Time-Travellers, Divali, and Pork Pies
One of the central questions of our research is the vexed question of conservatism. Historians working from an explicitly left-wing perspective have tended to see the large-scale civic pageants of the first half of the twentieth century as attempts to re-assert class structures and invented ideas of a 'traditional' society. By portraying a long and varied history, pageant-masters aimed to give a sense of stability to a rapidly industrialised and urbanised nation. Not surprisingly, this ideal could be perceived as a reactionary ideal. Louis Napoleon Parker, the original pageant-master, was upfront about this. He criticised the belief that (what he saw as) modern changes, such as commercialism and language-change, were evidence that a town was moving with the times - ‘precisely the kind of spirit which a properly organised and properly conducted pageant is designed to kill.’
Despite Parker's own admission, our research is showing that the story is more complicated. The past was not portrayed as necessarily or inevitably superior to the present. The stories told in pageants instead reflected a belief that history was exemplary: as the bishop of Chichester declared in the course of his sermon at the Inaugural Service of the Pevensey Pageant in 1908, a pageant ‘ought to be an instruction… [it] bade them look back and learn, not regret’. Encouaring pageant audiences and participants ‘not to a mere glorying in an illustrious past, but to emulate in widely differing circumstances… the spirit of the achievements of their forefathers’ (as the official souvenir of the 1907 St Albans Pageant had it), preserving the past was designed to bolster a historically-rooted sense of identity in the context of twentieth-century modernity. And despite Parker’s strictures against the ‘modernising spirit’, this impulse is best understood as very modern in character and function, being an adaptive response to the rapidity of contemporary technological, economic and other changes. As life speeded up, maintaining affective connections to a shared past became increasingly important, but bound up with a celebration of progress.
Though we have already gone some way to correct the assumption that historical pageantry declined extensively after the First World War, it is undeniable that, from the 1960s onwards, pageantry was on the back-foot. Gone were the heady days of casts of 5,000 and total crowds of 100,000. There are a whole host of possible reasons for pageantry decline, such as the rise of other forms of entertainment (notably the television); the fracturing of bounded communities by extensive suburbanisation; the post-war ascendancy of national rather than provincial culture; the replacing of expensive pageants with more inexpensive 'son et lumiere' performances (pioneered by former pageant-master Christopher Ede); the decline of local government power, key stagers of pageants; possible changes in ideas of active citizenship that accompanied the rise of the welfare state.
Understanding and evaluating these often elusive factors will be part of our book, and not this blog (phew!). But, where they did happen, post-1960s pageants can tell us a lot about the complicated relationship of pageantry and modernity. One of the most interesting (and fun!) examples I've come across recently is the Leicestershire Pageant of 1977, also titled ‘Leicestershire – This Our Life’, staged to celebrate the Diamond Jubilee of Queen Elizabeth II. It took place in the ruins of Bradgate House in Bradgate Park, also the site of several other pageants in the previous two decades. With only 300 performers and 4 performances it was nowhere near the size or scale of Leicestershire’s massive 1932 pageant, but its nuanced approach to updating the historical pageant format stands as testament to the ability of public participatory theatre to adapt to a range of societal changes, for a range of contemporary purposes. It was, according to the souvenir programme, the Queen’s wish that the Silver Jubilee focussed on young people. The vast majority of the performers were children, and any profits went to the Prince of Wales’ Silver Jubilee Appeal Fund, which sought to encourage and help young people to serve the communities in which they lived.
The pageant naturally had a strong educational theme, operating as a review of the outstanding events in the county’s history from Roman time’s right up to the present day, while encouraging local patriotism and civic duty. The narrative was a clever mix of light humour, contemporary ‘pop’ references, serious historical incidents, and science-fiction. A particularly novel approach was having a group of contemporary school children taken through history by two time-travellers, Commander Janus and Captain Janus – who they first met in Bradgate Park looking for ‘pork pies, shirts, coal and socks’ – the classic culinary and industrial products of the county. Even more innovative and unusual was the final episode in the pageant, which showed ‘the Immigrant Community in Leicester [keeping] alive the tradition of its Motherland’. A procession of Indian immigrants to the city processioned into the arena, two portraying Rama and Sita, and carrying lights, showing the celebration of Divali, the Festival of Lights. Captain Janus told the children that they wanted ‘to show the contribution being made to the life of Leicestershire by another group of citizens today.’ A traditional Indian dance was then shown, along with singing.
This episode positively reflected the far-reaching demographic trends that Leicester had undergone, particularly since the 1950s. As the Leicester Mercury noted:
‘It was good to see the immigrant community in Leicester taking part, keeping alive the tradition of its motherland… The inclusion of the Indian contribution to a pageant of British history surprised some, but was an excellent way of bringing things right up-to-date and giving us a glimpse of the fully integrated community of the future.’
In between the time travellers and the Indian community of the city, many of the episodes were classic historical pageantry fare. The history of the county was joined to a larger national story, with the visit of King’s and Queen’s, and important ecclesiastical figures, such as Thomas Wolsey and John Wesley; and positioning Leicester’s role in both democracy and conflict, with Simon de Montfort establishing the first Parliament, and the War of the Roses. Being a pageant of Leicestershire, Richard III also featured - though in a long Battle of Bosworth scene, rather than under a carpark. Even Thomas Cook, the famous son of Leicester and holiday-tour provider, was given an episode. If the pageant had many classic themes, and fulfilled an educational objective, the dialogue was mostly amusing, and full of contemporary references. In the first episode, for example, showing the Roman occupation, a Roman officer declared ‘Here we are then – the camp on the Leire River – Leire Castra’. One of the contemporary school-children then joked ‘Sounds like a Dalek pronunciation of Leicester!’ In the second episode, the teacher asked the children if they knew De Montfort Hall, to which one replied “We saw the Wurzels there last month.’ In the John Wesley scene, when told that the preacher travelled 8000 miles a year on his horse, one pupil exclaimed ‘Cor what a horse! Nearly as good as Red Rum!’
Less than 10,000 people probably saw Leicestershire's 1977 pageant; it was not a major event in any sense. But it was an interesting one; a sensitive and enlightened attempt to update British history in light of recent demographic trends, while employing humour and a 'feel-good-factor'. If we cast our minds back to Danny Boyle's 2012 Olympic opening ceremony, this all feels familiar. As the Guardian put it, in an article titled 'What Danny Boyle's Olympics opening ceremony said about Britain's cultural landscape',
'...we, in Britain, knew what it added up to, despite its baffling moments: it was Boyle's impassioned poem of praise to the country he would most like to believe in. One that is tolerant, multicultural, fair and gay friendly and holds the principles of the welfare state stoutly at its heart. One that is simultaneously silly and earnest, mainstream and subversive, "high" and "low" in its culture.'
Unfortunately Danny is still ignoring my calls, but it seems clear (to me, at least!) that in choosing to re-enact historical episodes (though in a constant joined-up narrative), with large casts outside in the open-air, he was drawing on the tradition of historical pageantry: sometimes conservative, sometimes progressive, but always peculiarly British.
Tom Hulme