Remembering inspirational actor and singer Paul Robeson

Stephen Bourne remembers the legendary Paul Robeson and the time he received a standing ovation at the Elephant and Castle’s Trocadero Cinema

In 1985, I had the pleasure of working as the film consultant on the Greater London Council’s Paul Robeson exhibition.

This was presented at the Royal Festival Hall on the South Bank and the exhibition celebrated Robeson’s extraordinary life.

Robeson was one of the great African Americans of his time, and an expatriate who settled in London in 1928 and made his home here until the outbreak of the Second World War.

In addition to being an acclaimed actor and singer, he was also politically active.

Robeson was arguably the most famous black man in Britain before the war.

The British public adored him, he fought against racism and colonialism, and he wanted to see an end to the British Empire.

As a socialist, in the late 1930s Robeson declined lucrative contracts from Britain’s grand concert halls and toured cinemas instead.

By doing this he succeeded in reaching the masses, especially the working classes.

They loved him but they could not afford to see him in concerts at the Royal Albert Hall and similar high brow venues.

Cinemas made him accessible, and he would perform up to three concerts a day between screenings of films.

It was in 1938 that Robeson undertook his tour of cinemas.

He made many personal appearances and these had a tremendous impact on the lives of ordinary British people who were thrilled to see him on stage at their local picture houses.

On November 21, 1938 he began a week’s engagement at the popular Trocadero Cinema at the Elephant and Castle.

Almost 60 years later, in 1996, Joyce Neville, a Southwark citizen, wrote to me about that historic occasion.

Joyce was a little girl when she saw Robeson on stage at the Trocadero.

She said: “I was born in South London. I loved the cinema.

At the very small Palace in Southwark Park Road (it was called ‘The Blue’) there was a tuppenny rush for the kids – two in a seat and peanuts crushing on the floor.

The Trocadero Cinema at the Elephant and Castle was a treat. “We queued for hours, snaking round the barriers – this is pre-war, of course. I saw all of Paul Robeson’s films.

His warm personality and magnificent voice made an instantaneous impact.

I saw him live at the Trocadero when he brought the house down (this was between two films).

I have never forgotten this performance. He sang for at least an hour, all the favourites. Trees, Old Man River, Deep River, Lazybones, The Canoe Song.

At the end we gave him a standing ovation.”

In the 1930s Paul Robeson made a number of successful films in Britain including Song of Freedom in which he co-starred with another American expatriate, Elisabeth Welch.

In 1982 I made friends with Elisabeth. I often visited her at her beautiful home in Knightsbridge, and she would tell me about her friendship with Robeson.

She said: “He was full of warmth, joy and happiness.” Elisabeth told me that on the set of Song of Freedom that Paul greeted her with open arms on their first day of filming:

“I saw this huge smile light up his face, and felt the warmth of a friendly giant when he pressed my hand in both of his, and welcomed me.

“I found him a man of great intensity, both in his work and in his beliefs but – thank goodness – not lacking in humour.”

In 1985 Elisabeth took part in the Paul Robeson memorial concert at the Royal Festival Hall with Dame Peggy Ashcroft.

Paul Robeson symbolised black consciousness and pride to many people, but ill-health forced him into retirement in the 1960s.

He died in 1976.

Before he returned to the United States for good, he visited his friend and former co-star Elisabeth Welch one last time.

It was January, 1963. “He took me in his arms and gave me one his warm, bear-like hugs,” she recalled tearfully. “But something came over me and I thought ‘this is goodbye’, and it was.

I never saw him again. He had this intense love of humanity. “We all know he fought for years. He gave all his strength, everything he had, until illness hit him and knocked all the force and strength out of him.

He was a wonderful person. His humour was so great. I can stand anybody saying anything to me as long as there are smiles and laughter and, when he smiled, the whole world lit up.”

Stephen Bourne is the author of Elisabeth Welch: Soft Lights and Sweet Music (Scarecrow Press, 2005)