A favourite film is a tough choice to make. I’ve picked a
few. I think they started as books, with the exception of ‘Grease’, where if I
remember correctly, the book came later, and ‘The Holiday’, which doesn’t have
a book. Please put me right, if I’m wrong.
‘Grease’, the sound of 1978 and there’s a familiar song in
my head as I type. It’s got to be my favourite musical of my generation. A
sing-a-long, feel good factor romance. What’s not to like? Ok, stop and wait,
there was another that year with great songs, ‘Saturday Night Fever’ with
exceptional dancing and a serious storyline.
I don't like romantic comedy, generally, but I make an exception with 'The Holiday'. I like the story, the characters are believable and it isn't too sweet. The cottage is appealing, too.
The 1939 black and white version of ‘Wuthering Heights’ was
my introduction to Laurence Olivier when I was eleven or twelve and of course,
I fell in love with him. The film only told half the story, but that was
Hollywood. Cathy’s death broke my heart.
1939 was the year for ‘Gone with the Wind’, another beloved
book and film starring Vivienne Leigh who was about to marry Laurence Olivier,
but we won’t dwell on that and it happened way before I was born, anyway.
I’ve got to include the original, 1940 ‘Rebecca’ whilst I’m
held captive by Olivier’s gaze and Daphne du Maurier’s writing.
During my childhood and particularly around the age of
eleven to thirteen, I watched lots of films with my mum, from Hollywood
musicals to Hammer Horrors, but the one I associate with her the most is ‘A
Taste of Honey’. This was not a film we watched together sharing chocolate and
enjoying mummy and daughter time. This was my forbidden fruit when I was told
not to watch it. Too late, the beginning had already got me spellbound, but she
sent me to bed saying it wasn’t suitable for me. I think I was eleven at the
time, very much a child, still played with dolls and very different to modern
day eleven year olds. I knew better than to argue or make that annoying,
disapproving ‘arr’ sound. My mum was going downstairs to work in our pub, so I
listened out for her leaving. Seconds later I was leaning on the lounge door frame
with the door to our flat slightly open so I would hear if she came back up. I
was rooted to the spot and loved every second of that film. Whatever my mum was
protecting me from went right over my head. I was just disappointed that Jo’s
sailor didn’t come back. As an adult I consider ‘A Taste of Honey’ to be
Shelagh Delaney’s stroke of genius. Perhaps my mum wanted to avoid awkward
questions from me. I’ve worked it all out since.
I was a fan of John Thaw ever since Phyllis Bentley’s ‘Inheritance’
was serialised on tv. To me, he was what made ‘The Sweeney’ and he was born to
be ‘Morse’. I wasn’t sure about this completely different character as Tom
Oakley in ‘Goodnight, Mr Tom’. Silly me to have such doubts. Not only was he
perfect as the character, and the rest of the cast were equally excellent, the
film, which was a tv adaptation of Michelle Magorian’s novel completely
overwhelmed me. I cried so many times, full of sadness for what was being
endured by this young boy, a war time evacuee. There are many twists and turns
in the story and as it ends with an agreeable conclusion, fresh tears from me,
happy ones this time. It really is that good. I think my eldest grandson might
like to watch it with me.
My poem:
William Beech
Authority’s persuasion,
Tom Oakley’s reluctance,
Zach’s hand of boyhood friendship,
William’s acceptance.
My tears, they are relentless
For Will, where has he been?
Tom Oakley stopped complaining,
Taking in what he had seen.
William, shirtless when he saw
The scars left by the belt,
Sickened beyond all words by
The pain he must have felt.
I wish I knew Zach’s poem,
Verses of hope and home,
Safe in William’s pocket
From what life might become.
I love a happy ending,It’s ‘Dad!’ I hear Will call
At the end of fear and doubt,
As even more tears fall.
PMW 2025
Thanks for reading, Pam x
