What The Butler Saw

Sometimes called Peepshows in the UK and regularly known as Mutoscopes in the USA, these were early motion-picture devices, one of which - 'What The Butler Saw' - proved such a popular title that its name became synonymous with the amusement arcade and end-of-the-pier viewers, at least in the UK.

These peepshow machines first appeared in the 1890s and reached their heyday in the inter-war years. Based on the flick-book principle of a series of still images viewed in quick succession to give the illusion of a moving picture, the peepshow stories were in fact 'reverse-engineered' from short films shot on 70mm, where each frame (up to 840 in a typical peepshow) was printed onto card and mounted in a carousel that was mechanically flicked through as the viewer placed his or her penny or five cents into the slot and peered into the viewer. Each show lasted barely a minute. Check out the titles in the photograph below.

end of the pier peepshow thrills...

Damsel in Love, Nude Kisses, French Swing, Girls of Spain were fairly typical of the type of fare, and though they always implied more than they delivered, these peepshows made socially acceptable a sort of soft porn for the masses in the pre-internet, pre-girly magazine era of the first half of the 20th century. More graphic than a Mills & Boon romance, more accessible than a strip club, anybody for a piece of small change could enjoy the voyeuristic thrill of watching Millie step out of her bloomers (which is actually what the butler saw), Casanova pinning Carlotta against the pillows, or maids with bouncing bosoms dancing around topless in the banqueting hall flailing their dusters.

For many men, they glimpsed more female flesh in motion in the peepshows than they ever saw in their own bedrooms (such were the inhibited social mores of the time); for many adolescent boys it was probably their first exposure to the unadorned female form; and what is interesting to note is that women seemed to enjoy these saucy vignettes as much as did the men.

...also enjoyed by ladies

Clearly there was an appetite for a spot of prurient, salacious peeping into the sexy antics of some fantasy world, for wasn't everyone allowed to let their hair down a bit on holiday? And who knows, maybe the titillation spiced up many a seaside stay?

However, what the butler, or the holidaying man, woman or adolescent ever saw through the viewer was usually fairly tame fare and often of rather dubious picture quality. For instance, this saucy still (below) of a lady combing her hair is remarkably reminiscent of a Greek vase decoration...

flickering seduction

Because of the censorship laws governing such things, more was still left to the imagination than was revealed in these short, teasing scenes.

Then as society became more liberal in the 1960s, with more honest and overt depictions of amorous or erotic behaviour available in cinemas, on television and at theatres, peepshows came to be regarded as tacky and second-rate. Their popularity had already declined so much by the time Britain switched to decimal currency in the 1970s that most arcades and pier installations chose to scrap them rather than convert the slots to the new coinage - and so ended what in retrospect appears a rather innocent era.

To conclude this Saturday, here's a late-night spin on the theme, latest narrative product of the imaginarium, albeit based on true events as told to me by a lady friend and thespian. (I think she was trying to educate in diversity.) It's been a busy week-end as I've driven down for a visit to London and have been pressed for time, so once again this may not be the poem's final form:

What The Butler Boys Saw

For two inner-city teens with no bunce but acquisitive eyes,

the lighted  open window at the top of a fire-escape invited

closer inspection. Some stealthy pilfering might be in order,

stuff that they might fence for beer money or entry to a club

uptown where dollies took their clothes off as they danced.

Catlike they climbed then knelt entranced by what they saw,

young women on a bed, laughing, kissing and cavorting as

they undressed each other and made happy love until spent.

In silent wonder the boys slunk off into the Hackney night

thinking they had left unseen, planning to return as soon as,

which they did many times, curtains always open, lights on,

inviting them to spectate whatever variation on their passion

Glenda and Marianne might display. Both girls got a frisson

and what the Butler boys saw in that Mare Street bedroom

was far hotter than any end-of-pier slot-machine might offer.

Thanks for reading, S ;-)

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Through A Window

"Look through any window (yeah), what do you see?" sang The Hollies in 1965, for those with long memories and/or grey hairs; and it got me thinking - so here is a little psychology test for you, gentle readers. When you visualise  through a window  is it you doing the looking? or are you being observed? And if the gaze is yours, are you looking out or in?

Deep and meaningful stuff, eh? You can check out The Hollies' take in the YouTube link appended at the end of today's blog. They were typically looking out at the external world.

Sunlight streaming in through a window is one of my favourite sights. Without being too fanciful it's quite a powerful (and romantic) image, as illustrated. I think it has to do with the source of life and light pouring into the (dark) soul. It doesn't work on grey and wet days - such as today!

Meanwhile, I'll confess I derive quite some fascination from looking briefly into windows as I go walkabout around Blackpool, not in any creepy voyeuristic way I hope you'll understand. Isn't it human nature to be curious? For me it's more an imaginative exercise, extrapolating from the occasional glimpse into someone's front room and speculating as to what sort of person or people might reside within and what their lives might be like. It's the wannabe novelist in me taking an interest in the unknown, keeping my powers of observation sharp and fuelling invention.

I couldn't blog on this theme without mentioning defenestration, a mode of dispatch which intrigued me as a schoolboy studying European history - I think I was impressed that there was even a word for throwing people out of windows to their untimely death. It appears to have been particularly popular in Prague, with famous incidents occurring early in the 15th and 17th centuries; and then much more recently in 1948 when the Czech Foreign Minister Jan Masaryk was assassinated by being bundled out of a second-storey window at the Foreign Ministry clad only in his pyjamas, to die a death convenient to Moscow in the courtyard below.


Don't Throw It, Mrs!

Thankfully most incidents of defenestration don't involve bodies. It was common practice until only a couple of hundred years ago for people to throw their slops out of upper windows into the street below and in 1863 Russian soldiers hurled Frederic Chopin's grand piano out of a second-storey Warsaw window, an iconoclastic act during the suppression of the Polish uprising. (Chopin had long since ceased to have any use for the instrument - having died several years earlier.) Latterly, rock musicians have been known to pay tribute to the tradition by getting off their faces and hurling the contents of their hotel rooms (TV sets, chairs, anything sizeable enough to lift and fit through a window) down into the patio/pool/street below.

But enough of such foolishness. It was Mandy, I think, who requested that I shouldn't explain too much of the background to my poetry, thereby allowing the reader to come to the work with as open a mind as possible, so as to make of the poem what (s)he will. This, then, is my newly written through-a-window poem, based on a true event dating back forty-something summers.

Golden Square
Back of Fore Street, end of another
long, hot Devon summer day
and I'm sitting in my darkened room
rear window open wide to cool,
listening to a blackbird serenade
the slow-arriving night,
when a golden square of light
opens up across the way,
frames a girl dancing
naked in her bedroom,
to music that I cannot hear.

Of course my eyes are drawn,
whose wouldn't be?
I try not to stare
but it's an enchanting sight
as unselfconsciously she twirls,
arms raised, smile on her face,
gyrating in her private fantasy.

I can't imagine I would ever
do the same, but is it so strange,
this unfettered expression
of freedom and delight?

The girl across the way
dances naked in her bedroom.
She doesn't think that anybody sees
the dark triangle in the golden square.
Either that,
or she's dancing just for me.

But I think her pleasure
is as innocent as mine
and the blackbird's song
and the humming
of a washing-machine
and the passage of time.

Click on the song title to hear the jingly-jangly joy of 1965-era Hollies: Look Through Any Window

 Thanks for reading and have a good week, S ;-)

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