Readers of this blog and my book will know that I have an abiding interest in the lives of those who fought in the Great War. One particular aspect which has always aroused my deep compassion is the fate of those who survived, but were badly disfigured. Some lived as recluses for the rest of their lives, and others braved the looks of horror they encountered when venturing out in public.

There is a historic relationship between those injured and the skill, not only of surgical teams, but of artists too. The German artist Otto Dix was one of those who portrayed the unpalatable face of war that, while disturbing, allows us to look at an image which, in a photograph, is so much starker.

I have a copy of Ernst Friedrich's 1924 anti-war book Krieg dem Kriege. I have actually stuck a post-it note on the fly-leaf, inscribed 'Warning! Contains very graphic images', and I keep it on a high shelf as I would not want little ones to come across it while exploring our bookshelves. The photographs are shocking. It was Friedrich’s aim to bring to readers' attention the true cost of war. The only other place I’ve seen images like this is at the tatty profit-making private exhibition next to a cafe  near Ypres, behind which is a wood including what is  claimed to be  an original trench system. It has made a fortune for its owners, and is abhorred by the local museums, although some teachers leading trips prefer it, feeling it shows pupils something the others have sanitised.

I recently visited the Faces of the Great War exhibition at Hall Place in Bexley, Kent (and heard there a talk on a related subject: blog to follow).  The exhibition told the story of the pioneers of plastic surgery in Britain from the point of view of the medical staff led by New-Zealand born surgeon Harold Gillies and their patients, based at the Queen Mary Military Hospital in Sidcup, which opened in 1917. Gillies, who moved here from the Cambridge Military Hospital , was inspired by the pioneering skin graft French surgeon Hippolyte Morstin, and in the next World War, Gillies' cousin Archibald McIndoe went on to reconstruct the faces of badly burnt airmen at East Grinstead.

Gillies recruited leading artists, including Henry Tonks and sculptor Kathleen Scott, widow of Scott of the Antarctic, to help in the work of rebuilding the ruined faces of the severely-wounded.  More than 5,000 wounded men from Britain and its Empire came to Sidcup, and more than 11,000 operations were carried out.

Henry Tonks,  a trained surgeon himself, went on to become a celebrated Professor at the Slade School of Art. Gillies asked him to make a record of men's facial injuries which could be referenced for operations and subsequent recovery. Tonks chose to work in pastels, as it was a quick medium that could be easily blended with the finger, and he wanted the men to sit for the shortest time possible. Today, these pastels can be viewed, upon request, at the Hunterian Museum in London. A number had been loaned to Hall Place, and they were displayed in a curtained-off section, again with a warning that the images might disturb. If today, with all we can see on the media, this notice is still considered necessary, how much harder it must have been for those with disfigurements to step out from the safety of their hospital wards or homes. 

I found these portraits, accompanied by biographical detail, very touching. They included the following:
 
Private Robert Davidson, RAMC Orderly, was wounded in April 2016. He was initially reluctant to mix with his fellow patients, but after his discharge in 1919 he continued to work at the Queen Mary Hospital in Sidcup until the 1960s, having married Sidcup resident Alice Wise.

Private George J Stone, 1st Newfoundland Regiment, suffered a gunshot wound to the upper lip in France on the first day of the Battle of the Somme, 1 July 1916, aged 21. He contracted a severe infection six weeks after wounding, so his first operation was delayed until three months after the initial injury. He underwent six operations at the Cambridge Military Hospital, Aldershot and at Queen's Hospital, Sidcup. By August 1918, Private Stone declined any further treatment for facial injury, and returned home to Bell Island, off Newfoundland, to work as a machinist.

Private S Gardiner, a 35 year old New Zealander serving with the 7th Canterbury Regiment, suffered a gunshot wound on the First Day of the Somme which fractured his jaw. He underwent three operations, and ten months after his injury, surgeons tried to graft bone to bridge the gap in his jawbone. Because he lacked teeth, the wound didn't heal properly, and the graft was removed. In 1950, Gardiner returned to visit Gillies in the UK, reporting that six of his seven sons had served in the Second World War, all returning to NZ with their jaws intact.

Sadly, Lieutenant Dudley Grinlington, of the 48th Battalion of the Australian Imperial Force, did not fare so well. He was admitted to the Cambridge Military Hospital, Aldershot, in August 1916 after a gunshot wound to his left cheek nine days earlier. Discharged in March 1917, he returned to active service and was killed in action on 17 October during the Battle of Passchendaele. Having been shot in the knee, he perished, in the same casualty clearing station he had passed through a year earlier. He is buried in Nine Elms Military Cemetery, near Poperinghe.

The exhibition was curated with a sure, light touch - not overwhelming or overstuffed. I was glad to see and learn of some new things, among them:

The GRI Silver badge, first issued in 1916, was worn by those not able to fight: discharged owing to wounds, ill-health, or had reached the age of 51. Hopefully these helped to fend off the advances of the white-feather brigade...

Steel helmets were not standard issue to soldiers until 1916; before that they had soft caps.

Blue benches were provided along the road from St Mary's hospital to the village of  Sidcup exclusively for recovering patients to sit on when out for a walk, which could be avoided, presumably, by more squeamish local residents (though many treated the soldiers with great kindness).

Ironically, the MG08 machine-gun, which could fire up to 400 rounds per minute, and was used by the German Army in WW1, was an adaptation of Hiram Maxim's original 1884 Maxim Gun, manufactured in Crayford (6 miles from Queen Mary's Hospital)  by Vickers at the time when Maxim was resident in Bexley.
 
 
Further reading:

Krieg dem Kriege: Ernst Friedrich - Deutsche Verlags-Anstalt, Munchen (reprinted 2004)

My Dear, I Wanted to Tell You by Louisa Young (grand-daughter of Kathleen Scott)
A wonderful novel which I also learnt from.
​
War, Art & Surgery: The Work of Henry Tonks and Julia Midgley (Ed. Samuel JMM Alberti, Royal College of Surgeons, 2014)

Related Links:

The Tonks Pastels  (Please note: graphic images)
http://www.gilliesarchives.org.uk/tonkspastels.htm

Otto Dix - article with images from The Guardian
https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/gallery/2014/may/14/art-apocalypse-otto-dix-first-world-war-der-krieg-in-pictures

Vickers Factory, Crayford
http://www.crayfordhistory.co.uk/index/history-of-vickers-crayford/

There were lots of things that scared the hell out of me when I was little: earthquakes, tidal waves, volcanoes, tarantulas, and then perhaps the more likely things, in our corner of Kent, like the idea occurring to me of my mother dying. Then there were the books and pictures I came across on the shelves around the house. One of these which left a lasting impression was a volume of Hieronymus Bosch paintings - scenes of giant men cut in half with little demons sticking pitchforks into them. They held a horrible fascination for me.

When on a walking holiday in the Wildschonau in the Austrian Tyrol this summer, I popped into a small chapel at the side of the parish church in Oberau and found a series of truly gruesome depictions of the hell that awaited unrepentant sinners. Blimey, I bet these kept the congregation in line!

But for all the representations of the Devil and his works that mankind has pictured, surely the only true manifestation of evil on our beautiful planet is when human self-will runs riot. Events in the world so far this year have led many of us to wring our hands in despair -“What can we do about it?” But surely, each of us can do something, however small, each day, right now. For example, the Romanian nurse who, though very busy, gave her full attention to kindly soothing and aiding my mother yesterday when Mum, suffering from a chest infection, couldn’t breathe properly. 

It always surprises me when people say that if there is a God, how can he let things like famine, war, natural disasters and pestilence happen? Well, disasters and disease are part of the natural world, surely, and as for the other two - it’s not a Higher Being, surely, who hoards more food than he needs, who adjusts the price on the market so he can get a higher profit, or appropriates more than her fair share?

​Just saying.

We recently visited Eltham Palace for the first time - a birthday treat for the pot and pan - with our son, daughter-in-law and baby grand-daughter. It was a lovely summer’s day, and the beautiful grounds around the old palace and its adjoining 1930s house were full of happy visitors - other multi-generational families were having fun too, listening to jazz on the lawn, or with kids playing in the adventure playground next to the cafe, relaxing and enjoying the  cameraderie of their fellow human beings.

There is something for everyone here: mediaeval architecture, 1930s modernist style, unusual garden plants, and in the distance a wonderful panoramic view of London - from Alexandra Palace across to the City, with many of its famous landmarks clearly depicted against the skyline. When Stephen and Virginia Courtauld had their 1930s Art Deco mansion built, incorporating the Great Hall where Henry VIII and his forebears once resided, there were critics abounding, but today, since its restoration by English Heritage after the Army Education Corps vacated the premises in 1992, most of its visitors would no doubt agree it is a splendid house.

Having both recently read William Woodruff’s wonderful memoir The Road to Nab End, it struck us, seeing the opulence here of a house created by its millionaire owners, with money no object, that there was, of course, another vastly different side to life in 1930s Britain. I urge you to read his book if you haven’t yet. It will remind you of what has been achieved in the last eighty years, and what we stand to lose if we are not careful...

Wandering out into the sunshine, we wondered what the strange-looking berries were on the tree at the end of the lawn. They looked like large, luscious raspberries crossed with blackberries. We had the good fortune at this point to bump into an Iranian family, who explained that they were mulberries; the family told us they had, on various outings in and around London, mapped most of its mulberry trees. I love this kind of serendipitous encounter, all the more so on this occasion, after discovering we were fellow bloggers, making the acquaintance of Mehrdad Aref-Adib, whose websites are treasure-houses, boxes of delights, which will bear many hours of happy browsing!

www.aref-adib.com
www.shahrefarang.com
  

I popped down to Yeovil last week for a couple of days, and was delighted to see that the trees by the Library in King George Street had been poetry-bombed! Notices attached to the nearby benches explained that this was organised by Yeovil in Bloom - Words in the Street, whereby residents in South Somerset were invited to write a short poem or phrase about what nature meant to them.

There were too some wonderfully planted beds, a mixture of flowers and vegetables, by the Church of St John the Baptist in the centre of town, where my co-workers and I sat and ate our lunch  on the lawn enjoying the August sunshine.

Later that evening a further blooming of 21st Century culture manifested itself near the Library - crowds of youngsters with their faces lit by mobile phone screens, playing Pokemon.

“I thought you were supposed to walk round catching them on your phone?” I asked a colleague.

“Apparently, there’s a Pokemon gym here where you can fight other people.”

You learn something every day!

(I see, thanks to my friend Google, that there is an active Community Arts Association in Yeovil, so I look forward to attending some of their events on future visits.)

www.yeovilarts.co.uk

My son is an artist and an art teacher, and one of his favourite artists is Pieter Brueghel  the Elder. We both love the painting entitled Children’s Games, and much enjoy identifying the different activities.

When I worked at a large girls’ school which boasted an excellent library, I was known by the librarians for checking out the weighty tomes which, more often than not, no pupil or indeed teacher had ever borrowed. One such book was the acclaimed study by Iona & Peter Opie, The Lore and Language of Schoolchildren, which took me weeks to plough through, but not without reward!  One of the things that interested me was their conclusion that the learning of  games in the main by-passes adults: it is mostly children who communicate and pass them on to other children.

When I was a girl, it was fashionable to hold seances, and I remember the time I set up a circle of letters round a glass in my older sister’s bedroom (most of the family were out), and I and two cousins began to summon the spirits. As the glass started to move we rose as one and fled screaming from the room! Later in life I met a 1960s alumna of above school who recalled the time when a seance had been organised in one of the dormitories.

“Is there anybody there?” was asked.

At this, the glass began to move, and after affirming that there was, spelt out the word F-I-R-E. Seconds later, the school fire-bell went off, and it transpired that at that moment a fire had been discovered in the Domestic Science block, formerly the great house’s stables. Needless to say, the girls were terrified, and the story spread round the school rapidly. The Bishop of Dover was summoned by the Headmistress and spoke at Assembly the following Sunday on the evils of tampering with the dark arts of the Ungodly.

Reading Pepys’ Diary last night, I was delighted to come across a mention of a lunch-time game we played at Tunbridge Wells Grammar School in the late 1960s/early 1970s, which was clearly being played by children at least 400 years earlier. I recall six of us standing around another girl, who lay on a table in the empty art room. We went round the circle, ceremoniously uttering in turn the words:

“She looks pale.” This was followed, one line at a time, and each reciting by rote, by the following:

“She is pale.”

“She looks ill.”

“She is ill.”

“She looks dead.”

“She is dead.”

And with this, we each slipped one forefinger under the prone girl and, together, lifted her several feet in the air with seemingly no effort at all, as if she was weightless.  We had no idea how it worked, but it did work, and it afforded us great satisfaction!

So when I came across Pepys’ entry for 31 July 1665, I called out to my husband: “Listen to this!” (he had also, I knew, played the game at school):

This evening with Mr Brisband speaking of inchantments and spells, I telling him some of my Charmes, he told me this of his own knowledge at Bourdeaux in France. The words these:

Voicy un Corps mort
Royde comme un Baston
Froid comme Marbre
Leger comme un Esprit
Levons te au nom de Jesus Christ.

He saw four little Girles, very young ones, all kneeling, each of them upon one knee; and one begin the first line, whispering in the care of the next, and the second to the third, and the third to the fourth, and she to the first. Then the first begun the second line, and so round quite through. And putting each one finger only to a boy that lay flat upon his back on the ground, as if he was dead. At the end of the words they did with their four fingers raise this boy as high as they could reach. And he being there and wondering at it (as also being afeared to see it - for they would have had him to have bore a part in saying the words in the room of one of the little girls, that was so young that they could hardly make her learn to repeat the words), did, for fear there might be some sleight used in it by the boy, or that the boy might be light, called the cook of the house, as Sir G. Carteret’s Cooke, who is very big, and they did raise him in just the same manner.
 
Fascinating, eh? Love to hear from any of you with your experiences and stories about children’s games - comments welcome!

Some years back an elderly lady who was moving into sheltered accommodation made me a present of three lovely gifts: a Himalayan blackberry briar from her garden, a vintage Creda Debonair spin-dryer, and a complete set of the Latham/Matthews version of The Diary of Samuel Pepys in hardback (ten volumes including Companion and Index).

My bedtime routine includes writing a diary, followed by a nightly dip into Mr Pepys’s - I’m currently up to July 1665,with the Plague building to a crescendo.

I’ve a few things in common with Samuel, I find. I hope, for instance, that I might be distantly related to his clerk, Mr Thomas Hayter, whose character, the Companion informs me “seems to declare itself in his neat and regular handwriting”. I lived for some years in both Islington and Hackney,  Pepys’s favourite summer jaunt , and may have cycled past some of his childhood haunts in Kingsland and Newington. We were both born under the sign of Pisces, love London, art, music, reading, and derive great pleasure from the execution of an administrative task well done! Were he alive today, I think Samuel would have been tickled to know that George Frederick Handel, another devoted Londoner, was born on his 52nd birthday. I hope he would also relish, as I do, the sea-stories of Patrick O’Brian featuring Captain Jack Aubrey & Stephen Maturin.

One of my birthday treats this year was a visit to the National Maritime Museum to see their exhibition: Samuel Pepys: Plague, Fire, Revolution. I love the NMM in its beautiful setting, with the Royal Observatory above on the hill. It never fails to touch me when I walk past the model of the Rawalpindi on the way in, and remember the fate of those who died in her in World War 2, including  a man from the town where I live.

I was a little bemused initially by the half-light in the exhibition rooms (emulating 17th century light levels ?), but it was great to see the many artefacts and portraits on display, including the John Hayls portrait of Pepys. I loved the large slipware plate which commemorated the Boscobel oak in which Charles II hid after his defeat at the Battle of Worcester in 1651 (am I mistaken in recalling that the tomb of his companion on that day, Richard Penderel, was located in St Giles’ Churchyard off London’s Denmark Street? Last time I went there I found the lettering so eroded, it could no longer be read).

The engraving of a man being prepared for the surgical removal of a kidney stone was twingingly graphic, the medical instruments displayed even more so! The stark digital presentation of the numbers who died during the time of Plague showed  how shocking the mounting death levels must have been, peaking, in August and September 1665, in  over 7,000 per week in London alone. I was prompted, on my return home, to download the Kindle version of Daniel Defoe’s A Journal of the Plague Year for further reading!

Pepys’ diary, together with documenting the great dramas of life, recording historic events and encounters with the great and the good, also brings home the truth that people from earlier centuries shared similar concerns with our own: worries about job prospects, upsetting the boss, financial insecurity, family squabbles, aging parents, marital tiffs, overspending, aches and pains, and (for we churchgoers) the occasional boring sermon, etc! There was a reproduction in the exhibition of a large group portrait showing a visit to Christ’s Hospital of the King and courtiers, with Pepys (a Governor of the School) perusing a map. It included  some charming detail depicting schoolchildren doing the things children  do - and being ticked off in the same way they presumably have been since time immemorial!

Pepys dearly loved having family and friends over for a meal and a good time, and the day after our visit we enjoyed a jolly get-together. We were very merry, in true Pepys fashion, and, amazingly in this smartphone age, we realised, once everyone had gone, that no-one had taken the now almost obligatory photo for Facebook, so only fond memories and my diary must stand as a record of the occasion. I feel glad for that too!

The exhibition has left me determined to take a trip some time to Magdalene College, Cambridge to see Pepys’s library, and another to the Historic Dockyard at Chatham. In the meantime, for those of you who might like to see the Exhibition at Greenwich, it closes at the end of this week on 28 March - so hurry if you want to catch it!

I was thrilled to have the chance to meet French visual artist known as Delit Maille from Lille (her nom de plume is a play on the Daily Mail newspaper title) at the World Travel Market last week, and to have a tour with her of the 540 knitted soldiers lined up, as if they were marching, part of the Wool War One art installation (there are 750 soldiers in total), originally commissioned for an exhibition at La Piscine Museum, Roubaix, dedicated to remembrance of the First World War.

The artist had initially declined the invitation to contribute a piece to the exhibition. Part of her work, which, as a writer and artist, she sees as an aspect of her desire to tell stories, is knitting a response to what’s happening on the news. She felt that the First World War was too serious a subject for her to address, but, after an extensive tour visiting the War Cemeteries in the Somme, she was moved and inspired to accept the offer.

Maille appealed, via her blog delitmail.blogspot.com, for help from interested volunteers  in the task of  knitting a collection of miniature soldiers representing the French War Dead, but quickly realised that there was a desire from many to include their own lost countrymen, and subsequently enlisted 500 knitters out of around 1500 volunteers  from around the world, including France, Germany, Great Britain, China, India, Newfoundland and Belgium.

Each knitter received a pack in the post including patterns and wool, and a request for a specific piece of uniform - coats, hats, trousers, rucksacks;  an average of ten knitters worked on each soldier. Maille supervised the knitting of the soldiers themselves which were made locally, and also met and knitted with volunteers across France (at events named Woolstock), at which they discussed what the work would mean to them. Finally she assembled the soldiers.

One line of  figures represents the men from Newfoundland. Maille told me she was particularly touched, on visiting the Beaumont Hamel Memorial Park, 9k from Albert, to learn what had happened to them. On the first day of the Battle of the Somme, no unit suffered heavier losses than the Newfoundland Regiment. They had gone into action 801 strong; roll call the next day revealed that the final figures were 233 killed or dead of wounds, 386 wounded, and 91 missing. Every officer who went forward in the Newfoundland attack was killed or wounded. Young Canadian volunteers  spend a year guiding visitors around the Park, telling  the men’s stories. I promised to send Maille details of one more brave Newfoundlander, George Furey. Who knows, it may move her to knit the story of George and HMS Firedrake.

When our son was small we didn’t have funds for theme parks, but we had no regrets about that - we had long, interesting walks together, played board games, enjoyed family meals with conversations about our days, and, of course, visited museums! Our idea of an excellent time was seeing Stonehenge, Avebury Circle and Silbury Hill over one weekend!

My parents-in-law did take us to Blackpool for a weekend, and we went up the Tower and thrilled to the acrobatic acts in the circus, but we didn't fancy the big rides. Even when I was small I wasn’t too keen on the Dive-Bomber or rollercoasters, though I was always up for the Dodgems. These days my limit is a turn on the Big Wheel or a whizz round on the Chairplanes!

No surprise then that my only visit to the best-known Paris theme Park (fronted by that world famous mouse!) was not a standard experience. If you don’t go on any of the rides you’re left with watching parents trailing overtired kids on a sugar-high looking for the costume characters, occasionally seen hiding round the back of buildings with their heads off, having a sly Gauloise! My favourite bit was watching house-martins flying in and out of their nests on the walls of the nearby TGV station...

I have, however, wanted to visit Futuroscope, in Poitiers, for a while, so was pleased to be offered a short trip there recently. We travelled by train, so some quality time for catching up on reading! We arrived in time for the evening laser show, Lady O, which takes place at the lake in the middle of the park. We sat on the open-air amphitheatre seats in the warm southern air, with a large enthusiastic crowd of all ages, and watched the spectacular display of light and music, relating a story about nature versus machines. Futuroscope is in a beautiful  setting, and has a uniquely French feel to it, with modernistic buildings, sculptures, and tastefully planted flowers beds and borders with aromatic Mediterranean shrubs, which waft their fragrance as you walk past. There are some lovely touches, like the softly-glowing red globes hanging high up among the branches of trees in the evening. When I described the large abstract sculptures of outsize females to my son he correctly identified them as works by the French artist Niki de Saint Phalle. Fun and culture, what's not to like?

The rides include Dancing with Robots, where some of our party (non merci!) were whirled around by a giant robot arm to music by Martin Solveig in dance-club lighting, and plenty of 3D simulator experiences. We laughed a lot on the Time-Machine ride, which features Les Lapins Chretins (the crazy rabbits), not least while queuing for entry, where the walls are covered with versions of famous paintings featuring aforementioned crazy rabbits,  which included Munch’s The Scream and Botticelli’s Venus Rising from the Sea. This is just one example of the wit and  imagination that characterises the whole park. I tried one more ride, but it was all a bit too much for me, and I sat on one of the static seats at the side for Arthur, the 4D Adventure! Our guide quipped that a lot of teenagers  consider themselves cheated if they don’t feel queasy after a ride...  There are also some great open-air play areas and games in Children’s World, which I’m certain it would be hard to drag younger family members away from.

My personal favourites were the IMAX films, which I’d also been looking forward to most: Cosmic Collisions,  and Deep Sea. It was really relaxing to sink into the comfy seats in the dark and become immersed in stunning, narrated films about outer space and  the ocean depths - an opportunity to see things I’m unlikely to experience in the flesh. I learnt that our moon was formed in just 4 weeks from the debris which circled Earth after a massive asteriod collided with our planet. Always nice to find out new things, and  be reminded of our place in a huge universe!

I hope to go back to Futuroscope - there are always new things being developed, and I’d really like  to see the rest of the park, particularly Mission Hubble, where visitors join the rescue mission to repair the Hubble space telescope, and Journey into the Dark, where blind guides take you through three areas in the dark, which give you a sense of what it is like to make your way without sight - from the Louisiana bayou to New York city, and up to the highest Himalayan peak. This last is the only attraction in the park which incurs a cost - a requested donation of 5 euros per person which goes to charities aiding the visually-impaired.

​

When I was offered an opportunity to join a group tour round BBC Broadcasting House I jumped at the chance! I am an avowed supporter of our national public service broadcaster, and was keen to see how old Broadcasting House had been merged with a stunning new building, just two years old.

We started off in the Media Cafe, where Head Chef Tony showed us some of the new dishes being developed for groups visiting the BBC. I can say, hand on heart, that my Scotch egg was the best I have ever eaten,  and the beetroot humous was to die for - all the dishes were incredibly tasty, freshly made and good value.

There’s a shop for handy Christmas-stocking fillers and that elusive Dad present, and a life-size Dalek and Dr Who telephone box plus an Eastenders backdrop for die-hard fans. Our guides were superb - witty, informed, clearly spoken, and with just enough anecdote to entertain rather than overload. We looked down on the huge floor below, full of journalists working at desks, with screens loaded with incoming news stories (photos not allowed here), and over to the right, the BBC News studio familiar to viewers. On our left one of the weather forecasters was speaking live to an unmanned camera. These weather-warriors are the only people who speak without an autocue - a feat of memory and nerve. We spotted Gavin Esler chatting to a colleague, and Fiona Bruce checking her report before going live later. The integration of the World Service means that when there is a crisis, as with Russia and Ukraine lately, country experts can be brought into the studio very quickly.  And at the back of this floor are the desks that deal with photos and reports being sent in by the public - a recent development but valued by the BBC.

We went on to see the beautiful piazza, with a cafe on one side and, at the end, All Souls Chuch and the Langham Hotel. Apparently, celebrities staying at the Langham sometimes travel by car to arrive at the One Show studio for an interview, because of the waiting autograph-hunters. Lady Gaga recently took half an hour to reach the studio as she greeted fans in the intervening few hundred yards! We saw the studio, sat on the famous green sofa, and were then led on to the BBC Radio Theatre before being given an opportunity to take part in a mock-up news broadcast and radio play.

The original Broadcasting House was completed in 1932, and the Art-Deco reception was completed in 1939. I wonder if my father walked through it that year? I have a photo of him recording a show called Time to Laugh, 9 June 1939,* less than three months before Britain went to war on 3 September. The microphone is a pre-cursor of the iconic BBC version, created in 1934. Our guide told us of some of the history of the BBC, and how many world leaders, writers, artists, and musicians have passed through its doors, apart from all the hard-working employees that have contributed to our listening experience. In a nice connecting thread, Eric Gill, the artist who sculpted the statue on the front of Broadcasting House, also created the font which is now used in the BBC’s logo.

I believe that a visitor of any age would love this tour - schoolchild to nonagenarian - from the historical nostalgic parts to cutting edge new technology. One of our group had been round BBC Television Centre in the past, and half expected this tour, covering BBC News and Radio to be comparatively dull, but on the contrary, she found it fascinating. BBC TV may be spread throughout the regions (tours available at these centres too), but there still beats the original heart of the Corporation at Portland Place - Auntie is alive and well!

The tours are there to offer the British people an opportunity to see how the licence fee is spent delivering unparalleled multi-media news and radio entertainment (plus the One Show, of course!). Tourists are welcome too, of course. There are many around the world who have benefited from the BBC World Service, and there are large numbers of fans in our English-language-Big-Brother the USA who highly value the unique voice of BBC Radio. The BBC website is also a rich cornucopia of resources. I know millions of us rely on and trust the BBC, more than any other organisation, to tell us what is happening in the world with a high a degree of accuracy.

If you care about our BBC,  please do pick up your pen, mouse, or phone and take just a little bit of your time to give our government your views. We are in danger of allowing apathy to contribute to a sad diminishment of this great and hugely important part of our national culture - For what to do about it, see the Save our BBC website  -  saveourbbc.net  Please act before it’s too late!

*Presented by Van Phillips with James Hayter 
Vera Lennox 
Maurice Denham 
George Adam 
Helen Clare 
Van Phillips and his two 
Orchestras 
Orchestrations by Van Phillips. and Alf Ralston  
Produced by Vernon Harris