A window on the world

 

When I was a lass back in the 1870s, television was a wonderful and mysterious world apart. At our house, we didn’t have one. All my friends did and when I went over to their houses to play, we would sit down and watch the children’s programmes until it was time for the boring old news which signalled home time. We lived at the top of a cul-de-sac in the middle of the village. When my parents got married, my grandmother accompanied my mother down from Glasgow to Essex, where she set up home in a flat at the bottom of her road. I was the eldest (and first) grandchild and Nana is inextricably linked with my very earliest memories. By the time I was seven, it was considered safe for me to walk down the road and knock on Nana’s door, shouting, “It’s me!” through the letterbox.

Younger readers will be baffled, but back then, black and white TVs were more brown and white. Nana had a vast Bush set which sat majestically on a rosewood table in her front room. Every day in the school holidays and every Saturday tea time, I’d walk down to her flat and we’d watch TV together. It was great. We could choose from BBC1, BBC2 or ITV. That was it. The TV took a little while to warm up. You turned it on and after a little while, the picture and sound would catch up with themselves. Meantime, Nana would be making a hot drink in her little kitchen. We watched Tarzan films, the 1930s Flash Gordon series with its dopey hero facing up to his arch enemy, Ming the Merciless of Mongo, Laurel and Hardy, Wacky Races, Saturday Night at the Movies, dramas, comedies and the last gasp of the variety shows. When it was time to go home, I’d turn the set off and watch, fascinated, as the picture dwindled to a tiny white dot before finally disappearing.

In 2020, that world seems a lifetime away. Thousands of shows are available at the touch of a button. We introduced our children to one of our favourite programmes, “Frasier” a few months ago and threw them completely by putting a video on. “Is this what you used to do?” they enquired, confused by the whirring sounds and poor quality. “Why didn’t you just stream?” I’m old enough to remember when the first VCRs came out, vast and chunky. They were hailed as technological marvels.

Anyway, back to the present. I was wondering what to write about this week. My friends Deborah and Georgie suggested some of the recent adaptations of classic books for the screen so that’s the direction I’ve taken. 

Ever since lockdown 1.0, I’ve been watching a lot more television than usual. And darn, it’s been good. I’ve noticed that a lot of it is written by, directed by and starring more women than I’ve been used to seeing. Growing up, women were there (mostly, not always) as decoration. Busty nurses helping Young Mr Grace in, “Are You Being Served?” glamorous hostesses on, “Sale of the Century” and dancers in the background of variety shows.

This year, I’ve watched with joy as women move to the forefront of entertainment. That’s how it looks to me, anyhow. I’ve just finished watching, “The Queen’s Gambit” and who knew chess could be that gripping? I’ve asked for the novel for Christmas. “Life” on BBC1 with the redoubtable Alison Steadman was a treat, leading me to shout, “Peter, you idiot!” several times at the screen. It all ended up OK, but it was a close thing. I also loved, “Roadkill”, the Sunday evening BBC1 drama series, all shades of grey and badly lit offices full of civil servants. Great music, Hugh Laurie being a cad and lots of strong women, including a cameo from Patricia Hodge as a newspaper owner who got to threaten Pip Torrens. And you don’t see that every day.

Over the years, I’ve watched my fair share of classic serials, but those clunky ones from the 1970s and 1980s with wobbly scenery and costumes recycled from previous productions have been replaced with glossy, slick, well-resourced programmes on well-known streaming services. 

I settled down to watch, “Rebecca” with great excitement, as it’s one of my favourite novels. I couldn’t fault the scenery or the costumes, but there was a hollowness at its heart, a lack of true menace that disappointed me. Perky young Lily James was far too pretty to be a good Mrs de Winter mark two. Where was the lank hair and the limp cardigan? Mrs van Hopper, on the other hand, was a triumph. When Max de Winter appeared, sporting a range of eye-catching suits, he was extremely easy on the eye, but far too young and – well, nice – to be the brooding, violent, secretive anti-hero of the book. Once we reached Manderley, however, and met Mrs Danvers, the true star of the piece was revealed. Tight-lipped, clad in chic black and seemingly omnipresent, Kristin Scott Thomas played her in trademark glacial style. Her red lipstick was the warmest thing about her. I was truly sorry to see her plunge into the sea after a dramatic clifftop confrontation. 

We’d never heard of box sets back in the days of the giant brown and white telly. Now, they’re part of the language and bingeing is something we’ve probably all being doing over lockdown. Recently, I even found myself addressing my 89-year-old mother in a loud clear voice: “Now, this is called a BOX SET. I will get it going and you can sit here and BINGE. That means you don’t have to press anything; it will carry on AUTOMATICALLY. Would you like a cup of TEA?” I got her hooked on, “The Crown”, and as someone who can remember exactly what was going on in 1936 (“Of course, her father always spoiled Margaret, and we were all black affronted when that American besom[1] ran off with the King”), she was able to provide a running commentary on each episode.

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[1] Scottish dialect word meaning a hussy, amongst other things

I don’t know what Nana would think about some of the programmes I watch nowadays, but something tells me she’d love a box set with a nice cup of tea. Somewhere on the far reaches of YouTube or Netflix, you can probably still find Flash Gordon trying to save his boring girlfriend while being vamped by Princess Aura, Laurel and Hardy falling down stairs and trying to move pianos and Johnny Weissmuller swinging through the trees in a tailored pair of leather shorts. I should probably have a look some time. But for now, I’m off to carry on binge-watching Series 4 of, “The Crown” along with the rest of the nation. 

Happy watching!

[1] Scottish dialect word meaning a hussy, amongst other things

Images by Unsplash

Ruth is a freelance writer and novelist. She is married with three children, one husband, four budgies, six quail, eight chickens and a kitten. Her first novel, “The Diary of Isabella M Smugge”, published by Instant Apostle, comes out in February 2021. She writes for a number of small businesses and charities and blogs at Big Words and Made Up Stories. Ruth is a recovering over-achiever who is now able to do the school run in her onesie most days. She has abnormally narrow sinuses and a morbid fear of raw tomatoes, but has decided not to let this get in the way of a meaningful life. You can find her on Instagram and Twitter at ruththewriter1.