This week’s choice is “Executive” by John Betjeman which I have chosen because it made Rachel laugh.
And how did I acquire her? Well to tell you about that
John Betjeman (1906—1984)
And to put you in the picture I must wear my other hat.
Poem 460. Executive
I am a young executive. No cuffs than mine are cleaner;
I have a Slimline briefcase and I use the firm’s Cortina.
In every roadside hostelry from here to Burgess Hill
The maitres d’hotel all know me well and let me sign the bill.
You ask me what it is I do. Well actually, you know,
I’m partly a liaison man and partly P.R.O.
Essentially I integrate the current export drive
And basically I’m viable from ten o’clock till five.
For vital off-the-record work—that’s talking transport-wise—
I’ve a scarlet Aston-Martin—and does she go? She flies!
Pedestrians and dogs and cats—we mark them down for slaughter.
I also own a speed-boat which has never touched the water.
She’s built of fibre-glass, of course. I call her ‘Mandy Jane’
After a bird I used to know—No soda, please, just plain—
And how did I acquire her? Well to tell you about that
And to put you in the picture I must wear my other hat.
I do some mild developing. The sort of place I need
Is a quiet country market town that’s rather run to seed.
A luncheon and a drink or two, a little savoir faire—
I fix the Planning Officer, the Town Clerk and the Mayor.
And if some preservationist attempts to interfere
A ‘dangerous structure’ notice from the Borough Engineer
Will settle any buildings that are standing in our way—
The modern style, sir, with respect, has really come to stay.
This poem is Betjeman’s protest against the advent of the young executive whose role is more than a little nebulous and whose sideline in property development verges more than a little bit on the shady.
He introduces this character—who in post-Betjeman times would certainly have been described as a yuppie and would likewise have possessed one of the early mobile phones—and paints a very complete picture of the man and his character in the first eight lines.
Further evidence of his propensities is offered in the descriptions of his “scarlet Aston-Martin” and the “Mandy-Jane”, a speed-boat that has “never touched the water” and we then learn of his hobby and the means by which he can afford to buy a speed-boat and an Aston-Martin (and run the latter).
He finds elderly properties in dowdy towns, purchases them and tears them down to build “modern style” (for the 1970s) dwellings, bribing the local dignitaries and officials to look the other way or connive at the destruction by issuing demolition notices.
Betjeman was a passionate protector of Victorian architecture which was under threat in the 1960s and 70s as the brutalist movement reached its height. I remember my mother telling me that the clock tower in Brighton built for Queen Victoria’s Golden Jubilee (and funded by my ancestor James Willing) had been threatened with demolition in the sixties. Fortunately it is still standing in North Street though it seems to be a little unloved and uncared-for from what I can glean.
In recent years, brutalist buildings have themselves been torn down—the Wikipedia article “Brutalist Architecture” notes that of the dozen buildings nominated in the 2005 British TV programme Demolition, eight were brutalist—so architecture, like so many other areas of human artistry, goes through phases and fads.
I like the poem because it paints a sardonic picture of the young executive whose passion is for destroying the architectural heritage that Betjeman held so dear. I like the rhythm of the poem and the casual way that the executive talks about corrupting local officials: “A luncheon and a drink or two, a little savoir faire—/I fix the Planning Officer, the Town Clerk and the Mayor.” The nebulous description of his professional responsibilities—“I’m partly a liaison man and partly P.R.O [Public Relations Officer]” amuses me too. The main reason I like it though, is because it made Rachel laugh when I read it to her.
I have chosen a performance by Betjeman himself.