Leeds City Museum

Having lived in Leeds for three years, and never got round to visiting the Leeds City Museum, I felt that I should take the opportunity to have a look round before I left University – it was certainly worth the trip. The Ancient Worlds section of the Museum seems slightly confused, although during my visit this wasn’t helped by the numerous school children running around noisily. Roman, Greek and Egyptian artefacts are presented together in displays organised by theme, and this leads to these diverse artefacts appearing as if they are geographically and chronologically homogeneous. However, the limited space allocated to this exhibition would make it a challenge to cover any of these areas in more detail. When I visited there was an excellent exhibition, Pharaoh: King of Egypt, which the British Museum is touring. This contained some beautiful objects accompanied by informative display boards.

My favourite area of the museum is “The Leeds Story”. This highly engaging exhibition has a good balance between child-friendly interactive displays, information boards and interesting artefacts. While it documents the history of Leeds from pre-history to the modern day it is the more recent history that I found most absorbing. While all artefacts represent an individual story, the later section of the exhibition uses pieces amazingly effectively as representations of more general phenomena. The displays are flanked by period photographs which add to the atmosphere. Perhaps the more recent nature of these objects, some of them from within living memory, makes it easier to empathise with their owners, especially as many people will already have a basic knowledge of subjects such as the Suffragettes and World War Two.

The sampler sewn by 10-year-old Mary Park in 1858 in memory of her brother is a moving insight into one family’s tragedy. Mary urges,

“Dear Parents do not Grieve

But Rather ReJoice

That the Hour Draws Nigh

When I Shall Have

No More Pain No More Sorrow”.

This poignant passage seems incongruous, surrounded as it is by traditional sampler features such as the alphabet. As well as telling the story of one family, the sampler is also indicative of conditions in Leeds at this time; beside this sampler we are informed that in 1867 1 in 5 children did not reach their first birthday.

The display on Leonora Cohen, a Leeds suffragette, is fascinating. In 1913 she smashed a case at the Tower of London, “in protest against the Government’s treachery to the working women of Great Britain”. The display features documents from her trial, in which she successfully conducted her own defence. Alongside the more standard exhibits such as a suffragette sash and tea set there are also some more intriguing items, such as Leonora’s fancy dress costume which comprises a gaudy dress complete with prison warder doll.

The items I found most poignant were a photo of Arthur Louis Aaron VC, DFM (1922-1943) alongside the citation and letter from Air Chief Marshall Sir Arthur Harris to Aaron’s parents.  The citation describes how Aaron was severely wounded while piloting his aircraft but insisted on struggling to first pilot, and then instruct, his colleague to pilot the plane as they returned to England and landed safely. The exertion of this led Aaron’s injuries to be fatal. Sir Arthur tells Aaron’s parents that “In my opinion never, even in the annals of the Royal Air Force, has the Victoria Cross been awarded for skill, determination and courage in the face of the enemy of a higher order than that displayed by your son on his last flight”. The photo of the 21-year-old pilot in his uniform brings home the youth of many of those who demonstrated such bravery during the War. As with Mary’s sampler, this personal tragedy is representative of the fate of thousands of men. The enormity of the numbers who died is hard to comprehend. In making history personal, this photo and letter are in some ways more moving than the most extreme casualty statistics.

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Still in the Best Possible Taste

The upper class are fraying at the edges; as Grayson Perry this week looks at upper-class taste, he discovers that its major components are age and dishevelment. The reasons for this are manifold. As Lady Bathurst points out when asked to identify which car belonged to the poshest person, “the posher the person, the less they have to prove”. Yet the Cliffords ascribe their shabbiness to inverted snobbery – it’s cool to wear their parents’ and grandparents’ clothes. Furthermore, they have been brought up with ideas of responsibility to their family, their taste an ancestral legacy. Unlike the middle classes of last week’s programme, the upper class seem to be less focussed on what others think of their taste and more concerned with preserving what they’ve inherited.

To counter these demands of inherited taste, Charles Berkley and his young family have moved to a (still quite grand) house on their estate rather than live in the ancestral pile. Here they can implement their own taste, rather than have that of their ancestors forced upon them. More drastically, the 7th Marquess of Bath has rebelled against upper-class taste by covering one wing of his house in his own, quite gaudy, artwork. He describes himself as part of the bohemian set, and Perry also visits Detmar Blow, an art connoisseur who clearly identifies himself as belonging to this group. He “wants the beauty”, and has surrounded himself by art and artists. Yet Perry suggests that this idea of “bohemia” is in itself nostalgic, harking back to a rose-tinted 1920s ideal.

The family at Chavenage House demonstrate that shabby chic can be a necessity rather than a style choice; they ration hot water but it still costs £80,000 a year to run their home. The daughter suggests that in 100 years very few country houses will still contain the same families as they do now. They will perhaps be filled with people like Lisa Maxwell from The Bill, who we see renovating one of these houses. She is making drastic changes to the house, knocking down walls, and seems completely bewildered at the fact that the previous owners didn’t have a telly. While I’m not sure I agree with her idea of attaching a large glass cube to the rear of the building, it seems that increasingly it will be people like Lisa who are owning and renovating these large houses.

Perry meets historian Amanda Vickery, who describes how the eighteenth-century upper class didn’t mind adopting new money into their class to sustain their wealth, and used taste as a direct statement of their money and power. While the Georgian aristocracy had the resources to complete grand redecoration projects, a large part of the modern upper class are struggling just to maintain their houses. It seems that as the upper class preserve the ancient decoration in their houses they are not only trying to honour their ancestors’ taste but also to recapture a little of the aristocracy’s glory years.

West End on Film

The BBC 4 documentary London on Film is a compilation of fascinating archive footage of London spanning 100 years, giving an intriguing insight into London across the eras. The first episode focuses on the West End and features evocative footage alongside that of more mundane scenes. We see Covent Garden when it was still packed with fruit and veg, and an array of beautiful period clothes. There is black and white footage of men cleaning the Underground ventilation shafts, alongside a clip from a time when bin men still collected rubbish by horse and cart. An interview with a market stall trader reveals a supreme confidence in his selling abilities that would rival any modern Apprentice candidate.

There is also an article on the introduction of parking meters and traffic wardens to the West End: “it’s all going to be done courteously, no slanging matches, just say ‘what awful weather we’re having, sir’ and fine him £2”. The archive narration is perhaps more entertaining than the footage itself; while modern voiceovers can grate and seem unnecessary distractions, this older commentary is only improved by the RP delivery. I would find many modern documentaries far more entertaining if they were accompanied by an old-fashioned BBC-style narration.

The documentary moves on to Soho: “life after dark with an enamel gloss and the cracks showing – garish, gay, avaricious and a little sleazy at the edges”. We meet a posh stripper, just back from Morocco with her boyfriend. She is a source of some rather bizarre quotes: “for me [stripping] is just the same as standing on stage and singing the Schubert Lieder like I used to when I was in the convent”. We explore the entertainment of the West End, from clubs to cinemas and theatres. There is a particularly incongruous interview where the brilliance of rapping is discussed by men in suits with cut glass accents.

Clips featuring protests and riots merge together, from charwomen seeking an extra thruppence three farthings, via the Vietnam War and Poll Tax Riots, to football hooliganism; this reflects the effect of the film as a whole in bringing out continuities across the period. While the programme flits from one topic to another it continually demonstrates the timeless qualities of the West End, and of life in general.

In the Best Possible Taste – Grayson Perry

Grayson Perry’s new Channel 4 documentary on taste and class, In the Best Possible Taste, is an entertaining and informative look at the impact of class on taste in modern Britain. The programmes look successively at working-class, middle-class and upper-class taste as Perry researches a series of tapestries he is designing, inspired by Hogarth’s A Rake’s Progress. This week Perry visited the stereotypically middle-class communities of Tunbridge Wells and Kings Hill (a Kent residential community). While he is analytical as he probes into people’s lives to discuss their taste Perry always does so in an affable manner and he deals with both working and middle classes affectionately. As he explains in his Five Minutes With interview he believes that there is no such thing as definitively “good” or “bad” taste, and this comes across in the documentary.

The series is especially interesting to me as it parallels the chapter of my dissertation that I wrote on taste and class in relation to eighteenth-century theatre. I argued that taste was currency in eighteenth-century London; the novelist Henry Fielding reasoned that “as it very highly adorns the present Age, so doth it in a more particular Manner distinguish what we call our great Men”. Status was derived from having taste and the ability to discuss the merits of various art forms. Increasingly “taste” was defined by a narrow group of elites, and while the lower classes may have felt no need to engage with the concept of refined taste acceptance into society’s elite could depend on an ability to engage with these ideas and standards.

Throughout the eighteenth century taste was used as a demarcation of class. The middle class’ less established status led to their rigid enforcement of taste in order to assert their worth, and their ability to fit into elite society. In turn the aristocracy felt the need to affirm their standing by conforming to the ideals of taste, in order to both demonstrate their ability to keep pace with the middle class and to redraw a distinguishing line between themselves and their inferiors. The reformulation of the divide between the classes that was beginning to occur in the eighteenth century is paralleled by the drastic expansion of the middle class in the last quarter of a century, with the number of people describing themselves as middle-class rising from 1/3 to 2/3 of the population.

In the Best Possible Taste suggests that middle-class taste is a reaction against working-class preferences; when asked why a tagine particularly exemplified middle-class taste, one interviewee answered “it’s just different… different from what a working-class person would have”. This particular tagine formed part of the Jamie Oliver kitchenware collection, a range which the ladies of Kings Hill appear to swear by; as one lady explains, it makes it look like she’s “got an eye for tasteful items around my house, except I haven’t because they’ve all come from Jamie”. The group relies on brands to reassure themselves that their taste is accepted, resulting in an identikit housing estate where people are happy to buy show homes fully decorated and furnished in order to ensure that their home meets the neighbours’ high expectations.

The second group that Perry visits live in Tunbridge Wells and relies less on brand identity, instead demonstrating asserting their individuality and “cultural capital” by carefully selecting their own trinkets to illustrate their education and awareness of culture. Similarly, the eighteenth-century middle class strived to achieve a well-rounded cultural identity, as taste became an increasingly prominent means for the middle classes to legitimise the status they drew from their newly-acquired wealth. Yet the Tunbridge Wells group, like their eighteenth-century counterparts, are still influenced by fashion; one lady admitted that “a lot of the time I don’t know whether I did like something before it became fashionable or whether it’s the validation that made me realise I like it”.

One man interviewed suggests that being middle-class is about aspiring to a better life but, as an anthropologist explains to Perry, this leave the self-made middle classes unsure of their place and feeling the need to prove they deserve it. This generates the middle-class angst that leads women to agonise over their kitchen utensils, one mother and her husband to trawl the internet searching for the fromage frais with the lowest sugar content for their toddler, and led the eighteenth-century middles classes to fastidiously construct an identity that conformed to the increasingly prominent concept of good taste. The middle classes have always aspired to and emulated their ideal lifestyle and it’s clear that this tradition is still going strong in Kings Hill and Tunbridge Wells.

Next week’s final instalment of Perry’s documentary delves into the taste of the upper classes and promises to be equally engaging.