IN EUCHARISTIC presidency, which do you prefer: facing God (and
therefore with back to the people); or, as we irreverent souls
describe it, over the counter? My memory of those urgent arguments
central to the heady days of the liturgical renewal movement all
those decades ago has been reawakened by Shopgirls: The true
story of life behind the counter (BBC2, Tuesday of last
week).
Dr Pamela Cox is revealing a phenomenon encountered daily, but
seldom analysed. Until the mid-19th century, female shop assistants
were officially invisible; this was man's work, an example of the
apprenticeship system by which, in return for a premium, a young
lad would be trained so that he, too, could eventually ply his
trade as haberdasher or grocer.
It was only with the explosion of rising living standards,
mass-production, and urbanisation that far more people were free to
go shopping, and far more women were languishing at home, too
refined for menial industrial labour and too poor to do
nothing.
Gradually, being a shopgirl was seen as a respectable
occupation, recognised by the end of the 19th century as a distinct
and identifiable section of society, but it was only as the 20th
century progressed that the women began to be paid a decent wage,
were allowed shorter working hours, and were not required to live
in dormitories.
My opening point is not entirely facetious. These programmes
help to remind us that shopping is, indeed, quasi-liturgical,
containing elements familiar from church: we must be prepared to
make a personal sacrifice to gain the longed-for goal; and a
minister guides the experience, offering either a free rein or
subtly influencing our choice. Nowadays, in most big stores, the
altar/counter has been done away with, and we are allowed to
browse. All that remains is the alms dish: we have to hand over our
collection.
They are fascinating documentaries - I just wish that the
presenter did not feel the need to deliver everything with a cheesy
smile on her face.
A gritty drama, Common, was awarded BBC1's prime
Sunday-evening slot to point up the Corporation's evident pride in
this production, drawing our attention to its commitment to
contemporary social exploration.
A naïve lad agrees to drive three mates to the pizza shop - but
they are really going to settle scores with a rival. An entirely
innocent bystander is knifed, dying from his wounds. Although the
young driver goes to the police, and admits his part in the crime,
the prosecution decides to charge them all with Joint Enterprise,
so that all share equal guilt for murder.
This was deeply compelling, the waste and banality of crime for
once properly spelled out. A splendid cast drew us into the depth
and roundedness of the characters, the limitations of their lives
never compromising their personal moral responsibility.
But, for me, the drama was undercut by a series of set-piece
speeches excoriating the evil of Joint Enterprise and its supposed
political exploitation as a way of dispensing rough justice - a
scatter-gun approach that avoids the necessity of establishing
individual guilt.