SUSAN HOLMES' REMINISCENCES OF THE FESTIVAL OF BRITAIN/THE SOUTH BANK EXHIBITION
"My first feelings about Margot Osborne (later Lady Wellington) were those of awe and wonder. As a very nervous 21 year-old, my first job at the Festival of Britain Savoy Court in 1949 was in her outer office. It was the first time I had been exposed to a really top-class secretary, or PA as she would be called these days, and she ran her office, and no doubt the Director-General, with a firm but kind hand. The few weeks I spent with her were the beginning of a happy and exciting two years.
After this brief introduction to life at Savoy Court, I was transferred to the office of Cecil Cooke, Director of Exhibitions. No more exciting job can be imagined. This, as they would now say, was where it was at! As secretary to Peter Kneebone, then his assistant, who subsequently became Festival representative in Paris, and later to Peter's successor, Charles Plouviez, I was fortunate enough to be at the very heart of all the discussion and decision-making which would culiminate in the South Bank Exhibition, Battersea Fun Fair, Kelvin Hall in Glasgow, the Festival Ship 'Campania', the double-decker bus exhibition, the Travelling Exhibition, and so on. Cecil Cooke was a quietly spoken man, a still small voice of calm among the exciting collection of architects and designers under his control. He presided over the Presentation Panel, which met, I believe, monthly; it was my boss's job to produce comprehensive minutes of these meetings, pages and pages of decisions, formidable 'Action' columns, all typed out by me on numerous wax stencils and rolled off on an extremely inky "Gestetener" machine, and circulated round the office. It cannot have been an easy task, controlling all these brilliant but wayward professionals - people like James Holland, James Gardner, Ralph Tubbs - I wish I could remember all their names. And, of course, another calm voice amid the turmoil was Hugh Casson. Like Cecil Cooke, I never knew him to raise his voice, but somehow he always managed to be heard.
There was a feeling of excitement among us all, and this I am sure transmitted itself through the marvellous and inventive ideas that would find fruition in the exhibitions of 1951. Ideas abounded; I remember when the competition for the 'Vertical Feature' was proposed we were inundated by the public with ideas for improbable and downright dangerous 'features' - usually with very little suggestion as to how they could be made to say upright. My favourite came 'in house', suggested by James Holland. At the time there was a fashion for a silly toy called the 'Drink-up Duck' - I wonder if anyone remembers it? This very long-necked duck was placed next to a glass of water. You dipped the head in the water and the duck would continue to drink, dipping its head up and down, almost indefinitely - it was quite mesmerising. James suggested we construct an enormous Drink-up Duck on the South Bank which would dip into the Thames - to the great peril of any passing vessels, no doubt. Alas the Presentation Panel turned it down. In the event of course, the young firm of Powell & Moya produced the brilliant 'Skylon'.
Looking back now, I can hardly believe how lucky I was. In any spare time I had from my secretarial duties to Peter and Charles, I was asked to give secretarial help to the beloved Laurie Lee, who joined Savoy Court as Chief Caption Writer. Laurie had no idea how an office worked, nor did he intend to find out, so it was up to me to see that letters got written, filing put in the right place, messages taken, and so on. He also undertook the theming of the Lion and the Unicorn Pavilion, intended to illustrate British eccentricities - some may remember the double display of Alice Through The Looking Glass, the recordings of typically British platitudes ('There was only one man got back alive from Kurt Mahal - and he wasn't a very pretty sight') - I only wish I could remember more. Again the public was invited to send in ideas, which they did with enthusiasm - I was photographed wearing a pair of goggles with windscreen wipers. Sadly Laurie never achieved his real ambition, revealed to me with a sigh: "What I'm really hoping for is a life-size model of Gloucestershire - in cheese." My favourite memory of him is on a beautiful day, when Savoy Court was hot and sticky, Laurie decided to take two or three of us to Box Hill - I don't know how we got away with it - and sit in the sun while he played his violin for our pleasure.
Luck came my way again. Just before the South Bank Exhibition opened, and presmably because I had worked for two years by then in Cecil Cooke's office and knew the South Bank Exhibition really like the back of my hand, I was asked to go and work in the Press Office under Waterloo Bridge to feed information to the Press, answer their questions, and help to set up any little schemes that might be thought up by the Chief Press Officer. Again, I was in the heart of things.
I loved walking down the Fairway when I was on the morning shift. Later in the morning, when the gates opened, there would be throngs of people everywhere, but now the pavilions stood empty and gleaming, the cleaners were hard at work, the cows from the Country Pavilion walked sedately past (an anxious assistant close behind with bucket and spade), the husky dogs from the Arctic Theatre in the Dome of Discovery were being exercised, racing round the site pulling their wheeled trolley/sledge, barking cheerfully.
As the youngest member of the Press Office and being in those days - I think I can say it now after all the years - fairly personable, I was sometimes asked by the photographers to pose with an exhibit. There were the windscreen-wiper goggles, the husky dogs - not easy to control, a strong hand out of shot held them firmly while I pretended to, and so on. I only drew the line once. Two wily photographers lured me across to the Fish section of the Dome of Discovery where, lurking in a tank were two moderate-sized octopii. Would I stand beside the tank with one in each hand! I looked at the waving tentacles and just knew we would never get on. No, I would not.
It was Anthony Hippisley-Coxe, one of the madder members of the Presentation Panel who suggested we should add to the gaiety by employing a tight-rope walker to do a walk across the Thames beside Waterloo Bridge, rightly assuring us this would be a crowd-puller. Duly Monsieur Elleano was imported - I'm not quite sure where from - to perform. He and his family arrived, complete with caravan, and established themselves at the back of the South Bank site in a parking lot for supply vehicles etc. On the day itself, about an hour before the walk was due to take place I was walking down the Fairway when, to my horror, I saw our Chief Attraction, who should, of course, have been in his caravan preparing for his feat of daring, sauntering round idly looking round the pavilions. Grabbing him by the arm, I marched him firmly into the Press Office where luckily, Paul Wright, the Director of Public Relations, was talking to my boss. I exhibited my captive; their reaction was all I could have wished for. Mr. Wright fixed me with a steely glare. 'Take him to his caravan, get him changed (!) and round to the north bank, and don't let hm out of your sight." By now there were considerable crowds along the river bank, but we fought our way through, and arrived at the caravan. M. Elleano was a remarkably quick changer; in a very short time he emerged draped in brilliant yellow satin and ready for anything. But how to get him round to the starting point? There was no taxi in sight, and we obviously couldn't walk, even if we could have got across Waterloo Bridge which was by now crammed with sightseers. The day was saved by an obliging van driver; in a few minutes, M. Elleano and I were perched up beside him and driven across Westminster Bridge to the starting point. The walk was a brilliant success; and I still believe that but for me it might never have happened!"
copyright: Susan Holmes, 28.1.00 (Reproduced in the Summer 2000 issue of the "Festival Times")