soup), 80 tureens of which were served at George IV’s coronation banquet in 1821. He had a profound influence on the style and service of food, and was known for his extraordinary table decorations. The accounts for the coronation banquet include a carpenter’s bill for an ornamental temple, which would have been decorated with sugar, marzipan and sweet meats.  After the king left the table, the guests destroyed all the edible parts of the temple in their desire to secure a souvenir of the event.

Gabriel Tschumi was Master Chef to three monarchs – Queen Victoria, King Edward VII and King George V.  In his autobiography, Tschumi recalled that for Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee banquet 24 chefs were brought over from Paris to help with the cooking and that the younger apprentices in the royal kitchens attempted to grow their moustaches to resemble those of their French superiors. The book reproduces the recipe for Côtelettes de bécassines à la Souvaroff, served by Tschumi at King Edward VII’s coronation banquet in 1902.  This consisted of snipe cutlets covered in brandy, pâté and breadcrumbs, placed in a pig’s caul, and served with beans, truffles, mushrooms, and a Madeira and truffle sauce.

A job in the royal kitchens was usually for life.  Mildred Nicholls was first employed as the seventh kitchen maid at Buckingham Palace in 1907 and by 1919, when she left service, she had risen to number three in the hierarchy.  In the Royal Archives are her charming handwritten notes on the recipes used by the pastry chefs, such as Royal Plum Pudding, crème a la Carème, Pouding Soufflé à la Royale and a Danish dish known as Rodgröd.  The latter was a favourite of Queen Alexandra, the Danish consort of King Edward VII, and was often served at post-theatre supper parties at Buckingham Palace.






Review : Lynne
5.0 out of 5 stars How to Dine Like a Royal
January 14, 2013
A lovely book which details the many extensive preparations required for State banquets given at Windsor Castle and Buckingham Palace by Queen Elizabeth II. Vivid color photos, both current and historical, show the exquisite table settings, lovely fruit and flower arragements, magnificent gold and silver-gilt serving pieces, exquisite Sevres service plates, glassware, linens and even how to fold a Dutch bonnet napkin. Perhaps the most spectacular is the Grand Service, which includes 14 tureens and 107 candelabra and 2,000 pieces of cutlery. The lavish display of gold plate at banquets was meant to show the monarch's wealth, power and glory and surely, it has to be a wonderous experience to sit at table with such magnificent table settings even today. I also liked seeing the historic copper moulds & color illustrations of lavish Victorian confections and ices, which would be presented at table on fantasy stands during Queen Victoria's era. Found out a secret about those whole pineapples used as table decorations -- they are actually sliced in the kitchen, reassembled and the slices are offered at desert time. There are a few recipes from the olden days, like Turtle soup, which few of us will likely experience today, since it requires a 200 lb. turtle, 2 legs of veal, ham slices, 8 fowls, various vegetables & 8 bottles of Madeira wine, which have to cook all day long. It was George IV's favorite dish. Diagrams of table placements, both old and new, show the complicated art of seating and you will read about how service personnel are trained to serve these elaborate banquets, even as to how & in what order wine glasses are removed. Hand painted menu cards in French complete the table setting. There is also a list of Heads of State entertained by Queen Elizabeth II since 1952 up through 2008, the first being King Gustaf and Queen Louise of Sweden. A fine historical record for anyone interested in royal dining. Dinner any

Babylon Berlin / VIDEO: - Trailer l Netflix

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 Babylon Berlin is a German period drama television series based on novels by Volker Kutscher (de). The series takes place in 1929 during the Weimar Republic and follows police inspector Gereon Rath, who has been transferred from the city of Cologne to Berlin, and aspiring police inspector Charlotte Ritter. The first series premiered on 13 October 2017 on Sky 1, a German-language entertainment channel broadcast by Sky Deutschland. The first novel of the book series, which put a premium on historical accuracy, is entitled Der Nasse Fisch (literally "The Wet Fish") (2008).

The series is the most expensive television drama series not made in English, costing nearly $40 million to make. It was co-directed by Tom Tykwer, Hendrik Handloegten and Achim von Borries, who also wrote the scripts. For the first time in history of German TV, German public broadcaster ARD and pay TV channel Sky co-produced the series. Sky broadcast the series initially as part of the arrangement and ARD will broadcast it on free-to-air television around a year later. Netflix purchased broadcast rights for the United States and Canada.

In an interview with The Wall Street Journal, the show's co-creator, Tom Tykwer, spoke about the era; “At the time people did not realize how absolutely unstable this new construction of society which the Weimar Republic represented was. It interested us because the fragility of democracy has been put to the test quite profoundly in recent years... By 1929, new opportunities were arising. Women had more possibilities to take part in society, especially in the labor market as Berlin became crowded with new thinking, new art, theater, music and journalistic writing.” Nonetheless, Tykwer insisted that he and his co-directors were determined not to idealize the Weimar Republic. “People tend to forget that it was also a very rough era in German history. There was a lot of poverty, and people who had survived the war were suffering from a great deal of trauma.”


BABYLON BERLIN, SPRING 1929
A metropolis in turmoil. From economy to culture, politics to the underworld – everything is in the grip of radical change.

Speculation and inflation are already tearing away at the foundations of the still young Weimar Republic. Growing poverty and unemployment stand in stark contrast to the excesses and indulgence of the city’s night life and its overflowing creative energy.

Gereon Rath, a young police inspector from Cologne, is transferred to Berlin in order to solve a criminal case – a porno ring run by the Berlin Mafia. What at first glance appears to be simply a matter of extortion soon reveals itself to be a scandal that will forever change the lives of both Gereon and his closest associates.

Together with stenotypist Charlotte Ritter and his partner Bruno Wolter, Rath is confronted with a tangled web of corruption, drug dealing, and weapons trafficking, forcing him into an existential conflict as he is torn between loyalty and uncovering the truth. And we are left wondering: in this story, who is friend and who is foe?

With the political unrest spurred by May Day demonstrations and rising National Socialism, even an institution like the “Rote Burg,” Berlin’s police headquarters and the centre of democracy and the constitutional state, is increasingly becoming the melting pot of a democracy whose days are numbered.

THE SERIES
Based on the best-selling novels by Volker Kutscher, BABYLON BERLIN is the first German TV series where viewers can emotionally experience the story of the political developments leading from the Weimar Republic to the spread of National Socialism.

Through the eyes of Gereon Rath, the young police inspector from Cologne, we get a glimpse behind the scenes of the “Roaring Twenties,” which not only brought the Great Depression, but where “dancing on the volcano” became the stuff of legend.

Since May 2016 and continuing on until the end of this year, X Filme Creative Pool,  ARD, SKY, and Beta Film are bringing the 1920´s back to life on original sites in Berlin, namely the back lot set  “Neuen Berliner Straße” at the Studio Babelsberg and in North Rhine-Westphalia.

Sky will broadcast the series in 2017 and ARD in 2018. As co-producer, Beta Film will be responsible for the worldwide distribution of the series.



THE NOVELS
Back in 2007, just as author Volker Kutscher finished  „Der nasse Fisch“, the first entry in his series of novels about detective Gereon Rath, he broke new ground on the literary scene.  Historical crime novels set in Nazi-Germany had been written before, but a series dealing with the “golden” 1920´s had never been published until then.

An especially exciting phase of German history, the 1920´s were marked by radical changes in society, a fact Kutscher combines in his novels with classic noir elements, reminiscent of hard-boiled American writers such as Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler back in the day. This is an approach mirrored in the choice of making the protagonist a detective who is being transferred from Cologne to Berlin. Following this ambitious, yet politically indifferent anti-hero, the reader can explore the old “Chicago at the river Spree” and vicariously experience how a young, promising democracy with great progressive tendencies could descend into a rule of fascism.

Gereon Rath´s cases are meticulously researched history lessons during which the author confronts fictional as well as non-fictional characters with historic events while never losing sight of the detective story. Kutscher uses a gripping, scenic narrating style which presents the intoxicating world of a doomed Weimar Republic brought back to live in stunning detail and perfectly serves as a basis for a TV adaptation. Kutscher has stated that the ground-braking HBO series “The Sopranos” (1999-2007) served as an inspiration for him – and also the fact he had seen two movies in quick succession in 2002: Sam Mendes´ hard-boiled gangster film “Road to Perdition” set in 1931 and Fritz Lang´s 1931 masterpiece “M”, made in Berlin. The idea of blending both of those worlds in a crime novel was born.

THE AUTHOR
Volker Kutscher was born 1962 in Lindar, North Rhine-Westphalia. After studying German literature, philosophy, and history, he worked as an editor for a daily newspaper. In 1996, he published his first crime novel „Bullenmord“, set in his native region Bergisches Land. His award-winning Gereon Rath series, published by Kiepenbauer & Witsch, consists at this point of “Der nasse Fisch” (2007), “Der stumme Tod” (2009), “Goldstein” (2010), “Die Akte Vaterland” (2012), and “Märzgefallene” (2014), all using Berlin during 1929-1931 as a scenic backdrop. Kutscher’s 6th novel, “Lunapark”, will be released in November 2016 and will be set in summer 1934. At least three more entries in the series will follow.


The Babelsberg Studio exterior sets were extended for the shooting of the series. Shooting locations were also some original sites in Berlin and Germany, like the Museums Island and the Alexanderplatz and the Hermannplatz in Berlin, or the Church of the Redeemer on the Havel river in Potsdam. The Berlin City Hall was used for police headquarters and the scenes in the Moka Efti night club were filmed at the Delphi Cinema[2] in Berlin-Weissensee. The scenes in the estate of the Nyssen family were filmed at Schloss Drachenburg, a castle in the Rhineland. Scenes involving a steam train were filmed at the Bavarian Railway Museum near Nördlingen.


Volker Bruch as Inspector Gereon Rath, a combat veteran of the Imperial German Army during World War I and a policeman in both Cologne and Berlin. A Roman Catholic and family friend of future West German Chancellor Konrad Adenauer, Inspector Rath struggles to reconcile his faith with his ongoing affair with Helga Rath, his sister-in-law. Rath also struggles with PTSD linked to his war experiences and survivor's guilt over the loss of his brother, Anno Rath, who is still listed as missing in action. Secretly, Rath self-medicates by taking morphine.

Liv Lisa Fries as Charlotte Ritter, a flapper from the slums of Wedding, occasional prostitute at the Moka Efti cabaret, and feminist who dreams of becoming the first female Homicide Detective in the history of the Berlin Police.

Peter Kurth as Detective Chief Inspector Bruno Wolter, a Berlin Police investigator whose affability masks a willingness to extort sex from unregistered prostitutes and even to murder his fellow cops in cold blood. Despite this, Wolter also shows great kindness to Charlotte Ritter by paying funeral expenses and comforting her when her mother dies.

Matthias Brandt as Councillor August Benda, a Jewish Social Democrat and the head of the Berlin Political Police. A tenacious investigator and true believer in the Weimar Republic, Benda is equally loathed by Monarchists, Communists, and Nazis. For years, the Councillor has been investigating a secret military build up which defies the Treaty of Versailles. He calls this shadow army, "The Black Reichswehr," and believes that, unless they are stopped, they will overthrow the Republic and plunge Europe into another World War.

Leonie Benesch as Greta Overbeck, a childhood friend of Charlotte Ritter and domestic servant to Councillor Benda and his family. After a disastrous romance in Series Two, Greta is reluctantly drawn into a conspiracy to assassinate Benda by planting a concealed bomb in his home.

Ernst Stötzner as Major General Kurt Seegers, a member of the Reichswehr's General Staff and DCI Bruno Wolter's commanding officer during the Great War. Gen. Seegers has secretly been building Germany a large and modern military through secret military bases and armaments factories in the Soviet Union. Although Seegers' violations of the Treaty of Versailles are known and approved of by German President Paul von Hindenburg and "half the Reichstag", he routinely orders the assassination of journalists and investigators who get too close to his secret activities. General Seegers is also the mastermind of a planned coup d'etat to overthrow the Republic, arrest all politicians expected to oppose its abolition, and to restore Kaiser Wilhelm II to the German throne. He is the primary antagonist of Series One and Two.

Denis Burgazliev as Col. Trochin, a Soviet diplomat and official of Joseph Stalin's secret police. Under orders from his superiors, Trochin routinely masterminds the abduction, torture, and murder of both real and imagined anti-Stalinists among Berlin's Russian community. With help from Charlotte Ritter, Inspector Gereon Rath conclusively ties Trochin and the Soviet Embassy staff to the machine gun slayings of fifteen Trotskyists found in a mass grave in the forest outside Berlin and to the abduction, torture, and murder of a sixteenth Trotskyist found floating in a Berlin canal. Using this evidence, Trochin is blackmailed by Councillor Benda. Although Trochin and his staff have diplomatic immunity from German prosecution, he knows that Stalin will have him tortured and shot for having been caught so easily. Therefore, Trochin breaks into his own offices by night, steals evidence of Soviet collusion with "The Black Reichswehr", and gives the evidence to Rath and Benda. Trochin's staff are then released into his custody.

Severija Janušauskaitė as Countess Svetlana Sorokina / Nikoros a Russian White emigre, singer at the Moka Efti cabaret, and spy for the Soviet secret police. The Countess is also the secret lover of both Trotskyist leader Alexei Kardakov and right wing industrialist Alfred Nyssen.

Hannah Herzsprung as Helga Rath, Inspector Gereon Rath's secret lover of more than ten years and the wife of his brother who went missing in the Great War.

Ivan Shvedoff as Alexei Kardakov, an anti-Stalinist Russian refugee and the leader of a Trotskyist cell in Berlin.

Lars Eidinger as Alfred Nyssen, an arms manufacturer with links to Reichswehr and Freikorps officers plotting to overthrow the Republic and restore Kaiser Wilhelm II to the German throne. As expressed in conversation with Councillor Benda, Nyssen believes that the Republic is an aberration and that the absence of the monarchy is a disgrace to Germany. As Benda then retorts, Nyssen and his comrades are not only Monarchists, but also anti-Semites who thoroughly detest the ruling Social Democratic Party of Germany. In Series Two, Nyssen witnesses an impassioned speech against rearmament by Helga Rath and invites her to a romantic dinner. She is seen to accept.

Anton von Lucke as Stephan Jänicke, a Detective in the Berlin Police who has been assigned by Councillor Benda to investigate DCI Bruno Wolter for ties to "The Black Reichswehr."

Fritzi Haberlandt as Elisabeth Behnke, a grieving war widow and Gereon Rath's landlady. She is implied to be a secret lover of DCI Bruno Wolter, who served with her husband during the Great War.
Jördis Triebel as Doctor Völcker, a female physician in the slums of Kreuzberg and senior member of the Communist Party of Germany. As Inspector Gereon Rath learns in the Series Two finale, Doctor Völcker sometimes orders the murders of police officers, "on behalf of the repressed masses."

Mišel Matičević as Edgar "The Armenian", the impeccably dressed owner of the Moka Efti cabaret, and the leader of organized crime in Berlin. A ruthless, but also deeply principled gangster, "The Armenian" claims to "own the police" and routinely uses intimidation and blackmail to get what he wants. He is also not above murdering police officers when it suits his purposes. For reasons that are only later made clear, "The Armenian" acts as a secret protector to Inspector Gereon Rath, whom he secretly respects.

Frank Künstler as "Saint Joseph", a heavily tattooed enforcer and widely feared assassin for the crime family led by Edgar "The Armenian.""Saint Joseph" routinely dresses in the cassock and Roman collar of a Catholic priest to deflect suspicion while on missions for his boss. "Saint Joseph" is ultimately killed and encased in wet cement by Inspector Gereon Rath. When the body turns up anyway, Rath steals and switches the bullet from the autopsy to deflect suspicion from himself.


Jens Harzer as Doctor Schmidt, a psychologist who specializes in the treatment of World War I veterans with PTSD. Schmidt's belief that PTSD is a treatable illness is mocked by mainstream medicine and by the general public, which sees his patients as cowards who dishonor the war dead and as parasites who are trying to shirk their obligations to society. It is revealed, however, that Doctor Schmidt has changed the lives of many of his patients for the better, including Edgar "The Armenian." Doctor Schmidt's reasons for repeatedly reaching out to Inspector Gereon Rath are revealed at the end of the Series Two finale.


Babylon Berlin review: political maelstrom, a populist right on the march – sound familiar?
This big budget, Weimar-era German police drama has plenty of contemporary resonance. And even more debauchery …

Sam Wollaston
@samwollaston
Mon 6 Nov 2017 06.00 GMT Last modified on Thu 15 Feb 2018 12.49 GMT

A steam train hurtling purposefully through the night is suddenly stopped, screeching and sparking, by a burning tree falling on the track. Men with guns – Trotskyist train-jackers – emerge from the bushes; they won’t hurt the driver and his mate, they say, they just want their uniforms. A goods truck – containing who knows what, but I suspect something dangerous and subversive – is pulled by horse from a siding and hooked on. The driver and his mate are shot in the head; the Trots lied, it’s their train now and they are heading for Berlin.

Everything leads to and everyone is going to Berlin, Babylon Berlin (Sky Atlantic, Sunday), heart of the Weimar Republic. It might be both the best and the worst place, almost certainly the most interesting place, in the world between the wars. A place of all sorts of extremes – political, social, sexual. There’s hyperinflation, desperate poverty on the streets, shell shocked veterans of the previous war seen as broken automatons to be tossed on the scrapheap. The populist far right is gaining momentum, as it is across Europe. (Sound familiar? It might be period drama but there’s plenty of resonance.) Don’t forget the far left too, though, and that Trot express speeding to the capital.

In the nightclubs you wouldn’t know any of this was going on; they don’t seem to care, the jazz age is in full swing, they’re partying like it’s 1929, which it is. Sexing, too – everyone, with everyone else, they’re at it, the old Wie ist dein Vater. It’s fabulous debauchery and naughtiness, a political maelstrom and a ticking timebomb. I think we all know where this – and Germany – is heading.

Not a bad backdrop, then, to this lavish 16-part adaptation of the crime novels of Volker Kutscher. In the foreground is Gereon Rath, a police inspector from Cologne. Rath is a veteran of the first war too, and a sufferer of post-traumatic stress disorder. He hides his shakes by necking phials of morphine on the sly, which also helps him to forget his strict Catholic upbringing. It’s not yet clear – I don’t think – where Volker stands politically. Or what exactly he’s doing; well, he’s raiding debauched biblical porn shoots, but he seems to be delving deeper into (even) darker secrets too. Oh, and he enjoys a dance as much anyone else.

Equally intriguing is Charlotte Ritter, who by day finds work at the police HQ, cataloguing murders, in order to keep her family just about alive, while at night she’s up to no good along with the rest of Weimar.

The club scenes – plus that train, and the outside recreations of late-20s Berlin – are fabulous and stunning and reflect the massive scale and ambition of Babylon Berlin. It’s the most expensive German TV series ever, €38m (currently about £38m, I think, thanks @Nigel_Farage), took six months to film in 300 locations, using 5,000 extras; it’s literally the biggest thing to come out of Germany since the Hindenburg. Ah, but will it crash and burn, or fly high across the globe?

That’s clearly the aim, international success. Which might be both a good thing and a not so good one. Chucking money at something to create a time and a place (however fascinating – and however much it chimes with what’s going on now), plus fabulous club/dance sequences, don’t make great drama alone – just look at the preposterous Vinyl and The Get Down. This is much better than either of those – because it’s based on crime fiction, there’s the momentum of intriguing plot and character development.

But there’s also a slight blandness about it that I think is partly down to its international ambition. Forget the Hindenburg, think about sausages (let’s get as many German stereotypes in as possible, no wurst puns please, like case scenarios). This is an export sausage, not as strongly flavoured as the ones for the domestic market, but one that is meant to appeal to a wide palette … No, that doesn’t quite work, because Babylon Berlin has mainly – though not entirely – gone down well at home.

So think of the other subtitled dramas you’ve loved recently – from Scandinavia, obviously, but also Iceland, France, Germany too (Deutschland 83). They’ve been much less glitzy and glamorous (and less expensive) but moodier, quirkier and more enveloping. In trying to appeal to the many, Babylon Berlin is maybe less appealing to the few. I’m certainly in – intrigued, involved – just not quite addicted. Perhaps, like Gereon’s morphine, it will take more than two phials to get hooked.


 Sex, Drugs and Crime in the Gritty Drama ‘Babylon Berlin’
By SIOBHÁN DOWLINGNOV. 7, 2017

BERLIN — It’s the spring of 1929, and this city is a fast-moving modern metropolis where artistic and sexual experimentation flourishes against a backdrop of organized crime, political street battles and a fragile democratic order.

Welcome to the world of “Babylon Berlin.”

This new epic crime drama, set during the Weimar Republic, the chaotic 15-year era that preceded the Third Reich, is widely predicted to become an international television sensation. Reportedly the most expensive German-language TV show ever produced, “Babylon Berlin” aims to build on the success of other recent German hits, like “Deutschland ’83” and “The Same Sky.”

This ambitious 16-part, two-season show has already been sold to 60 TV markets. It had its British premiere on Sunday night on Sky Atlantic and will begin streaming on Netflix in the United States on Jan. 30.

Based on the best-selling novels by Volker Kutscher, the show centers on Gereon Rath, a police detective from Cologne played by Volker Bruch, who arrives in the unfamiliar capital to investigate a blackmail plot involving a sadomasochistic porn film.

The troubled young detective is assisted by Charlotte Ritter, a police typist played by Liv Lisa Fries, who strives to make the most of Weimar Berlin’s new freedoms to escape the poverty of her bleak, overcrowded tenement. By day she picks up sporadic work at police headquarters, and by night turns tricks at Moka Efti, a nightclub and temple to hedonism.

The complicated plot encompasses a Russian freight train carrying poison gas and gold; secret military maneuvers; and a brutal May Day confrontation between police and Communists. There are Soviet agents and Trotskyist agitators, a cross-dressing jazz singer, an Armenian mafia boss and a rich industrialist in cahoots with a group of army officers.

The star of the show, however, is Berlin. The lavish production lovingly recreates the city’s 1920s streets, cafes and nightclubs. Around 70 percent of the series was shot on location, with the rest filmed on a massive set at the historic Babelsberg studios.

Costing 38 million euros (about $44 million) to produce, the 180-day shoot involved three crews and three writer/directors: Tom Tykwer (of “Perfume” and “Run Lola Run” fame), Achim von Borries and Henk Handloegten, who had all long sought to work together on a project based on this period.

The lavish production of “Babylon Berlin” recreates the city’s 1920s streets, cafes and nightclubs. Credit Beta Film
“The three of us had the idea to do a big panoramic view of the society at the end of the 1920s, the Weimar Republic, before we actually knew the novels,” Mr. Handloegten said.

Paul Cooke, professor of world cinemas at the University of Leeds, said TV depictions of this period have been rare. “Most obviously, Fassbinder’s ‘Berlin Alexanderplatz,’ which was a big hit in the 1970s,” he said. “It’s touched on in Edgar Reitz’s ‘Heimat,’ which was a huge international hit. But it’s later periods of history that tend to be the focus of German productions that do well internationally.”

The makers of “Babylon Berlin,” however, were interested in exploring the prelude to the Third Reich. “All these people didn’t fall from the sky as Nazis,” Mr. Handloegten said. “They had to become Nazis.”

In writing the screenplay, the creators made some key changes to the books. As well as expanding the political elements, they turned Gereon Rath into a more sympathetic character, traumatized by his experiences in World War I, prone to fits of shaking and addicted to morphine.

Charlotte Ritter is no longer a bourgeois law student but a street-smart working-class woman. “We felt very strongly that we should have a main character from this proletarian background, because Berlin was always a poor city,” Mr. Handloegten explained.

Work has already begun on Season 3, and there’s plenty more source material to draw on. Mr. Kutscher has already written six Gereon Rath novels and plans another three, culminating with Kristallnacht in 1938.

The TV adaptation is already a commercial and critical hit at home. Within a week of its German premiere on Oct. 13, the first episode had been watched by 1.2 million people — a German viewing figure bested only by “Game of Thrones.”

“The show is epic, the story is complex,” the Berlin daily Der Tagesspiegel wrote. “The TV version gives the material what it requires while never taking away the striking images, ambiguous characters and exciting story: everything needed to suck you in.”

The weekly magazine Der Spiegel described the show as a “masterpiece” and a “great, dizzying panorama,” and predicted that it could be “the first big German TV production since ‘Das Boot’ to have really relevant success abroad.”

The praise, however, has not been universal. The Munich-based daily Süddeutsche Zeitung said: “The period it depicts may have been sensuous, but the show is not. The world of ‘Babylon Berlin’ remains behind glass.”

In Britain, the reception has been positive so far. “It’s all wonderfully gripping, and Bruch has the most pained, expressive eyes you’ll see all year,” the critic for The Financial Times wrote. “With the arrival of Charlotte … drab secretary by day, jazz baby by night, we enter the youthful Berlin of dance crazes and desperate excess.”

Some critics have also drawn parallels to current political events, like the American election of Donald J. Trump, the Brexit vote, and the arrival of the far-right Alternative for Germany in the Bundestag.

“The echoes of the ‘populism’ of the 1930s with what is going on right now is certainly a link that is being made,” Professor Cooke said. “How far this is played out in the show itself remains to be seen. But it is fair to say that these kinds of historical dramas always tend to use the past as a cipher for the present.”

But Hajo Funke, professor of political science at the Free University Berlin, cautions against making too many comparisons. “Economically, socially and politically, it was a totally different situation,” he said.

“In 1929, there was a brief phase of stability after the terrible shock at the end of World War I, the inflation crisis, the economic restrictions,” Professor Funke added. “It was not at all clear if it would be possible to overcome the next crisis.”

At the same time, he agrees that the show taps into the current mood. “It could serve to point to the dangers, to the destructive forces in society and politics,” he said.

For the makers of “Babylon Berlin,” it was crucial that the audience experience the past through the eyes of the protagonists.

In the first season, for example, Hitler is only mentioned once in passing. After all, Berlin was a left-wing bastion, and in the 1928 election, the Nazis got only 1.6 percent of the city’s votes.

“In 1929, there were no Nazis in Berlin,” said the producer Stefan Arndt. “You cannot see or even smell that there’s danger coming




Loulou de La Falaise; 4 May 1948 – 5 November 2011) / VIDEO: Loulou de la Falaise's Funeral with Catherine Deneuve, Kenzo, Arielle Do...

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Loulou de La Falaise; 4 May 1948 – 5 November 2011) was a fashion muse and designer of fashion, accessories and jewellery associated with Yves Saint Laurent. Author Judith Thurman, writing in The New Yorker magazine, called La Falaise "the quintessential Rive Gauche haute bohémienne".The daughter of an Anglo-Irish fashion model and a French marquis, she helped inspire Saint Laurent's 1966 women's tuxedo Le Smoking and his see-through blouses, according to The Independent.

Louise Vava Lucia Henriette Le Bailly de La Falaise was born on 4 May 1948 in England, the eldest child and only daughter of Alain, Count de La Falaise (1903–1977), a French writer, translator and publisher, and his second wife, the former Maxime Birley (1922–2009), an Anglo-Irish fashion model, whom photographer Cecil Beaton once told, "You are the only English woman I know who manages to be really chic in really hideous clothes".

Three of her christening names honoured relations: Louise (her father's elder sister, who died as a teenager); Vava (one of the names of her maternal grandmother, Lady Birley); and Henriette (the name of her paternal grandmother, Henriette Hennessy, Comtesse Alain Hocquart de Turtot). La Falaise was allegedly baptised not with holy water but with Shocking, the scent by fashion designer Elsa Schiaparelli, her mother's employer.

After her parents' divorce in 1950, following her mother's infidelities and a French court's declaration of her as an unfit mother, Loulou and her brother went to live with foster families until she was seven. After that, La Falaise was enrolled in English boarding schools, and "her school holidays were shared between mother, father, and the second foster family". She attended a boarding school in Switzerland as well as the Lycée Français de New York, though was expelled from each due to her rebellious nature.

La Falaise's maternal grandfather was portrait painter Sir Oswald Birley, and an uncle was Mark Birley (1930–2007), restaurateur and founder of the London nightclub, "Annabel's". Another uncle, her father's elder brother, was Henri de La Falaise, Marquis de La Coudraye, (1898–1972), film director and third husband of American actress Gloria Swanson (1899–1983). Her paternal grandfather was a three-time French Olympic gold medallist in fencing, Louis Gabriel de La Falaise (1866–1910).

Loulou de La Falaise had one sibling, Alexis Richard Dion Oswald Le Bailly de La Falaise,(1948-2004), a furniture designer, who appeared in the Andy Warhol film Tub Girls. After the death of her uncle in 1972, her father became the Marquis de La Coudraye, as he died without issue. After her father's death in 1977, her brother assumed the title, Marquis de La Coudraye (until his death in 2004).

Her niece, Lucie Le Bailly de La Falaise (born 19 February 1973), a model, is the wife of Marlon Richards, son of Keith Richards and Anita Pallenberg. Her nephew, Daniel Le Bailly de La Falaise (born 6 September 1970), is a professional chef and food writer and the current Marquis de La Coudraye.

The family's actual surname is Le Bailly, though members have used Le Bailly de La Falaise, referring to an ancestral estate, since the mid 19th century; it is typically abbreviated to de La Falaise.

La Falaise moved to New York City in the late 1960s, where she briefly modelled for American Vogue before turning to designing printed fabrics for Halston. Late in the decade she worked as a junior editor at the British society magazine Queen, during which time she met Saint Laurent.Eventually, she moved to Paris, where she joined his haute-couture firm in 1972. Responding to a description of her as a Saint Laurent muse in 2010, La Falaise responded, “For me, a muse is someone who looks glamorous but is quite passive, whereas I was very hard-working. I worked from 9am to sometimes 9pm, or even 2am. I certainly wasn't passive.”

"Her official task was to bring her eccentric style to accessories and jewellery, and she duly came up with often-chunky designs incorporating large colourful stones, enamel work or rock crystal". La Falaise also inspired Saint Laurent with her inventive wardrobe: "one week she was Desdemona in purple velvet flares and a crown of flowers, the next Marlene [Dietrich] with plucked crescent-shaped eyebrows". In 2002, when Saint Laurent retired, La Falaise began producing her own clothing and jewellery designs. As reported in The New York Times by fashion writer Cathy Horyn, "The clothing line captured much of her rare taste—well-cut blazers in the best English tweeds, French sailor pants in linen, striped silk blouses with cheeky black lace edging, masculine walking coats with fur linings, and gorgeous knits in perfectly chosen colors".

She also designed cloisonné boxes and porcelain vases for Asiatides, as well as jewellery for the boutique of the Majorelle Gardens in Marrakech, Morocco.

After more than three decades designing jewellery and accessories for Saint Laurent, La Falaise launched her own fashion business, designing ready-to-wear, costume jewellery, and accessories, which were retailed in the U.S. as well as two Loulou de La Falaise shops in Paris.

She sold simplified versions of her jewellery designs in a line created for the Home Shopping Network and created costume jewellery for Oscar de la Renta. She operated two of her own shops in Paris, one of which was designed by her brother, Alexis.

On 6 October 1966, she married Desmond FitzGerald, 29th Knight of Glin (1937-2011), an Irish nobleman. They separated the following year and divorced in 1970. Her title upon marrying the knight was Madam FitzGerald.
On 11 June 1977, she married Thadée Klossowski de Rola, a French writer, who is the younger son of the painter Balthus in Paris, France. She wore a harem-and-turban ensemble from Yves Saint Laurent Rive Gauche. They had one child:
Anna Klossowski de Rola, co-founder of the contemporary art collection called "MGM."

La Falaise died at Gisors' hospital, France, on 5 November 2011.The cause of death was not specified, other than as the result of a "long illness".An obituary published in Women's Wear Daily stated, "According to sources, de la Falaise was diagnosed with lung cancer last June, but implored intimates to keep her health a private matter".





Loulou de la Falaise: Yves Saint Laurent’s reluctant muse
For 30 years, she helped Saint Laurent see things through rose-coloured glasses. A new book reveals why the troubled designer was drawn to his right-hand woman’s more-is-more style

Lauren Cochrane
Wed 2 May 2018 06.00 BST

Loulou de la Falaise, a woman whose Wikipedia entry starts by describing her as “a fashion muse”, always gave the idea short shrift. “To me, a muse comes to have cookies and a chat and looks frightfully smart,” she said. “I didn’t see it as someone who worked as hard as I did.”

As detailed in Christopher Petkanas’s book, Loulou & Yves, De la Falaise was by Yves Saint Laurent’s side for 30 years. They began to work together in 1972. “He was very vague about [my job],” she remembered. “He didn’t specify what I was going to do.” Her daily responsibilities show she was a multitasker of the highest order. They included everything from helping decide on the colour of a collection (“Yves has a phenomenal sense of colour, but he needs me to jerk it out of his system,” she said), to the casting of models (she encouraged the house to use Kate Moss), designing the jewellery and walking Saint Laurent’s French bulldog, Moujik. Principally, however, De la Falaise was there as a taste check, someone to try ideas on – sometimes literally – and to brainstorm with. “She is charm, poetry, excess, extravagance and elegance all in one blow,” said the designer. “We make a stewing pot. Things bubble and brew.”

 De la Falaise’s style is now the stuff of legend – and Pinterest boards. Headscarves and turbans became her trademark – on her wedding day in 1977, she married Thadée Klossowski in a white turban with coral-red tassels – while her attitude to dressing could be summed up as: “Why wear one skirt/sweater/necklace if you can wear four?” As with all style icons – from Jane Birkin to Kate Moss and Rihanna – a frustratingly indefinable flair was at the heart of it. “I’ve always longed to pull off wearing a couture dress with a bit of old tat from a flea market,” says De la Falaise’s sometime associate Nicky Samuel in Petkanas’s book, “but only a few women succeed.” De la Falaise was one of them.

If De la Falaise was part-inspiration at Saint Laurent, she was also there to gee up the famously troubled designer, with her trademark light disposition. Betty Catroux, who is also described as a Saint Laurent muse, says De la Falaise “saw everything through rose-coloured glasses. She was our Prozac”.

As with many people who present as sweetness and light, De la Falaise had her own troubles. Born in the UK to the French writer Alain de la Falaise and socialite Maxime Birley, she and her brother Alexis were sent to live with a couple in rural France as children. De la Falaise’s first fashion-show experience was being taken to Paris as a child by her aunt, Gloria Swanson, and she was friends with Andy Warhol by the time she was 15. She used drugs and alcohol, and developed hepatitis in her 20s; she died three years after Saint Laurent, in 2011, at the age of 63. While she had started her own label after parting ways with Saint Laurent when he retired from the house in 2002, it is for her associations with the designer that she will be remembered – muse or not. Her importance was summed up by Paris Match after she died. The headline? “The second death of Yves Saint Laurent.”




Loulou & Yves: The Untold Story of Loulou de La Falaise and the House of Saint Laurent
By Christopher Petkanas

No one interested in fashion, style, or the high-flying intrigues of café society will want to miss the exuberantly entertaining oral biography Loulou & Yves: The Untold Story of Loulou de La Falaise and the House of Saint Laurent, by Christopher Petkanas.

Dauntless,“in the bone” style made Loulou de La Falaise one of the great fashion firebrands of the twentieth century. Descending in a direct line from Coco Chanel and Elsa Schiaparelli, she was celebrated at her death in 2011, aged just sixty-four, as the “highest of haute bohemia,” a feckless adventuress in the art of living―and the one person Yves Saint Laurent could not live without.

Yves Saint Laurent (1936-2008) was the most influential designer of his times; possibly also the most neurasthenic. In an exquisitely intimate, sometimes painful personal and professional relationship, Loulou de La Falaise was his creative right hand, muse, alter ego and the virtuoso behind all the devastatingly flamboyant accessories that were a crucial component of the YSL “look.” For thirty years, until his retirement in 2002, Yves relied on Loulou to inspire him with the tilt of her hat, make him laugh and talk him off the ledge―the enchanted formula that brought him from one historic collection to the next.

 “Her presence at my side is a dream,” Yves declares in Loulou & Yves. “I trust her reactions. Sometimes they are violent but always positive... I bounce ideas off her and they come back clearer and things begin to happen.”

Yves’s many tributes shape Loulou’s memory, as if everything there was to know about this fugitive, Giacometti-like figure could be told by her clanking bronze cuffs, towering fur toques, the turquoise boulders on her fingers and her working friendship with the man who put women in pants. But parallel to this storyline runs another, darker one, lifting the veil on Loulou, a classic “number two” with a contempt for convention, and exposing the underbelly of fashion at its highest level. Behind Yves’s encomiums are a pair of aristocrat parents―Loulou’s shiftless French father and menacingly chic English mother―who abandoned her to a childhood of foster care and sexual abuse straight out of “Les Misérables”; Loulou’s recurring desperation to leave Yves and go out on her own; and the grandiose myths surrounding her family. Loulou felt that her life had been kidnapped by the operatic workings of the House of Saint Laurent, and in her last years danced with financial ruin. Delving beyond the “official” version of her life, Loulou & Yves unspools an elusive fashion idol―nymphomaniacal, heedless and up to her bracelets in coke and Boizel champagne―at the core of what used to be called “le beau monde.”

On the theory that everyone loves a cocktail party, Loulou & Yves traces her life chronologically through the charming literary device of oral biography, in which the spoken memories of more than two hundred “voices”―husbands, lovers, extended family, friends, enemies, slightly less bitter detractors, colleagues, groupies, pundits, and hangers-on―are seamlessly interwoven with those of Yves and Loulou themselves. Readers mingle at the party as invited guests, listening in on Andy Warhol and Karl Lagerfeld and collecting clues from Mick Jagger and Tom Ford as the narrative unfolds. Topping the A-list of figures who tell Loulou’s story in their own words, uncensored, are Cecil Beaton, Diana Vreeland, Thadée Klossowski, Robert Mapplethorpe, Helmut Newton, Hubert de Givenchy, Manolo Blahnik, Diane von Furstenberg, Elsa Peretti, Betty Catroux, John Richardson, Alber Elbaz, Christian Louboutin, Grace Coddington, Ben Brantley, Bruce Chatwin, Lady Annabel Goldsmith, André Leon Talley, and Pierre Bergé. In a fluent round of sparkling conversation, author Christopher Petkanas brings them all together for a party that swirls around one of the most scintillating women the fashion world has ever known.

“She’s the sounding board,” Yves rhapsodizes of his second self in Loulou & Yves, a sweeping, waspish work of fashion and social history. “She’s never wrong.”




About Christopher Petkanas
Marjorie R. Williams author photo_credit Kent Lineback

While living in Paris, Christopher Petkanas covered Loulou de La Falaise and the House of Saint Laurent from 1982 to 1988, picking up with Loulou again more than two decades later, in 2010, the year before she died. He has written for The New York Times, Vogue, and Architectural Digest, and his previous books are At Home in France: Eating and Entertaining with the French, and Parish-Hadley: Sixty Years of American Design (with Sister Parish and Albert Hadley). He now resides in New York

The sale of the century: A look inside the Rockefeller auction

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'An exceptional sale': dazzling Rockefeller collection could fetch $1bn
Sprawling private collection of 1,600 of David Rockefeller’s items will go on auction at Christie’s – and could break records

Oliver Laughland in New York
@oliverlaughland
Fri 4 May 2018 14.36 BST Last modified on Fri 4 May 2018 22.00 BST

In a bid to keep the sale as accessible as possible, hundreds of items, including costume jewellery and furniture, are being placed in an online auction where bidding starts as low as $100.

There was a hushed sense of awe among the spectators perusing the nearly 1,600 items prepared for auction at Christie’s in Manhattan. Elderly New York society doyennes walked through the collection with private guides, stopping for a second to admire the Monets and Picassos, as tour groups crowded by the ornate porcelains and decorative arts, spanning centuries and continents, craning their heads to catch a glimpse.

But then, this is no ordinary collection, and it will certainly be no ordinary auction.

Spread across three floors of Christie’s salerooms is the sprawling private collection of David Rockefeller, the billionaire banker and globetrotting philanthropist who died last year at 101. The last surviving grandchild of the oil magnate and America’s first billionaire John D Rockefeller, David Rockefeller spent much of his life collecting exceptional works of modern art, which will now be sold to raise money for the family’s preferred charitable causes.

Branded as a once-in-a-generation chance for global collectors to buy some of the world’s most significant pieces still in private collection, some predict the auction, which will take place over three days next week, could be the first to raise $1bn in total.

“This is not just a New York event,” said Jonathan Rendell, Christie’s deputy chairman. “It’s a world event. It is an exceptional sale.”

Among the collection’s highlights include Picasso’s Fillette à la corbeille fleurie (Young Girl with a Basket of Flowers), one of the finest portraits of his rose period. The painting had hung in the living room of Rockefeller’s grand Manhattan home on the Upper East Side for decades. He bought it from the estate of Gertrude Stein in 1968, meaning the painting has only had two owners. It was described in Ernest Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast, the memoir of the author’s time in 1920s Paris, as hanging in Stein’s Left Bank apartment.

The piece is expected to sell for over $100m.

Also on sale is Monet’s Nymphéas en fleur (Water Lilies in Bloom), an important work in the artist’s series of water garden paintings. The work is distinguished by the fact that all the lilies are in full bloom, and was brought to New York after Rockefeller, with his wife Peggy, who died in 1996, purchased it from a dealer in Paris in 1956. The painting had hung at the couple’s Hudson Pines estate in Sleepy Hollow, near the bottom of grand, winding staircase, and is estimated to sell for between $50m and $70m.

The collection also includes a number of works from American artists including Edward Hopper, Georgia O’Keeffe and Willem de Kooning – most of them valued at over seven figures. Diego Rivera’s masterwork The Rivals, painted in 1931 in a makeshift studio aboard the steamship that brought him and Frida Kahlo to New York, will also be on sale – valued at up to $7m.

“Encountering the quality of these paintings has been a fantastic journey for all of us,” Rendell said.

But even among these eye-watering estimates there is a sense that Christie’s has veered on the conservative side. Following the $450m sale of a painting by Leonardo Da Vinci at the end of last year, a price that shattered auction records, some predict the auction’s banner items will go for much higher than the estimated price.

Rendell would not be drawn on the issue. “I will wait until next week and then I’ll say if it was a conservative estimate. This week, the estimate is what the estimate is,” he said.

While the greatest monetary value lies in Rockefeller’s modern art, the collection extends to an array of extraordinary artefacts, from a dinner service Napoleon took with him into exile on the island of Elba in 1814, to a 13th-century Syrian incense burner unique in that it has Christian and Islamic decoration. The burner had sat on Rockefeller’s desk until his death.

The Rockefellers purchased many of the pieces over their decades of collecting for relatively small prices, only to see the valuation balloon in recent years as the market surged.

Nonetheless, in a bid to keep the sale as accessible as possible, hundreds of items, including costume jewellery and furniture, are being placed in an online auction where bidding starts as low as $100.

To many in the art world, next week’s auction marks the end of an era. Rockefeller, who had long pledged to sell his entire collection and donate the proceeds to a group of chosen charities, was the last in a line of tycoon collectors whose primary mission was to patronise the arts through their purchases.

“It was the stagecraft of his life,” said Evan Beard, national art services executive at US Trust, Bank of America’s private wealth management division. “But the folks who will be buying a lot of this material will be a new breed of collector, where they have at least one eye on the financial component. Art for them is an extension of their financial life.”

Beard said he represented a number of buyers planning to bid on some of the most lucrative items in the catalogue. A group of which were hedge fund managers, “trophy hunting clients”, aiming to put together some of the great private collections in the world.

“Many of these folks think of themselves as the next generation. So you’ll see some bidding just because of the cultural capital that is contained within these works,” he said.

Jeeves will be away ... for a period of 15 days.


Tom Wolfe obituary / Remembering Tom Wolfe, American writer with an 'anthropologist's delight'

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Tom Wolfe obituary: a great dandy, in elaborate dress and neon-lit prose
Journalist and author who won a name as a brilliant satirist with the ‘novel of the 1980s’, The Bonfire of the Vanities

Stanley Reynolds

Tue 15 May 2018 17.28 BST Last modified on Thu 17 May 2018



The writer Tom Wolfe, who has died aged 88, was a great dandy, both in his elaborate dress and his neon-lit prose. Although he was in his late 50s when he became a bestselling novelist, with The Bonfire of the Vanities (1987), some 30 years before that he was already famous as a journalist, was indeed that extremely rare thing, the journalist as international celebrity.

It was a part Wolfe played up to, wearing showy tailor-made white suits, summer and winter, as well as fancy headgear and shirts with detachable collars. The overall impression was of a fashionplate from a bygone age. The sartorial fireworks fitted in very well with the highly eccentric literary style Wolfe used and which made such a name for him when he published The Kandy-Kolored Tangerine-Flake Streamline Baby (1965), which brought the world the first news of the 1960s counterculture in California.

The curious style came about by chance. In 1963, commissioned to write about custom cars for Esquire magazine, Wolfe got as far as writing hurried notes and told his editor, Byron Dobell, to give them to someone else because he could not produce the finished piece. Dobell read the notes and printed them as they were.

The peculiar style, full of exclamation marks, words elongated for special effect, and words in capital letters, gave the impression of news that was too hot for the simple declarative sentence; also that it was highly complicated to explain but that Wolfe himself knew all there was to know about it, and from the inside. As the news was from the counterculture or, later on, from the world of the New York new rich, the prose seemed to fit the passion.

The Bonfire of the Vanities, the tale of the fall of a young Wall Street trader, one of the self-styled “masters of the universe”, was called the “novel of the 1980s” and won Wolfe a name as a brilliant satirist. The one dark cloud in its success was that the 1990 film of the book, directed by Brian De Palma, failed both critically and at the box office, in spite of Tom Hanks playing the lead. The other Wolfe book turned into a movie fared much better. This was The Right Stuff (1979), a non-fiction account of the first astronauts. The 1983 film was made by Philip Kaufman and won four Oscars.

Fans had to wait 11 years for the next novel, A Man in Full (1998), a rather disjointed and over-long look at the new south of the 90s. This was attacked by John Updike, Norman Mailer and John Irving. Updike said it was not literature but entertainment; Mailer described it as like being made love to by a 300lb woman (“Fall in love or be asphyxiated”) and Irving said simply: “He can’t fucking write.” Wolfe had a good time counter-attacking. He called them “my three stooges”. He could afford to be offhand with his critics, for A Man in Full had received an advance of $7.5m.

The wonderful early pieces received nothing but praise. The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test (1968) was called an American classic, “a DayGlo book”, the Washington Post said. It was the story of a cross-country trip in a bus by Ken Kesey, author of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, and his spaced-out young followers, the Merry Pranksters, all high on LSD and passing it out free in glasses of Kool-Aid.

Radical Chic and Mau-Mauing the Flak Catchers (1970) comprised more first-rate pieces of comic sociology, particularly the title story about wealthy New York liberals making fools of themselves throwing parties for the Black Panthers. The Pump House Gang (1968) and The Mid-Atlantic Man (1969) were collections of articles; The New Journalism (1973) an anthology; The Painted Word (1975) art criticism; From Bauhaus to Our House (1981) architecture criticism; Ambush at Fort Bragg (1997) a novella, a Rolling Stone magazine serialisation then in an audio-only version.


At the age of 73 and after suffering a heart attack and a quintuple bypass, Wolfe surprised everyone with I Am Charlotte Simmons (2004), a brilliantly funny and hard-hitting demolition job on American higher education set in a fictional Ivy League university in Pennsylvania. Back to Blood (2012), set in Miami and with a Cuban-American cop as its lead character, was described by the Guardian’s reviewer as “like a novel for the hard of hearing, megaphone meets ear trumpet”; The Kingdom of Speech (2016) challenged theories of evolution and speech development.

Wolfe was born in Richmond, Virginia. In later years he described his father, Thomas, as an agronomist, but in the early years he had called him “a gentleman farmer”. Wolfe was encouraged to write by his mother, Louise, and at nine, he tried his hand at biographies of Napoleon and Mozart.

He went to a private day school, St Christopher’s, in Richmond, and then to Washington and Lee University, in Lexington, Virginia, where he played baseball and edited the literary magazine Shenandoah. He told me that he was very serious about being a baseball pitcher and once put on a tremendous amount of weight in order to throw the ball harder. This was a failure, because the weight slowed him up in the field.

After Washington and Lee, he went to Yale and got a PhD in 1957 in American studies. He then found a job in journalism on the Springfield Union in Massachusetts. That is where I first met him. It would be pleasant to think that his colleagues all saw what a success he would be, but this is not true. We only saw that he was different. This we put down to his being a southerner, and at that time in New England we were suspicious of southerners, thinking they might have a slave or two stashed away in a backyard shed. His southern ways were in fact sometimes shocking: he told jokes about black people without taking in the pained expressions of his audience – or perhaps he was doing it on purpose to annoy us.

Early on, he demonstrated his unusual angle on stories, and it was not always appreciated. Once he was sent to cover an outdoor concert of classical music in the Berkshire mountains and wrote a long piece about the way people sat on the grass listening to it. This confused his editor at the Springfield Union newspaper. Another time he was covering an event at Mount Holyoke College in nearby South Hadley and wrote mainly about how the president of the college held his chin in a jut-jawed fashion while speaking. The college was furious and demanded an apology.

At this period he was spending most of his free weekends in New York, taking drawing lessons from a New Yorker artist. This interest in cartooning remained all his life; he published many of them and held one-man shows. Wolfe left the Springfield Union for the Washington Post in 1959; he then joined the old New York Herald Tribune in 1962 and there his real career began.

He was surprisingly shy, and when The Kandy-Kolored Tangerine-Flake Streamline Baby was published in the UK in 1966, he insisted that I make the trip down from Liverpool to be with him in London. He put me up in Brown’s Hotel in Mayfair. Nervous about the launch party being given by his publishers, Jonathan Cape, we went out drinking all day long and for some reason he started imitating WC Fields and could not stop it. It was amusing to read, in the newspapers reporting the launch, about his extraordinary accent.

Although the book was picked for the American Book of the Month Club and earned him $600,000, he was still very much a working journalist. The Herald Tribune called him from New York and said he must send them a story. He told me next day how lucky he was to have seen a man hit by a taxi in London. The man was sitting in the street nursing a broken leg and saying over and over again: “What a bore.” This, Wolfe thought, would show New York what a strange use of language the English had.

Wolfe came to stay with me in Liverpool and while there wrote much of what became The Mid-Atlantic Man. Every morning he went out in a suit and tie with a packet of ginger nut biscuits to sit in the Sefton Park palm house writing. He wrote everything in longhand first, using a fancy style of calligraphy so that sometimes he was getting only 14 words to a page. Afterwards he would rewrite on a typewriter, and never really took to computers.

Wolfe was mistaken for a liberal when he first started out, but his ultra-conservatism later became obvious. He not only supported Ronald Reagan, calling him “one of the greatest presidents ever” but, much worse to the east coast liberal mind, he praised George W Bush. When people said they would leave the country if Bush was elected, Wolfe said he might go to Kennedy airport to wave them goodbye. He thought Donald Trump “a lovable megalomaniac”, and, comparing him to Reagan, concluded that “brilliance is really not a requirement for politicians”.

In 1978 he married Sheila Berger, the art director at Harper’s magazine. She survives him, along with their two children, Alexandra and Tommy.

• Thomas Kennerly Wolfe, journalist and novelist, born 2 March 1930; died 14 May 2018

TOOTAL Ties

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Some images of a remarkable TOOTAL “choker”, coming from  my own collection …
JEEVES






Tootal
Product type     Scarves, ties, fabrics, accessories
Owner  Coats Viyella
Country               United Kingdom
Introduced         1799
Markets              Worldwide
Previous owners             
Robert Gardner (1799)
Tootal Broadhurst Lee (1842)
Tootal Ltd. (1973)
Tootal Group plc (1985)
Website              tootal.co.uk

Tootal is a brand name for a range of British ties, scarves and other garments. The brand is now owned by Coats Viyella. It originates from a textile spinning and manufacturing company established in Manchester in 1799, which later became Tootal Broadhurst Lee, and subsequently Tootal Ltd. The company held patents in crease-resistant fabric.


The firm identifies its origins in a company founded in Manchester in 1799 by textile merchant Robert Gardner. The Tootal family, who resided in Wakefield, Yorkshire, became involved in the company in the early nineteenth century. Sarah Tootal married Daniel Broadhurst in 1811, and their son Henry Tootal Broadhurst (1822-1896) – the brother of Charles Edward Broadhurst and brother-in-law of Sir Joseph Whitworth – established a business partnership in Manchester in 1842 with Edward Tootal and Henry Lee, who had worked in Gardner's cotton goods warehouse.

The partnership opened the Sunnybank cotton spinning and weaving mills, and became the largest manufacturer of hand looms in Blackburn, but the partnership was dissolved in 1860. The firm then developed the manufacture of fancy cloths, using steam-powered looms in place of hand looms, and acquired mills at Bolton and Newton Heath for their manufacture. In the 1860s, Henry Tootal Broadhurst, Henry and Joseph Lee, and Robert Scott, were business partners who formed a limited company, Tootal Broadhurst Lee, marketing their goods under the name Tootal.

The company was notable for its vertical integration, combining both spinning and weaving activities, and for its marketing network which included offices and warehouses in Bradford, Belfast and Paris, and national and international agencies promoting their goods. By 1888, when the joint stock company Tootal, Broadhurst, Lee and Company Ltd. was formed, the firm employed some 5,000 workers and operated 172,000 spindles and 3,500 looms, making it one of the largest integrated cotton textile producing companies in Lancashire. Sir Joseph Cocksey Lee (1832-1894), the brother of Henry Lee MP and later an active promoter of the Manchester Ship Canal,[4] became its chairman. At the same time, a separate company, the Lee Spinning Co., was also established.

In 1898, the company opened a large new brick-clad warehouse and office block, now known as Churchgate House, in Oxford Street, Manchester. The building, designed by Joseph Gibbons Sankey, is now a Grade II* listed building, described as "a powerful monument to the entrepreneurialism of the Industrial Revolution and Victorian bombast." Plans in the 1930s to build an adjoining warehouse which would have been the tallest building in Europe at the time were never completed.

Tootal, Broadhurst, Lee continued to develop in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, and in 1907 Edward Tootal Broadhurst, the son of Henry Tootal Broadhurst, succeeded Harold Lee (the son of Henry Lee) as chairman. The company was an innovator in its promotion of brand names, and in selling its goods direct to retailers. Though early in its history it specialised in cotton fabrics, it later diversified into other yarns including silk and rayon. It developed a range of fabrics in a wide variety of patterns, including a velvet marketed as "Tootal cloth", and "Tarantulle", used for lingerie and baby wear, as well as focussing on products such as handkerchiefs, scarves and ties. The company provided neckerchiefs and other items for soldiers in the Boer War. A research department was established, and it was active in developing new innovations, such as crease-resistant fabrics.[1] In the early 1920s, it took out patents on urea-formaldehyde resins to produce crease-resistant fabrics, and commercialised its patents by developing an international licensing programme, with successful agencies being granted the use of the Tebilized registered trade mark.

In the First World War the company was noted for giving early guarantees that all their men returning after service would be reinstated in their old positions. By 1939, Tootal had branches throughout Britain and subsidiaries in Argentina, Australia, Canada, France, and New Zealand, as well as agencies throughout the world. The company participated in the 1947 British Industries Fair, and featured its "Lystav, Robia and Tobralco patented dress and furnishing fabrics, Pyramid men’s handkerchiefs and a bright display of Tootal ties and scarves." New factories were opened in St Helens in 1947, and in Devonport, Tasmania, in 1952. In the 1960s, Tootal joined the English Sewing Cotton Co., and later the Calico Printers Association, becoming English Calico Ltd. which was renamed Tootal Ltd. in 1973. In 1985 it became Tootal Group plc, and in 1991 was acquired by Coats Viyella, which disposed of several of its subsidiaries.

Tootal scarves and ties in polka dot, Paisley and other patterns are now regarded as iconic of the period between the 1920s and 1950s in Britain, when they were advertised widely with the slogan: "Every Man Needs… Tootal Ties". They were associated with the mod subculture in the 1960s, were again revived as fashion accessories in the 1980s and 2000s, and are now seen as emblematic of classic British men's fashion.



Tootal Broadhurst Lee Co

of Radcliffe, Lancs, (now Greater Manchester)

of Manchester and Bolton, cotton manufacturers, later textile spinners and manufacturers.

of 56 Oxford Street, Manchester. Telephone: Manchester, Central 3244. Cables: "Tootal, Manchester". London Address: 21 Cavendish Place, Cavendish Square, London, W1. (1947)

• 1799 The company was founded in Manchester, by Robert Gardner, a textile merchant.
• 1842 Tootal family involvement began.
• 1860s Sunnyside Mills, Bolton and Newton Heath Mills, Manchester, were acquired.
• 1888 After several name changes, the firm became Tootal Broadhurst Lee Co Ltd. The company was registered on 17 January, to take over the business of spinners and manufacturers, carried on at Manchester, London and elsewhere, under the firms of Tootal-Broadhurst, Lee and Co and the Lee Spinning Co. [1]
• 1891 Directory (Radcliffe): Listed as Cotton spinners and manufacturers. More details [2]
• 1891 Directory (Manchester and Salford): Listed as Cotton Spinners and Manufacturers. More details. [3]
• 1891 Directory (Bolton): Listed as Cotton spinners and manufacturers. More details. [4]
• 1918 A research department was established, which carried out early work on creating crease resistant fabric. The company was notable for its early use of brand names and was a leader in the field of selling direct to retailers.
• By 1939, the firm had spinning, weaving and yarn dyeing factories in Bolton and factories in Newton Heath, Manchester, weaving silk and wool and producing handkerchiefs and ties. There were branches in Belfast, Birmingham, Leeds, London and Glasgow and overseas in Argentina, Australia, Canada, France, and New Zealand. The company had agencies throughout the world. Subsidiaries’ activities included dress manufacture, bleaching, dyeing and crease resistant finishing.
• 1947 A new factory was opened in St. Helens, Lancs. (now Merseyside).
• 1947 Listed Exhibitor - British Industries Fair. Mufacturers of Tobralco, Lystav, Robia and other Tootal Dress and Furnishing Fabrics; of Pyramid Handkerchiefs, Tootal Ties and other Tootal Products. (Earls Court, Ground Floor, Stand No 123) [5]
• 1952 A new factory was opened in Devonport, Tasmania.
• The company became a subsidiary of the holding company Tootal Ltd, which joined English Sewing Cotton Co in 1963.
• 1968 This in turn merged with the Calico Printers Association, becoming English Calico Ltd.
• 1973 This became Tootal Ltd.
• 1985 It became Tootal Group PLC, and is now part of Coats Viyella plc.

(This historical account is mainly based on L. Richmond and B. Stockford, ‘Company Archives’ (1968)):

Tootal Broadhurst Lee Co

1961.
of 56 Oxford Street, Manchester. Telephone: Manchester, Central 3244. Cables: "Tootal, Manchester". London Address: 21 Cavendish Place, Cavendish Square, London, W1. (1947)

of Ten Acres Mill, Newton Heath, Manchester; Sunnyside Mills, Bolton; and Black Lane Mills, Radcliffe, textile spinners and manufacturers.

1799 The company was founded in Manchester, by Robert Gardner, a textile merchant.

1842 Tootal family involvement began.

1853 Tootal, Broadhurst and Lee were one of a number of businesses who signed a petition in Manchester concerning the government of the East Indies[1]

1856 "NOTICE is hereby given, that the Partnership heretofore subsisting between us the undersigned, as Manufacturers, at Manchester and elsewhere, under the firm of Tootal, Broadhurst, and Lee, expired by effluxion of time on the 1st day of August, 1856, since which date the business has been, and will continue to be, carried on by the undersigned Henry Tootal Broadhurst and Henry Lee, on their own account; and they will receive and pay all debts due to and from the said partnership.—Dated the 8th day of December, 1857. Edward Tootal. Henry T. Broadhurst. Henry Lee."[2]

1859 Dissolution of the partnership of Tootal, Broadhurst and Lee of Manchester, manufacturers, as regards E. Tootal[3]

Up to 1860 the firm was the chief manufacturer of hand looms in Blackburn but then gave up this line of business in favour of fancy cloths, for which they introduced steam power to replace hand powered looms[4]

1860s Sunnyside Mills, Bolton; and Newton Heath Mill, Manchester, were acquired.

Henry Tootal Broadhurst, Henry and Joseph Lee and Robert Scott were business partners who formed a limited company Tootal Broadhurst Lee (or Tootal for short).

1887 The company was vertically integrated, combining spinning and power-loom weaving, at a time when there was a tendency for firms to specialize in a single process. A further distinctive feature of the company was its marketing network, including offices and warehouses in Bradford, Belfast, and Paris, and agencies further afield. Tootals employed about 5000 workers in 1887, and operated 172,000 spindles and 3500 looms, making it the third largest vertically integrated cotton firm in Lancashire.

1888 Joint stock company formed: Tootal, Broadhurst, Lee and Company Ltd in order to faciltate family and other arrangements; the new company took over Tootal, Broadhurst, Lee and Co, merchants and manufacturers, and Lee Spinning Co; no shares were issued to the public. Sir Joseph C. Lee was to be chairman[5]

1888 The company was registered on 17 January, to take over the business of spinners and manufacturers, carried on at Manchester, London and elsewhere, under the firms of Tootal-Broadhurst, Lee and Co and the Lee Spinning Co[6]

1891 Directory (Radcliffe): Listed as cotton spinners and manufacturers. More details.

1891 Directory (Manchester and Salford): Listed as cotton spinners and manufacturers. More details.

1891 Directory (Bolton): Listed as cotton spinners and manufacturers. More details.

1907 Edward Tootal Broadhurst succeeded Harold Lee, son of Henry Lee, as chairman

1918 A research department was established, which carried out early work on creating crease resistant fabric. The company was notable for its early use of brand names and was a leader in the field of selling direct to retailers.

By 1939, the firm had spinning, weaving and yarn dyeing factories in Bolton and factories in Newton Heath, Manchester, weaving silk and wool and producing handkerchiefs and ties. There were branches in Belfast, Birmingham, Leeds, London and Glasgow and overseas in Argentina, Australia, Canada, France, and New Zealand. The company had agencies throughout the world. Subsidiaries’ activities included dress manufacture, bleaching, dyeing and crease resistant finishing.

1947 A new factory was opened in St. Helens, Lancs. (now Merseyside).

1947 Listed Exhibitor - British Industries Fair. Manufacturers of Tobralco, Lystav, Robia and other Tootal Dress and Furnishing Fabrics; of Pyramid Handkerchiefs, Tootal Ties and other Tootal Products. (Earls Court, Ground Floor, Stand No 123) [7]

1952 A new factory was opened in Devonport, Tasmania.

The company became a subsidiary of the holding company Tootal Ltd

1961 In Bolton, subsidiaries of Tootal included:

Tootal Spinning Ltd.
Tootal Weaving Ltd.
1963 Tootal joined English Sewing Cotton Co

1968 This in turn merged with the Calico Printers Association, becoming English Calico Ltd.

1973 This became Tootal Ltd.

1985 It became Tootal Group PLC

1991 Tootal Group plc was acquired by Coats Viyella plc[8] which subsequently disposed of several subsidiaries of Tootal.


JEEVES / António Sérgio Rosa de Carvalho / Architectural Historian ... in London.

Sleep On A Hard Ass Floor For Thousands Of Dollars / VIDEO:The Perfect Suit - Huntsman Savile Row

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Sleep On A Hard Ass Floor For Thousands Of Dollars
May 31, 2018

By Derek Guy

In what has to be one of the weirdest promotions we’ve ever seen, Savile Row tailor Huntsman is offering a night for two on their hard ass floor.

The event is being billed as a sleepover in one of their fitting rooms, which is a room where clients change in and out of their clothes while trying on custom garments. The floor, which is carpeted and likely dirty, can be your king suite for the princely sum of thousands of dollars. Remember, this is for a night on a hard ass floor.

At the Sotheby’s auction page, the current bid is going for $3,500. Which is a little more than half the price of a Huntsman sport coat. Or almost the price of two pairs of Huntsman trousers. Except, instead of being able to wear bespoke clothes from one of the world’s finest tailors, you get about twelve hours on a hard ass floor.

You do get to bring a friend, however. And the two of you will be provided with linen-lined, cashmere blankets, which they’ve wrapped over like the two ends of a flour tortilla for a bean-and-cheese burrito, so they can legally call these sleeping bags. I mean, they are technically bags because they’ve sewn the ends together. And you will technically try to sleep in them. But you won’t because you will spend a night on a hard ass floor.

In the morning, should you and your bleary-eyed compadre survive, you will both be treated to breakfast at Isabel’s Restaurant in Mayfair, which is owned by one of Huntsman’s clients. This is assuming you don’t fall dead asleep at the table. Because the night before, you tried to sleep on a hard ass floor.


The auction can be found online at Sotheby’s website. There are 19 hours left in the auction, which is a little more than the time you’ll spend on a hard ass floor.

A Very English Scandal BBC One / VIDEO: : EXCLUSIVE TRAILER (UK) | Hugh Grant | Ben Whisha...

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A Very English Scandal is a British three-part television miniseries based on John Preston's book of the same name.The series premiered on BBC One on 20 May 2018.

The series is a dramatisation of the 1970s Jeremy Thorpe scandal in Britain, in which MP Jeremy Thorpe was tried and acquitted of conspiring to murder his former lover, Norman Scott.
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A Very English Scandal finale review – leaves you reeling, seething and laughing
5 / 5 stars 5 out of 5 stars.    
Fabulous performances all round as Jeremy Thorpe finally comes to trial in a sea of hypocrisy, prejudice, ghastly snobbery, injustice and a chorus of tittering from the public gallery

Sam Wollaston
 @samwollaston
Sun 3 Jun 2018 22.01 BST Last modified on Mon 4 Jun 2018 00.10 BST


Absolutely splendid … Hugh Grant as Jeremy Thorpe. Photograph: Sophie Mutevelian/BBC/Blueprint Television Ltd
Where were we, then? That’s right, a lonely moorland road, where Andrew Newton, the airline pilot, has failed to shoot Norman Scott in the head because his gun jammed after he shot Rinka the great dane. And Norman – covered in blood, tears and rain and cradling his huge dead dog – is shouting that it was the leader of the Liberal party who dunnit.

Russell T Davies would have had a lot of fun making this up if he had needed to. He would probably have been told to ease off a little, in the name of credibility. We really don’t do political scandal like we used to; I can’t see anyone making a three-part drama about Jeremy Hunt’s property interests anytime ever.

Would a great dane really fit into the boot of a Morris Minor police car though? Possibly, pre rigor mortis, with some folding. Morris should have done an advertising campaign around it – Room for Rinka, too!

Justice seems to be closing in on Thorpe; he can plug one leak with a payoff, but another one opens up – there is too much out there. Letters emerge from him to Scott, with the killer word: “bunnies”.

“Bunnies!” exclaims second wife Marion, looking up from her morning paper, boiled egg and cigarette. Monica Dolan, who plays Marion, has made A Very English Scandal even better since appearing on the scene. Monica Dolan improves anything she is in. Rupert, Thorpe’s son, is dispatched to his room, to protect him from the contents of the newspaper.

Thorpe resigns from the party leadership and Marion makes cod in parsley sauce (one of many lovely 70s details), so they can talk. Before marrying, he dabbled (with men), he tells her. “To relieve myself,” he says, glancing down towards his dabbling area.

A lot has been said of Hugh Grant’s performance and what a departure it is from the usual. But is it really so very different? There’s com there; even rom, as well. He just shaves less often, has a side parting, and throws a cloak of evil over himself. Romcom Hugh plus bad hair plus shadows (five o’clock, lying, conspiracy to murder etc). Still absolutely splendid, though.

The evidence piles up, falls from the ceiling of Peter Bessell’s old office. Bessell is summoned back from California, Thorpe is arrested. It doesn’t stop him from standing for election while on bail for conspiracy to murder – that takes something, doesn’t it? Massive misjudgment mostly: he loses to the Tory candidate (this is the 1979 election, when Margaret Thatcher became prime minister). Incidentally, that was the Auberon Waugh (there was only one, unlike John le Mesurier, of whom there were two), receiving 79 votes as representative of the Dog Lovers’ party, ensuring that Rinka is not entirely forgotten. Thorpe was a pet hate of Waugh’s, hence the dogged hounding ...

So, to the Old Bailey, for the “trial of the century”. This is where Davies has some fun. Ben Whishaw, too. Was it quite like that, with Scott looking up, seeing his landlady friend Edna Friendship, suddenly gaining the courage to be smart and funny and to take on George Carman (Adrian Scarborough)? It doesn’t matter, he deserves the moment: it is a fabulous performance of a fabulous performance.

Not that it helps to convict Thorpe. Mr “Justice” Cantley sees to that in his extraordinary summing up. Wow, just wow, and just as it really happened, it seems. To sum up the summing up: it’s your decision, of course, jury, but try to find Thorpe not guilty, because he’s a jolly decent chap. Also pretty much as it really happened was Peter Cook’s sketch about the trial, a snippet of which appears in the postscript. More court reporting than satire.

As well as the outrageous judge, there is so much going on in that courtroom. Oxbridge chums passing each other notes, doing each other favours. Hypocrisy, prejudice, ghastly snobbery, injustice and a chorus of tittering from the public gallery. The 70s, eh? Thank God nothing like it happens today – men of the establishment abusing their power for their own personal gratification and getting away with it.

I have heard the odd moan about the tone being wrong. Nonsense. Just because something involves serious matters doesn’t mean it needs to be dry. The trial recreation – the whole thing – leaves you reeling, seething and laughing, all at the same time. It’s both scandalous and very English.

Then the postscript, with the real Norman Scott, alive and well outside his cottage. Still no national insurance card, but finally some good news for dog lovers: he has 11. Woof.

A Very English Scandal, episode 3 review: Hugh Grant gives a Bafta-worthy performance as Jeremy Thorpe
Thorpe would have hated this drama, though, in that vain, sneaky way of his, been secretly highly flattered by Grant’s superlative capture of his personality

Sean O'Grady
@_seanogrady

Having lived through a dramatised version of the real life of Norman Scott, the one-time male model who, it was alleged, the leader of the Liberal Party plotted to murder, it was a pleasant little surprise to see some contemporary footage of the real Scott at the end of A Very English Scandal, rather than Ben Whishaw’s rendering of this remarkable man. An enigmatic smile playing around those full lips – even at pushing 80 you can appreciate the allure Scott possessed in his youth – and it was confirmed that he is alive and well, living with 11 dogs (and dogs were quite a big part of this story), and still hasn’t recovered his national insurance card.

This document, by the way, was the means by which you could gain legitimate employment and benefits in the years before computers came along. Scott maintained that Thorpe had retained a replacement card, and would not release it back to Thorpe. Therefore, Scott was always out of work, short of money, and always going to be trouble for Thorpe.

The national insurance card fiasco ensured this quite superb production was maintained right to the end, and the drama and suspense with it. I especially relished the forensic attention to period detail – the authentic Hoovers, the Austin Allegro police car, the disco music – Gonzalez (“Haven’t Stopped Dancing yet”), Amii Stewart (“Knock on Wood”) – people smoking on the bus, and the BBC Radio 2 jingle. It took me back, I must say.

But what was clearly missing, for the sake of symmetry if nothing else, was some indication of the health and/or whereabouts of Scott’s alleged assassin – Andrew “Gino” Newton. This extraordinary figure, played with a sort of Eric Idle idiocy by Blake Harrison, according to Gwent Police had been dead for some time. However, subsequent reports indicate that he’s merely changed his name and lain low. Police have now reopened a probe into the scandal and the development has become subject to intense speculation. (The new investigation was prompted by the evidence of Tom Mangold in a previously unseen Panorama programme from the era.)

However, when all’s said and done, Newton was granted crown immunity from prosecution in return for giving evidence at the 1979 trial of the four coconspirators including Thorpe. A run-in between Scott and Newton is a tantalising though unlikely prospect.

Of course, like all biopics of famous historic personalities, we know how it all ends, though in the case of Jeremy Thorpe, the great establishment figure who endured such a painful fall from grace, much of the detail may have been forgotten, or, indeed, unknown to younger generations. After all, most of the rest of the people involved are dead, and no one under the age of 50 can remember the events firsthand. It was, even so, a massive story.

To borrow the expressions used by Thorpe’s barrister at his trial (for incitement to murder and conspiracy to murder), George Carman QC (played with huge, bustling style by Adrian Scarborough), of all the “bastards, liars, perverts, thieves, blackmailers, inbreds and arsonists” to make their way into the House of Commons, it was the Right Honourable Jeremy Thorpe who had the greatest of criminal charges levelled against him – an achievement of sorts.

Scott made an extremely brave and surprisingly credible witness. When he told the court that “Jeremy Thorpe lives on a knife-edge of danger” he summed up the entire scandal. There was much evidence against Thorpe about both the original homosexual and illicit relationship with Scott, and the subsequent events that were to end with a great dane, Rinka, being cared for by Scott, shot dead on the edge of Exmoor, on the dark rainy night of 23 October 1975.

Much of the script was based on documents, memoirs and the trial transcript, complete with its explicit references to anal penetration, Vaseline and “biting the pillow”.

Yet I wondered how fanciful some parts were. The conversation between Thorpe and his second wife, Marion, for example, over a supper of cod in parsley sauce (all the rage in the late 1970s). So the choice of dish was believable, but how much did he tell her about his prior sex life and affair with the man nicknamed “bunny”? Was there some wary chat with Carman about bisexuality, and how you could get beaten up after picking up random guys? I’m not sure Thorpe’s possessive and domineering mother Ursula, devoted to him but sharp-tongued with it, really did say to him after his acquittal: “Of course,  you’re ruined. You know that, don’t you?”

Clever as Carman was, the reason Thorpe got off was the disgracefully loaded summing up to the jury delivered by Mr Justice Cantley. The drama’s producers cleverly included at the end a little clip of the “Biased Judge Sketch” by Peter Cook (catch it on YouTube), which was inspired by the case, one of the finest ever examples of British satire: “And now you must retire to consider your verdict of not guilty”.

Thorpe was diagnosed with Parkinson’s in the 1980s, and would live until 2014. The drama, however, and his public life, ended in 1979, fittingly. Thorpe was then still only 50.

Thorpe lived for far longer than the doctors gave him, he survived his political and judicial crises far more easily than anyone thought possible, and, as we witnessed in the earlier episodes, he scaled British politics much more successfully than seemed likely. In 1959 he was elected a Liberal MP for North Devon; by 1974 he had almost broken the mould of British politics and made it to the cabinet.

Thorpe would have hated this drama, though, in that vain, sneaky way of his, been secretly highly flattered by Hugh Grant’s superlative capture of his personality, with the inevitable Bafta to follow. A Very English Scandal, then, and despite its sympathy towards Scott, can be counted yet another, albeit pyrrhic, victory for Jeremy Thorpe.  


'Hugh Grant is uncanny': Liberals glued to A Very English Scandal
Grant is remarkable as Jeremy Thorpe and the basic thrust is right, say people linked to the story. Shame about the cars ...

Martin Kettle
 @martinkettle
Sat 2 Jun 2018 10.00 BST

Hugh Grant contacted David Steel for advice on the kind of person Thorpe was.
Watching Hugh Grant’s TV portrayal of Jeremy Thorpe, it is almost impossible to believe that such an extraordinarily reckless public figure could really have prospered in 20th-century British politics. But he did.

The insouciance, the exhibitionism, the darkness and the utter unreliability that Grant captures so brilliantly in A Very English Scandal may seem like a grotesque caricature of Thorpe. But it isn’t.

Forty years on, and especially in the social media age, it seems inconceivable that a major politician could have led a double life as a promiscuous gay man and a pillar of the parliamentary and social establishment, without his colleagues cottoning on. Especially when he tried to have his former lover murdered. But he did – and they didn’t.

Did you know at the time that Thorpe was gay, I asked his successor as Liberal leader, David Steel, this week. Steel’s response, speaking from his home in Scotland, was instant, vehement and almost astonished. “No. Absolutely not. It was a surprise when it all came out.”

On paper, Thorpe was a mid-20th-century Tory politician from central casting. Male, white, Eton and Oxford, son and grandson of Conservative MPs, socially well-connected, brought up in Knightsbridge in a house with a cook, chauffeur, four maids and a nanny. But an admiration for David Lloyd George, whom Thorpe met several times as a boy, led him early into the Liberal party.

“He was a very substantial radical,” Steel recalls, “especially on foreign policy, but also on issues of individual liberty. I admired him rather than liked him, but he was very charming, always fun to have around. He was not someone you warmed to. But until the end everyone was very loyal to him.

As well they might have been, given Thorpe’s early achievements as Liberal leader. When he succeeded Jo Grimond as leader in 1967, the party had 12 MPs and had won 2m votes at the previous election. Seven years later, in February 1974, Thorpe tripled the Liberal vote to more than 6m, though still with only 14 MPs, coming close to forming a coalition with Edward Heath’s Tories. But hubris lay just around the corner in the shape of his trial for conspiracy to murder his former lover Norman Scott.

As one might expect of someone who is portrayed in A Very English Scandal, Steel has been hooked on the series, the final episode of which will air on Sunday on BBC One at 9pm. “They have obviously compressed a lot of the story,” Steel says, “But the basic thrust of it is right. It’s reasonably accurate in most respects. And Hugh Grant is genuinely remarkable.”

Months ago, Grant got in touch with Steel to ask him for advice on the kind of person Thorpe was. The two men met at the House of Lords – exactly the sort of grand setting that recurs so plausibly in the series. During lunch in a dining room overlooking the Thames, Steel reminisced to Grant about the events of the 1970s and gave the actor some tips about Thorpe’s character and quirks, his ways of talking and behaving. Steel is delighted with the result. “Uncanny,” he says of Grant’s performance.

Steel also has his gripes, though they not political ones. Mainly they are about the cars that Thorpe drives in the series. “Jeremy drove a Humber Super Snipe, but they showed him in a Rover 3 litre. And in the second episode Thorpe is driving a white Triumph Stag when he sees Scott again. That should have been a white Rover 2000.”

 “That scene where I interview Scott at the House of Commons isn’t right either,” he continued. “Emlyn Hooson [played by Jason Watkins] wasn’t actually there at all. He had another commitment and asked me to stand in. It was just me and Scott. I went into the meeting thinking that Scott was going to complain about Peter Bessell [played by Alex Jennings]. It was only during the meeting that it became clear he was talking about Jeremy.”

Steel may have had a ringside seat at some of the political events as Thorpe fought to save his doomed career, but he is certainly not the only former Liberal who has been glued to the TV the past two Sundays and will be again on Sunday. “I’m pretty sure all Liberals are watching it,” says Paddy Ashdown, who succeeded Steel as leader and who was an aspiring MP during the Thorpe scandal. “But I think some of them have been dreading it.”

It is true that some of those old enough to remember Thorpe or who have connections with the real people depicted in the series, have been worried by the portrayals. Norman Scott, still living in Devon at the age of 78, could be one of them. But, just as Grant talked to Steel, so Ben Whishaw sought out Scott before the series got under way. Scott was worried that the series would be “a second trial”, but according to the Radio Times last month he was “very moved” by the results. “He was very pleased, he laughed and cried,” reported the director, Stephen Frears.

Alex Carlile, who followed Hooson as the Liberal MP for Montgomery, is less pleased. “I thought that the portrayal that [Watkins] was forced to give by the script was rather unfair to Emlyn,” he told the Shropshire Star. “He was portrayed as devious and conniving whereas in reality he was extremely frank and never underhand.” Carlile nevertheless joins enthusiastically in the chorus of praise for Grant’s portrayal of Thorpe.

“We looked on with incredulity,” recalls Tom McNally, now a Lib Dem peer but from 1974 to 1979 political secretary to Labour’s Jim Callaghan as foreign secretary and prime minister. “I sat in on meetings he held with Jim in the 1970s. He was very funny. A great mimic. But I was never remotely aware in any way of what was happening in his private life, and I’m not aware that Jim was either.”

Thorpe’s career never recovered from the trial, at which – spoiler alert – he was acquitted in 1979. He lost his parliamentary seat the same year. Developing Parkinson’s disease, he died in 2014. For a while, he haunted party events. Almost to the end, he would attend memorial services for former colleagues.

“He spent 30 years trying to persuade every successor as party leader – right up to Nick Clegg – to nominate him for the peerage he craved,” Steel recalls. But the peerage never came and was never going to come.

In his final years Steel visited Thorpe in his house in Orme Square, Bayswater. He was physically weak but still focused. “He was difficult to understand. He spoke through a little microphone thing.” Ashdown also recalls meeting Thorpe at a memorial service during those bleak later years. “I put my arm around his shoulders. He was just a bag of bones.”

A Very English Scandal concludes on Sunday at 9pm on BBC One


Genre   Drama
Based on             A Very English Scandal
by John Preston
Written by          Russell T Davies
Directed by        Stephen Frears
Starring
Hugh Grant
Ben Whishaw
Composer(s)     Murray Gold
Country of origin              United Kingdom
Original language(s)       English
No. of series      1
No. of episodes 3
Production
Executive producer(s)  
Dominic Treadwell-Collins
Graham Broadbent
Pete Czernin
Lucy Richer
Producer(s)       Dan Winch
Running time    56 minutes
Production company(s) Blueprint Television
Release
Original network             BBC One
Original release 20 May – 3 June 2018



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