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Picturing England Between the Wars Word and Image, 1918-1940
Stuart
Sillars
Oxford: University
Press, 2021 Hardback.
xviii+255 pp. ISBN 978-0198828921. £35
Reviewed by Hugh Clout University
College London
In this impressive
book, Stuart Sillars – professor emeritus of English at the University of
Bergen – presents a selection of ways in which England was described and
depicted during the two decades following the Great War. An image of the
Cenotaph in Whitehall provides a striking introduction to his intricate
excursion through the nation’s transition from loss and grief to recovery and restoration.
Combining an imposing visible form with a sparse use of language (the only
inscription being ‘The Glorious Dead’) it evokes an ‘effort to mourn, to
understand, to somehow continue, and rebuild some kind of national and personal
identity’ [xiv]. Rather than concentrating on works of high art, Sillars
focuses on words and pictures that circulated widely and shaped ‘the visual
image of the age’ [3]. He shows how integrated statements could be enhanced by
‘careful selection of fonts, placement of graphic elements in relation to
texts, alignment and juxtapositions’ on the printed page [3]. Throughout his
book he argues that these aspects of communication became ‘increasingly varied,
sophisticated, and powerful, matching the expanding financial strength of the
middling sort’ of English folk [3]. Fifteen chapters, arranged in four parts,
explore ideas of national identity under threat, the impact of new housing on
the English landscape, the increasing popularity of reading books, and the
growing circulation of magazines aimed at different sections of the public. Entitled ‘Mapping the
Imagined Land’, the first four chapters move from idealised images of rural
England to the reality of building new homes in the countryside to compensate
for war damage and slum clearance and to facilitate the widespread desire for
better housing. At first, ‘the nourishing myth’ was that of ‘a rural nation,
rich in appearance and calm in manner’ [13] that was promoted by the
publication of many illustrated books and guides to provincial towns and
stretches of the countryside. The myth was sustained by images set within the
frames and on the covers of Ordnance Survey maps. At this time, many
publications presented images of country life ‘through lenses tinted with
imagined nostalgia, [but] not every book on the subject was quite so
distortive’ [53]. Indeed, a minority conveyed a much starker story of rural
poverty and housing deprivation that contrasted with the mythic dream. The
reality of much of interwar rural England was markedly different, as ribbon
development and new housing estates consumed ever greater parts of the
countryside. Established villagers, dwelling in the shadow of great cities, resented
the invasion by ‘strangers and trippers’ that often ensued [18]. Under the title ‘Many
Mansions’, the next three chapters explore words and images in publications
devoted to housing. While rich and middle-class people were able to employ
architects to design their properties, poorer members of society did not enjoy such
opportunity. Decent houses were needed for the families of working men returned
from war. Honouring Lloyd George’s pledge to provide ‘Homes for Heroes’, an
intensive programme of house building duly occurred in the years between the
armistice and the great depression of the late 1920s. The Tudor Walters Report
of 1919 was instrumental in guiding this process. With 350 numbered and titled
paragraphs and numerous effective diagrams, Sillars declares that it was a
model of good sense. In terms of presentation: Its paragraphs move with clear logic from
primary considerations, such as the selection of a site for building, through
the layout of roads and houses, to designs for the houses themselves …
Throughout, concepts are presented visually as well as in words and, where
appropriate, tables or figures [71]. Builders of housing
for those ‘of moderate means’ drew ideas for new suburban estates from
specialist publications presenting an array of traditional and modernist
building styles. A striking example of the latter was Silver End Village in
Essex that was constructed by the Crittall Window Company to house its factory
workers, many of whom were ‘soldiers disabled during the war’ [107]. It
comprised ‘153 modernist houses, along with others more traditional in design,
a school, bank, and department store’ and a large social and recreation centre
[107]. As the 1930s progressed, incorporation of labour-saving devices in new
housing added a new challenge to this ‘specialised form of reflection,
imagination, and day-dreaming’ among architects and house purchasers alike
[114]. The third section of Picturing
England changes gear to examine changes in the composition of books and
magazines to appeal to widening sections of the public. Compulsory education,
the introduction of public libraries, and the wartime quest ‘to learn more
about the conflict or find moments of respite from it’ boosted the demand for
printed words and images. Between the wars, the book became an essentially visual product. In almost
every aspect of its production, its text became one element of a more
integrated form whose word and picture worked together: they created event,
mood, detail, and … a statement of attitude toward their readers’ individual
identity [117]. Illustrations assumed
greater importance, as did page layout, typography, binding and cover design.
Increasingly, ‘the relationship between reader and text rested in large part on
a book’s visual presence’ [119]. Publications needed ‘to look appealing, not
intimidating, to those unaccustomed to browsing in bookshops’ [117]. Hence, classic
texts, such as the works of Charles Dickens, were carefully repackaged with
new, attractive imagery. Distinctive, coloured dustjackets became brand
features for publishers issuing titles both old and new. The Shropshire novels
by Mary Webb were praised by Stanley Baldwin for their ‘closeness to the
natural world and the innate Englishness with which it was felt and stated’
[159]. Inclusion of illustrations by Norman Hepple played no small part in enhancing
the appeal of Webb’s works. During the 1920s and
1930s, weekly and monthly magazines were designed with increasing skill. Magazines
for women ‘trod carefully between the actual and the imagined’, setting ‘the
world of the everyday’ (cooking, cleaning, family) against ‘the world of
fantasy’, that comprised ‘a life of idle luxury enjoyed by film stars, fashion
hints that for many would be quite beyond achievement, and an increasingly
sophisticated array of illustrated fiction, nearly always of a romantic nature’
[193]. Occasional inclusion of paper patterns for making dresses and other
items of clothing at home assisted the transition from dreams to reality.
Magazines for men tended to concentrate on practical subjects, with titles such
as Practical Wireless, Practical Television, and more
realistically Practical Motorist. True stories by ex-servicemen evoked
memories of the past war; items about the design and manufacture of aircraft
pointed toward hostilities to come. By the spring of 1938, attention was being
devoted to ‘air raid precautions’, with a series of carefully designed cigarette
cards conveying essential information. A government publication on how to
choose a refuge room in time of war presented examples for different house types.
Stuart Sillars
concludes his fascinating account with a brief coda that explains how during
the Second World War ‘all the devices for conveying information in the late
1930s were extended, and their use of word and image more fully exploited in publications
merging government and commercial resources’ [232]. These were joined by
propaganda films and wireless programmes that were crafted carefully to ensure
the maximum effect. From the early 1940s, the Ministry of Information issued
short, well-illustrated paperbacks on individual campaigns, specific themes
(such as housing, transport, and anti-aircraft defences), and the land at war.
The publication on this latter topic recalled past imagery but stressed how the
countryside had been ‘changed by the pressures of war and the need greatly to
increase home food production’ [242]. The ‘idealised Eden’, presented in
earlier chapters, was indeed under threat [3]. Picturing England is a
challenging text that encourages readers to interrogate words and images more
carefully and thoroughly. Despite being familiar with old Ordnance Survey maps,
I had never analysed their covers. Nor had I given much thought to the question
of positioning illustrations among text on printed pages, or to the effect of
excluding margins on conveying visual information. Readers will appreciate that
they have a great deal to learn and are assisted in this task by the provision
of a select bibliography of a hundred items. No footnotes are included since
the author declares that his is ‘not an academic book’, whilst being one that
displays ‘academic rigour’ [4]. The block of 45 full colour plates, positioned
between pages 132 and 133, forms a particularly appealing feature of the work. The
same cannot be said for its 83 black and white images. Some of these are
eminently sharp and effective but others suffer from the presence of a grey
shadow resulting from less than perfect scanning. I felt that, in some instances,
sections of often illegible reproduced text could have been excluded and more
space devoted to presenting the images set within them. Some black and white
illustrations might well have been sacrificed and a handful of extra colour
plates inserted to good effect. However, these are minor and unfortunate
blemishes in an impressive book that demonstrates how words and images were
combined in interwar England to create a complex form of art, communication,
instruction, and entertainment.
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