In Fragment 13 I wrote about a school production of The Merchant of Venice. The following year, 1962, I was back on the school stage, playing the title role in J.M. Barrie’s play The Admirable Crichton. Barrie (1860-1937) is best remembered for his creation of Peter Pan but Crichton, first produced in 1902, is an excellent, poignant comedy.
The subject is class. Lord Loam believes that class is an artificial construct and the play examines this proposition. At social events at Lord Loam’s house, he insists that servants mix with the guests – to the discomfort of everyone including the servants and, especially, Crichton, the butler, who considers ….
CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilized society. There must always be a master and servants in all civilized communities, my lord, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right.1
However, when the Loam family and servants are stranded on a tropical island for a period of years, it is Crichton who emerges as the natural leader. The change is so comprehensive that he and Lord Loam’s eldest daughter, Lady Mary, plan to marry. She has changed from …
the eldest and laziest of the girls, haughty and rather indolent in an aristocratic way2
… to an industrious, fully engaged member of their little community. However, just prior to the marriage they are all rescued from the island, and the status quo ante reasserts itself: Crichton spontaneously metamorphoses back into his butler role.
With hindsight, there’s an interesting parallel with my own situation in the sense that I was completely bewildered about which role to play in the drama of my own life. I enjoyed my success as a school-level thespian but all was not sweetness and light. Truth to tell, I was mightily confused. What role should I aim for in real life?
Crichton was put on in the autumn of 1962 shortly after I had entered the Lower Sixth Form. The way things worked back then, we took O-Level (Ordinary Level) exams at the end of the fifth year and, subject to the results, could embark on a more focused two- or three-year Sixth Form study course of A-Levels (Advanced Level).
So, in which direction should I go? My O-Level results were all quite good so that was not a limiting factor. But the fact that nothing was ruled out seemed to make the decision more rather than less difficult. Nonetheless, I was faced with the requirement to indicate my future direction, my hoped-for future role, because that would dictate the subject choices for the next stage. Three futures seemed possible at that time:
Chance my arm in the acting profession
Pursue my dream of flying fast aircraft
Try for university entrance, probably focusing on English or History
This last option was by no means as clear-cut as it probably would now be: back then, far fewer people went to university – very, very few from my sort of background. Although, to be fair, some of my contemporaries went on to prestigious universities and high-profile careers in academia and industry.
To add to my confusion, the situation was not helped by goings-on on the home front. By this time, George was no longer caretaker at the Congregational chapel. His mental state meant that he simply could not be consistently relied upon. So, by this time, we had moved out of the home that went with the job to a terraced house a few streets away. This resulted in the fact that, around the time that I was rehearsing The Admirable Crichton, George was yet again job hunting.
And he got himself a job! In a performance reminiscent of his bombshell declaration just three years earlier, he cheerfully announced that we would yet again be moving. This time, however, it was on a different scale to the fifteen-mile relocation from Leicester to Market Harborough. This time it was a move of over 300 miles, from Market Harborough to East Kilbride near Glasgow in Scotland where he had secured the job of running a new coffee bar being set up by a church. As usual with George’s employment goals, the job came with accommodation – this time an apartment.
I was horrified. I suppose that on the one hand he was to be commended for his self-motivation: after all, it was the Wesleyan Methodist get-on-your-bike ethic in action. But by this time I had gained some understanding of his condition and limitations. At 16 and 17 years of age I was able to ask him direct questions. What was it like? How did he feel? He talked of fearfulness and helplessness. He described horrible things that I assumed may have been amplified by the drugs and treatments that he periodically underwent: for example, dreams of babies’ heads floating in blood along gutters and disappearing down drains.
I was sure of two things. One: a job that involved him overseeing a bunch of youths in a coffee bar (the target audience for the East Kilbride coffee bar was young people) would not last long. Two: short-term, George and Nellie might move to Scotland but I damn well would not. I was at home in Market Harborough. I felt part of the community. I wanted to complete my studies there.
My personal goal was facilitated with the help of a school friend: or, more precisely, my school friend’s Mum. School friend’s Mum declared that she would be happy for me to join their household for my time in the sixth form because I would be company for her son. So my problem was solved in a really nice way.
Nonetheless, when George and Nellie set off for Scotland I went along too, to spend a few days there and get a feel for the situation. I remember the journey well. On the previous day I had had two back teeth extracted by a butcher of a dentist and, despite the fact that I kept biting down on a wad of gauze, the bleeding seemed to take forever to stop. Eating and drinking caused great discomfort and I felt distinctly under the weather. The long and sometimes bumpy train journey to Scotland did absolutely nothing to help the situation.
The apartment in East Kilbride was fine: a reasonably spacious living room, kitchen, bathroom and, I think, two bedrooms. The following day when fortunately I was feeling a little better, we went to look at the church coffee bar. That was fine, too. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that I was sure George would not be mentally resilient enough to cope with the requirements of the job.
It sounds pompous, now, but I made a point of talking with a member of the church – the young priest, probably less than ten years older than me, who had been charged with making a success of the project. Did he understand that George was registered disabled? Yes. Well, if any problems did arise, would they please be very gentle and understanding with him? Yes, of course, “We are Christians you know.”
This did not reassure me. Not long before, I had decided that I just could not go along with any religious dogmas and had declared myself an atheist. The distress that this caused Nellie caught me off guard: I hated seeing her so affected and tried to reassure her that all would be well but, for a time, she was deeply upset.
A day or two later, I made the return trip to Market Harborough and took up residence in my school chum’s home. It was a different world. That’s not to say that the family were anything other than down to earth, but life had been kinder to them than it had been to George and Nellie.
My school friend’s Mum was great. She had had three boys of whom my contemporary was the youngest by, I think, around five years. So, I had fallen on my feet and spent my Sixth Form years in comfortable and supportive surroundings. And I got a temporary brother into the bargain, which was fun.
Now, however, let me go back to that point about my future. Which direction should I choose? And what subjects did that dictate for A-levels?
Choosing acting as a career always felt risky, as indeed it would have been, but perhaps no more so than the other options.
Going to university was an unknown quantity. I had absolutely no concept of what it might entail. One or two teachers did raise the topic with me and try to encourage me, but I could not or would not allow myself to be persuaded.
So, through a process of elimination the idea of flying won through. It did so, I think, because by that time I had attended Air Training Corps meetings week in and week out for several years. I had also spent a week each year at an RAF station and enjoyed the experiences. And, not least, I just loved the idea of flying.
So, I applied for a place at the Royal Air Force College, Cranwell and, after interviews, a medical and some team exercises at Cranwell, was accepted subject to achieving the required A-Level results. Thrillingly, my scholarship included a course of flying lessons to earn my PPL (Private Pilot’s Licence).
The fact that I had made a mental commitment was surely demonstrated by my choice of a prize in the final year at school - a book titled Limited Strategic War: Essays in Nuclear Strategy3 (see photo at top). I remember the look on the face of my headmaster as he presented the prize to me. It was one of, to put it politely, distaste.
However, I was fascinated by the topic. It was a Big Issue and top of mind at the time. This was the height of the Cold War, a confrontation between the West (liberal democracy), led by the United States under President John F. Kennedy, and the Soviet Union (state communism) led by premier Nikita Khrushchev.
The island of Cuba, which had been taken over by communists led by Fidel Castro, became a strategic pawn in the struggle. Then, in April 1961 the Cuban Democratic Revolutionary Front (CDRF), supported by the West, attempted to regain Cuba. This, the ignominious Bay of Pigs incident, was a complete failure for the CDRF and the West.
Later that year - 13th August 1961 to be precise - a separate but connected activity was the commencement, by the communists, of a barrier that, from 1961 to 1989, isolated West Berlin. The city of Berlin had been divided between the victorious powers at the end of the Second World War but the building of the Berlin Wall didn’t start until 1961. The primary purpose of its communist builders was to prevent residents of East Berlin escaping to the bright lights and freedom of West Berlin.
The Big Fear surrounding all of the Cold War activity was of nuclear war. Nuclear weaponry been developed to the point where a MAD outcome was entirely possible - MAD is the highly appropriate acronym for Mutually Assured Destruction. So the placement of nuclear weapons was a topic of international concern. Here’s The History Channel on the topic:
In 1960, Khrushchev had launched plans to install medium and intermediate range ballistic missiles in Cuba that would put the eastern United States within range of nuclear attack. In the summer of 1962, U.S. spy planes flying over Cuba had photographed construction work on missile facilities. President John F. Kennedy announced a naval blockade to prevent the arrival of more missiles and demanded that the Soviets dismantle and remove the weapons already in Cuba.
The situation was extremely tense and could have resulted in war between the United States and the Soviet Union, but at the last minute, Khrushchev turned the Soviet ships around that were to deliver more missiles to Cuba and agreed to dismantle and remove the weapons that were already there.
So, on this occasion catastrophe was avoided (later it emerged that a behind-the-scenes deal had been agreed between the two sides) but a year or so later, on 22 November 1963, President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas, Texas. Were these events connected? If so, how? The Kennedy assassination remains unsatisfactorily explained to this day. And for decades the two sides in the Cold War kept nuclear-armed bombers in the air ready to strike, 24/7.
So, I’d have thought my interest in the topic of nuclear strategy and the Cold War was to be commended rather than sniffed at. Ya Boo Sucks to the headmaster!
Anyway, my next step was decided: the Royal Air Force it was; and that meant that my leading A-level subjects had to be Maths and Physics.
In the next fragment … I take to the air!
Thanks for reading.
Barrie J.M. The Admirable Crichton, Act I (1902)
Barrie J.M, Ibid - stage note.
Klaus Knorr and Thornton Read (Editors). Limited Strategic War: Essays in Nuclear Strategy (1962)