Harold Baim's Britain on Film On Film

This is my kind of town.

Riding the express elevator to the top of one of the city's

highest buildings, this is the view that nearly took my breath away.

I found this city exciting.

The modern buildings reflect its position

as the nation's industrial powerhouse.

You feel as if you've been projected into the 21st century.

The Rotunda towers over the Bull Ring.

It's 160 years since there was any bull baiting here. The ring has gone.

Colourful markets have taken over.

It's an adventure to shop here.

There's a sophisticated shopping centre over New Street rail terminal.

It has 200 shops, restaurants and my favourite - British pubs.

You can really eat in this town.

You can chew Chinese, feed French or ingest Indian.

Guzzle Greek, intake Italian or digest Danish.

If you're weight watching, well, forget it!

150 market stalls display their goods, whilst over them,

intense traffic pounds along the elevated inner ring road.

Birmingham's road systems are revolutionary.

The inner ring road, Queensway,

a four mile circuit of dual carriageways, tunnels and overpasses,

linking up with the main arteries of the city and the Aston Expressway.

I was here for the spring festival. Ten hours of entertainment

every day for seven days in the 81 acre Cannon Hill Park.

The sound of disco music was in the air,

so, I wanted to see what gives.

It was an over 40s competition and... incredible!

DISCO MUSIC

This is Mrs Taylor.

I'm sure somebody loves you, baby.

One of Birmingham's after dark scenes, it's lush, plush

and there's not much hush.

Let's take in the action.

DISCO MUSIC

A thousand years ago, this was thick forest with no-one living there.

A thousand years from now, hmmm, I wonder.

Yes, it's my kind of town. So long, Birmingham. Here's looking at you.

I don't think there is anything more exciting that when on a train journey

you suddenly, after miles and miles of green fields,

find yourself roaring out of a tunnel onto a track, which runs

at the side of the ocean, past beaches and rocks, past sea and sun bathers

and all those things which go to make up the memories of summer months.

Destination Margate.

Bell of Kent, situated on the flat, fertile land of the Isle of Thanet.

At Westgate, another of the five in one resorts,

can be found delightful St Mildred's Bay,

which together with West Bay, has a sandy foreshore washed by every tide.

The heart of the resort's entertainment

is the Winter Gardens, where, in summer months,

famous orchestras and top calibre artists appear.

Thank you, Dickie.

This car registration number is familiar.

Not difficult to guess whose, Petula Clark,

one of Britain's best loved stars, she too is at the Winter Gardens Theatre.

In nine different languages, Torquay welcomes visitors

who come here from all parts of the world.

Enclosing a water surface of some 35 acres,

the harbour can trace its history right back to the 17th century.

Today, it rivals Monte Carlo for the splendid yachts

and vessels of all kinds, which safely anchor here.

Maybe Charles Dickens did exaggerate a little

when he said that, "upon the whole, Yarmouth is the finest place in the universe."

For he could not have visualised space travel at that time.

However, he, evidently, must have been completely charmed

and captivated by what he saw.

There's always a choice of first class entertainment

and at the open-air roller-skating ring on the Wellington pier,

enthusiastic amateurs stage weekly shows.

Tommy Cooper and Ruby Murray take time out to watch the proceedings.

Tommy Cooper seems to have bitten off a little more than he can chew.

He shouldn't buy such cold ice cream.

I don't believe it. If they can do it, I suppose he thinks he can.

Ready for anything with a couple of cushions tied back and front,

Tommy takes to the rink.

Benny Hill seems to have run into a little trouble.

He cannot get into the theatre for his own show.

Where's the attendant been hiding if he doesn't recognise one of Britain's greatest funny men?

Not without a certain amount of glamour combined with expert knowledge,

the policewoman controls the traffic of one of Weston-super-Mare's busy intersections.

On the beach, the youngsters have fun galore with fire engines, trains

and chariots of all kinds which transport them to seventh heaven.

The donkeys follow up in the rear completing a perfect picture of juvenile joy.

Children playing happily on a crowded beach are apt to get mislaid.

Tiny ones with no sense of direction,

can't find their way back to the family.

Very soon one of the lost children centres has them under its care

and mummy knows exactly where to go and the happy reunion takes place.

Here's an innovation - double deck chairs. A little awkward

if you're not talking to each other!

The development of the Pleasure Beach is symbolic of the demand

for thrills and excitement in what we may call this restless age.

Showman Alf Barton has catered for this demand in no small measure.

He controls one of the finest pleasure grounds ever constructed.

It's thrills, thrills and more thrills all along the line.

SCREAMS

I don't know of another place where so many famous people have had streets named after them.

But this particular city has a fine sense of history.

So, let's look at Portsmouth.

FOGHORN BLOWS

I just happen to be one of those people who are crazy about castles.

If they're over 1,500 years old, I'm even crazier.

At the head of Portsmouth Harbour is Porchester Castle, a Roman fortress

which has known the kings of England from Alfred the Great to Henry V.

If stones could speak, can you imagine?

I suppose this could be called a castle.

It's the polytechnic, a castle of learning.

Another building that looks like a castle is the city museum and art gallery.

We Americans have always admired the way the English perpetuate their history.

I saw the Fort Cumberland and Portsmouth Militaria

acting out a drill, which was the drill in Napoleonic times.

Would you believe, they do this every Monday evening through the year?

The Guildhall seems to be looking at me,

so, so long, Portsmouth. Here's looking at you.

This is how the ancient township of Rye appears today

as it's approached from the sea.

There was a thriving boat building industry here,

but today, only one man carries on the tradition of his craft.

83 years of age, 72 of which have been spent in the service

of ships, he is the last of a long line of shipwrights.

Of all the ancient crafts, that of the basket maker is one,

which in these days of mechanisation, seems still to live on

and the uses of which are indeed many and varied.

The hand basket had its origins on the Isle of Skye in Scotland,

where it was known as the goose basket

and it was used for carrying broody hens to market.

Basket making is an art handed down through generations.

Here at Great Yarmouth,

some of the finest creations in this particular field can be seen.

If you wait for a little while on Paignton Harbour

you'll be sure to come across the crab pot makers.

Like all places where's seafood is popular, first essential is,

of course, to catch it.

The craftsmanship of the pot maker is handed down from father to son.

They assured me it's quite easy for the crabs and lobsters

to get into the trap, but almost impossible for them to get out.

There is nothing like a dame and, at John Waddington's, no machine

has yet been found to do this work more efficiently than the gentle sex.

Did I say gentle sex?

Called the Shambles, this was once the street of butchers.

Here the curing of ham was an art.

Not many are to be found today

but York ham is still a much sought after delicacy.

The trick is in the salt, so he says.

But he wasn't very forth coming about the rest of the process.

After literally salting the joint away for a year, it's ready.

When I looked at it, I was ready too.

At the Magic Carpet Factory of Associated Weavers in Yorkshire,

the synthetic fibre springs from the bale.

It's spin time when a young yarn fancy turns on a frame

which puts a twist in it to make it a little longer and a little stronger.

Right now, we've arrived at the part of this fantastic factory which

really made me blink in astonishment, the first time I saw it.

Production is at the rate of five million square yards a year

and that's some record to be trodden on.

In pulling out 1,008 tufts at once, a fault or two could happen and does.

Trained girl inspectors spot the undeliberate mistake

and with needle and thread proceed to rectify, often hundreds and hundreds

of yards will pass under their eagled eyed scrutiny in perfect shape.

Like wheat or barley, timber is a crop too.

A crop which takes many years before it can be reaped,

years of attention from foresters whose lives are spent with trees.

Forestry horses are very knowing, choosing their own paths

and obeying spoken words of command.

Small timber, such as this, may be used in the making of bobbins.

The wood has been cut into short lengths and is drilled.

Many of these machines are 70 and 80 years old.

He has worked all his life in a bobbin mill.

Finishing machine completely fashions the bobbin,

which may be used for storing wire or cotton.

Here in Worstead, the village,

which in the middle ages gave its name to the worsted yarn

first made there, is another rare sight, the village blacksmiths.

Rob Roy overlooks a stream in a country

fiercely proud of its history.

Where you may go into a bank

and be given bills issued by individual banking houses.

Where, in an Aberdeen hotel, you may be introduced to haggis,

which believe me is delicious.

Porridge, made with Scots oats.

Herring, kippered in Scotland.

Trout and salmon from the country's magnificent rivers,

Aberdeen Angus beef.

High tea, almost a ritual.

And the other Scotch broth from distilleries, using the pure waters of the region,

making Scotch the best there is.

He tries his luck in the River Dee.

The Dee and the Don flow through this,

one of Britain's most northerly cities,

a city preserved in silver grey granite.

With a past both romantic and turbulent,

Aberdeen is one of the most fascinating places in Europe.

You know, this street really got to me.

A mile long granite artery called Union Street.

At one end of Union Street is the Castlegate,

the castle long since gone.

In Queens Road a Scotsman's home is his castle. See what I mean?

Talking of castles,

everyone knows there's always one at the end of the rainbow.

This is medieval Drum Castle.

Crathes Castle, built in 1553.

I was captivated by everything I saw and I'll be back,

well, that's for sure.

In the meantime, so long, Aberdeen. And, here's looking at you.

# Nottingham Castle Nottingham Castle

# Made my mind up that # I'm going to take you up

# To Nottingham Castle today Oh, yeah

# I can show you all the places Where they say the Robin made

# Maid Marian's day

# Stop for a while At the Trip to Jerusalem

# Where the crusaders Made ready for war

# You can find history waiting there For you at Nottingham castle

# Nottingham castle.

# When you're walking Through the city

# You can see the prettiest girls In the square oh, yeah

# With the way around The Market Place to buy

# The Nottingham lace That they wear

# William the Conqueror ordered A castle be built overlooking

# The river below

# Come and I'll show you, I want you To know about Nottingham Castle.

# Nottingham Castle. #

From all over the British Isles, feminine beauty parades here

in a weekly competition to find the most beautiful girl amongst them.

Well here are a few of them for you to give the once over.

Yes, the ladies can watch too.

But as the competition is judged by a man, the final say will be with him.

There is never any lack of feminine beauty.

The main difficulty is always to select the winner.

Which little number do you think should take the trophy?

The little number I refer to, of course, is held in the ladies' left hand.

A little poise from number 23 goes a long way... maybe.

I think English audiences are marvellous. I love you all.

She certainly cuts a good figure and actually was one of the winners.

He should be in What's My Line? Looks a pretty shrewd judge to me.

They have their own ideas.

Well he made his mind up and the decision is really final

but did he do right by the girls?

The winner and, boy, has he made her happy.

It's the City of London, within which is a strange pulsation

and a sense of today and yesterday inexorably intertwined.

The city perpetuates street names which were in use in the days

of Charles Dickens.

Piccadilly Circus.

They say you only have to stand here long enough

and everyone you know will pass by.

From here, thoroughfares radiate like spokes from the hub of a wheel.

Come with me in a cab

up the colonnaded Regent Street of John Nash.

Then we'll ride down Bond Street.

If you can't see what you want here,

well, then let's try the Portobello Market.

Fleet Street, home of newspapers and journalists,

where work goes on all night.

A world of red hot latest news,

of printing presses thundering in the night below street level,

so that you and I can have our favourite daily tomorrow.

Shaftsbury Avenue, a street of theatres and cinemas,

a world of make believe for those who would escape reality,

if only for a few hours.

Park Lane, a world of idle luxury, caviar, footmen

and red plush curtains for those who can pay the bills.

Sandalwood, cedarwood, cheap tin trays and sweet white wine.

Look around. There's these and many other cargoes on the move in dockland.

It's hardly believable but Billingsgate fish market, the oldest in London,

dates from the ninth century.

The fish, of course, is not so old.

The existing building was erected almost 90 years ago.

And after the fish course, what else but meat.

The market at Smithfield was designed by the man who originated Billingsgate.

He must have been a very food conscious individual.

Traffic problems in the city are serious indeed.

But in 1831 it was much worse and that's true.

I wonder if they'll think the same in 2031. That's the ticket!

We have one way of dealing with the problem today,

unpalatable though it is.

Watching points on point duty in the city, with its intricate intersections,

is a man sized job, needing patience, calmness and extreme concentration.

The women police in the Square Mile are the acme of smartness.

They need a great deal of tact, for their job is extremely specialised.

Apart from that, they make excellent partners at police force dances.

London is a living, growing, changing place.

For me, for you, this is the big city.