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The Censorship of British Drama 1900â"1968
Volume Two: 1933â"1952
By Steve Nicholson University of Exeter Press
Copyright © 2005 Steve Nicholson
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-85989-697-9
CHAPTER 1
'Verboten'
The Nazis Onstage
It is not easy to go on shielding the Germans from their misdeeds being depicted on the stage in this country. (The Lord Chamberlain to the Foreign Office, November 1934)
In April 1934, New Statesman and Nation published an article by the critic and playwright Hubert Griffith, provocatively entitled 'The Censor as Nazi Apologist?' It centred on the recent refusal to license an English translation of Die Rassen, a drama written by the Austrian playwright Theodor Tagger under his pseudonym of Ferdinand Brückner, and first performed in Zurich the previous November. Griffith refers to the English version under the title Races, though, possibly to disguise its political content, it had been submitted to the Lord Chamberlain with what his Reader described as the 'ironical' title of Heroes. The story centred on a female Jewish student forced to flee the country and abandon her Aryan lover, who is himself attacked by his Nazi friends for associating with her. Griffith insisted that the tone was 'moderate' and that any propaganda was 'unspoken and only implied'. Indeed, he claimed that a Nazi official witnessing a performance in Switzerland had admitted that 'there was nothing untrue about it, and that it represented what Jews in German universities had got to expect'. Griffith told his readers that the official reason given for refusing to license Heroes was that two other anti-Nazi plays had already been turned down and that the censorship was bound to be consistent, and he accused Lord Cromer of being 'more sensitive to the susceptibilities of the German Embassy than he has any reasonable right to be'. In this instance, however, the Lord Chamberlain and the British theatre were not standing alone; productions planned for Prague and Buenos Aires had already been suppressed, after German representations, while a proposed production in New York had also been cancelled.
Until—and even after—the day war was declared on Germany in 1939, the Lord Chamberlain and his Readers were repeatedly embroiled in negotiations and disagreements as to the stage portrayal of political events in Germany and Europe. Such discussions were partly internal within St James's Palace, but frequently involved the Foreign Office and the German Embassy, as the theatre was required to accommodate itself to national and international political strategies. The Lord Chamberlain's staff were by no means always happy with what was required of them. Reporting on Bruckner's play, George Street pointedly observed that 'to those who take the theatre seriously it must seem a pity that matters which have stirred public feeling should be excluded from it'; he commented that it 'does not include attacks on individuals', and, pre-empting another possible ground for objection, expressed his 'doubt if any disturbance would result' from staging it. But Street knew that his personal view as Reader counted for little and would be over-ruled.
Griffith ended his article by announcing that the English translation of Heroes was about to be published, and that 'Literature is still (at the moment) freer than the stage'. Although the promised translation never appeared, the general point remains true, and the primary reason for this was that licensing for the stage was in the gift of the head of the royal household. It followed that any play staged in public had been effectively sanctioned and endorsed by the monarch, and that its 'message' could be seen as carrying his support. As a result, the Lord Chamberlain was effectively obliged to ensure that the British stage did not upset the German authorities. In February 1934, Cromer wrote: 'I have no wish to deter people from showing up the brutality of the Nazi regime, but this can perfectly well be done in books and novels, and even published plays, but not by plays acted on the English stage.' As an internal memorandum made explicit, it was not even a question of whether a play was 'fair':
The brutality of the Nazi regime is, I imagine, beyond question. Books are published on this theme & also plays, but much as my personal sympathies are with those who wish to enlighten the world as to doings in Germany, it would be very mistaken policy to allow such plays to be acted on the English stage.
As early as August 1933, Cromer had insisted on removing a scene called 'The Dictators' from a Lupino Lane revue, even though it had been previously broadcast on radio: We cannot have Mussolini or Hitler impersonated on the stage without objections being raised, so this had better come out'. Almost certainly, he was thinking of objections made by the German Embassy rather than by members of the public. The following month a reference to Hitler was cut from a revue at the Prince of Wales's Theatre—even though one to the British prime minister was allowed to remain—and in reading the script for the October Revudeville at the Windmill Theatre, Street drew attention to an anti-war song: 'I mark some lines on Hitler; the "straws amongst his hair" I should think can hardly be passed—it is certainly insulting and it is not the moment for exacerbating remarks on the stage'. Cromer agreed, and the lines were removed.
Yet a complete ban on references to contemporary Germany would have been impracticable and probably self-defeating. Whether by coincidence or not, the first serious play about the Nazis was approved for public performance two days after Griffith's article had appeared. Whither Liberty, written by Alan Peters, a Leeds doctor, was licensed for Bradford Civic Theatre on 16 April 1934; its cause was probably helped by the fact that it was not to be staged in London, but, more importantly, the script had been substantially rewritten since its first submission nine months earlier under the title Who Made the Iron Grow, when Street had described it as 'a strong indictment of the atrocities and excesses committed by the Nazis'. Both the narrative and the form of Peters's play proved to be early models for a succession of scripts to emerge over the next few years, which struggled to fit the horrors of contemporary events into a formulaic straitjacket of 'realistic' characters, setting and dialogue. In this instance, the head of the Bergheim family is a medical professor interested only in science, who has never revealed to his wife—an aristocratic woman of anti-Semitic tendencies—that he is of Jewish origins. One of their sons is drawn to the political right, the other to the left, while their apolitical daughter turns down the sexual advances of a Nazi storm trooper in favour of a Jewish scientist. The playwright attempts to project into this domestic world the increasing violence and prejudices of German society, as one son is killed and the rest of the family flee into exile. Bergheim's wife is officially informed that her husband is a Jew and has lost his post at the university, and she is given the opportunity to annul the marriage. But in the final moments of the play, she recants her prejudices and decides to remain with him, holding up to the audience a crumpled piece of yellow paper with the word 'Jew' on it, which she will stick back on the door from which she had previously torn it down. 'The play is not a good one', wrote Street in July 1933, 'the author is in too great a hurry'; yet in its way it was an important one. More to the point, the Reader realised that it would create 'political difficulties'. Street urged against wholesale rejection, and tentatively questioned the logic of the very particular limitations placed on the stage:
Since it avoids indictments of policy—except for a few passages which may be excised—and is aimed at atrocities denounced by every English newspaper, by many public men, by the overwhelming majority of English people in private, it would be in my opinion a great mistake to ban it.
He marked specific references likely to inspire objections—'The burning of the Reichstag ... The denunciation of Hitler ... The professor's forecast of policy'—but pointedly observed that 'so violent a Revolution ought not to be squeamish about criticism in a foreign play. It is effectually stifled at home'.
Cromer sent the script to the Foreign Office: 'It is a very anti-Hitler piece', he warned them, 'and, although it is only to be produced at Bradford and is unlikely to come to London, there is always the possibility of this'. The Foreign Office responded by strongly recommending that, at the very least, the issues to which Street had drawn specific attention must be amended:
Even so I expect that we should have a protest from the German Embassy if the play were put on in London; and in view of your complete authority over plays we might not be able to give a very convincing reply.
Whatever one's personal views, the play is a violent attack on a government with which we have friendly relations, and so far as the Foreign Office is concerned the hope of reciprocity in similar circumstances would incline me to deprecate the appearance of the play in London.
It is hard to know whether the Foreign Office was really concerned about how the German stage would represent Britain or the King or whether this was largely an excuse, but it was a point frequently raised over the next few years. In any case, the Lord Chamberlain took the advice of the Foreign Office and refused a licence; when someone from Bradford Civic Playhouse queried the reason, he was invited to attend St James's Palace to obtain further information. 'These people live in Bradford', wrote one of the Lord Chamberlain's staff, 'we can't very well ask them to call'; but Cromer was astutely reluctant to commit himself in writing:
Care must be taken in the wording of the reply to give no handle for raising a controversy in the Press over 'political censorship'.
The best course really would be to invite Mr Webster—in spite of his living in Bradford—to take an opportunity of calling at St James's. It could then be explained to him verbally that a propaganda play of this nature, must inevitably be regarded as an attack upon the present system of government in Germany.
Whatever one may think of the Hitler regime, the prosecution [sic] of Jews etc. they are no direct concern of ours, so that the presentation of this picture of conditions on the British stage could not be regarded otherwise than unfriendly and lead to official complaint which would be difficult to answer. Besides which if we allow this in England, our authorities can hardly complain of retaliation by anti-British plays in Germany. At the present time it would be an unwise play to produce and will do no good, only possibly harm.
Cromer also hoped he could discourage the playwright from amending and resubmitting the script: 'I hardly think any alteration in the dialogue would remove the basic objection to the theme of the play', he wrote. But details of the case were evidently leaked to a newspaper editor, and in December 1933 Cromer felt obliged to respond to his probing and justify his own decision:
The whole thing is a strong indictment of atrocities and excesses committed by the Nazis in Germany and, while possibly there is much truth in it all, I did not think that the British stage was a vehicle for this sort of propaganda, which would most certainly have led to protests from Diplomatic quarters which I always endeavour to avoid.
For your personal information, let me explain that the political aspects of the play were such that instead of circulating it to the Advisory Committee, I referred it to the Foreign Office people, who were emphatic in deprecating the appearance of such a play in this country. Had such a play have [sic] been allowed here it would be futile for us to complain of the production in Germany of anti-British plays, and as naturally the Foreign Office are mainly concerned in maintaining good relations with Germany and other Foreign Countries, they were bound to take this line, and having advised me in this sense I could hardly do otherwise than abide by the advice given me.
Personally I hate introducing any political element into censorship at all, but at times this is inevitable and Who Made the Iron Grow is a case in point.
A verbal explanation has been given to the would-be producers, the Bradford Civic Playhouse.
Peters's play subsequently received a handful of private performances in Leeds, and in February 1934 the playwright himself wrote to Cromer to ask what he needed to do to obtain a licence for public performance: 'It has been suggested to me that if the play were re-written, and the scene placed in an imaginary country ruled by a political party not called Nazis or Fascists, that you might reconsider your decision'. Peters promised to remove specific references to actual statesmen, though he admitted that 'it would be impossible to hide the fact that the allusion is to Germany'. However, he intimated that the application need not be so narrowly defined: 'The production of the play in its altered form would be useful as propaganda against similar tragic conditions being forced upon England'.
At a meeting with the playwright's solicitor, Cromer confirmed that the Ruritanian route might be acceptable, and in March 1934 a revised script was duly submitted under the title Whither Liberty. Again Street reported, and again he did his best to persuade the Lord Chamberlain to grant a licence; he also questioned the logic of requiring so transparent a fictionalisation, though he recognised that this was an established strategy which had frequently been adopted. But above all, Street, who had been a Reader in the Office for some twenty years and was now approaching retirement, pleaded for the stage to be granted the freedom to criticise a regime which hardly deserved the protection and respect being granted to it:
I gather ... that the Lord Chamberlain hoped he would be able to license the play if an imaginary country replaced Germany, and other names were altered. This has been done. Germany becomes Nordia, Hitler Hacker, Nazi Nori, Brown Shirts Yfellow Shirts, and so on. Otherwise the play is the same, with the outrages on Jews and the denunciation of the Nazi regime.
That Nordia means Germany and the other imaginary names those for which they stand will of course be obvious to everybody. But that was certain when the author was more or less encouraged to make the changes. That being the case, however, I should be inclined to cut out the accusation against Hacker, i.e. Hitler, of himself having the 'Senate House' 'blown up' as being particularly offensive to the German government and as never having been proved, whereas for the outrages of the Jews there is a mass of evidence. But I think the play should be passed. The custom of allowing imaginary names when the real names would not be, even though everyone knows the identification, is open to objection in theory, but it has always existed and has saved many a situation.... My own opinion, for what it may be worth, and with the greatest respect to the Foreign Office, is that the stage should not be debarred from expressing an almost universal sentiment. I note that another anti-Nazi play refused here is being presented in France and America. Still more, do I think that this revised version with its imaginary names should be allowed.
Cromer insisted on some further amendments, but he then licensed the play—even while acknowledging that no-one who saw it would be in any doubt about the real subject matter. What he had effectively done, however, was to protect his own back (albeit with a somewhat thin covering) against the inevitable criticisms and accusations which would flow from the German Embassy. He said as much in an internal memorandum: 'Much as I regret resort to the subterfuge of a change from the real to an imaginary country, dictates of policy render this necessary. Although too transparent to hoodwink any audience, it is sufficient, or should be, to gainsay any official protests'. Such a priority would be a central plank of his policy over the next few years.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Censorship of British Drama 1900â"1968 by Steve Nicholson. Copyright © 2005 Steve Nicholson. Excerpted by permission of University of Exeter Press.
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