The Veiled City

Narrated as if from a series of letters to her sister “Ida”, this short feature uses some fairly grim archive to depict the deadly smog that used to descend on a London of the 1950s. With police officers reduced to using flaming torches to guide pedestrians and traffic alike, the often poetic storytelling graphically describes the scene as the city’s great monuments lurk in the shadows; people fall into the Thames because they cannot see where they are walking and we are also taken on a brief sojourn to the ultimate source of the source of this “veil”. We travel to the bowels of the earth where the offending coal is mined. Some of the imagery does prove rather ironic given some of the very machines it powers are themselves the casualties of the consequentially opaque environment in which they, too, must function. Trains, buses, cars - all as vulnerable as anyone on two legs as they try to navigate these sombre conditions. The timbre of her latter correspondence suggests a bleak future as there would appear to be little chance of an end to this pollution as man’s consumption of energy seems ever more insatiable. Some of the photography here is dismal indeed, and it may well be that the very blitz spirit that kept the place going through the war - there is a woman rather optimistically hanging out her washing - is the very spirit of stoicism that will, counter-intuitively, be the sustaining power for this relentless gloom. People die in their thousands as the chimneys belch out their toxic smoke to the extent that the children must “bathe” beneath ultraviolet lamps to prevent rickets developing from lack of sunlight endowing Vitamin D. Perhaps there might be hope but that will require concerted action and quite possibly a degree of deprivation. Sound familiar?