The Joy of Six 1541

"Former MI6, counterterror, and police officials expressed disbelief at the refusal by the British authorities to countenance a full murder investigation into Perepilichnyy's death. 'It's so obvious that it’s an assassination,' said Chris Phillips, the former head of Britain’s National Counter Terrorism Security Office. 'There’s no way it wasn’t a hit. It’s ridiculous.'" In 2017, Heidi Blake and her BuzzFeed investigations team published a seven-part investigation of suspected assassinations on British soil by the Russians government.

Richard Kemp reposts a Byline Times article that condemns SLAPPs – strategic litigation against public participation – as a shocking abuse of the legal system where the rich try to bully the weak and poor into submission.

Guy Shrubsole argues that Andy Burnham's Manchesterism is ultimately a politics of land: "Burnham’s keen interest in regaining public control of housing and key utilities leads very quickly to questions of who owns land, and how the public sector might reverse decades of asset sales begun under Margaret Thatcher’s governments."

"For much of the 18th century, even though Number 10 (actually Number 5 for much of its early existence) remained the official residence of the First Lord of the Treasury, it was by no means always occupied by the Prime Minister." Robin Eagles finds that prime ministers once preferred to live in their own houses.

Adam Scovell goes to look for the London locations used in A Hard Day's Night, the first film featuring those lovable mop-tops The Beatles.

"Her national standing was confirmed with a damehood in 2000, an honour which she prized, though it didn’t make her decorous. She was shortlisted for the Booker five times without ever winning (no one forgets this). She remains a figure who is hard to place – widely appreciated, but not a member of any acknowledged group of writers, and without much discernible influence on those who came after." Dinah Birch on the work of the novelist Beryl Bainbridge.

The Joy of Six 1535

"When news of the arrests of the three Ukrainians broke, a rumour soon began to spread online that the alleged perpetrators were, in fact, Ukrainian male sex workers employed by Starmer and that the arson attack was revenge for unpaid bills. Perhaps unsurprisingly, one of the most influential online figures involved in spreading this 'Rent Boys' conspiracy theory was Stephen Lennon." Joe Mulhall and Nick Lowles argue that Tommy Robinson is Putin's useful idiot.

Theo Rodwell fears the Liberal Democrats are being held hostage by Conservatives who have lent them their votes.

"The mayor of New York, Zohran Mamdani, announced that 'one thousand New Yorkers won our lottery for affordable tickets to the World Cup ... the beautiful game belongs to everyone.' Having to run an affordable lottery suggests that maybe it doesn't." Natasha Chahal on FIFA and Trump's world cup.

Emma Peplow looks back to the Christchurch by-election of 1993.

Richard Williams reads a new biography of Brian Epstein: "A man who loved the theatre and classical music, he understood their adventurous creative instincts. When they made that first film, it was directed by the innovative Dick Lester rather than a Wardour Street hack. When the sleeve art of their second album was being prepared, he guided them towards Robert Freeman, whose photos of John Coltrane he had admired and who listened to the group when they showed him Astrid Kirchherr's black and white chiaroscuro Hamburg photographs as a potential template."

"Every day, in New York alone, millions pass by her. On Columbia University’s campus, at the Frick Collection, in Central Park, near City Hall, and at the Brooklyn entrance to the Manhattan Bridge. ... Yet the woman behind the face lived a life marked by exploitation, disappointment, and profound tragedy. Her death in 1996, at the age of 104, attracted almost no attention at all, as if history forgot all that she had been and given. The statues remain, but she was buried in an unmarked grave in northern New York state." Josie Cox tells the sad story of Audrey Munson, America's first supermodel.

Remembering the wonderful Flick Rea

I was very sad to hear of the death of Flick Rea today. Flick was was leader of the Liberal and then Liberal Democrat group on Camden Council from 1986-2005 and 2014-2020. She was awarded an MBE in 2013 for her services to the borough.

After Flick retired she was made an honorary alderman, and you can see the speech she gave on that occasion in the video above.

Her Wikipedia entry reveals that Flick was a direct descendant of Sir Robert Peel and that she joined the Liberal Party in 1970. She fought her first election in her beloved Fortune Green ward in 1980, coming third in a by-election, and was first elected to the council in 1986.

Flick was also a great friend of Liberator and the Liberal Revue.

That Wikipedia entry talks about Flick's career in the theatre before she discovered politics, Flick trained at RADA, leaving in 1958, and worked in repertory theatre Salisbury and Oldham. By the early Sixties she was using the stage name Felicity Peel.

On the screen, she appeared in an episode of The Avengers and the film A Kind of Loving.

I once talked to Flick about her time at RADA and remember her mentioning two of her fellow students. One was Susannah York, and the other was a young man from a prosperous family who proved not to have the talent for a stage career and, after a couple of terms, went back to work in the family business in Liverpool.

His name was Brian Epstein.

Jago Hazzard celebrates the gothic history of St Pancras

Jago Hazzard posted this, his thousandth video, a couple of weeks ago. And he found a fitting subject for it.

Iain Sinclair once referred to "the bat-chewed pinnacles" of St Pancras, which struck me as exactly right. Old St Pancras church and its churchyard are well worth visiting if you have time to kill at the station. The Beatles went there on their Mad Day Out.

Jago is right to sound a little sceptical about the myth of the Hardy Tree though.

Shelagh Delaney is interviewed by an alien in 1959

The latest Backlisted podcast is a great edition on Shelagh Delaney and her 1958 play A Taste of Honey. It was her first play, written and produced before she was 20. It was then filmed in 1962 with Rita Tushingham, Dora Bryan and Murray Melvin.

As the Backlisted blurb asks:

How did a Salford teenager change the face of British theatre? Nearly 70 years on, why do the play's themes and characters continue to resonate in the 21st century? And what did Shelagh Delaney do for an encore (and why do so few people know about it)? This show will open your eyes.

The show certainly reminds us that the modern world did not start with the Beatles. Take the interview above from 1959, which you can hear in it.

Delaney comes over as a thoroughly contemporary figure, while the interviewer sounds like an alien. Where did he learn to pronounce the world "play" like that? 

It would be comforting to think his assumptions that Delaney must had help to write the play and faint derision for her "native Lancashire" are equally strange to us now, but I'm afraid I often hear echoes of such views.

I can't recommend this edition of Backlisted highly enough. Listen out for an anecdote about an exchange between Dirk Bogarde and Murray Melvin during the filming of HMS Defiant. 

And let's end this post with a piece of A Taste of Honey trivia from 2003:

Earlier in the day Home Office Minister and Salford MP, Hazel Blears, revealed that she appears in kitchen sink classic, A Taste of Honey, shown at the Festival. "They filmed it at the bottom of our road" she recalled "And I was in one scene wearing bunches and a little kilt. My brother sang `The Big Ship Sails On The Ally Ally O'..."

Laibach: Across the Universe

Surely the best Beatles cover ever recorded by a Slovenian band that uses totalitarian and militaristic imagery for satirical effect?

Scaffold: Liverpool Lou

I remember liking this when it came out in 1974 - it reached no. 6 in the singles chart that June.

One of the members of Scaffold was Mike McGear, who was Paul McCartney's brother. And the track was produced by Paul, who had suggested recording the song to the band.

More than that, in his interview for The Strange Brew podcast, Mike seems to be saying that Wings were the band playing on Liverpool Lou, with the addition of Norman Yardley on harmonica.

The instrument used in the break (played by Paul McCartney) was the Gizmo. This was a device developed by Kevin Godley and Lol Creme of 10CC, who partly owned Strawberry Studios in Stockport where Liverpool Lou was recorded. The pair were eventually to leave 10CC to promote the Gizmo.

Though the song Liverpool Lou had been around for years, it had somehow been copyrighted by Brendan Behan’s brother Dominic. As a result, he made more money from Liverpool than anyone.

Alasdair MacIntyre: The philosopher who broke up the Beatles

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The Guardian obituary by Jane O'Grady brings out the importance of the philosopher Alasdair MacIntyre, who died last week:

"Imagine," runs the opening of After Virtue, "that the natural sciences were to suffer the effects of a catastrophe", that science and science teaching have been deliberately abolished, and only charred pages, disconnected scientific terms and meaningless incantations remain.

This, said MacIntyre, is our current moral situation. ... All we have are "the fragments of a conceptual scheme, parts which now lack those contexts from which their significance is derived". This is why we regard moral argument as "necessarily interminable"; we do not even expect to reach consensus. Should we prioritise human rights and/or the general happiness, individual choice and/or the general will, hedonism and will-to-power and/or compassion and self-abnegation?

MacIntyre saw the way forward as a return to Aristotle and a view of ethics that concentrates on the character and moral virtues of individuals rather than rules or consequences when determining ethical actions. 

It's a form of ethics that might be able tell you how you should live your life, which is the greatest question in the field, yet one that many other views insist they cannot answer. I remember one of my lecturer's at York saying that when she started out, studying moral philosophy meant slogging through numerous papers on the meaningless of ethical language.

But MacIntyre has another claim to fame, as reported in Christopher Kaczor's memoir of him (it was in my last Joy of Six):

Alasdair often joked that his most significant achievement was breaking up the Beatles. Conventional wisdom holds that Yoko Ono played a key role in the end of the band. 

In 1966, MacIntyre lived in the same apartment complex as Yoko. One day, she came to MacIntyre’s apartment and asked to borrow a ladder that she needed for her upcoming art show. It was at this art exhibit that John Lennon met Yoko. 

Lennon recounts, "There was another piece that really decided me for-or-against the artist: a ladder which led to a painting which was hung on the ceiling. It looked like a black canvas with a chain with a spyglass hanging on the end of it. This was near the door when you went in. I climbed the ladder, you look through the spyglass and in tiny little letters it says 'yes.' So it was positive. I felt relieved. It’s a great relief when you get up the ladder and you look through the spyglass and ... it said ‘yes.’ ...  I was very impressed and John Dunbar introduced us."

Lennon mentions the ladder MacIntyre gave to Yoko three times. Without the ladder, would Lennon have been so impressed with the art exhibit? Without being so impressed, would he have asked to meet Yoko? If Lennon had not met Yoko, would the Beatles have broken up?

To celebrate St Pancras Day: The Beatles at Old St Pancras and a 1983 Steve Winwood interview

Today is St Pancras Day. To celebrate it, here's another showing for this video recreating the Beatles' visit to Old St Pancras churchyard on their London Mad Day Out in 1968. You can read more about their time in the churchyard in an old Guardian article.

When you add in the fact that today is also Steve Winwood's birthday, it's clear 12 May should be a public holiday in the Midlands. 

Certainly, it's a big deal here on Liberal England. To celebrate, here's a 1983 interview with our favourite musician.

Winwood talks about his past with the Spencer Davis Group, Traffic and Blind Faith, and about his then burgeoning career as a solo artist.

Has this new idolatry of the Beatles gone too far?

Yes, I think it probably has.

The speaker is Ian Leslie, author of John & Paul: A Love Story in Songs.

To be fair, as football managers say, just before this he and the other contributors do set out why the career of the Beatles makes such a compelling story. 

It didn't last long, the group had the same four members all the way through and, because they broke up early, we still think of them as young and at the peak of their powers - there was no slightly disappointing 1973 album.

If Enid Blyton was the Beatles then Malcolm Saville was the Kinks

Now here's a title for a blog post: The Famous Five vs The Lone Pine Club. It's on the blog Unpopular Culture.

I shall resist the temptation to quote it in its entirety, and give you just a taste:

Enid Blyton is perhaps like The Beatles. Certainly she was massively globally successful and subsequently went through dips of critical and popular appeal, before becoming established again as a recognisable global brand whose enormous material success insists on being endlessly reproduced and extended. 

I rather enjoy drawing this parallel partly because I know many Beatles devotees will prickle at the thought of any similarities in artistic merit between the two and partly because Lennon himself poked fun at the Famous Five in his ridiculous ‘In His Own Write’ book. 

In hindsight I wonder if The Comic Strip were as much inspired by Lennon’s parody as anything. Certainly there is a similar smug assumed ‘cleverness’ that irritates me more in my fifties than it did in my late teens or early twenties. Others continue to find it charming, of course, and that is their prerogative.

In this imagined realm of children’s authors as 1960s pop groups then, if Blyton might be The Beatles, who would Malcolm Saville be? Certainly not The Stones and definitely not The Who. The Kinks perhaps? 

Certainly I see Saville as doing something similar to The Kinks in terms of attempting to capture a world (specifically an England) that is dissolving even as they record it. There is too a shared sense of knowingness that what is being lost is in itself partially illusory. They both, at their best, mourn a mediated Englishness.

There's much else about the two authors in the post, which reminds me a little of an article I wrote for the Guardian website years ago.

The writer of Unpopular Culture like Saville's Rye books bests, whereas I'm a Stiperstones man. And he has written at least two other posts on Saville.

There's one on Jane's Country Year, which was Saville's favourite among his own books and shows the influence of Richard Jefferies' Bevis.

And a recent one on, amongst other things, one of the last of Saville's Lone Pine stories, Rye Royal.

Georges I-IV, Boy George, George Harrison and Henry George

Here's another of my columns for the Journal of Critical Psychology, Counselling and Psychotherapy. 

This time the theme of the issue was Georges - they've already done Davids. I wish I'd thought of including George Eliot.

Georges on my Mind

The future George I and his wife Sophia Dorothea fought all the time. He once pulled out her hair and throttled her until she lost consciousness – her life was saved by attendants who intervened. When George inherited the British throne, he had already forbidden his 11-year-old son, the future George II, to see his mother or even mention her name. When he came to England from Hanover, the younger George revenged himself by scheming with his father’s enemies at Westminster.

George II and his wife both hated their son Frederick, Prince of Wales, and he obliged them by dying before they did. It used to be believed that his death was caused by a cricket ball, but sadly the story has been discredited.

It was Frederick’s son who inherited the throne, as George III. The theory that his madness was due to porphyria is as out of fashion as Fredrick’s cricket injury, but whatever the cause of it, he was still clear-headed enough to see through his son. George IV enjoyed a dissolute life but not his father’s approval, and left no legitimate children.

Thanks goodness none of this enmity has come down to our present-day Royal Family.

******

The uncle of Boy George used to be the priest at our local Catholic church, Our Lady of Victories. I heard that from a taxi driver who had it from two nuns, so it must be true. 

******

There’s a photograph of boys from a Liverpool primary school on the beach during a 1951 holiday on Isle of Man that surfaces regularly on social media. Two are instantly recognisable: John Lennon has pushed his way to the front of the crowd, and next to him a smiling Jimmy Tarbuck has adopted a boxer’s stance. Perhaps because he is younger, the boy on the other side of Lennon is not so easily recognised, but he is Peter Sissons. A friend of Paul McCartney’s at secondary school, he grew up to be an eminent television reporter and newsreader.

Sissons recalled a meeting with a third Beatle, George Harrison, in the days when he was reading ITV’s News at Ten: 

I got a phone call on the news desk and the receptionist said “George Harrison is here to see you”. I went down to reception and there was George with most of the Hare Krishna people from Oxford Street. The place was full of these men in saffron robes and in the middle was George in a rather way-out sort of hippie suit. He said to me, “Peter, I’ve got a terrific story for the news, it’ll be the lead story, you’ve got to put it on the news tonight.”

I said: “Terrific, what is it?”

He said: “Peace.”

I said: “Hang on, where?” He said: “Just peace, it’s a great thing, you’ve got to put it on the news.”

I explained there had to be a bit more to it than that to make the lead on News at Ten. We parted on very good terms and off they went banging their tambourines.

******

George can be a surname too: there’s Bobby George, Charlie George and probably George George too. But the most famous such George was once Henry George.

After he died while fighting the New York Mayoral election of 1897, says a contemporary report:

Thousands upon thousands of people waited in the streets from early morning to obtain places in the seemingly endless line that drifted past the candidate whose strange and premature 'election' had thrown the politicians into confusion. Sobbing women lifted their children to look upon the face of the 'martyr'. Tears became contagious, and rough men sobbed without shame.

Another reckoned New York had seen no comparable demonstration of popular feeling at the death of a public man since Abraham Lincoln had lain in state at City Hall.

Henry George achieved this extraordinary fame, not as a politician. but as an economic theorist. People argue over whether he or Karl Marx have sold more books, but there’s no doubt that George sold millions. Reading groups of working people were founded to discuss his ideas.

At the heart of those ideas were the beliefs that land was the ultimate source of all wealth and that, as the song goes, God gave the land to the people. It followed that the proceeds of rents on land and the minerals beneath it should be taken in tax by the state. This, he argued, would remove the monopoly power that allowed landlords to exploit wage earners and make possible the abolition of other taxes. 

Henry George’s ideas still have their advocates, but his most tangible legacy is a board game.  A follower of George’s, Elizabeth Magie, and her friends invented The Landlord’s Game. When she patented it in 1904, she said it was designed to be a "practical demonstration of the present system of land-grabbing with all its usual outcomes and consequences".

The Landlord’s Game evolved into Monopoly, a celebration of rapacious landlordism that has done more to lay bare the tensions underlying family life than anything since the early work of Salvador Minuchin.

It happens that I reached the finals of the British Monopoly Championships in 1977. They were held on top of the nuclear pile at Oldbury-on-Severn power station – the Electricity Company, you see. It may have been only a promotional event for Waddington’s, but I managed to wangle the time off school.

I won two games on the first day to become one of the last twelve players. In the semi-final, I built hotels on Mayfair and Park Lane – they’re not the best sites to develop, but the dice fall how they will. My anticipation grew as my main rival moved round the board towards them. Suddenly, he had drawn a ‘Go to Jail’ card and, safe from my West End rents for three turns, he went on to win the game.

You have to hand it to Henry George and Elizabeth Magie: they had foreseen the Britain of the 1980s.

Family's Roger Chapman reviews the sounds of September 1969

There's a great exhibition on at the Leicester Adult Education Centre in Wellington Street at the moment. The Art School Dance Goes on Forever looks at the achievements of alumni of Leicester Art School in the 1960s. 

Those alumni include Tony Kaye, a founding member of Yes; the members of the band Family; and the actor Charles Dance. Many more made their names in fields related to art.

The exhibition closes on 17 March. It's open Monday - Thursday, 8.30am - 8.30pm, Friday 8.30am - 4.30pm and closed on Saturday and Sunday.

I had intended to include a video about the exhibition here, but can't find one I can embed. So instead here's Family's lead singer Roger Chapman reviewing the week's new releases back in 1969.

It's a reminder that the idea the Beatles were above criticism is a modern heresy.

Cliff Richard and the Drifters: High Class Baby

This new generation of Beatles fans is entitled to its enthusiasms, but it does seem to lack a sense of history. Any music that came before the Fab Four was laughable, and any groups who were around at the same time as the Beatles were trying to copy them.

So here's a rockabilly Cliff Richard from 1958 to prove there was life before Love Me Do, even if Cliff is rocking more than anyone else on this record.

The Drifters was the original name for the Shadows, who were Cliff's backing band and then became one of the most successful ever British acts in their own right.

None of the famous Shadows are playing on High Class Baby, but the guitarist is an interesting figure. Not only did Ian Samwell write this song, he also wrote Move It for Cliff and the Drifters.

That is the track of which John Lennon said:

"I think the first English record that was anywhere near anything was Move It by Cliff Richard, and before that there'd been nothing."

It also appeared on Led Zeppelin: The Music that Rocked Us - a compilation put together by the band in 2010.

Samwell later became more of a producer and manager, but he did co-write Whatcha Gonna Do About It, the single that launched the Small Faces.

The Joy of Six 1268

In an article stuffed with quotes from unnamed 'senior' Lib Dems, Harriet Symonds looks for possible future fault lines in our larger parliamentary party. Nimby vs Yimby? Tuition fees? Gender? Maybe we should stop using terms like Nimby and Yimby (and Terf and Gammon) - giving your opponents nicknames does nothing for the clarity of your thinking or your ability to win over uncommitted voters.

Sienna Rogers talks to Shockat Adam, the pro-Gaza Independent candidate who defeated Jonathan Ashworth in Leicester South.

"The Government’s approach relies heavily on the private sector to deliver against its ambitions. But historically, direct public investment has been key: at the post-war housebuilding peak in 1968, nearly two-in-five homes were built through the public sector, compared to just under one-quarter of homes in 2023." The Resolution Foundation considers whether Labour will achieve its housing ambitions.

Anthony Burgess hated the Beatles but had more in common with them than he realised, argues Michael Shallcross.

Judy Stroud on the reintroduction of dormice to Rockingham Forest: "During the clearance of over 600 acres of the Purlieus between 1862 and 1868 dormice were sometimes found when men were grubbing up the tree roots.  No evidence of dormice was found there during the late 20th century but the wood met the criteria for a successful reintroduction. This took place in 2001 and monitoring by the Forestry Commission has shown a long-term success, with dispersal within the wood from the initial release site."

Bob Lynn introduces us to Mary Webb, the Shropshire novelist and poet whose work, steeped in nature and mysticism, found fame only after her untimely death.

Who else is in that photograph of John Lennon and Jimmy Tarbuck as boys?

This photo has been floating about social media for years, and I tweeted it myself the other day because Jimmy Tarbuck was trending. This led to some debate about who is in it.

I have always understood that the three boys from the left are the future journalist and newsreader Peter Sissons, John Lennon and Jimmy Tarbuck. I've also seen it suggested that the tall boy at the back is the future Everton and England centre back Brian Labone.

But it's not Labone. As he explains in the video below, it's Michael Hill. He was to remain a friend of Lennon's through their teenage years and grew up to become "a well-known figure in the international business of marine insurance," according to this page promoting a book he wrote about the teenage Lennon.

He also explains the photo's provenance. It was taken in 1951 on a Dovedale Primary School trip to the Isle of Man and not discovered until about the year 2000, when the teacher who took it died.

What made me nervous is that Hill doesn't mention Peter Sissons, who was a couple of years younger than Lennon and Tarbuck and to become a good friend of Paul McCartney's at secondary school.

But it is him. A reader kindly tweeted me the cutting above from the Mail, which names all six boys. (Apparently the Mirror had it first, but didn't get further than Lennon and Tarbuck.) And also in the photo are Ivan Vaughan, who was to introduce Lennon and McCartney, and the future professional footballer Jimmy Blain, who didn't make it at Everton but was to become an Exeter City legend.

There remains only for me to remind you that Frank Duckworth, co-deviser of the Duckworth Lewis method, lodged with John Lennon and his Aunt Mimi.

GUEST POST An Oasis reunion? Have we not suffered enough?

The threatened reunion of the Oasis brothers is a stark warning of the potential breakout of Britpop across the entire UK region, warns Stuart Whomsley.

Last year’s reunion of the Blurists should have been a warning. The so-called Pulp group (PG) have been rumoured to be in a studio creating new material.

A Labour government’s election this year has also been seen as a catalyst for this worrying development. The previous Labour inhabitant of Number 10, Tony Blur, was an advocate of the Cool Britannia movement.

After 14 years of Tory rule that brought us UK Grime and Drill, a new Labour government could see a return to more troubling times, with its leader Kagool Starmer a self-confessed follower of Britpop bands.

Now the whole of the UK wakes each day in fear of a resumption of Beatles and Status Quo influenced musical pap being bombarded at us on a daily basis.

Those who were unfortunately alive in the Nineties have issued warnings to those born this century not to be drawn into this cultist movement through speculation of what a Wonderwall or a Champagne Supernova might be.

Propagandists for Britpop, Steve Lamaque and Stuart Maconie, have already been on the airwaves, making ominous predictions. These are truly worrying times, when one can indeed look back in anger.

You can follow Stuart Whomsley on Twitter.

Frank Duckworth, co-deviser of the Duckworth Lewis method, lodged with John Lennon and his Aunt Mimi

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Liberal England's Trivial Fact of the Day is taken from the Guardian obituary of the mathematician Frank Duckworth.

It was he who, together with the cricket statistician Tony Lewis, devised the Duckworth-Lewis method. This is a formula used to ensure that the side batting is second is set a fair target in rain-affected matches.

The obituary reveals:

After graduating in the early 60s he stayed on at Liverpool to study for a PhD in metallurgy, sharing a house for a time with John Lennon, as a lodger of Lennon’s aunt Mimi ("not that we had much to do with him, although we heard him plucking his guitar occasionally").

When Duckworth moved on, it was to share a flat with Johnny Ball.

The Duckworth=Lewis method is now known as the Duckworth–Lewis–Stern method because of the later contribution of the Australian mathematician and statistician Steven Stern.

The Beatles: I'll Follow the Sun

Time to circle uneasily around the Beatles again, as I heard this in a coffee shop the other day.

Paul McCartney wrote I'll Follow the Sun when he was 16. I can't decide whether the mismatch between the sweet tune and the selfish lyric is a sign of that immaturity or what makes the song interesting.

GUEST POST In old age a shared past is rich and comforting

The Secret Support Worker discusses what older people in care homes need to thrive - and what they are given.

Well, gentle reader, I did it. I walked away from the most amazing and most magical (and most badly paid) of jobs.

I don’t really know how it happened, but for the last few months I have been in a different world, working in a care home remembering the Britain of the 1940s to the 1970s with a group of my most elderly fellow citizens. 

It was a bit like being Dominic Sandbrook but without the podcast and the Daily Mail rants. We walked back to happiness, we had never had it so good, we were so cheerful it kept us going and, most of all, we laughed in the face of dementia and we cocked a snook at the grim reaper.

The home is kind and warm, but with me gone it loses its last member of staff with any British heritage of any kind. It loses the Beatles, the rationing, the 1966 World Cup and the nostalgia which is a vital anchor for those with dementia.

If you have Alzheimer’s the short term is hard, but a shared past becomes ever more rich and comforting.

The retro noticeboard featuring the Grand National, D-Day, homemade lavender bags and silly snaps has been replaced with corporate photographic prints and a cheesy hotel lounge vibe. 

On the wall behind some of the frailest residents, the new slogan reads: It's a Good Day to be Happy.

Homes Under the Hammer flickers on to the omnipresent telly as I leave. What are they are all going to do all day now? 

The Secret Support Worker, a Liberal Democrat member, was paid £11 an hour and had a budget per activity session per resident of 3p. The home has an annual turnover of a million pounds and the proprietor a flash car with personalised number plates.