Cecil Beaton

The last week has been a revelation. I had no idea how early colour plates started to appear in books and I've discovered some wonderful Victorian natural history titles with stunning illustrations. However, the most impressive find has been the Cecil Beaton Scrapbook:

Published in 1937, the production values are ahead of their time and the quality of the images is extremely good:





Is Katharine Hepburn giving a Nazi salute?

Beaton's scrapbook is full of weird and wonderful photomontages, watercolours and sketches, but equally enjoyable is the text, which is refreshingly indiscreet and occasionally quite bitchy. Compared to most of the books published in the 1930s, Cecil Beaton's Scrapbook is remarkably modern.

It's also interesting to read a book that is largely about celebrities and compare Beaton's witty, intelligent and stylish scrapbook to Heat and Hello magazines.

Hysteria

I hate listening to the news on my way to work. Every day we are presented with the same news stories about corrupt politicians, suicide bombers and businesses going bust. It's frustrating for everyone. I've just bought a device that will allow me to play podcasts in my car and after that, I'll never have to listen to the Today programme again.

On this morning's news, we were told that a deadly pandemic might have broken out because OVER 100 PEOPLE HAVE DIED IN MEXICO! Experts were quizzed about the implications this could have for the rest of the world and the story was spun-out for as long as possible.

At no point did anyone point out that Mexico has a population of 110,000,000, making the death rate for Swine Flu is less than one in a million (car deaths account for around 200 people per million).

Oh no, let's not spoil the story.

I don't wish to seem blasé about a possible flu epidemic, but this isn't exactly the 1918 pandemic, which famously claimed more lives than World War One.

I wonder if the Spanish Flu outbreak of 1918 is responsible for this bizarre notice which I recently found pasted in a1920s book that used to belong to St Martin's Lane Lending Library:

Sexual intercourse began in 1963...

Sexual intercourse began

In nineteen sixty-three
(which was rather late for me) -
Between the end of the "Chatterley" ban
And the Beatles' first LP.

After the last few days, I'm inclined to agree with Philip Larkin. I have spent the last few days sifting through thousands of old books and it's remarkable how so many of the jacket designs of the 1960s were obsessed with sex.

The 1950s covers have pouting women with pneumatic breasts, gazing longingly at a rugged hero, but they seem comparatively chaste. The sixties jackets leave far less to the imagination.

Here are a few examples:

It starts innocently enough with a snog in a sportscar, but then things progress quickly...

Although the girl is almost naked, the man is scratching his head in a perplexed manner. He's so 1950s. Eventually he gets the message and a tryst in a beach-hut cements their relationship. Naturally, they get engaged...

A wedding takes place. The dress is made entirely out of artificial fibres, which almost ignite as the evening progresses. The happy couple move into a new townhouse, complete with driveway and garage.

Married life begins well. A combination of valium and alcohol help to distract Daisy from the utter futility of her existence, but she still craves excitement. When some new people move into their modern cul-de-sac, life becomes more interesting...

Daisy is soon 'in the club' in more ways than one, but who is the father?

It is fascinating to witness the sexual revolution of the 1960s through contemporary book jackets, but it's equally interesting to see the growing backlash of the following decade. At first, the 1970s seemed like the über-sixties, but by the end the nipples were back in unburned bras and the world was run by Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher.

Bookmarks

One of the most unsettling experiences of my life happened when I was 18, browsing through the shelves of my college library. A book caught my eye and I started to flick through it. Suddenly, halfway through the book, a photograph fell out and floated down to the floor. I picked it up and to my horror, it was of me.

My heart started pounding and I quickly put the book back, making sure that I kept the photo. I went outside and took deep breaths. Only later did I realise that I had borrowed the book a year earlier and used a photo as a bookmark.

I mention this because I have spent today flicking through dozens of secondhand books and found several photos that were used as bookmarks. This one is my favourite:

We're used to seeing individual passport photos of people, but there is something terribly private about a sequence, where we can see the subject trying to strike the right pose, experimenting with different moods. The man above appears both ridiculous and touchingly vulnerable.

This young woman clearly isn't comfortable having her picture taken and is nervously biting her lower lip. Is she still alive today, I wonder?


This bookmark is dated 1959 on the other side. It is only a fragment, but there is enough to see that it is an advert for the Albanian dictator Enver Hoxha's favourite film star, Norman Wisdom.

On this scrap of paper, someone has gone to the effort of copying out the last paragraph of a novel just below the actual text.

Here is the only real bookmark I found all day, imploring the British to use their new National Health Service - TOWARDS A FITTER BRITAIN. I wonder what the founders of the NHS would make of today's obesity epidemic?

"Charlie" she exclaimed impulsively. "I do not mean to vex you."

I love these tantalising glimpses into lost lives, but in future I'll take great to make sure that I don't unwittingly contribute to the archive. My photos will remain in the drawer.