Bridges of 2018

This is the regular end-of-year review of bridges seen through the camera lens in the last 12 months. The most spectacular bridge of 2018 was the Rendsburg Höchbrücke, described and illustrated here but visits to two other cities in Schleswig-Holstein were well supplied with bridges – Hamburg and Lübeck, from which examples are displayed below. Above is the single bridge from the British Isles – a swing-bridge seen in Ramsey on the Isle of Man. Follow this link to see the 2017 selection.

Christmas thoughts of a man ....

After last week’s news that the advertising watchdog is to crack down on sexist stereotypes here’s two examples of how it used to be done in the days when not an eyebrow was raised. There’s a seasonal flavour here as well as a strange symmetry in that both adverts feature three generations of females whose existence is entirely subordinate to the unchallenged patriarch. What could be more generous than the purchase of a labour-saving device to ease the burden of toil on the housekeeper? Sentimental, heartfelt tribute is paid to each individual – wife, mother and daughter – who gaze back at us from their respectful and dignified portraits. Each will be blessed with a new vacuum cleaner plus a little more free time to devote to the welfare of the bountiful head of household. Win, win. In the service of Max Factor, we have a trio of submissive females, lips puckered, awaiting the approval and osculatory advances of the unseen father figure, his customary odour of alcohol and tobacco wondrously masked by a generous application of Deodorant Cologne by Max Factor. Any woman knows what to expect when she gives him the best. In the interests of creating consumer demand, invoking sexist stereotypes was an easy fix in a time when gender hierarchies were carved in unassailable granite. Two generations of change may have passed since then but it’s not difficult to find tribunes of the people, desperate to preserve what remains of these hierarchies and find a way back to the ancient certainties.

 

Graphis 66 – Fortnum & Mason

This is an extract from the celebrated Swiss graphic arts magazine Graphis – issue 66, published in 1956. Charles Rosner tells the story of how the Piccadilly shop, Fortnum & Mason publicised its activities with a well chosen selection of distinguished graphic artists and illustrators. Rosner writes about how the store was adapting to the decline in its traditional markets brought about by the fading fortunes of the landed gentry and the loss of Britain’s Imperial possessions, using direct mail and elegantly designed publicity to broaden its appeal. After almost a decade of food rationing had recently come to an end, conspicuous consumption had to be made socially acceptable again. The era of post-war egalitarianism was coming to an end, disposable incomes were rising and there was no shame in lavish spending on luxury goods. It’s interesting that Edward Bawden became the first choice of illustrator. His inventive, humorous and gentle fantasies effortlessly create a sense of goodwill, relaxing the reader and making them feel good about treating themselves to the best that money can buy. Bawden was without equal in his ability to bring renewed vitality to the most mundane of objects and delight the eye with spritely forms, wonderfully defined in pattern and line. Today’s store still exists to serve a rich and exclusive clientele with food, drink and homeware at astronomic prices. In the present economic climate the shop should be busier than ever. As wealth continues to be siphoned upwards into the hands of the super-rich at an ever increasing rate, the ever expanding supply of high net worth individuals should be enough to keep the store busy for the foreseeable future. Follow this link to see a superb example of Bawden’s Fortnum & Mason work at the Alphabet of Illustrators.

Gwen White - Antique Toys and Their Background

Gwen White (1903-86) is an often overlooked book illustrator from the last century and she doesn’t even have the distinction of a Wikipedia page. Online references are few and far between with the honourable exception of the Alphabet of Illustrators where my old school pal, Chris Mullen has posted a comprehensive selection of her published work. Biographical information is hard to find – she was born Gwendolen Beatrice White in Exeter in 1902 or 1903 (sources vary), studied at Bournemouth School of Art and the Royal College of Art. Between 1933 and 1946 she was a regular illustrator of Enid Blyton books – not the highest accolade but a steady source of employment. In 1940 she contributed A Book of Toys to the prestigious King Penguin series. Later in the 50s she published two instruction manuals on the use of perspective and the development of pattern and several volumes on the subject of children’s toys of which this, dating from 1971, was the last.

For this book, Antique Toys and Their Background, she produced 8 colour plates and a double-sided illustrated dust wrapper. The illustrations have charm and humour but never an excess of sentiment and she proves to be an expert in the subtle art of arranging objects on a page. At first sight they appear anachronistic for the early 1970s – stylistically she absorbed next to nothing from the fashions of the 50s and 60s, yet her approach would be echoed by a new generation of illustrators later in the 70s (Ian Beck, Glynn Boyd Harte, George Hardie) who looked back to pre-war idioms as the mid-century style ran out of steam.

Brooke’s Great Monkey Show 1889

Exhibitions of monkeys were a regular attraction at London’s Alexandra Palace between 1889 and 1906. It all began with this leaflet announcing the first event, organised on behalf of Brooke’s Monkey Brand Soap. Untroubled by concerns about animal welfare, Brooke’s had conceived the idea in May of an exhibition of 1,000 monkeys to glorify their mundane product. Events moved swiftly in 1889 and a dealer in exotic animals, John D Hamlyn left a fascinating account of his efforts to procure such a prodigious number of specimens in just one month. London was the centre of Europe’s trade in monkeys and it would seem that every few days a ship would sail up the Thames with another cargo of assorted chimpanzees, baboons and rhesus monkeys. Hamlyn began to assemble his menagerie and with frequent trips to the docks and negotiations with ship’s captains and agents, the numbers quickly climbed. To achieve the final total, Hamlyn, accompanied by Mr. S Lee Bapty (General Manager, Alexandra Palace), raced around Europe buying specimens from the Jardin d’Acclimation in Paris and zoos in Antwerp, Rotterdam and Amsterdam. When the exhibition opened, there were 1,020 monkeys in place, fed, watered and ready to serve the interests of Brooke’s Monkey Brand Soap.

When the exhibition opened in June, it was the greatest number of monkeys ever assembled in a single venue. According to Hamlyn, five keepers were employed to care for the animals and although there were some deaths in captivity, mortality was, in his word, ordinary. An unappreciative family of Anubis baboons made their escape but were recaptured in the grounds, except for the adult female who got as far as the Portuguese Cemetery before being caught. The simian exhibits shared the spotlight with the musical attractions of Dan Godfrey’s Military Band and Mr. Gwyllym Crowe’s 600 Voice Choir. But we can be certain that despite the additional excitement of Baldwin and his Parachute, nobody would have left without the virtues of Monkey Brand Soap uppermost in their mind.

This is a welcome reappearance for our perky Victorian brand ambassador, last seen here in February 2012. On this occasion, the Monkey is off-stage but his frequent displays of servility were much to Victorian taste and the Monkey did not disappoint even when the extravagance of his obeisance suggested an insolent intent. We conclude with a few examples of simian versatility acquired since 2012. The figure of the indigent Monkey is especially inspirational today as he markets his abilities and takes control of his economic destiny.

Helgoland-Heligoland – a day trip

The German North Sea island of Helgoland, on the surface at least, shows no sign of being burdened by its glamorous and turbulent past. Almost all the physical evidence of its glory days as a fashionable summer resort for Northern Europe’s aristocratic families was erased, first by the Kaiser and later by the Third Reich. The spa, the luxury hotels with their casinos (Spielbanks), the aquarium and the grand villas were supplanted by military installations through two world wars. Anything still standing at the end of the conflict in 1945 was destroyed two years later by the British forces who detonated a mountain of captured explosives and ammunition in what was claimed to be the greatest ever non-nuclear explosion. A noisy and brutal exercise in finger wagging directed at German militarism.

The entire settlement had to be rebuilt after Germany regained control of the island in 1952. An architectural competition produced these vaguely modernist designs with pitched roofs, the islanders having campaigned without success, for a historically accurate reconstruction. The best aspect of the reconstruction was the specially devised colour scheme that draws on the tradition of Bruno Taut in Berlin. What would otherwise appear bland and repetitive is enhanced by the application of a bright and attractive colour palette. Elsewhere, retail activity is pressed into dreary shopping pedestrian precincts that wouldn’t look out of place in Stevenage. Nevertheless, there’s a thriving trade in duty-free goods, making use of the islanders’ longstanding privileged exemption and a regular flow of day-trippers from the mainland. And it seems to be an attractive destination for holidaymakers, a small army of whom were to be seen disembarking from the catamaran and piloting their wheelie suitcases toward their overnight accommodation. Guesthouses and small hotels all seemed to be doing good business.

The island is notoriously windswept with frequent, fierce gales battering the coastline in winter and summer alike. This served to intensify the Romantic sensibility that the island aroused in the hearts of 19th. century Germanic nationalists. It stood in defiance of the elements, immovable in the face of stupendous forces – a perfect analogy for the sentimental nationalist. In June of 2018 when I visited, high pressure seemed to have settled over the entire North Sea – immobile air sweltered under an overcast sky while nothing disturbed the flat, calm sea. At most, it’s a thirty minute walk from one end to the other along a coastal path that follows the craggy cliff top. The cliffs are high and host vast colonies of seabirds but there is no prospect that doesn’t include the concrete remnants of enormous coastal defences. On a hot and humid day with hundreds of visitors tramping the length and breadth of the island it was difficult to recapture any sense of the island’s turbulent past – the louche glamour of the vanished casinos, the luxurious indulgence of life in the grand hotels, the disruptive presence of massive military construction, the thunderous impact of serial detonations – all evaporated into the North Sea air.

There’s much to learn about this fascinating island. Jan Rüger’s 2017 book, Heligoland, tells the story lucidly and objectively with a keen eye for the multiple ironies and absurdities that run through the island’s history.

Postcard of the Day No. 94 – Tunbridge Wells Pantiles

Royal Tunbridge Wells to be absolutely correct. It’s one of those place names that’s synonymous with bourgeois respectability. A bastion of propriety in a world of depravity. Spiritual home of the Daily Telegraph reader and, when these postcards were on sale, a popular spa resort with an Opera House. At the centre of town is this Georgian colonnade and pedestrianised shopping street, named the Pantiles. Much photographed, often from the very same spot, it offered fashionable shops, galleries and restaurants, and an elegant space for gentle perambulation. It survives more or less intact, without much evidence of its former gentility, and can be visited on Streetview thus avoiding the need to travel to Kent. The five cards that share a single viewpoint also share a cast of characters – woman with small child/pram, a young man hungry for attention and various canine companions. The night scene is deeply unconvincing – a clumsy exercise in over-painting in which every window glows with an identical lurid shade. Only a local could confirm whether the residents of Tunbridge Wells continue to conduct themselves with such ostentatious dignity as they do in these scenes.