The History of Wandsworth Common

COWBOYS ON TV IN THE 1950S

[AND THE PART PLAYED BY COWBOYS IN CHILDREN'S CULTURE]





https://www.historyofwandsworthcommon.org/cinemas/granada/granada-1949.html



(Click on image to enlarge)

Here's an image of the luxurious interior of the Granada cinema, Clapham Junction — looking down from the gallery to the pit and distant screen. I've Photoshopped in a frame from Riders in the Sky, 1949, directed by John English (who was himself English, would you believe).

Here's a remarkable scene featuring the "Singing Cowboy" Gene Autry, which I've chosen mainly because I love the song so much:





The song Ghost Riders in the Sky as seen and heard at the Granada cinema, Clapham Junction in 1949.

(Click on the image to view a wonderful scene from the film.)

Here's a completely irrelevant plot preview:

Singing cowboy Gene Autry (Gene Autry) comes to the aid of Anne Lawson (Gloria Henry), who is trying to help her rancher father, Ralph Lawson (Steve Darrell), beat a murder rap. Autry suspects that Ralph is in fact innocent, but he's having difficulty getting the two witnesses to the crime to speak up. One of the witnesses ends up killed, and Autry figures out that Rock McCleary (Robert Livingston) is behind it all. McCleary, however, is ready for a fight.





(Click on image to enlarge)

There were loads of cover versions in 1949 (and later), including those by Burl Ives, Johnny Cash, Bing Crosby, Peggy Lee. And this, my favourite version, from Vaughn Munroe.

—  Wikipedia: (Ghost) Riders in the Sky: A Cowboy Legend.

Not the Last of the Mohicans . . . 

South Western Star — Friday 19 August 1949








TOMAHAWKS AND BLOOD

I was under the impression that we had seen the last of the Mohicans. But I was mistaken, for only the other day I encountered on Wandsworth Common a band of these predatory Redskins, obviously on the warpath.

Their red-brown bodies, naked save for diminutive bathing trunks, were smeared copiously with blood, and in their hands they carried weapons ranging from rifles to tomahawks.

The "braves" were local boys, their skins reddened and tanned by the holiday sun, while the besmearing blood was only the innocuous stain of the blackberry, artfully applied to chest and shoulders.

J.P. EDE, 39 Broomwood Road, Battersea.

[Ed.] Wot, no scalps?

[BNA: Link]

[I'm expecting to discuss "Cowboys and Indians" at some length in March Chronicles 2024 Part Two.]

The Common and the streets leading up to it were the scene of our principal game. It was played chiefly on Saturday, our whole holiday. We assembled, for example, at the top of the road in the well-trodden garden of a doctor who had a rowdy son; each bringing a weapon or several weapons, wooden swords and pikes, or daggers, shields, pistols, bows, arrows and with horns and trumpets, and perhaps some bread and cheese and an apple or orange. There sides were chosen. One side went out to seek a fort in someone's garden or among the gorse bushes. Ten minutes later the other set forth, often in two divisions.

Sometimes stealth was the rule of expedition, we advanced whispering and in some order. Sometimes everyone was shouting for his own plans and against another's. At other times the methods alternated, the stealth would become wearisome, we began to chatter and disagree, or the riot of anarchy would suddenly strike us as wrong, everyone said "hush", and for some minutes we modelled ourselves on Sioux, Mohicans or Hurons, crouching, pausing, trying to hush the sound of our breathing. We forgot everything in this Indian ideal.

the enemy had to be found. Nor were they loth. Someone was sure to show himself and wave defiance, or to leap out on us, supposing we passed by. If seen at a distance they might change the stronghold and there would be a chase. If they were content to stand a storm, the second army would gather all its numbers together and, with yells and counter-yells, batter and push them out or be battered and pushed out itself. The struggle was one of character, not weapons. The side possessing the fiercest and most stubborn boys won. The winners would than in turn fortify themselves and sustain an attack; and so it went on, until a mealtime, or nightfall, or rain, or a serious quarrel, finished the war.

At long intervals fiercer battles were waged. The boys of a neighboring school of the

[19]

grammar-school standard looked down upon the Board-school boys, or `Boardy Blags' (i.e. blackguards). The Board-school boys resented this. The feud was usually hardly in so much as a smouldering condition, and so far as I know must have been all but forgotten. Then suddenly it would flame out. A loose army of Board-school boys several score strong moved along the Grove at the edge of the Common towards the enemy's school. The army was continually being swelled from the side streets. With all the smaller or more timid boys hanging on its fringes, more angry than warlike, more curious than angry, the numbers were considerable. Stones were the long-distance weapons. But rarely, I think, did both sides muster a fairly equal army at the same time.

When they came in sight of one another they began to throw stones. They halted, odd stones were thrown here and there, the hangers-on disappeared. I doubt if both sides ever advanced and clashed in hand-to-hand conflict. Usually after some challenging shouts, some wavering and dissension, the victors knew themselves and set up a shout and moved forward confidently. The smaller army broke and fled down the streets; the larger broke and pursued. Here and there a group kept together and set upon any solitary enemy it could discover. I, who was too small to be in the army, was content to hang on the outer outskirts, pick up the news, and occasionally insult one of the enemy if I remembered that he was one.

As a relaxation we hung about in corners smoking cigarettes of rolled brown paper. Making these, lighting them, puffing them, coughing, relighting them, asking one another if they were alight, and silently enjoying the act and the seclusion, filled hours. Our sense of discipline was slight and transient. It was not encouraged by doing lessons, a few ridiculous exercises under the eye of an unsleeping master, and playing mostly individualist games in the playground. Being in a little mob increased our boldness and also our ease and safety. According to our tempers, I

[20]

think we hoped that the others would either shelter us or support us in doing signal deeds. As member of the army, any one of us could most likely insult a passing outsider with impunity: if, however, there had been any swift retaliation the victim of it would often have been left to suffer alone. Therefore the armies did not always wait for a formal order of disbandment.

I have failed to identify this song:

The only one of the many songs we sang at school which I can recall was in the minor key. It was a kind of dirge for a North American Indian. I can still hum the melody, but I remember no more of the words than 'Far far away in the depths of the wild wood'. These were several times repeated. The rhyme to 'wild wood' was I believe 'childhood'. I used to sing this to myself, and have periodically returned to it ever since. .

[p.34]

I wonder if it's one or other of these:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Indian%27s_Prayer

The spirit of this song looks about right, but probably not, since the phrase 'Far far away in the depths of the wild wood' (or similar) does not appear. Neither does "childhood"

The nearest phrases:

Let me go to my home in the far, far west, To the scenes of my youth, which I love the best. Also

"Let me go to my home in the far distant west,
To the scenes of my childhood in innocence blest;

Also

"The let me away to my own forest home", and the refrain "To my home in the woods, let me go, let me go."

Oh dear, once I got started, I couldn't stop thinking about how we spent so much time as children playing "Cowboys and Indians", or "Cowboys — Goodies v. Baddies". Did it affect us? How?

For us, cinema (including Saturday Morning Pictures) was key.

And of course television: