The king sets keynote for the festival: symbol of Britain’s courage
From our London staff
4 May 1951
After an impressive service of dedication at St Paul’s this morning the king, in a broadcast speech from a dais outside the cathedral, proclaimed the Festival of Britain open. To-night he unveiled a tablet at the Royal Festival Hall before attending another service of dedication and hearing the first concert in the new hall.
About 10,000 people were crowded into the semicircle of St Paul’s churchyard when the king stepped on to a dais at the top of the steps in front of the portico. The queen, Queen Mary, and other members of the royal family stood on his right as he made his broadcast speech. He referred to the contrast between the Victorian age and the hard experience of our own. “Peace has not endured,” said the king, “and much of the wealth our forebears created has been dissipated by fire and slaughter.” But it was not the time for despondency, and in the festival we should look back with pride and forward with resolution. He saw in it a symbol of Britain’s abiding courage and vitality.
The trumpeters of the Household Cavalry raised their trumpets and when the king said “I declare the Festival of Britain open and wish it universal success” they sounded a fanfare. This was the moment when, in spite of some delays and false starts, the Festival of Britain was, at last, officially in being.
Festival Hall scene of grace and dignity
From our London correspondent
4 May 1951
To-night in the presence of the king and queen and their daughters, the Royal Festival Hall, which stands amid the South Bank Exhibition was dedicated by the archbishop of Canterbury. First the king had formally opened the hall by unveiling a tablet in the wall of the main staircase to commemorate the occasion.
An audience of distinguished people had been invited and an hour before the opening the great foyers, promenade, and staircases were crowded with men and women in evening dress. Perhaps because of the religious nature of to-night’s ceremony the women were wearing their quieter and less elaborate gowns.
Perhaps not even the designers would claim the exterior of the Festival Hall is specially beautiful; but the interior has a grace and dignity to which no drawing or photograph does justice.
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Wet beginning
5 May 1951
This afternoon the public was admitted to the South Bank Exhibition for the first time. What they made of it is difficult to say. It was a rather reserved middle-class crowd who were present by invitation or had paid 10 shillings to see the show. The intention was to admit only ticket-holders to-day, but the rain kept so many away that the turnstiles were opened. It was a heavy downpour, one of those days when rain does damp the ardour. The umbrellas at the beautiful open-air cafes were sodden, and from time to time a waiter would dash out to up-end and drain the tables.
Some of the concrete paths have been unevenly laid and there were pools of water that had to be skirted. It did not matter, for the attendance was sparse and most people kept inside the pavilions. Up to eight o’clock to-night only 20,000 people had been admitted.
The Riviera comes to London: continental scene – and English food
From our London correspondent
5 May 1951
A mist lies over the river to-night, but the scene remains enchanting. You stand behind a glass wall of the Festival Hall and look through the decorative white masts over the reflecting waters to the floodlit buildings on the other bank. Surely the city there is not London and this below is not the industrial Thames seen from a London County Council hall. Rather are we in some undiscovered Riviera town looking from its casino across the bay to a line of great hotels.
On the South Bank the fountains are playing in multi-coloured lights and dainty yachts glide over a toy lake of luminous blue. This was a night to dine sumptuously in one of the beautiful and more expensive restaurants. In spite of the low attendance these were all full at 8 30. Even when the concert began there was no room at the tables in the Festival Hall. At another place they said there might be a table in an hour. Well, one could try a cafeteria, the most beautiful cafeteria ever seen in this country.
Some people might have supposed all this artistry might tempt a caterer to depart from the traditional English dishes and attempt some Continental frivolity. But they are not so weakly susceptible. In a few minutes the tray was filled and there on the plate was one of those familiar segments of embattered plaice surrounded by the one vegetable that rivals the cabbage in these islands, the large marrowfat or cannon-ball pea. A meal like that puts a quick stop to ridiculous and extravagant fantasies.
Royal Festival Hall concert: Beethoven Symphonies
By Colin Mason
5 May 1951
The first of the opening concerts at the Royal Festival Hall was given to-night by the BBC Symphony Orchestra and Choral Society under Sir Malcolm Sargent. Sir Malcolm, who was in a sense deputising for Toscanini, bore a great responsibility of which he proved himself admirably worthy. His orchestra was not playing at its best, perhaps because it has been tuned past its peak during the preparation for these great occasions.
From the acoustic point of view there is perhaps still room for improvement in the hall for in the front stalls tonight the woodwind sounded curiously distant and lifeless though this may not so on other parts of the hall. At all events the deficiency is not fundamental nor very serious and if it cannot be remedied without sacrificing something else there is still little of which to complain.
Buildings on the South Bank
By Robert Lutyens
5 May 1951
Among the buildings which may lay some claim to be considered as architecture, the Dome of Discovery by Ralph Tubbs is outstanding. It is ingeniously contrived and of great spatial realism, only spoilt on finishing by the plethora of exhibits and staircases within. By comparison the tour de force of the Skylon is disturbing by its pointed pointlessness. The Regatta Restaurant and Press Room by Misha Black and Alexander Gibson, are beautifully thought out and rendered in terms of space and craftsmanship, in spite of the distorted cast bronze hands serving as handles to the swing doors which are more repugnant because they are in fact functional.
Photograph: Paul Popper/Popperfoto/Getty Images
By comparison the ‘51 Bar and Thameside Restaurant are perfunctory in the extreme without attaining to any real lightness of heart. Mr Brian O’Rorke’s pavilions are of great distinction. Indeed, the best group of buildings, which to my mind quietly steal the show, are those dedicated to the countryside and its occupations, not so much through any special virtue of the pavilions themselves as through homogeneity of display and ease of access.
I feel fairly sure that to approach the exhibition architecturally is to be unfair to it. Brilliantly planned and achieved against great odds, it is chiefly the story that counts.
There is the brilliance and ebullience of the structural engineering for those who can appreciate it; craftsmanship in the applied arts of quite outstanding merit in this age.
(All articles are edited extracts)
