Tony Robinson's History of Britain (2020): Season 2, Episode 2 - Edwardians - full transcript

Our British history is rich
with tales of wealth and power

and all that political nonsense,

the glamour of our kings and queens,

the jewels and furs and charisma,

and all those heads
being chopped off...

(METALLIC CLANG, SCREAM)

..but what about the real people
who made everything happen?

(GASPS)

(BABY CRIES)
(YELLS)

I'll discover what they ate...

It's a bit... stodgy.



..the challenges they faced...

(GRUFFLY) "Stuff this
for a game of soldiers!"

..and how they built Britain.

That's straight as a die.

I'm going to uncover
the extraordinary lives

of some of history's ordinary people.

Hut!

Romans...

It's quite a weight on the head,
I have to say.

..Edwardians...

Breathe in, madam, breathe in.

..1950s...

MAN: Put the needle on the record.

Ooh, really soft brakes -
takes ages to stop it.



..and the Middle Ages.

There's the executive model
inside the house.

(APATHETIC) "Whatever."

History... from the bottom up.

This time, I'm going back
to the beginning of the last century.

A time of glamour, class division,
social progress

and the height of empire -

the Edwardian era.

At the beginning of the 1900s,

the British had
the most awesome fleet of ships

the world had ever seen.

It held the empire together
and fed British industrial might,

which meant that thousands of Brits
were constantly building

or sailing in them.

Take Arthur John Priest,
for instance.

Arthur was just a teenager
growing up in Southampton

when he went in search of a life
on the ocean wave.

"There you are, men, the ocean wave."

"Ooh, look, there's life on it."

If this is what he'd hoped for,
he'd have been disappointed.

Arthur ended up as a fireman,
but it didn't involve hoses.

"I be the fire starter."

(INTENSE MUSIC PLAYS)

As a fireman, Arthur's job would be
to get a load of wood and coal

and put it into a high pile
and then light it with oil.

And then the next four hours
of his watch,

he would literally watch it
to make sure it burned evenly

so it would heat the water
in the boiler above

and the water would turn into steam
and power the ship.

Arthur and his mates were known
as 'the black gang'

because they were always covered
in soot and coal dust.

It was backbreaking work
in 50 degree heat

just to keep the steam pressure
kicking in the red

so the chaps in nice, clean uniforms on the
bridge could really put their foot down.

"Lovely morning for it."

After four hours of feeding
the fires of hell,

the boys were allowed
just eight hours to sleep, eat

and take part
in leisure activities...

..before it all started again.

In 1911, Arthur bagged a job

on the massive ocean-going liner,
the Olympic.

It was an education.

During one voyage,
the captain decided to show off

by cutting up an ongoing ship,
HMS Hawke.

(BRAKES SQUEAL, CRASHING)

The resulting collision
thoroughly ruined the paintwork.

"Oh, anyone got some filler?"

It wouldn't be the last time
that Arthur's boat got totalled,

but more of that later.

In 1912, Arthur got a plum job
that every black gang member wanted

on board the Olympic's sister ship.

She was a little bit larger
than this one.

In fact, at the time,
she was the largest liner

in the history of shipping.

She was nicknamed The Unsinkable...

Oops!

Her real name was the Titanic.

Like its sister ship, the Olympic,

the Titanic was constructed
in Belfast.

Working inside it must have been
awe-inspiring and terrifying.

29 colossal boilers
heated by 159 furnaces,

consuming 35 tons of coal an hour,

850 tons a day,

all fed day and night
by 205 firemen like Arthur

to keep the Titanic going.

Our story of Arthur is bound together
with that of another person

who inhabited
a very different world.

I suppose, to most people,
the word 'Edwardian' conjures up

pictures of big country houses
like that one,

full of gorgeous fancy dresses,

but our story is about someone
a bit more ordinary.

Her name is Ellen Mary Barber,
known as Nellie.

In her mid-20s, Nellie took a job
as a lady's maid in Staffordshire.

But she couldn't possibly have known
at the time quite how fateful

that decision would be.

Nellie's employer was
an American woman, Julia Cavendish,

who was married to
a country gentleman,

Tyrell Cavendish.

Like the other 1.5 million Brits
who were in service,

Nellie worked her socks off

just to pander to every whim
of the upper class.

Nellie didn't have set hours
of work,

she worked whenever she was required,

which was virtually all of the time.

Her day would start around about 6:30
in the morning

when she would wash in cold water
up in her cramped servant's quarters

in the attic and get ready
for the first task of the day.

(WOMAN COUGHS)

But Nellie wouldn't be clearing out
the grates like the ordinary maids.

As a lady's maid,
she was at the top of the tree

and followed Mrs Cavendish
wherever she went,

even across the sea
to Mrs Cavendish's home of America.

But for now,
life carried on as normal -

well, normal for Edwardians -

and it started at the crack
of sparrow every morning...

(BELL DINGS)

..bringing a cup of tea
and some toast

for Mrs Cavendish to have in bed...

Ah!

..and removing the chamber-pot.

Someone who knows about the sort
of life Nellie lived is

social historian and author
Tessa Boase.

So, Tessa, she's brought in
the toast and the tea

and she's used the potty,

what happens next?

She's taken the potty away.

She'll then return and decide
what clothes she needs to lay out

first for her mistress.

This is a clothe.

Yes. Most importantly,
the undergarments.

Starting with one of these things -
the corset.

"Wait a minute!

"I've got a great idea
for women's undergarments..."

"Whalebone!"

"Bally brilliant!"

That extraordinary Edwardian shape
didn't happen

without the aid of whalebone
and lacing.

And the corset got really important
in the Edwardian era.

It was tied eye-wateringly tight

and often caused deformity
to the wearer.

So, if you can imagine
that the chest is out,

the tiny waist is tucked back

and the hips are thrust backwards.

And Nellie's job is to...
"Breathe in, madam, breathe in."

The Edwardian waist was tiny.

The corset is
holding this poor woman in.

She might only wear it for two hours

and there'd be another outfit
to put on.

There'd be
the walking-in-the-gardens outfit,

the walking-in-the-park outfit

and the hunting outfit.

"Ah, there's the blighter!"

"Bloody corset's killing me."

Edwardian fashion was inspired by the
extravagance of Edward VII himself.

The dresses were supposed to be sexy

and evoke a feeling
of constant summer.

Nellie was responsible for Mrs
Cavendish's fabulous collection of dresses

and she became an expert
at mending them.

The front is so beautifully elegant,
but it's so elaborate, isn't it?

It is so elaborate.

And if you can imagine mending

this sort of, you know,
antique Belgian lace

and perhaps a pearl falls off
at a ball or...

How would Nellie have known
how to mend that? It's so complex.

She would have learnt probably
going into service quite young,

watching what
the other ladies' maids were doing.

It was absolute art.

When does Nellie get a breather?

Nellie does not get
much of a breather.

Between the hours
of about 8pm and 11pm

when Nellie's mistress is dining
and socialising and staying up late,

then Nellie might put her feet up,

but she'll probably have a needle
and thread in her hands.

She's always on call.

(WOMAN CRIES)

Nellie's reward for
her ceaseless devotion was a salary

of about £25 a year,

roughly enough to pay
for one dinner party at the house.

The inequalities of Edwardian life
were staggering,

but Nellie lived
in this extraordinary gray world

where she was poor,

but she experienced the life
of the rich

through travels with her lady.

(HORN HONKS)

And as Julia Cavendish was American,

that meant trips to the USA
to visit her daddy.

And on the sunny afternoon
of the 10th April, 1912,

Nellie and the Cavendishes
travelled to Southampton

and boarded the Titanic.

They stepped into a world
of eye-popping luxury.

First class on the Titanic included
a smoking room, a library,

a luxury piano lounge
and a choice of fancy eateries.

This is the first class restaurant
of the Titanic.

This is John Siggins
who's brought me high tea.

I love a high tea, don't you?

It was this degree of luxury -
unprecedented on an ocean voyage -

that the Cavendishes would have
experienced.

For instance, if they came down
to dinner,

amongst a thousand other things,

they could have had golden plover
on toast.

(GUNSHOT)

Of course, Nellie wouldn't have
experienced quite this degree of luxury,

but she would
have had some pretty good food

in another restaurant
just down the corridor.

It is incredible, isn't it,
how fascinated we still are

with the Titanic
and the snapshot it gives us

of Edwardian life?

Of course,
this isn't really the Titanic.

The Titanic, as you probably know,
is down the bottom of the ocean.

This is actually in Ripley
in a garden shed,

which John has miraculously turned
into the first class dining room

of that iconic ship.

Cheers, John. Great work!

(FANFARE)

The Titanic was a microcosm
of the Edwardian class system,

which was entrenched
in every part of society.

Right at the top were the Cavendishes
in their first class cabin

with their servant Nellie on hand
in modest quarters nearby.

Separated below were second,
then below that third class,

and right on the bottom,
one Arthur Priest,

the fireman working his ass off
to keep the show going.

To help Arthur feel at home,
his old boss joined the crew too -

yes, the same captain who'd been
in charge of his previous ship,

the Olympic,
when it had a little mishap.

(BRAKES SCREECH, CRASHING)

Still, what's the worst
that could happen?

After brief stops in France
and Ireland,

the Titanic headed
into the open waters

of the North Atlantic Ocean

as the captain attempted to reach
New York in good time...

"Backs into it, men."

..which depends entirely on Arthur
and his mates' grunt work

shovelling a ton of coal
every two minutes.

And to keep him going,

the White Star Line fed Arthur
heartily -

sausages, sometimes meat,

potatoes, beans,

with a lot of salt
to replenish all that lost sweat,

not to forget pudding.

It was maritime law that,
twice a week on foreign journeys,

on the menu, there had to be
a stodgy plum pudding

known as board of trade duff
or figgy duff.

This is it.

Oh... it's a bit...

..stodgy!

Well, very sensible law,
if you like this sort of thing.

Even better, if he was
on the four o'clock shift,

Arthur got his food from
the Titanic's first class restaurant.

"What?!"

Obviously, they wouldn't let
a working class man covered in soot

anywhere near it,

but he'd get a pile of leftovers
sent below,

perhaps even from
Mrs Cavendish's own plate.

And if Arthur was really lucky,
it might even be a bit warm.

But the very best thing was
if the weather got rough

and the passengers were put off
their food,

there might be a lot of it.

Chicken, anyone?

(WOMAN RETCHES)

"I'll stick with the plover,
thank you."

At just before midnight on April 14,

Arthur, who'd been resting
between shifts, woke with a start.

There was a horrible screeching thud
and everything went flying.

It didn't take Arthur long
to realise what was wrong.

He had only one thought -

get out quick!

The Titanic had hit this very iceberg
below its waterline.

Arthur groped
for the emergency escape route.

Pandemonium was kicking off
throughout the ship,

while, right at the top,

the Cavendishes were in pole position
for survival.

Mr Cavendish told his wife to take
warm clothes and her jewellery,

and he led her outside,
followed by Nellie.

When they got on deck,
he put them in a lifeboat,

which was very much like this one,

and it was lowered
into the freezing water.

But Cavendish stayed where he was.

He felt honour bound to let women
and children go first.

Unfortunately, it wasn't quite
as orderly as this lifeboat drill.

For a start, there were more people
on the Titanic

than places on the lifeboats,

and the boats they had were launched
before they were even full.

Nellie's lifeboat, this actual one,
had a capacity of 65,

but was launched
with just 23 occupants -

mainly women, 20 from first class,
one from third,

plus two sailors to row.

Meanwhile, back on the ship...

Down below, Arthur scrambled up
a ladder in a service tunnel

all the way from the boiler room
up to the deck.

The ship was quickly filling
with water and was listing badly.

(SCREAMING)

On and on he pressed.

By the time Arthur had got on deck,

the Titanic was sinking
and all the lifeboats had gone.

There was only one thing for it -

you have to jump in.

The water was -2 degrees Celsius -

Arthur had just 30 minutes
before he'd die from exposure.

But then something amazing happened -

a solitary lifeboat turned around to
see if there were any more survivors.

Someone spotted Arthur and pulled him
out of the freezing water.

He'd got frostbite and a damaged leg
but he'd survived.

In fact, he and Nellie
and Julia Cavendish were all alive

and were taken to New York.

Tyrell Cavendish, along with more
than 1,500 others, never made it.

Nellie returned
with Julia Cavendish to England,

where they were reunited
with Julia's two sons.

Nellie continued to visit America
with her lady.

She eventually left service
to become a dressmaker

but never married.

As for Arthur, you might have thought
he'd opt for a quieter life

after all that excitement

and avoid anything to do with
large ocean-going ships,

but, no, Arthur was
just getting started.

In all, Arthur went on to survive
four ship sinkings

and three seriously damaged ones

before he was finally forced
to retire.

You see, no-one would take the risk
of having Arthur on board anymore.

Cor, look at
this beautifully restored old street.

This is just like something that
you would have seen near Birmingham

in the early 1900s.

Well, not quite like
'cause if you'd seen it then,

all of this would be covered
in soot.

There was soot everywhere,

pumping out
from the big black chimney stacks

which framed the landscape
wherever you looked.

Open cast coal mines,

iron foundries and steel mills -

the West Midlands was the dark heart
of Britain's industrial powerhouse.

And thanks to its sooty atmosphere,
they called it 'the Black Country'.

But if you are passing through
Black Country village, Cradley Heath,

there's something else
that you might notice -

the constant tap-tap-tapping sound,

the sound of chain-making.

With all that heavy industry
and agriculture,

to move anything you needed
an iron chain...

..weighing anything from a few ounces
for an animal harness

to over 200 tons for an anchor chain.

And the place to get your chain made,
whether it was big or small,

was here in little old Cradley Heath.

Almost everyone was at it!

Working in big workshops
and in their back gardens,

everyone from small children
to young men to old ladies.

And if you don't believe me,

this is the story
of one of those old ladies.

Her name was Patience Round,

and she was still bashing away
at her chains at the age of 79.

Patience Round didn't only witness
the industrial revolution,

she pretty much was
the industrial revolution.

She started making chains
back in 1841, aged just 10,

and kept going for 69 years.

The place where she made the chains
was outside the back of her house

where she had a forge set up,

and she had to get up at four o'clock
every morning.

The reason
for the early start was this -

she had to start up the fire,
keep it going,

pumping away with the bellows
until eventually the light faded

and she could no longer see to work.

So what was Patience's life like?

Carol, you're our Patience today.
I am afraid, yes.

This is Carol Davis,
a modern day chainmaker

who demonstrates her skills
at the Black Country Living Museum.

It must have been pretty grim
working conditions.

Yes, you were in
an awful atmosphere -

hot, sweaty, dirty,

12 hours a day, six days a week.

And your children would have been
helping you,

they'd have been here as well.

The children would cut
the metal rods to length

and put them in a neat pile
for Patience.

Once you've got
your length of metal,

then it had to be heated up again -

it had to be permanently heated up

because otherwise you could not
hammer it into the shape you wanted.

Then put it in the hole

and hammer it over
to get your horseshoe shape.

Then what, after you've done that?

You have to hammer this now
to get it nice and flat at this end.

Then put it on this part
of the anvil,

which is called the bickern.

And... easy it round,

because these two pieces
are going to join.

At the beginning
of her chain-making career, aged 10,

Patience would have made
fine, lightweight chains,

such as those used in gas lamps,

and progressed to heavier ones
as she grew up.

How many links
would she have been making?

Oh, up to 50, at least.

Up to 50 in how long?
About an hour.

Wow! So just under one a minute.

Yes, it was...
It was a very quick process.

Was she making the same sized links
as her husband was making?

No, no, the women were only allowed
to make chain up to a certain size

because any bigger than that
would have been

what the men would have made
and they would have been up in arms.

Was there a reason for that,
other than pure sexism?

Well, the men managed
to finish their work in six hours

as opposed to the women working
for 12 hours a day, six days a week.

So, when they'd done theirs,
because it was heavier,

big, big links of chain,

they'd got their weight
by the end of six hours.

Oh, so it would only take
them half as long? Yes.

So they could go down the pub while the
woman was still working. Absolutely.

Patience was paid by weight -

but with such a lightweight chains,

it was difficult to earn
more than tuppence ha'penny an hour

or five shillings a week.

Just enough to cover the rent
and a few loaves of bread.

Patience said that, from the age
of 10, she'd worked relentlessly

and hardly ever had a day off.

She used to keep a tally
of how much chain she'd made

but after 3,000 miles,
she lost count.

3,000 miles.

That's like from here to New York,
isn't it?

"Come on, Mum,
you've only done 1,826."

"That's 1,825 more than you."

What I find so humbling is that despite
the frankly miserable nature of her job,

Patience remain so positive
about her work.

She said she grew to love the forge
because...

(IN BLACK COUNTRY ACCENT)
.."The glowing fire keeps me warm

"and the bright sparks
keep me cheerful."

Patience's sunny outlook is
especially impressive

because at 79 she was also supporting
her disabled husband.

But she'd soon have another reason
to be cheerful.

In 1909, a radical liberal government
came to power,

which included David Lloyd George
and the young Winston Churchill.

"We're in! This'll be the high point
of your career, laddie".

"Oh, no, it won't."

They promised to improve
the conditions

for so-called sweated labour,

which included makers of clothing,
lace and chains,

starting with a new minimum wage,

which meant chain-making companies
had to pay their workers

a whole penny an hour more,
an increase of over 50%.

So how did the owners respond?

Easy. They just refused to pay it.

"Do these women think
we're made of money?"

"Yeah, exactly."
"Aren't we?"

They don't seem to have noticed

that your Edwardian women
were learning to cut up rough,

and they did.

In 1910, the National Federation
of Women Workers called a strike.

In retaliation, the employers locked
the chainmakers out,

so the union's media savvy leader,
Mary Macarthur,

brought the women's grievances
direct to the British public.

Patience, aged 79, joined the march.

Here she is.

Money poured in,
providing strikers like Patience

with two shillings and sixpence
a week to support them.

And after a 10-week stand-off,
the employers finally caved in.

The women had won
and with money to spare -

enough to build a new HQ
for the union,

and this is it.

As for Patience,
flushed with her victory,

she kept chain-making
for a few more years

and lived to 103.

Must have been
that lovely Black Country air.

(COUGHS)

By the Edwardian period,

kids were no longer being sent out
to work aged ten,

they received free schooling
to the age of 12

and millions got
free school meals too.

Even disadvantaged or orphaned
children stood a better chance.

If you walked down Bonner Road
in London's East End in 1900,

you'd have past a small row of houses
simply known as The Children's Home.

It was founded in 1869 by
the Reverend Thomas Bowman Stephenson

to provide homeless
and orphaned children

with a Christian upbringing
and vital skills.

Life at the orphanage was captured
in hundreds of photographs,

and two children in particular
stand out in this one taken in 1900.

Edward Tull, aged 14,
and his little brother, Walter, 12.

Their father, a carpenter,
had emigrated from Barbados

and married an Englishwoman.

They had five children.

Tragically, within a few years
of this picture being taken,

both parents had died.

Edward and Walter were sent to start
new lives together at the orphanage.

(BELL RINGS)

Every morning at 6:20,
a bell would ring.

Walter and Edward would get up
and dressed.

Then they would rip
all the clothes off the bed,

turn the mattress over,
make the bed again -

making sure that the top sheet
was turned down exactly six inches -

and then they would fold up
their bedclothes very neatly,

much neater than I'm doing.

Next, a bracing wash in cold water.

And finally, they'd all stand in line
for an inspection by Sister Ethel,

who kept the brothers
and the rest of their house in order.

"I saw that, Ernie."

"I didn't do nothing."

After that, there'd be a task -

when they were new boys,

it would probably be something
like cleaning everyone else's shoes -

and only when that was done
to the sister's satisfaction

would they be allowed
to go to breakfast.

Bread and marge with cocoa.

Then it would be off to chapel
for prayers...

..before a morning of lessons,

reading, writing and arithmetic,
geography,

composition, drawing and grammar.

The highlights of the day were pie
and mash for lunch...

(CHEERING)

..and, at the end of lessons,
two hours of free time.

Both Edward and Walter were keen
on sport and singing.

And they joined the choir.

At 8pm, after yelling
their lungs out,

the boys settled into their dorms,

bidding goodnight to Sister Ethel.

No talking allowed.

"Night-night."

"Shh!"

But the brothers orderly new lives were
about to take another fateful turn.

It all started
when the choir went on tour.

Apart from entertaining audiences
across the country,

the tour had got two other purposes -

one was to raise money
for the orphanage

and the other was to showcase
the children for potential adopters.

The brothers' gig in Glasgow
was attended by a childless couple,

the Warnocks, who showed an interest
in older brother Eddie.

The couple made
what the orphanage described as

"an excellent offer for Eddie.

"His host is a dentist.

"He's willing to take Eddie,
treat him as a son

"and teach him his profession."

And, of course, there were
no social services in those days,

so there was no formal interview
or anything -

it seemed like a good idea,
so the decision was made.

Eddie was packed off
to the Warnocks

and his little brother Walter was
left in the orphanage

400 miles away in Bethnal Green.

Although Edward's new family paid
for Walter to visit

from time to time,
Walter struggled alone.

Edward did indeed begin training
to be a dentist when he reached 20.

Walter, too, began to train
for a profession as a printer.

He soon moved out of the orphanage
to live in a hostel.

As he grew, Walter developed
into a powerfully-built young man

and a very good athlete.

His great release was cricket
and football.

On Saturdays, he played
on the boggy fields

of his local Victoria Park
and Hackney Marshes.

Then, aged 20,
Walter's life changed again.

I'm just around the corner
from where Walter's orphanage was

in Bethnal Green,
at the Old Spotted Dog Ground,

which is still home
to the mighty Clapton Community FC.

In the early 1900s,

Clapton FC was one of the country's
top amateur sides.

And in 1908, they signed Walter.

An Edwardian version of their kit
is being modelled

by one of Clapton's players,
Dean Bouho.

And this is current manager
Geoff Ocran.

What was Clapton like as a team
before Walter came here?

Um, they were, I mean,
one of the top amateur sides.

Clapton were renowned for beating
professional teams

such as Tottenham, Arsenal
at that time.

This was the time when there was this gradual
professionalization of the game, wasn't it?

Yes, and there was a big split,

because everyone started
as amateur first

and then some clubs decided to stick
with the amateur routes

and some obviously went
the professional route.

Clapton stuck with their route

because I think they wanted to
kind of keep that ethos

of being such a working-class club.

So, Walter turns up -
what kind of impression does he make?

Straightaway, I think he started
in the reserves,

made a great impression,

made his way up
straight to the first team.

What position did he play?
He was a forward.

I think he scored 20-plus goals
in his first season,

again, which is kind of a big feat

coming straight up
into the senior football

which he's never played before.

The newspaper reports were
quite....quite complimentary of him.

(TYPEWRITER CLACKS)

"Young Tull created such a favourable
impression by his clever footwork

"that he gained his place
in the first team right away."

(TYPEWRITER DINGS)

Did they do well with Walter in the team?
Yes, they did.

They won the treble in that season
and won some cups.

Would he have been well known
around here?

Would people have turned their heads
when he walked past?

Yes, I mean, traditionally,
when you're a striker,

you're kind of like the focal point
of any team,

you're kind of a superstar,

you're the one who wins the game,
scores the goals,

and he was definitely that.

Scoring the amount of goals he did
in his first season,

he was kind of the main guy.

Walter became a local hero,

but it wasn't just the Clapton fans
who were impressed.

There were spies in the crowd -

scouts from a nearby
very famous professional club.

Tottenham Hotspur had just won
promotion to the first division

and now they wanted Walter.

Yes!

Good boy.

Walter hesitated -

the professional game would mean
high pressure,

each week facing a boisterous crowd
of 70,000

and he just liked playing for fun.

But eventually he made the decision
to join Spurs.

It made him Britain's first
professional black outfield player.

He cost Spurs a transfer fee of £10
and a weekly wage of £4,

which was standard for a pro,

about twice what an Edwardian
carpenter might have earned.

Meanwhile, in Glasgow,
in the world of Edwardian dentistry,

Edward was learning the ropes
of his new profession

and working his way through
dental college at Glasgow Infirmary.

Until the Edwardian period,

dentistry was mainly about
removing teeth.

(MAN GROANS)

Pain killers cost extra.

Mike Gow is
a dentist amateur historian

and, coincidentally, Edward's
first cousin

three times removed by adoption.

He knows a bit
about what Edward had to cope with.

And what would the anaesthetic
have been in those days?

The early anaesthetics

for local anaesthetic
would have been cocaine,

but, of course, that's quite toxic
and it could become quite addictive.

By 1904, we had the advent
of novocaine,

which was the local anaesthetic
that Edward would have been using.

Why would people choose
to have their teeth taken out

when it was, kind of, much cruder
than it is now?

A lot of the time
it was through necessity.

So, if you had pain or any problems,
the tooth would come out.

"Open wide."

But there are a number of anecdotes

of people who would electively
have teeth removed.

So, if you had enough money...

"Oh, my word! Close again, please!"

..you would decide, "Look, these teeth are going
to have to come out at some point anyway,

"they don't look very nice now, let's just get
them all out and get a nice set of dentures."

"Ah, that's lovely."

So there are anecdotes of ladies,
when they had their 21st birthday

or they're about to get married,
they would have their teeth removed

and a nice set off the dentures

because then that's
their dentistry sorted for life.

"I say, Mabel, what gorgeous falses."

Or if you had the money,

with advances in drilling
and filling,

it was becoming more fashionable
to actually keep your teeth.

"They're good as new!

"And he gave me this stuff
and it felt great

"and he had this drill
and he was very handsome."

"Course, it's killing me -
you got any cocaine left?"

Now, this is a drill,
but it's not electric, is it?

No, that's right.
This is called a treadle drill.

So, it's a foot-powered drill.

So, you place your foot
on the pedal here.

Edward's success would depend
on his skill

in operating one of these things.

You try and get it going
as fast as you can.

Right, let's have a go.
I'll get it warmed up first.

Yes.

It's hard, isn't it?
I see what you mean, yeah..

I wouldn't fancy you drilling
my tooth.

There's actually a little model here
if you want to have a little go

and see if you can drill
a hole in the tooth there.

Oh, yes, let's have a go.

Oh, it is working, isn't it?

Sometimes it might even have been
a couple of appointments -

the patient would have had to
come back to get the job finished

because it would have taken so long,
you know?

If I was doing it,
it would have taken a week!

Would Edward have done this,
do you think?

Absolutely, yes. This would have
been a big part of his training.

And, in fact, he won second prize
in the Dall Medal,

which was a competition for his work
in restorative porcelain dentistry.

Meanwhile...
(WHISTLE)

..brother Walter's football career
at Spurs started with a bang...

..playing Manchester United
at Old Trafford,

then scoring his first goal
against Bradford City.

Walter impressed at Tottenham,

but later that season
they played my team, Bristol City.

Yes! Except not really yes.

The Bristol fans didn't cover
themselves with glory.

Far from it.

It hadn't taken long for racism
to become an issue for Walter.

One report said,
"Tull has much to contend with

"on account of his colour.

"His tactics were
absolutely beyond reproach,

"but became the butt
of the ignorant partisan."

Soon after the game,
Tottenham dropped him.

It's never been revealed why.

For Walter,
there was only one response.

Cobblers or, to be more precise,
the Cobblers -

Northampton Town FC,

called the Cobblers because the place
is associated with shoemaking.

The Cobblers weren't exactly
Tottenham Hotspur

but they were an up and coming side

and it was a new beginning
for Walter.

Meanwhile, in the more genteel world
of dentistry,

there seemed no stopping
brother Edward.

After several years studying
dentistry in Glasgow

at the Royal Faculty of Physicians
and Surgeons,

he passed all his exams
with flying colours

and he was top of the class.

Look, here is Edward Tull-Warnock.

That's the address of his adopted dad

and there's the date
of his registration as a dentist,

June the 28th, 1912.

After graduating
with such distinction,

Edward should have had the world
of dentistry at his feet.

He went for his first job interview
in Birmingham.

But the moment he walked
into the door of the practice,

he threw the dentist
into a state of shock.

"My God," said the bloke,

"he'll destroy the practice
in 24 hours."

He refused to consider Edward
purely because of his colour.

It must have been a tough experience
for Edward -

all those years in the orphanage,
working hard at school,

becoming an outstanding
dental student,

and now all his opportunities
had disappeared

just because he was black.

He must have worried that
he'd never get a job.

But thankfully
he had a fall-back option,

one that had been taken by so many
sons of successful fathers before him.

He went to work for his father,
James Warnock.

Warnock & Son became
a successful dental practice

and Edward's reputation
as a respected dentist began to grow.

Edward became a fully paid up member
of the middle class.

He even joined Turnberry Golf Club
and got to hobnob

with the likes of the chairman
of his local football team,

Glasgow Rangers,

so, naturally, he put in a good word
for his brother Walter.

And before they knew it,

in 1914, Walter signed for Rangers.

Playing for Rangers would bring
the brothers back together again -

at least it would have
had it not been, for one thing,

the outbreak of the First World War.

Walter joined the 17th Battalion,
Middlesex Regiment,

commonly known
as the Footballer's Regiment.

His leadership qualities were noticed

and the British Army ignored
its own rulebook

which banned black soldiers
from becoming officers

and promoted him
to second lieutenant.

(GUNFIRE)

But tragically,
Walter's luck didn't last.

In 1989, he led an attack
across no-man's-land

and was killed
by a German machine gun.

They never found his body.

On hearing the news,
his brother Edward was devastated.

He said, "It was the worst moment
of my life,

"I just couldn't believe it.

"Walter is dead."

But for Edward, life had to go on.

He married later that year

and became the proud father
of a little girl.

For so many in Britain,
it was a similar story,

a period so full of optimism and
promise had been consigned to history

by the heartbreaking losses
of the First World War.