Desert Island Discs Imagined

Castaway Brian Mortleman reveals his gramophonic proclivities to an underwhelmed Kirsty Young

Kirsty Young: “In pursuance of the BBC’s policy of political correctness, and as a sop to old people, my guest this week is an 83-year-old nobody Brian George Mortleman...

Brian, you were born on 15th August 1931 in Woodford, Essex, the first-born of parents Leslie and Olive, who were married in February 1931 – we can all do the maths. Your father Leslie was an established, self-employed insurance broker and your mother was a milliner. You were fairly well off in those days, having a live-in maid, a car and – shall we say – a comfortable lifestyle.”

Brian George Mortleman: “Well, it wasn’t so unusual then. There was a big gap between employers and employees. After the war, things changed. My father died on Christmas day 1943, and although we were well provided for we were by no means affluent.”

KY: “Now is the time for your first record. What’s it to be?”

BGM: “Well Kirsty, I have noticed that your guests often choose at least one piece of classical music, however common they are. So let’s get that out of the way. It is the Adagietto from Gustav Mahler’s 5th Symphony. I find it very moving and hauntingly sad. Not for the happy times in life.”

KY: “That was played from a record of the original soundtrack of Visconti’s film Death In Venice. Moving on, your brother Alan was born a year and 12 days after you on 27th August 1932. You both went to a private preparatory school locally, but in 1940 you were sent as boarders to West Buckland, a public school near Barnstable in Devon. How was that?”

BGM: “Well Kirsty, it was as a form of evacuation to get us out of London. We hated it . As little boys of 8 and 9 we were too young. The usual intake was at age 13 but the school took a few younger pupils as part of its war effort. We were there for over two years and stayed down there for holidays. I think I have blocked a lot of that time out of my memory.”

KY: “Time for your second piece of music. What’s it to be?”

BGM: “As a child I loved going to the pictures and to this day I love cinema, particularly the old films. In those days, performances were continuous. You could pay your shilling, or perhaps one and ninepence, and sit there for as long as you liked. There were always two films, the news, trailers, and perhaps a ‘short’ like Look at Life. At some cinemas – for example, The Rialto in Leytonstone – a theatre organ would pop up, and a grinning man in evening dress would invite the audience to sing along, following the words on the screen with the bouncing ball. A favourite of the time was Mares Eat Oats and Does Eat Oats and Little Lambs Eat Ivy. I should like to have that to remind me of those times.”

KY: “The version you have just heard was by The Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra and the banjo was played by George Formby. What happened when you left boarding school?”

BGM: “We came back to London and got places at state grammar schools. I went to Wanstead County High School and Alan went to Sir George Moneaux Grammar in Walthamstow. Both good schools. Dad died during this period and I think this had a more profound and long-lasting affect on me than I realised at the time. It must have been very difficult for my mother with two young children, doodlegugs and V2 rockets to contend with. I had to grow up quickly and do my share to keep things going.”

KY: “Time for record number three.”

BGM: “I used to make radio sets. I started with crystal sets and built up to three-valve sets that needed high-tension batteries and accumulators. I used to listen on earphones to American Forces Network and the big American swing bands. I still like that sort of music. The Glenn Miller Orchestra playing American Patrol can represent that era for me. How my poor mother put up with all the wires and equipment I will never know. I suppose it kept me out of mischief.”

KY: “That was American Patrol played by The American Forces Orchestra, conducted by Major Glenn Miller before his tragic death in an aircraft accident. Well, he couldn’t have done it afterwards could he? Be fair. Were you a good scholar? Did you enjoy schooldays?”

BGM: “The answer is no to both questions. I was an average scholar and an average sportsman. To be quite honest, I think childhood is overrated. Don’t get me wrong – I felt loved and secure, but I wanted to be grown up. I am grateful to Wanstead County High because I made a lot of lifelong friends at school, many of whom are still around. I am glad I went to a co-educational school, which I hope has given me a balanced view of the opposite gender. I don’t think I took proper advantage of opportunities offered. However, many teachers failed to inspire – “Oh, when will the bell go for the end of the lesson?”. Some teachers were bullies and – in a couple of cases I can think of – almost sadistic. But young adulthood and the world awaited me. There was the lure of having some money of my own, there were girls, there was the prospect at 17 of learning to drive a car.”

KY: “Before we talk about that, what about record number four?”

BGM: “If you wanted to meet girls, you had to be able to dance – I mean proper ballroom dancing, where you actually hold the girl and have to know the steps. The main dances were the waltz, the quickstep and the foxtrot. The samba, the rumba and the tango were also popular. There were a number of novelty dances like the Palais Glide and the Hokey Cokey. I took dancing lessons at the Wanstead School of Dancing, owned and run by Lionel and Eve Wagget. Eve was a pretty and pert little redhead. I suppose she was about 30 at that time. She taught me to the strict tempo music of Victor Sylvester and his Orchestra. The music blared out from a good-quality gramophone in the corner of the room. I enjoyed dancing, and although I was never in the running for medals, I got by. Dances always finished with a waltz, so I think for record number four I will choose the Anniversary Waltz played by Victor Sylvester.”

KY: “You have just heard the Anniversary Waltz played in strict 123 time by Victor Sylvester and his Ballroom Orchestra. Brian, you mentioned the world of work. What did you do when you left school?”

BGM: “I intended to go into the family insurance broking business, LR Mortleman Ltd, but it was decided that first I should get experience elsewhere. I started as a junior clerk at The Law Accident Insurance Society in Billiter Street in the City of London. I was 17 and had passed my school certificate with matriculation exemption. I couldn’t imagine why they wasted my educational talents on doing the filing. However, I managed to get it all in a frightful muddle. I progressed and I enjoyed working with a nice bunch of people, some of whom became lifelong friends. I did a stint working in Lloyd’s, firstly as a junior broker and latterly in an underwriting box. This experience served me well and in 1960, aged 29, I went into our family business, which I ran from then onwards. I enjoyed working for myself and being my own boss. We had a staff of about 20, the majority of whom were married women returning to work after bringing up children. We managed to create a happy atmosphere which, apart from anything else, was good for business. I always tried to be fair and sympathetic. I liked my staff and I’m pretty certain it was mutual. Many of them remained friends for years. I have a host of happy memories of my time running a family firm, but this is not the place to tell them.”

KY: “Now we come to record five. So far, Brian, you seem to be fulfilling your potential as a nobody. I certainly wouldn’t be doing this interview were it not for the BBC’s politically correct policy. Anyway, what is your next boring choice?”

BGM: “This is where love and romance entered my life. I went on a holiday abroad for the first time, with an old school friend of mine named Michael Cutter. He was a six-foot-four, tough rugby player who went on to have three England trials. He never played for the country, but he had a long career at the highest level of amateur sport. He was good-looking and women liked him. Not many days after we started our holiday we were sitting in Piano Bar in Dinard when we spotted two attractive girls as brown as berries sitting at another table. We thought they were French and we tossed up to choose who would approach them. He lost so I send him over and he asked them, in halting schoolboy French, if they would care to join us for a drink. “Don’t bother to speak French – we are English,” they said. Eventually they joined us (because there was no back way out, I was told later). And that was how I met my wife Rose. The Piano Bar was run by a huge Belgian called Freddie. The pianist was very good, in a demented sort of way, and one of the tunes he played a lot was called Sweet Lorraine. This became ‘our song’, and on our 50th wedding anniversary our son James gave us a CD with 50 versions of it. My favourite is the one by Stephane Grappelli and that is my fifth choice.”

KY: “You have just listened to the Stephane Grappelli version of Sweet Lorraine, played by the Hot Club of France with Django Reinhardt on guitar. I’m quite surprised Brian – that was quite romantic. Have you got any children?”

BGM: “Well Kirsty, even us nobodies have our romantic moments. In answer to your question, we have one son, James, born in April 1969. He came along 13 years after we were married and after Rose had had a couple of miscarriages. He is now married to Lisa and they have two children, Ellen (aged 9) and George (aged 7). I think James is a much better parent than I was. However, I think I must’ve done something right for him to turn out so well. I do remember thinking when he was little and chattering away that I’d better listen to this because one day I may be the one chattering away and him the one expected to listen. I remember dancing round the house to the tune of Stealin’ Apples played by Benny Goodman, banging saucepan lids in time to the music. We enjoyed that, and I would like that record as a memory of James as a little boy. I am pleased to say he entertains his children in similar ways.”

KY: “You have been listening to the Benny Goodman Orchestra playing Stealin’ Apples. It was recorded in Sweden. Brian, tell me, have you done anything interesting during the course of your extremely boring life?”

BGM: “Not really, although in 1977 Rose and I went to a Royal Garden Party in Buckingham Palace. It came completely out of the blue and not because of any meritorious act of ours. The Fire Officers’ Union were clients of mine. In these more democratic times, the Royal Garden Parties were no longer the deb's delight they were before the 1950s. They had been democratised, and unions got an allocation of places. It was the Fire Officers’ Union practice to include one of their advisors in their party. In 1977, the year of the Queen’s Silver Jubilee, Rose and I got an invitation. It was a memorable occasion for us, and a surprise to see the extent of the Royal Garden. I can’t think of any music that I want to commemorate it as I often hear the National Anthem. On second thoughts, there is a tune which is appropriate because of the line “there were angels dining at the Ritz and a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square”. After we had been to the palace, we went to the Ritz and had tea. My choice for record number seven is A Nightingale Sang In Berkeley Square.”

KY: “You have just heard the 1940 recording of A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square sung by Vera Lynn. Before your final choice, I will ask a question that I ask of all my guests, which is... How would you cope on a desert island?”

BGM: “Not at all well. I would miss my family and friends and would end up a weeping, useless wreck.”

KY: “Before your final choice, I have to tell you that you are allowed one book. We give you the bible and the complete works of Shakespeare. What will it be?”

BGM: Boatbuilding for Beginners.

KY: “You are also allowed one luxury.”

BGM: “An inexhaustible supply of cheese.”

KY: “We now come to your last record. What is it to be?”

BGM: “I should need something to make me laugh and remind me of England. Being fair-skinned, I would burn in the midday sun. I have two colours for sun-drenched beaches: maggot white and lobster red. When I was a youth, I hoped all my freckles would join up to form a beautiful tan. It never happened, so I settled for maggot white. I would like Mad Dogs and Englishmen Go Out in The Midday Sun sung by Noel Coward in his plummy English voice.

KY: “It is yours. If you had to save one record from the waves, which would it be?”

BGM: “Sweet Lorraine.”

KY: “Thank for sharing your Desert Island Discs with us.”

BGM: “It has been a pleasure.”

KY (off-air to producer after BGM has left): “What a boring idiot! Thank God it will never be aired.”

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