An interesting article from Richard Morrison in The Times wondering about the future of Britain's quintessential style of comedy as the society that forged it changes beneath its feet.
And it was the prime motivating force in the great radio comedies that shaped my boyish imagination, my language, and even my notion of what it meant to be that bizarre, self-mocking creature called an Englishman. That’s not surprising. Examine the backgrounds of those who created shows like Round the Horne and you find that most of them honed their Absurdist humour while chafing under not one repressive regime, but two. First, they were mostly gay men in a country where homosexuality was still outlawed. And secondly, they had all been through National Service. Some of the 20th century’s greatest surreal comedy — from Catch22 to M*A*S*H to Bilko — drew its inspiration from the unbending insanities of military life. Round the Horne had that same feeling of anarchic spirits making a dash for freedom. And how brazenly they did it! Four decades on, their outrageous double-entendres (“He was bent over his work — but off duty, straight as a die”) still echo in my mind.
Overlooking the bit about homosexuality being outlawed, which isn't strictly true, but it might as well have been; Kenneth Williams and Hugh Paddick were gay but the rest of Round The Horne were straight as far as I know. Writer Barry Took however was steeped in theatrical queendom and fluent in Polari. It was he who created the raw materials for Williams and Paddick to take into the multilayered comedy stratosphere. (And Andrew Sullivan is
still getting away with calling
his blog something quite filthy.
Double Triple Entendres are normally
in jokes...)
Besides creating a universally experienced authority to rail against, other beneficial effects of National Service and wartime conscription before included jolting the person out of his normal home routine; giving an opportunity for talents to germinate on isolated camps full of captive audiences desperate for entertainment; as well as creating an enormously wide social network. There's a great example of these very phenomena in action in
The Way Ahead. Look out too for the oldest new recruits in history.
The list of stars of stage and screen to be who started out in concert parties and gangshows is legion. Kenneth Williams, for instance, was called up aged 19 and sent to the Far East in April 1945. He was talent scouted for Combined Services Entertainments and was in a troupe with, amongst others, Stanley Baxter performing in places such as Singapore, Hong Kong, Rangoon and Calcutta. When Frankie Howerd, who'd begun honing his act on an army camp in Essex, needed a writer because he was burning through his existing material on the BBC's
Variety Bandbox he recalled a chap he'd known of whilst near Hamburg called Eric Sykes. Incidently, Howerd failed his ENSA audition before an audience of two, one of whom was a certain Captain Ian Charmichael. Peter Sellers (RAF), who in fairness came from a family of music hall performers, found himself a drummer in a dance band during the war. Tony Hancock (RAF). Spike Milligan (Royal Artillery). Sid James (South African Army Tank Corps). And so on. John Gregson, Dirk Bogard and Richard Todd, however, were probably too busy to spend much time performing while they were serving on minesweepers, examining photographic reconnaissance for the Canadian Air-Force and parachuting onto Pegasus Bridge respectively. And while James Mason managed to keep his career uninterrupted by registering as a conscientious objector and somehow not ending up down a coal mine, at least he didn't manage to dodge his duty and then star in a film about a GI who liberated Burma single handedly like the Australian Errol Flynn.
So bring back National Service. The good of British comedy depends upon it.
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