What Tommy Came Marching Home To

If you're interested in social history, you'll find much to enjoy in The 1920s: Beyond the Roar, the new free exhibition at the National Archives in Kew. 

The starting point is the 1921 census of England and Wales, the full record of which has just been made public. The exhibition shines a light on various aspects of the 20s through the census and its statistics and the Archives' vast holdings of documents, as well as photographs and film.

The decade was an age of major change, technological and social, and those changes were in part the result of World War I and the terrible bloodshed during more than four years of conflict. More than 700,000 British soldiers died, but when the surviving Tommies came marching home after November 1918, it was a very different world they were returning to. 

There were fewer men, for one thing. On census night in England and Wales in 1921, they counted just under 18.1 million males -- but 19.8 million females. While men were away dying in the trenches, more than 700,000 women were manufacturing munitions, and taking over other jobs men had done in peacetime, such as in transport and agriculture. 

And women were finding their way to the top in the professions too. The census found 46 women working as consultant engineers, 20 barristers, 17 solicitors, 147 nonconformist ministers, 24 vets and 49 architects. Oh, and in 1929, in Britain's second Labour government, Margaret Bondfield became the first woman cabinet minister. 

If the 1920s presents a picture of a shift in the balance between the sexes, though, this was an era in which Britain was still an imperial power, an age in which vast swathes of the map of the globe were coloured red. 

And this, one of the most visually striking objects in the show, illustrates the reach of the Empire into everyday life. It's a 1928 poster from the Empire Marketing Board, in which a John Bull figure strides out from a greengrocer's shop named after him with bags overflowing with British and imported fruit -- imported from the colonies and dominions, that is. Buy apples grown at home, is the exhortation, along with South African pineapples, Ceylon coconuts and West Indian grapefruit. The protectionist sentiment and the top hat seem somehow at odds with the modernist design, including the short-skirted, cloche-hatted women shoppers on each side. 

The fruit may have come from around the world, or at least the red-coloured bits, but the population didn't. Only 230,000 people recorded by the 1921 census were born outside the British Isles -- well below 1% of the total. A mere 655 were born in Africa, about a third of the number born at sea. Sailors born overseas were less welcome than the agricultural produce. On display is a 1925 order by the Home Secretary that required every seaman of colour who couldn't prove British status to register with the police. 

If that's a rather depressing exhibit, a more uplifting one comes in the shape of a document that only too graphically illustrates the widening of the electoral franchise to cover all men and women over the age of 21 by 1928. A civil servant has gone through the application form for registration as an elector, crossing out all the single-sex references appropriate for men only and replacing them with the now necessary alternatives, such as his/her. 

Archive films played on loops bring to life some of the facts and documents. If the street scenes look their age, there are also snippets that strike a more modern chord: London buses are sprayed with disinfectant during the 1927 flu epidemic; and there's a scrolling election-results service, which must have been at the cutting edge of technology. 

One highlight of 1920s technological prowess that never really made it was the airship; the government began a programme to develop the enormous craft to transport passengers on long-distance routes "to the most distant parts of the Empire", and there are photos and footage of the R101 on show. It looks ridiculously Heath Robinson-like.... and indeed the airship crashed on its first overseas voyage in 1930, killing 48 people and putting an end to the Imperial Airship Scheme. 

We're aware of the 1920s as a period of industrial unrest, with the nine-day May 1926 General Strike looming largest. Workers in many industries laid down their tools in solidarity with the striking coal miners. It was an unsuccessful action, and a poster put up by the London & North Eastern Railway tells strikers they'll be re-employed only under new terms, and if there's work available.

Some of the documents on display show developments that you normally associate with the 1930s rather than the 20s. Hunger marches are one, and another is fascism. 

An enrolment form for the British Fascists movement invites prospective members to sign on the dotted line with a pledge "to uphold His Most Gracious Majesty King George V, his heirs and successors, the established constitution of Great Britain, and the British Empire". Send a crossed cheque to an address in Elm Park Gardens, Chelsea, because "the COMMUNISTS subscribe 1/- per month for the purpose of wrecking the BRITISH EMPIRE, in addition to which they are subsidized to a large extent by RUSSIA. WHAT are YOU willing to pay to help an ORGANISATION whose sole object is the preservation of the BRITISH EMPIRE?"

Moving away from politics, there are some fascinating original documents urging adults and children to lead a healthy lifestyle, eat properly and keep themselves clean, with moderation in all things. Sex rears its ugly head too.... The Sunday Express rants against Radclyffe Hall's 1928 lesbian novel The Well of Loneliness: "A Book that Must Be Suppressed". 

And then there's the story of Maisie's Marriage, the 1923 silent film melodrama originally called Married Love and based on Marie Stopes's book promoting family planning, a taboo topic in the era. The Board of Film Censors initially declined to give the film a certificate, hence the sensational advertising, but it all sounds rather tame from this description. 

This Kew Archives journey through the 20s ends up in a night club, more particularly a recreation of the 43 Club, a notorious Soho speakeasy owned by Kate Meyrick that drew royalty, celebrities and gangsters despite being repeatedly raided by the police. 

Metropolitan Police documents provide a flavour of the frequent run-ins, and there's an audio retelling of Meyrick's story. Asked by police if she had a licence to sell alcohol, she would reply: "What me, sell liquor? I give it away, dearie!"

We're not really sure that this exhibition busts myths about the Roaring 20s, as the National Archives have argued, but it's a show that's packed with interest, and well worth the trip out to Kew. 

Practicalities

The 1920s: Beyond the Roar is on at the National Archives in Kew in south-west London until June 11. Admission is free and there's no need to book. Opening hours are 0930 to 1900 on Tuesdays and Thursdays and 0930 to 1700 on Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays. Allow yourself an hour to see the exhibition. The Archives are just a few minutes walk from Kew Gardens station, which is on London Underground's District Line and on the Overground.

Images

HS Williamson, Greengrocer, Empire Marketing Board poster, 1928, National Archives 
Order on registration of coloured alien seamen, 1925. Crown copyright, courtesy of the National Archives 
Amended electoral form with pronouns changed from him to her. Crown copyright, courtesy of the National Archives 
Still from film footage of R101 airship on show at National Archives
Poster informing passengers about General Strike, 1926, National Archives

Maisie's Marriage, film advertising poster, 1923, National Archives
Recreation of the 43 Club, National Archives