Guest blog post by Alex Horn, a Masters student at Goldsmiths University.
Henrietta Pilkington and Margaret Thomas in Jerusalem
As part of my placement at the museum, I have been working on uncovering a little more about the life and travels of artists Margaret Thomas (1842-1929) and Henrietta Pilkington (1845-1927). The two met in London in the 1870s and became very close, travelling together across Europe and the Middle East throughout the 1890s before settling down in a house in Norton in 1911 where they lived together until their deaths. Their bond is memorialised on their shared headstone. Beneath Henrietta’s name it reads ‘The sweetest soul that ever looked with human eyes,’ and beneath Margaret’s, ‘Friends for sixty years.’
One aspect of their travels that has been of particular interest to me is the pair’s time in the Middle East, where the cultural norms the well-to-do English ladies would have been in stark contrast to the Arabic customs they encountered. It is fortuitous that in the museum’s collection there are paintings by both artists from their time in and around Jerusalem as well as a book by Margaret Thomas extensively chronicling their travels entitled Two Years in Palestine and Syria. In this short piece, I will highlight some key moments from their travels to Jerusalem, particular monuments that caught the artists’ eyes, and accompany a few paintings from the museum’s collection (some perhaps seen here for the first time since they were accessioned to the museum in 1930) with Thomas’ own words. From there I divert to discuss the nature of the two artists’ work in comparison with one another, drawing a conclusion about their relationship from the works chosen to be both on in their shared home and donated to the museum.
During the 1890s the ethnography of Palestine was undergoing a major shift, as the First Aliyah – the migration of members of the Jewish diaspora to the Land of Israel – was underway. Approximately 25,000 Jews migrated to Palestine and Syria between 1882 and 1903, with Theodor Herzl’s First Zionist Congress taking place in 1897. It was during this time that Pilkington and Thomas travelled through the region, giving them a unique artistic perspective on this changing landscape. Thomas notes that ‘the Jewish population of Jerusalem, which ten years ago amounted to 10,000 now exceeds 47,000 souls according to the latest and most authentic estimates, and this number is almost daily increasing.’[1] This number seems exaggerated, based on more modern ethnographic analysis, but that it was a noteworthy change is obvious.
With an understanding of these women’s position as outsiders in a dramatic geographical and political region, I found it interesting to see what each focused on, which aspects of the landscape stirred their artistic imaginings. Pilkington and Thomas were welcomed to the region by a great swelling of the sea on their arrival at Jaffa, an ancient port city now subsumed within southern Tel-Aviv. Thomas’ serene painting from the city, with its clean white stone and cloudless blue sky, tall trees unbent by any wind, provides a stark contrast to the artist’s own description of their arrival, whereupon ‘I was literally thrown by a man on the ship into the arms of another in the boat, who had to wait till the crest of one of the huge waves carried him withing twenty feet of the deck to catch me, the result being that I found myself at the bottom of the boat amid all my belongings (which were thrown in before), saturated with salt and fresh water, for it was beginning to rain heavily.’[2]
Jaffa by Margaret Thomas
The pair, now safely ashore, could begin their adventures in earnest. ‘How glad we were,’ Thomas says, ‘to get into a comfortable hotel and let the sun and air dry our soaked garments.’[3] From ‘Jaffa the Beautiful,’[4] the artists took ‘the only train in Palestine [which] takes six hours to do the fifty-four miles which lie between Jaffa and Jerusalem.’[5] Arriving by train to Jerusalem was rather underwhelming as they saw ‘in the evening light a small modern station, with over the door the word “Jerusalem” painted. Fortunately for sentiment this station is a mile from the city, and if you cannot catch a glimpse of the sacred walls from it, at least the sight of the station from the city does not offend you.’[6]
From there the pair made their way to the hospice at which they would be staying first by carriage, which would take them only as far as Jaffa Gate, then ‘in rain, darkness, and mire we made our way through the Holy City … through the lampless streets under low archways, down passages so narrow the boxes could hardly pass, up greasy steps, and amid sleeping dogs, who barely woke, when touched, to growl and go to sleep again, with the rain remorselessly pattering down upon us, till we reached our destination.’[7]
‘Paria’ dogs by Henrietta Pilkington
The two ladies expressed a great fondness for the canine residents of Jerusalem, with Thomas writing extensively about the ‘pariah dogs’ of the city and Pilkington sketching them for posterity. ‘And now a line for the poor pariah dogs,’ Thomas wrote, ‘which infest the streets in such numbers. Belonging to no one, without a home, the hand of every Moslem and Jew against them, packs of these creatures dwell in their separate quarters, into which they allow no other dog to enter unless he be known to them. They are, as a rule, but very few removes from the fox and jackal. They sleep all day in the streets, on the flat roofs – anywhere, everywhere; but at night, unfortunately, they all awaken, and running along the tops of the broad stone walls, go from house to house baying incessantly till night is made more than hideous.’[8] These pariah dogs are most likely Canaan Dogs, sometimes called Bedouin Sheep Dogs or Palestinian Pariah Dogs, which remain as the oldest breed of near-wild dogs still extant.
Inside Damascus Gate by Margaret Thomas
Narrow, bustling streets become a running theme in Thomas’ description of Jerusalem, in stark contrast perhaps to the tranquility evoked by Pilkington’s and her paintings. The market scene inside Damascus Gate shows a dozen or so traders lounging with a camel in the shade, the pale blue sky punctuated by light pink clouds which evoke a sense of open freshness above the dusty streets, which Thomas describes as ‘a scene of life and colour not easily matched elsewhere.’[9] Henrietta Pilkington, too, paints a calming scene from the other side of Damascus Gate with clear blue sky and only the dust kicked up by a passing shepherd with his flock to disturb the ground.
Damascus Gate, Jerusalem, 1895 by Henrietta Pilkington
From Jerusalem, Thomas and Pilkington ventured north, via the rural villages and towns of the heartlands of Palestine, to the Sea of Galilee. ‘The views of the immense lake,’ Thomas writes, ‘were superb as we mounted higher and higher; it lay like a colossal aquamarine in the breast of its encircling mountains.’[10] The two artists were accompanied on this journey by three men: a missionary, the owner and groom of the horses they rode, and Mahomet, ‘a small wiry Arab, whose father had been servant to Holman Hunt [the pre-Raphaelite painter].’[11] This man Mahomet is perhaps the subject captured in portrait by Henrietta Pilkington in the only such painting donated to the museum. Many portraits were completed by Thomas during their trip, but the watercolour of Mahomet represents the only example of this form by the elder artist. It is possible that during their travels Pilkington grew to trust Mahomet enough to ask him to sit for her, as she practiced her portraiture.
Mahomet, Jerusalem, 1895 by Henrietta Pilkington
The two women brought with them ‘a small tent, a portmanteau containing changes of clothing, some tinned meat, tea, sugar, and coffee; these things, together with painting materials and a rifle, were put on a pack-horse, and on top of them Mahomet sat with that dignity which never forsakes an Arab, notwithstanding that a saucepan hung dangling outside his packages. We had also a thin mattress called a lehaff and two rugs, but alas! were pillowless all through our journey, and we learnt that saddles and paint-boxes are not satisfactory substitutes.’[12] This humorous description allows us an insight both to the material priorities of these Victorian travelling ladies and their relationship to each other, sharing a small tent and thin mattress, pillowless together.
Eventually, ‘a magnificent view of the deep blue Lake of Galilee burst upon us, with the walled town of Tiberias on one shore, on the other the richly coloured mountains where lie Gadara and Gerasa, and beyond all the snowy crest of the majestic Hermon, ten thousand feet above in the sky. It is one of those views which make an impression for life.’[13] Pilkington was similarly moved, completing a pair of paintings of Tiberias with the Galilee and mountains behind.
Tiberias, 1895, daylight and Tiberias, 1895 twilight by Henrietta Pilkington
From Tiberius the journey continued as far north as Damascus and Baalbek, before the party journeyed south along the coast back to Jaffa via Sidon, Tyre and Haifa. But here we divert attention from their journey to instead draw comparisons between the two women’s artistic stylings and talent. By presenting their art side by side for, I believe, the first time, it is clear that Margaret Thomas had a talent for contrast, figure and colour in a way that Henrietta Pilkington did not. The medium is different, and so one can say that Thomas’ work is in a more ‘finished’ state, being oil on canvas likely completed back in her studio as opposed to watercolour on paper completed by Pilkington in situ. An interesting conclusion can be drawn from this, however, as the two were inseparable during the latter years of their lives and, despite artistic differences of skill, they both cared for and respected each other as artists.
Margaret Thomas clearly held much affection for Henrietta Pilkington and her artwork: the two of them travelled across the continent and beyond together for many years and lived in their shared house for at least fifteen more. Pilkington’s Damascus Gate watercolour, seen above, was one of only four donated by Thomas to the museum after Pilkington’s death in 1927 with the inscription ‘presented in memory of the artist H. M. Pilkington by M. Thomas.’[14] Why these artworks were chosen to be donated out of the eighty eventually in the museum’s collection is not known, except that only those four have framer’s tape on the reverse and an inscription describing the frames in which they were donated. These paintings were therefore framed, and may very well have been displayed in their shared home in Norton until Pilkington’s death.
I posit that the paintings in frames were chosen to donate over the others in storage due to their visible presence; such a visual reminder of a loved one’s passing often brings heartache and pain to those left behind. But, with great admiration for Pilkington’s work, Thomas presented the four pieces in memory of her partner to the museum instead of simply hiding or destroying them, making public what had once been private. This act, the transition from the private space of two women who loved one another deeply (in what way we can only speculate, but their affection is obvious enough from their biographies and burial) to the public arena of a museum’s collection is, in my opinion, a demonstration of respect and a declaration of love from one artist to another.
Though Pilkington is never named in Thomas’ writing of their travels, remaining instead the elusive ‘lady friend’[15] with whom she shared carriages, hostel rooms and, when staying at the house of a pastor, ‘rejected the room placed at our disposal and had our little tent pitched in their garden.’[16] They shared so much of their lives together – continuing to share even in death – that it is easy to imagine the relationship as one of shared devotion and affection.
[1] Margaret Thomas, Two Years in Palestine and Syria (London: J C Nimmo, 1900), p. 33.
[2] Ibid., p. 2.
[3] Ibid., p. 3.
[4] Ibid., p. 9.
[5] Ibid., p. 10.
[6] Ibid., p. 14.
[7] Ibid., p. 15.
[8] Ibid., p. 63.
[9] Ibid., p. 24.
[10] Ibid., p. 276.
[11] Ibid., p. 240.
[12] Ibid., pp. 240-1.
[13] Ibid., p. 270.
[14] Henrietta M Pilkington, Damascus Gate Jerusalem, 1895, watercolour on paper, 17 × 23 cm,
North Hertfordshire Museum, Hitchin <https://ehive.com/collections/4308/objects/181026/damascus-gate-jerusalem-1895>.
[15] Thomas, p. 240.
[16] Ibid., p. 242.
Guest blog post by Alessio Lai of Barclay Academy, Stevenage
I came to North Herts Museum for my year 10 work experience, as a history and fashion enthusiast I found it very interesting. During my time there I was allowed to see their collection of antique clothes and even got to try on replicas of late eighteenth century garments. I also helped arrange the Stagenhoe Estate display at the front of the museum. Stagenhoe was a stately home that was converted into a Sue Ryder care home in the late 60s.
My favourite part of being at the museum was examining the historical dresses they had, helping date them to specific time periods. My interest in fashion history began in 2019 when glamour began releasing videos of how animated characters should have been dressed, according to the period they were said to live in.
I was very surprised to see the amount of early history that even a local history museum had like the tools of a human ancestor from 2.6 million years ago, dug up in Somaliland, along with the bones of a mother with her three children from Baldock, the oldest recorded example of triplets ever found.
Overall I had a very fun experience and would love to come back.
Alessio looking dapper
Guest post by Diane Maybank
Page 9 of The Citizen every Friday was where Hitchin movie fans could check out what was showing at their local cinemas. Throughout the Second World War patrons of The Hermitage, The Picturedrome and The Regal could count on one long loop of intrigue, romance and heroism, interrupted only by the need to change reels. Communal entertainment boomed during the war years; it was cheap, offered escapism in luxurious surroundings and there was little else to rival it. Britain’s Special Relationship with her American ally was sealed by reel upon reel of Hollywood magic making its way across the U-boat menaced Atlantic to towns like Hitchin.
The Hitchin experience was repeated up and down the land with an all-time high in ticket sales reaching 1.64 billion by 1946.
Hitchin cinema architecture is well documented and remembered; but what movie fans watched and what they made of it all doesn’t seem to have survived. North Herts Museum holds a large collection of The Citizen newspaper in its archives – Jan 5th 1940 to Dec 21st 1945 – to be precise, and I decided to investigate.
Hitchin supported 4 cinemas between 1911 and 1977; all enjoyed their golden years, all failed to sustain growth or adapt to changing times. With the coming of television in the 1950s Hitchin’s population was too small to sustain either The Hermitage or The Regal. The decline in cinema attendance after the war was rapid and nearly terminal, with box office receipts halving by the early 1950s.
A brief look at the buildings before we consider the films…..
The Picturedrome
The Blake Brothers of Bedford opened Hitchin’s first cinema in March 1911. The Picturedrome on Ickleford Road had one screen, a small orchestra pit and seating for 400 people. It developed quickly to feature boxing matches and live theatre alongside short films. With its grand arches, pillars and embellished bay window it sported features that would come to define cinema style in its 1930s heyday. Despite its popularity The Picturedrome was out competed by The Regal and closed in 1940.
The Playhouse
The Playhouse opened next to the Corn Exchange in October 1913 with seating for 750 people. It was owned by Hitchin Amusement Company, made up of 100 local shareholders. In keeping with trends, the walls and ceiling were elaborately decorated. It was very popular but was eventually acquired by the owners of The Hermitage who closed it in 1937.
The Hermitage
The Hermitage, which opened in February 1932, was an altogether more ambitious project, ready to showcase a new era in movie making. The Talkies had arrived, films now had more sophisticated ways of telling stories and the Hollywood star system was emerging. The work of builder John Ray and architect Edgar Simmons, The Hermitage was one of England’s best equipped cinemas. It embraced all the latest designs with its Moorish arches, feature windows and fancy brickwork diapering. Diaper patterns are created by making diamond and cross-stitch shapes using contrasting coloured or textured bricks. Above the brick façade were moulded cornices in imitation of Greek temples. These were decorated with dentils or small blocks used as a repeat motif along the edge. On each corner fronting onto Hermitage Road were tall, slender arches. The Hermitage could seat about 1,300 people in stalls and balcony. It had a single screen, a full size orchestra pit and 12 dressing rooms (for use during Christmas pantomimes and variety shows). The foyer space was large and welcoming, with three box offices. On the upper floor was a ‘lounge café’ offering ‘service, comfort, courtesy’. In the days before online booking, queuing was an art. Up to 750 customers could wait for a seat in a purpose built space lining each side of the stalls.
The Hermitage was well patronised and much loved, but fell to the enthusiasm for redevelopment in the 1960s. The value of its central location persuaded its owners to sell up. Hitchin’s post office occupied the site from 1962 until 2014 when it was replaced by retail units.
The Regal
The Regal Cinema in Bancroft opened in November 1939 with seating for 1055 patrons. Its slick modernist outline was the brainchild of architect Frank Ernest Bromige. Its curved Crittall windows were its signature feature, synonymous with art deco. Crittall windows are characterized by expansive areas of glass offset by elegant horizontal metal frames. There was an impressive square tower to the right side of the frontage which cleverly beckoned towards the town centre. Inside there were stalls and a balcony, the walls were decorated with a wave themed mural; the ceiling was curved to give a feeling of airy space. The proscenium, which housed the screen, was painted blue and green. The eye was led to the screen, buoyed along on the stylized waves which were painted a glowing orange.
There was a spacious lounge area upstairs, generously provided with plush art deco sofas. At the back of the building was a large car-park; patrons could drive to the venue from beyond the town. If all seats were taken, they queued under a covered outside passage, long enough to hold the next full house.
The Regal lost out to The Hermitage after the war. It had no heating, which became more of an issue when there were fewer patrons. It lacked a tea room and restaurant and was a little less central to town. The Regal ended its days showing seedy adult films which brought it to the attention of the vicar of St Mary’s, who disapproved. It closed as a cinema in December 1977 with The Secrets of a Super Stud. When it failed as a music venue, efforts were made to save it as an excellent example of interwar architecture, but they came to nothing. The Regal was demolished in 1985. Flats and a GP surgery now occupy the site.
At all three venues, films were shown continuously between 2pm and 11pm. Prices ranged from 6d (2.5 pence) to 2/6d (12.5 pence).
In the 1940s Hitchin movie fans could drive to their venue of choice, enjoy refreshments, queue in comfort and immerse themselves in a fantasy domain. There was an atrocious war going on beyond these pleasure domes and a great film could be very sustaining in the moment. The whole experience could raise spirits and confirm national values, replacing doubt and anxiety. Now to explore how far these films were up to the task.
Looking through the archive, I was struck by the range and variety of films advertised. The offer was consistently diverting no matter what was happening abroad. There were thrillers, musicals, rom-coms, melodramas and family sagas alongside patriotic documentaries on the progress of the war. Hitchin audiences were among the first to see films that have become classics: The Wizard of Oz (Hermitage June 1940), Rebecca (Hermitage May 1941), Casablanca (Hermitage May 1943). There were plenty of historical films drawing parallels with the unfolding crisis: Lady Hamilton (Hermitage October 1941) being one of the most successful.
Hollywood had some resounding successes with its so called British films. These were set in a Hollywood version of Britain, showcasing the work of British actors, writers, producers and crew but bankrolled by American investors. Of these, Hitchin cinemas screened Jane Eyre (Hermitage June 1944), Mrs Miniver (Regal June 1943), Wuthering Heights (Hermitage January 1940) and National Velvet (Hermitage December 1945). Hitchin audiences most likely loved them, they were expensive to make with high production values. They won Oscars and critical acclaim. A sizeable group of renowned British actors moved to Hollywood during the war years and it must have been reassuring to see their success. Such films confirmed the Special Relationship; they were nostalgic, gently mocking of English eccentricities but celebratory of English history and power in the world. There was also a hard headed motive. As Europe and the Far East fell to the Nazis, American films were banned and industry assets seized. The abundance of British sixpences and shillings made up for the loss of those lucrative markets. It also meant that people in small towns like Hitchin were up to date with the latest cultural debates conducted in a shared language.
Within this mix two key genres emerge: Populism and Film Noir. Hitchin was being wooed with exceptional quality. The films in these groups are regarded by buffs and critics alike as classics of their kind, with brilliant directors and star casts. For Hitchin audiences they were laden with values and dilemmas – concerns that were deeply relevant to a nation at war and later transitioning to peacetime. Here are some examples.
The hero of the Populist classic, Meet John Doe (1941 dir. Frank Capra, Hermitage December 1943) is an American Everyman. He espouses self-help and fair play. In a fair and free society, like the one the allies are fighting for, he will always come out on top. As the story unfolds we see the forces of big business and Fascism defeated by a champion of the little people and his grassroots supporters. Among them is the heroine, a helper figure; protective and trustworthy, her loyalty will be rewarded by marriage to the hero in the final reel.
John Doe does not exist, he is a creation of the heroine, Ann (Barbara Stanwyck). She uses the power of the press to publish a series of open letters in his name. The letters make eloquent appeal for society to pay attention to the needs of disadvantaged people. When powerful forces in the press notice the hold Doe’s ideas have on the nation, they cynically hire a homeless man (Gary Cooper) to pose as ‘the real’ John Doe. He plays along at first, making a series of pro fascist radio broadcasts, but the plot unravels when he realises he is being used.
Doe’s message changes as he finds his citizen’s voice: love one another, defend your freedoms, stand up to the rich and powerful. The film is packed with heart stirring, patriotic speeches. The implicit warning to audiences is that you must be on our guard, don’t take things at face value, demand to know the source of powerful messages or the fate of Germany could be your fate too. There are heart stopping moments in the film when the crowd hovers uncertainly between belief and disbelief, unsure who is telling the truth.
‘Meet John Doe’ advertised in The Citizen 17 December 1943
In John Ford’s Young Mr Lincoln (1939 dir. John Ford, Picturedrome and Regal February 1940) audiences are offered another populist leader. This one is a historical figure, pivotal to the articulation of some of America’s most sacred ideas. As the title suggests, the film is about the making of a national leader, one who ensured the country survived the crisis of civil war. There is a deeply affecting mood of memory and loss throughout the film, one that would resonate with a wartime audience. Lincoln stands for the emergent American nation. He is neighbourly, with a simple but profound understanding of right and wrong. The film urges us to honour the dead by striving to fulfil the hopes they had for us. Lincoln, the store keeper and small town lawyer grows in stature because he holds to great values within a small setting, supported by the community. God’s laws show the way forward for families, for small towns everywhere and for nations struggling for survival.
In Mr Smith Goes to Washington (1939 dir. Frank Capra Regal, June 1940) our hero is again, a decent, ordinary guy, surrounded by political crooks. This is a world where people are either agents of a corrupt political machine or condone it by remaining silent. It takes just one brave individual backed by a determined few to stop corruption in its tracks. Such a one is our hero, scout master Jefferson Smith (James Stewart) who finds himself elevated to the position of a Washington senator. He is at first ridiculed but finds strength in his small town values and belief in democracy. By his courage and the power of his rhetoric he prevails over corrupt schemes, but only in the film’s final moments. The message is clear: democracy is under threat from without, so must be first made good from within.
Despite their sombre themes and edge-of-the-seat redemptions, Populist films offered Hitchin audiences a sense of the warmth that community can bring and lots of incidental humour. Doe, Lincoln and Smith have something of the Old West about them, they are heirs to that pioneering community, facing up to perils and believing in their destiny. However problematic this is today, Americans believed their nation was built on such values and wanted their allies to agree.
Populist films were screened in the early years of the war. Film Noir appears in 1944 when there are anxieties about the new world that’s coming into focus. Crucially Noir turns its attention to women. In war time women took up new roles while men were away, they assumed responsibility for the family. Some experienced a sexual freedom that came with disruption of social norms. Some of the films screened in Hitchin were already exploring the question of how to manage such women. Now a new screen image was emerging: alluring, sexual, dangerous – a femme fatale. Noir films are dark – aesthetically and morally. They are darkly lit, with sharp chiaroscuro effects. The psychological power play between men and women is dark too. The dialogue must have gripped audiences; it is fast, combative and clever. Women and men are equally matched, gaining pleasure from sparring when the stakes are high. There is a pessimism and uncertainty here, feeding on a collective exhaustion after all the upbeat energy of Populism’s war effort. These films showcase individual desire rather than communal aspiration; the hero figures of Doe, Lincoln and Smith are replaced by women. Noir plots are convoluted, teasing, unresolved; was post war life going to be like this? Or was this all too Hollywood, too remote?
In Double Indemnity (1944 dir. Billy Wilder, Hermitage January 1945) Mrs Phyllis Dietrichson (Barbara Stanwyk) is deeply dissatisfied with her humdrum marriage. The material comforts of her garish California life style would have wowed Hitchin audiences, but affluent America is not safe. Amidst the supermarket shelves, stocked with plenty, Dietrichson plots the murder of her husband, trapping her lover and partner in crime, Walter Neff (Fred McMurray). Film noir is famous for its use of narrative voice over, a privilege that is always give to the male protagonist. Through the voice over Neff seeks to control the viewer’s understanding of Dietrichson, but her screen presence is so strong his narrative is ineffectual. Neff fails to get the indemnity money, due on her husband’s death and fails to secure Dietrichson for himself. The film ends in confession, cynicism and gun shots.
Hitchin audiences would have flocked to Laura (1944 dir. Otto Preminger, Hermitage March 1945) and Woman in the Window (1944 dir. Fritz Lang, Hermitage August 1945). These films are a warning against the emotional and societal chaos that can arise when men’s fantasies are given free reign outside the norms of courtship and family life.
Film Noir plots often take shape around the investigation of a beautiful, independent woman whose behaviour breaks the rules and needs to be reigned in or destroyed. In Laura Detective Mark McPherson (Dana Andrews) investigates the murder of Laura Hunt (Gene Tierney), a woman who combines personal glamour with a successful career as a New York advertising executive. McPherson’s search is futile; just when he thinks he’s on the point of a breakthrough, Laura turns up, very much alive after a weekend away. Despite this good outcome the mood continues gloomy because Laura’s effect on every man she meets damages their masculine pride. The world is skewed and the power of Laura’s mesmerising portrait sets off a chain of murders. Laura has no agency within the plot, she is only present courtesy of several male viewpoints which reveal each character’s anxiety and neurosis.
Woman in the Window suggests a portrait frame rather like the painting that wreaks havoc in Laura. The film serves as a warning that obsession with a woman based on the power of her image can lead to a destructive desire. Richard Wanley (Edward G Robinson) is not used to being without his wife, Alice (Joan Bennett) and children. He sees them off on holiday and, lacking the anchorage they provide, he conjures a sexual fantasy woman in a dream. The dream sequence lets him explore an alternative reality filled with sexual excitement and risk. His fantasy life takes him to the brink of suicide. At this crisis point he wakes up, cured of ever longing for such excitement again. Fantasies cannot be sustained and the price for transgression is too high.
Farewell My Lovely (1944 dir. Edward Dmytryk, Regal October 1945) was a landmark film for Hitchin audiences. They could not have known it, but they were among the first to encounter an archetype that would endure on our big and small screens for the next 75 years and counting. Farewell My Lovely starred Dick Powell as private detective Philip Marlowe. The tropes that make this character and that actors – Humphrey Bogart (1946), Robert Mitchum (1975), and Liam Neeson (2023) – have played with unassailable flair, are familiar to us today. We have come to expect every screen cop to be a law enforcer and a rule breaker, a ‘hard boiled’ loner with a messy private life, a giver and taker of impossible beatings, a super smart guy who is first round every corner in the maze that is the plot.
‘Farewell My Lovely’ advertised in The Citizen on 12 October 1945
With films like these over the long war years, imagine how people of Hitchin town made their ways home to Walsworth, Benslow and Bearton in their hundreds with so much to talk over on the way.