Kenneth Clark

by James Stourton

  In 1965, Contrast magazine voted Clark’s art lectures the most memorable and significant programmes on television, ahead of World in Action and Coronation Street. This was a vote of critics rather than the public, but Clark was by now, unassailably, the leading TV art historian. Everybody wanted him to talk about contemporary art, but he said that needed colour – which had not yet reached British television – and recommended that Bryan Robertson of the Whitechapel Gallery should be brought in, as a younger man more in touch with contemporary art. The BBC went on trying to reclaim Clark,*4 and in 1965 a project came up that involved both it and ITV. Two very presentable producers, David Windlesham and Tony de Lotbinière, had been appointed to work with Lord Cobbold, the Lord Chamberlain, to make a film about the royal palaces. This was a very considerable coup. Never before had television cameras been allowed into the palaces, and an important precedent was being set. The Queen had to approve all the arrangements. Jackie Kennedy had already taken television cameras into the White House, and during the early 1960s there had been growing pressure on the royal household to do something similar. The first discussions took place between the Lord Chamberlain and Lord Hill of Luton for the ITA, but it would have to be a joint BBC/ITV production (as had been the funeral of Winston Churchill in January 1965). All the palaces would be made available for filming when the Queen was away: Buckingham Palace, Brighton Pavilion, Windsor Castle, Holyrood and Hampton Court. Clark was the obvious choice as presenter, and nobody else appears to have been considered, although in retrospect Clark himself felt the arch-royal historian Sir Arthur Bryant should have been chosen.

  Clark was initially offered a derisory £100 per week for fourteen weeks’ work (four weeks’ preliminary work, six weeks’ shooting and four weeks’ editing). He rejected this, and negotiated a £4,600 package which included his £2,500 annual consultant’s fee to ATV, plus £2,000 for the programmes and £100 for a book.28 He was unenthusiastic about the project – it was a return to a world he had left behind – and never really gave it enough time, as he told Janet Stone: ‘Endless bother over Royal Palaces on TV. I don’t want to do it, but it is very difficult to get out of it when everyone asks me, and my company say it will give them great credit etc. I am longing to get back to Motives, which I have glanced at, and think could be my best effort.’29

  The script in places reflected Clark’s state of mind: ‘Charles II didn’t care about anything, as long as he was not bothered.’ But Clark, with his experience of life at Windsor, was concerned about the palace officials. The Lord Chamberlain’s office did request the script for scrutiny, if not actual censorship, which Clark thought might be imposed.30 Clark told Lord Crawford, ‘The Lord Chamberlain’s office are longing to find fault with it, and are in a rage because I have refused to submit the script.’31 But when the Queen asked to see the film in an early cut, in time to make alterations, this could not be ignored. (In the event this screening took place too late for any meaningful changes to be made.) Clark had become used to a rather jaunty presenting style at ATV, full of asides which brought his subjects to life. How could he get through Royal Palaces without an ounce of irony? As he confided to Janet: ‘I worry a lot about my Royal Palaces. Every time I see the people it is clear that what they really want is a sort of Arthur Bryant script, and I can’t do it. I still feel that I may give it up – it is so much not my line.’32

  The making of Royal Palaces was, however, important for the future. The production quality was much higher than normal television, as the programme was shot on colour 35mm like a feature film, although it was broadcast in black and white. Many of the techniques of outside broadcasting and lighting that would be crucial to Civilisation were pioneered on Royal Palaces, and some of the crew were to work on both productions, notably the cameramen ‘Tubby’ Englander and Ken Macmillan, with whom Clark established a particularly warm relationship.33 Macmillan describes the scene: ‘Royal Palaces was my first job and involved a lot of technically rather tricky moments. It was the first time anybody filmed at the palace and we were allowed to park our cars in the central courtyard because the monarch was away. K was very practised at talking and walking and good at timing. A real professional. K appeared in only a limited number of shots because the lighting in the palaces was poor and we needed extended exposures, which were far too slow for human movement and speech.’34

  The programme opened with Clark on the balcony of Buckingham Palace. He then turned his back and went inside, the camera accompanying him into the rooms behind the façade. Clark’s script was lively and generally enthusiastic, but adopted an aesthetic criterion rather than a historical one – occasionally damning with faint praise. When it was completed, the Queen was booked in for a screening at Buckingham Palace at 6 p.m. on 19 October 1966, with the Duke of Edinburgh, Lord Cobbold and various palace officials, as well as the two producers. Clark takes up the story to Janet: ‘All did not go well when I showed it to the monarch. She was furious, and would have liked to stop it, but couldn’t find a pretext for doing so – not a single disrespectful word or sentiment (except that Henry VIII was fat!). All she could say was “it’s so sarcastic” – which means devoid of the slop and unction to which she is conditioned. She didn’t say a word about the photography which is excellent and wouldn’t speak to my poor producer. The courtiers were confused. I had foreseen all this but in a way it’s remarkable that my lack of enthusiasm for the monarchy should have oozed through my extremely respectable (and very dull) script.’35

  Clark saw Cecil Beaton shortly afterwards, and told him that the Queen swept out of the room, followed by her embarrassed courtiers. Prince Philip lingered behind, and asked Clark, ‘How do you know the people guzzled at the palace banquets?’ To which he answered, ‘Because half the population was undernourished. Few had good meals. This was the occasion for a tuck-in.’36 The only member of the royal family who showed any interest in the film was Prince Charles.

  The producer wrote to Clark the following day, commiserating: ‘It must have been for you a disheartening and wounding reaction to the film last night: although perhaps one that you had anticipated.’37 The Queen’s private secretary, Sir Michael Adeane, tried to put a positive face on the matter: ‘Actually I think that the Queen and Prince Philip liked it a lot but as the object of the session was to criticise they criticised and I think that this is a sign of great interest in the subject.’38 There is no question that Royal Palaces was a disappointment to the Queen and Prince Philip. They had been used to complete deference on the airwaves from the BBC, and no doubt believed that on the first occasion on which they opened the palaces to the cameras they might expect it. Looking at Royal Palaces today, it is hard to see what all the fuss was about, but to a monarch used to the honeyed tones of Richard Dimbleby, Clark appeared facetious and critical. The criticism is virtually inaudible to a modern audience which is now acclimatised to a historical treatment of the Queen’s forebears.

  To the world beyond the palace, the programme was a great success. Cecil Beaton summed up the general view: ‘It was interesting, with, for once, a running commentary by someone with a first-class brain and an extraordinary knowledge…he brought greatness to the subject…he talked of kings and queens as real people in history. He criticised from a very lofty plane some of the works of art in the palaces and although giving credit where it was due, was probably a little condescending about the position of Zoffany.’39 Royal Palaces was by far the most important heritage programme shown on British television to date. Its sophistication and technical advances pointed the way to Civilisation, but more importantly, Clark’s relaxed and soigné performance made it inevitable that he would be the presenter of such a series. The BBC had claimed back their man.

  * * *

  *1 In 1950 the Clarks gave Olivier a walking cane. They had a tendency to shower genius with expensive presents and flowers: Margot Fonteyn, Kathleen Ferrier, Benjamin Britten, T.S. Eliot and others – but Jane was naturally generous to everybody.

&
nbsp; *2 Heller was an American who went from CBS to Granada, and then to ATV. He always wanted social commentary – Clark would say, ‘There’s Bob’s social comment.’

  *3 Clark’s secretary Catherine Porteous notes that when young people sent him their PhD theses, Clark would sometimes mischievously respond that he was not knowledgeable enough to make helpful observations, but was sure that Reyner Banham would be most interested.

  *4 In 1965 the BBC was already suggesting ‘an ambitious series of visits to some of the Treasure Houses, Galleries, Museums, Palaces and Cathedrals of Eastern and Western Europe. We want this to be the “Grand Tour” of someone who can interpret their significance and dilate on their contents.’ See letter to Clark from W.G. Duncalf, 13 January 1965 (Tate 8812/1/4/55).

  29

  Saltwood: The Private Man

  Like all civilised men they kept their life in separate compartments.

  KENNETH CLARK, The Three Faces of France: Manet (ATV)

  Life at Saltwood provided many of the ingredients of an idyll. The castle was both comfortable and romantic, and gave the Clarks what they most desired: privacy, peace, a garden for Jane and the magnificent library for Kenneth. He wrote excitedly to Janet Stone: ‘I am longing for you to see [Saltwood], for no photos or engravings do it justice. It is really more a piece of landscape than a house, and takes on the character of the weather.’1 The seventy-mile distance from London gave them a degree of separation, but visitors were not put off, arriving for lunch at Sandling station two miles away. As Clark told Berenson: ‘All goes well as long as I can be at Saltwood from Friday to Monday – without that I degenerate. My whole aim is not to have guests. I love seeing friends, but for meals only: if I feel that they are keeping me from my work or the garden my love turns instantly to loathing.’2 It was a question of running a tight timetable and not allowing visitors to interfere with the day’s work. We can follow Clark’s life at Saltwood in intimate detail through the letters he wrote to Janet Stone.

  Clark always ran his life to a very ordered schedule.3 He would work from six to eight in his dressing gown, on his books and lectures. Breakfast was laid out on a tray in the kitchen by the staff, and then Clark would inspect the ‘day diary’ by the back door to see if anyone was coming for lunch, and view the menu. He would disappear after breakfast to work in his study off the great hall – where there was no telephone – until 10.30 a.m., when he would return to the ‘house’ to give dictation to his Saltwood secretary and then phone his London secretary at Albany. He would then go back to his study to work in his chair in the window. Cheques and less agreeable mail would be dealt with at the big desk. At 12.45 he would walk briskly across the bailey lawn to pre-lunch drinks in the panelled library (confusingly, although this room, which served as the Clarks’ sitting room, contained a bookcase, the library was actually housed in the great hall). Guests were invited promptly at this hour – if they were late Jane was understanding, but as the librarian/archivist Margaret Slythe commented, ‘for K, it often seemed as if he had been personally insulted’.4 Depending on the interest and importance of the guests, coffee would be served either at the table (if he wanted them to leave) or in the library. Very rarely guests would be considered ‘cake-worthy’ and invited to look around the castle (without their host) and have tea at 3.45 before being shown the door. The Clarks always had a siesta after lunch. Another hour’s work would follow, until drinks at around 6.30 p.m. If Jane was in a mellow mood, Clark would spend the time before dinner writing personal letters – usually to his girlfriends – and would leave several envelopes to be stamped and posted the following day.

  The staff at Saltwood consisted of Mr and Mrs Emberson, factotum and cook. The butler was Mr Cloake, whose wife was the parlourmaid. Isa Mackay looked after the linen cupboard, and there were various housemaids, making altogether eight indoor staff. Out of doors there were three gardeners. Maintaining this household meant the Clarks were living well beyond their income, which they had to supplement with the sale of paintings. Clark was continuously anxious about money, as he told Janet: ‘What a bore it is that one can’t just forget about money – set a course and live by it as one can when piloting an aeroplane. However, I suppose that each age has its own way of distorting one’s equanimity, and in the 19th century I should have been continually harassed by doubts about the Trinity.’*1 With the Labour government’s introduction in 1966 of supertax – as immortalised by the Beatles’ song ‘Taxman’ – Clark was forced to reduce the number of indoor staff, and he and Jane were looked after by an Italian couple: Maria the cook and her husband Pasquale, who acted as butler, chauffeur and valet. They shared most of the housekeeping duties, and would return home each summer for a few weeks, which left the Clarks bereft, as neither had any cooking skills. Jane’s interest lay in the garden she had created within the castle walls, with long herbaceous borders useful for the house flower arrangements. She was very knowledgeable about plants, often placing them in an original manner, and inspected the garden every day, usually with Cradduck, the head gardener, who lived in the lodge.

  After lunch on Monday the car would be packed up with flowers, food and clean linen, and in the early days the Clarks would be driven to London. As traffic conditions deteriorated they resorted to the train, either from Folkestone or from Sandling station, where they were treated like royalty because Jane, who knew everybody by name, tipped them all so lavishly. Jane gradually spent more time at Saltwood, and Clark would go up to London alone, which probably suited him. He would return on Thursday, in time for tea. As Colin wrote: ‘My father, who would usually spend part of the week with his mistresses, would be in a jolly mood, pottering about and uncorking bottles of wine.’5

  The Clarks enjoyed entertaining old friends at the weekend: the Moores, Pipers and Sutherlands, Margot Fonteyn, the Oliviers, Spenders, Andersons, Droghedas, and Yehudi Menuhin. Some guests, like E.M. Forster and David Knowles,*2 were modest and unassuming, while others, like Penelope Betjeman, talked too much, Clark thought: ‘At meals etc she is too dominating a personality – I believe saintly, and like all saints an exhibitionist and unwashed. I doubt if she ever has a bath, or removes the lower layer of her clothes…I really rather liked her.’6 When Alan invited the military historian and savant Basil Liddell Hart to stay, Clark observed: ‘he is obviously in the habit of being heard with respect and it wasn’t easy to persuade J[ane] that she should let him talk uninterruptedly’.7

  They began to ask attractive younger couples, such as Colette’s friends Caryl and John Hubbard. Caryl often did research for Clark, who admired her husband’s paintings. New names start to appear in the visitors’ book, notably Burnet Pavitt, a wealthy bachelor who was on the Covent Garden board, became a regular visitor and would be best man at Clark’s second marriage. The Queen Mother spent the night of 28–29 June 1957 at Saltwood before crossing the Channel to unveil the Dunkirk memorial: she came with a large retinue of staff including her private secretary, lady-in-waiting, valet, lady’s maid and chauffeur. The Clarks had engaged Julian Bream to give a short lute recital after dinner, but for some reason this never took place.

  Neighbours were very rarely encountered at Saltwood, except Colette’s friends John and Anya Sainsbury,8 who had built a modernist bungalow nearby, and were already forming a distinguished art collection. Clark rather enjoyed visits to a local major, ‘who was an azalea grower and had a veranda from which he would inspect his garden like a company of soldiers’.9 Not all their guests were impressed by a visit to Saltwood. John Mallet, the son of Clark’s friend Victor, the former Ambassador to Sweden, found ‘Lady Clark could hardly have been more vulgarly unwelcoming…perhaps the trouble was that she had hoped for a long spell of genius-talk with Aldous Huxley, who was stretched lankily in a chair in the sitting-room when we arrived…Sir Kenneth showed us his library and was attentive to us, and one would have said kind, had not the total effect of his attentions left one feeling a little chilled. He has a marvellous brain, hard, brilliant
and cold as a diamond.’10

  Very few of Clark’s professional colleagues were invited for the weekend, an exception being the future director of the National Gallery Michael Levey, and his novelist wife Brigid Brophy. Their arrival alarmed Clark: ‘I rather dreaded his wife, who is said to be a figure who crunches up the skulls of middle-aged men of letters. She showed no sign of this, but was no doubt taking notes for future use.’11 John Hubbard described a weekend at Saltwood as ‘full of jokes and stories – not particularly intellectual’.12 On Saturday afternoon guests were likely to be taken for a visit to Canterbury Cathedral, or Romney Marsh with its ancient churches, or Hythe with its Napoleonic canal. Clark enjoyed walking – Jane never got further than the edge of the estate – part of the incentive being the dogs, Plato the Great Dane and star of Isn’t he Beautiful?, ‘a noble character but not very clever’, and Emma the Dachshund, a highly intelligent and convivial animal. Clark adored them both, and wrote movingly about their intuitions and deaths in his memoirs.13 Visitors to Saltwood were kept busy all weekend, and as Margaret Slythe observed, ‘most went home exhausted, both physically and intellectually’.14 Clark was certainly pleased when they had left, and reminded Janet of a well-worn family tale: ‘You remember the story of the late-staying guest, who had been to the lavatory, and as he emerged heard me saying to our old dog, “isn’t it wonderful, they’ve all gone.” Well, they have.’15