Children of the Blitz, BBC2, four stars; and Scotland’s Home of the Year, BBC One, Three stars
Before the Blitz began, some 800,000 children were evacuated from British towns and cities, while two million stayed at home. This outstanding documentary gave a glimpse of what happened to some of them, and the scars they continue to bear.
It was one of the most moving films I’ve seen this year - and one of the most enraging, for reasons that will become clear.
It opened with Dorothea Barron, age 101, leading a Pilates class. She tended not to talk about the days between September 1940 and May 1941 because “it opens up far too many horrors and crevices in one’s earlier life”.
Children were expected to just get on with things. “You didn’t tell anyone what you felt,” said another contributor. “I don’t know who would have listened.” The adults, of course, were themselves terrified of what the night would bring.
The interviewees were men and women of a certain age, but when they spoke of this period in their lives, they became almost childlike again, their eyes lighting up or filling with tears accordingly.
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One of the most poignant moments came when Jean Whitfield, 92, from Sheffield, led the camera to the “common grave” where her mother was buried. Killed as she was hanging out the washing. “It’s so sad that nobody cared enough to give her a proper grave.”
Every interviewee was impressive, every statement one that will linger long in the mind. It was a quality piece of work, one made for the BBC by Minnow Films.
But it had one glaring omission: there was not a single interviewee from Clydebank. There was a caption telling us that in March 1941, more than 500 people died over two nights, yet no interviewee. Not even a clip from previous documentaries, of which there have been several, including BBC Scotland’s 2011 The Clydebank Blitz.
As a Scottish reviewer, I’ve grown accustomed to programmes forgetting there is a world beyond the border, but this one stung. So I contacted the BBC, which said: “Children of the Blitz is a documentary which speaks to some of the last people who witnessed the reality of the Blitz across the UK. While more than 70 towns and cities were bombed during the Blitz, the documentary could not represent every affected community.
“Given the passage of time, we were also limited to survivors who were still able to recall their experiences in vivid detail. In recognition of the scale of the bombing and casualties, Clydebank was the only town outside those represented by the interviewees that was specifically referenced in relation to the number of people killed. The film is a testament to the bravery and enduring spirit of all those who lived through the Blitz.”
Fair enough? Good enough? Hardly. This was a missed opportunity to right a wrong that has been perpetrated too many times before. What a shame.
Scotland’s Home of the Year, BBC One, Monday, Three stars
It is no good. We really ought to be relaxed about such things in our new, sophisticated multiparty Scotland, but there are limits. SHOTY people, we need to talk about Danny.
I blame us, the audience. We stood by and said nothing when the architect of the judging trio turned up one day in black Crocs. It is just a phase, we told ourselves, like brutalism. He’ll grow out of it.
Some hotheads wanted to “liberate” the Crocs, as if they were the footwear equivalent of the Stone of Destiny, but thankfully cooler heads prevailed. But now our Danny has gone too far.
He turned up at the first house wearing Crocs, with socks, denim cut-offs, and a denim jacket. A double denim, Croc-socked vision straight out of fashion hell. Come on now, son, get a grip.
Kin Cottage in New Deer, Aberdeenshire, was a mix of old sandstone and a new extension. The inside was stunning. Danny found the kitchen island “very strokeable” while Anna admired the “very sexy” bronze mirror splashback. And clean? You could have performed open-heart surgery on that kitchen worktop (and with waiting lists what they are, it could yet come to that).
Grindwell Knowe, a converted crofter’s house near Vidlin, home to Susie and her poodle Pascha, was more the judges’ cuppa. They started ooh-ing at the mini waterfall near the entrance, turned to ah-ing in the cosy but light-filled sitting room, and were in ecstasy over a headboard that filled an entire wall. “Never seen that before,” said Anna, “want to see it again.”
And she will, in next week’s final.
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