Читать книгу The New Elizabethans: Sixty Portraits of our Age - James Naughtie, James Naughtie - Страница 15

When the Olympic Games opened in London for the third time in the modern era, there was a surprising outburst of national self-confidence. It was unexpected because a weary habit of apology seemed to have taken hold, over the course of many years, and the relentless flow of dark economic news, rolling in with every tide, might easily have sapped any appetite for celebration. But no. The summer of 2012 turned out to be a festival of confidence, stirring up memories of a time when the country had a sharper sense of itself, and when we imagine that the trains ran on time. Maybe that belief in resilience will turn out to have been another self-deception, but with the coincidence of the Diamond Jubilee to give the era a time-frame, there seemed to be a surprising amount to cherish from years that could too easily add up to an age of decline.

These sixty portraits are reminders of some of the people who shaped these decades, and whose voices were the soundtrack that we all heard. They take us back to the early fifties, and the last days of wartime rationing, into the tumult of the sixties, and then through years that swung from economic crisis to seasons of optimism, and back again.

These people made their mark in a time when our feeling for the past was shot through with self-doubt. In an era of change, when national ingenuity would be tested, a fear of weakness began to spread. British governments since the fifties have had to deal with the awkwardness of an imperial legacy which bequeathed powers that were often illusory. Economic power waned, and the currency – always a token of national strength – shrivelled with the growth of more prosperous rivals. On Coronation Day in 1953, a pound bought nearly twelve Deutschmarks; forty years later, it would get you two and a half. The Royal Navy at the start of the twenty-first century seemed like a flotilla compared with the armada that might have assembled to mark the end of the war in Europe in 1945. And in this new century, after the long era of American dominance, all Europe was preparing for the economic and political consequences of a decisive shift in power to the East. It is natural in an atmosphere of such relentless transition to search for solid ground, and footholds that will guarantee some respite and a chance for reflection.

The subjects of these portraits are useful guides, because their feats – and, of course, their failures – are a reminder of the character of our time. They explain why we were inspired or deflated, why we laughed or wondered, how the age of deference gave way to the culture of youth, how a Prime Minister at the end of the twentieth century could find himself going to war more often than we could have imagined, how the banks imploded, and how a princess could still be turned into a fairy tale in an unbelieving age. They take us into the sunny days that we like to remember, and the shadows too. This is no history, only an album of snapshots of people caught on the run. But together they make up a flickering home movie that is an authentic picture of six decades.

When BBC Radio 4 decided to try to assemble a gallery of New Elizabethans – in sixty portraits, to match the span of the Queen’s reign – it was obvious that they could not be a definitive list of the best and brightest who might be listed in some longer version of the Order of Merit. This would be a selection to represent the contours of the age. They would be from academe and business, politics and science, high culture and entertainment. They had to represent the torrents and the calm of these years, some of the surprises as well as the established achievements. Radio 4 listeners responded to the challenge in their customary spirit, nominating about a thousand individuals in all – many with massive support – and the sifting began.

A panel was brought together with the aim of focusing shafts of light on the list from different perspectives. Tony Hall (Lord Hall of Birkenhead), chief executive of the Royal Opera House and chairman of the Cultural Olympiad 2012, supervised its proceedings with admirable calm. The members were, in alphabetical order: Sally Alexander, Professor of Modern History, Goldsmiths, University of London; Dr Jon Agar, Senior Lecturer in Science and Technology Studies, University College London; Bamber Gascoigne, writer and broadcaster, creator of the Timesearch website, and polymath; Sir Max Hastings, historian and former editor of the Daily Telegraph and London Evening Standard; Dr Anna-Maria Misra, Lecturer in Modern History, Keble College, Oxford; Dominic Sandbrook, historian.

Theirs were labours of Hercules. They were asked to find people on the list who collectively caught the spirit of the age, and to try to ensure that the sweep of the years was represented. Politics shouldn’t dominate, and nor should any other single area of life. They should catch the mainstream, but the awkward currents as well. It was important to reflect popular culture, and not simply award another gong on behalf of Radio 4 to a predictable list of the great and good. And although simple notoriety would not be enough to make you a New Elizabethan, it was important that the list did not consist simply of the sixty people thought to be the most admirable in our time. That meant that there were bound to be some surprising omissions, and inclusions. I attended one of the panel’s meetings – with no formal role – and was aware of the difficulty they faced in being fair and interesting at the same time, trying to represent some of the best and giving a flavour of everything else that we have lived through.

When I began to write these portraits I realized how cleverly they had drawn a line through the years. Like everyone else, I had my favourites who failed to make it round the last bend – that was true of each member of the panel, too – and found some of the names surprising. But together they soon took on the air of a gang of contemporary Canterbury pilgrims, each with a story to tell and throwing light on one another. For example, Enoch Powell, Jayaben Desai, Stuart Hall and Doreen Lawrence cast different shafts of light on the story of immigration and race in our time. And around them clustered the other people who might have been on the journey too, who could be brought in to play their part in the drama. Collectively they made it possible to find an interesting path across the landscape, stopping here and there for reflection, sometimes disappearing into a labyrinth of politics or public controversy, then having a laugh, then discovering the background to a scientific discovery that had been a mystery to me, or uncovering a character of whom I knew little.

The portraits in this collection are reproduced here almost exactly as they were broadcast on BBC Radio 4 through the summer of 2012. Writing for a listener is rather different from writing for someone who will read the words on a page, so there is some informal grammar and sentence structure here that is geared more to the style of a radio talk than a written essay. It seemed sensible, however, to retain their flavour as conversation pieces in this collection. That is how I conceived them, and how they were heard. In nearly every case the archive material added to the scripts for transmission has not been reproduced here, and these are the portraits as they were first drawn.

They are, of course, idiosyncratic. I have tried to be fair, although it is simply not possible to do justice to some remarkable characters in scripts that took only about twelve minutes to read on air, to be comprehensive in explaining their particular achievements. They are personal pictures, and not biographical entries for a journal of record. I hope these are more interesting for having a personal flavour. The series produced lively argument about who was in and who was out, about whether one Prime Minister deserved preference over another, whether just the one footballer deserved the sporting palm, about why there are particular novelists or comedians or musicians who don’t appear in these pages. Good. If our New Elizabethans had been a bore, they would have been a pointless bunch.

I record my deep gratitude to my BBC colleagues in the Acknowledgements, because this was a collective and energetic expedition that proved exhilarating at every turn. I found myself taken back to my youth – listening to Tony Hancock, missing a Beatles concert, learning of the ‘rivers of blood’ speech – and then to the politics that I covered as a young journalist – the first devolution arguments, the rise of Margaret Thatcher – and also discovering characters of whom I knew little, like Vladimir Raitz and his package holidays, or Talaiasi Labalaba, the SAS soldier of whom I hadn’t heard but whose statue is one of his regiment’s proudest memorials. I lived through the Northern Ireland Troubles again, and tried to explain what it was that made Billy Connolly a star.

When it was over, and I was writing about the Queen for the last portrait, I was reinforced in my view that continuity has been as important as change in an era which can be too conveniently defined by decline, crisis and alarm. It is easier to think of the unsolved problems and coming threats than to remember the scientists or artists who startled the world, or the community heroes who fought for human values against a hostile tide. The useful excuse of a Diamond Jubilee, placing our age in a frame, is a chance to try to give the picture its proper proportions, and to see the light and the dark at the same time. It is neither escapist nor nostalgic, just the natural recollection of a journey through the years.

The picture has many layers, and beguiling perspectives. It is both mirror and lamp, reflecting and illuminating, and these are the characters who have drawn it. They tell our story for us.

JN, September 2012