The Daily Telegraph - Saturday - Review
When posters stole the show
From Snow White to Skegness, John Hassall’s witty designs captured the salt-and-grime world of a bygone Britain – and the heart of a future filmmaker
There’s a famous seaside town called Blackpool,
That’s noted for fresh air and fun, And Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom Went there with young Albert, their son.
So begins the fateful saga of what happened to the lad when he poked his “stick with an ’orse’s ’ead ’andle” in the ear of Wallace the lion at Blackpool Tower Zoo. This comic verse is from Albert, ’Arold and Others, one of three volumes, published in the 1930s, by the music hall comedian and legendary pantomime dame Marriott Edgar.
Edgar’s verses were intended as monologues, to be delivered in a broad Lancashire accent. Several were made popular on disc by Stanley Holloway. For many of us post-war kids in the North West, one of our cultural privileges was to hear them performed frequently by enthusiastic grown-ups. The headmaster of my Salford primary school, a very tall man called Mr Small, was given to lusty renderings, his party piece being Runcorn Ferry, with its famous refrain, “Tuppence per person per trip”.
Albert, ’Arold and Others and its sequels were, of course, right up my street, the verses rooted, so it seemed, in the real salt-and-grime world I lived in, even when telling historical tales, like the signing of Magna Carta:
So they spread Charter out on t’ tea table,
And John signed his name like a lamb.
His writing in places was sticky and thick
Through dipping his pen in the jam.
And then there were the glorious drawings. “With 46 character illustrations by John Hassall,” announced the front cover. And characterful they certainly were. From Albert and his parents wading cheerfully into the Mersey to avoid paying for the ferry, to William of Normandy conferring amiably with his men at the Battle of Hastings, Hassall’s gallery bursts with warmth and humanity, comic vision and acute observation. I loved them, and they were unquestionably an early influence on my notions about depicting people.
In one of the many secondhand bookshops on Charing Cross Road, I was for years charmed and intrigued by a large framed painting which, an assistant said, depicted the Peasants’ Revolt of 1381. Hundreds of men advance towards us, shoulder to shoulder, some armed
with swords. Detailed, individual portrayals, all painted with compassion, humour and a gritty reality. Eventually, I asked if it was for sale. Emphatically not, I was told. There was no way the shop owner would ever part with it. Then one day the assistant announced that they were closing down, and that I could buy the enigmatic picture if I wished. So I did.
Now I could examine it closely. Suddenly, there it was – the magic moniker, discreetly inscribed in the corner: “Hassall.” Of course – I should have recognised the master’s style. We already had on our walls a few of his pantomime posters, so it was great that The Peasants’ Revolt had now joined its fellow Hassalls.
Except that it isn’t The Peasants’ Revolt at all. After owning it for 25 years, I was recently contacted by Lucinda Gosling, the author of a new book on Hassall, who had heard that I was a fan. Having only seen a black-andwhite photo of the painting, she was excited to learn of its survival, but informed me that it is in fact called The Raiders, and depicts raiders on the Scottish border. Now I look at it, I can see that – that’s exactly who they are.
Gosling’s book is important, not only as a reminder and a celebration of a great English artist, but because, in this age of instant digital imagery, poster art is continually under threat. In my endless battles over poster design (mostly with film distributors, rather than theatre managements), I plead not only for simple, bold images, but for the involvement of original artists and illustrators, instead of the unimaginative, turgid recycling of production stills which make all posters look alike. I invoke names like Toulouse-Lautrec, Abram Games, Ronald Searle, Saul Steinberg, Robert Crumb – and, of course, John Hassall.
I wish Hassall was still around. I’d have loved to have seen his poster for Abigail’s Party.