The Albertopolis of the South on BBC Radio 3: Glints of royal passion

Prince Albert is presented as a man convinced that the key to cultural progress lay in material inventiveness in a wistful documentary on London's Crystal Palace.

A wistful programme on Penge’s glass Versailles, the Crystal Palace (25 August, 8.45pm), pushed its patron, Prince Albert, as a man with a wholly consuming passion for cultural progress through material inventiveness. Tuttingly described by John Ruskin as “a cucumber frame between two chimneys”, the vast building once housed dog shows, food festivals, exhibitions from Japan and Switzerland and hundreds of British manufacturers displaying their products.
 
The prince consort was adoringly talked about here as a man with “a thirst for information, and faith in commerce and industry and technical energy and tenacity”, who brought “German high culture into our British midst”. He embraced the Crystal Palace project from its 1851 Hyde Park origins as whoopingly as a teenage boy given a bag of weed and a set of car keys.
 
The first thing the 20-year-old Albert did when he got to Buckingham Palace in 1839 was to replace the honking palace brass band with a string ensemble, determined to establish that while he was around, “art mattered”. But famously he didn’t stop at this kind of thing. In the 2009 film The Young Victoria, Albert is shown frowningly poring over his plans for social housing, spreading papers across the gilded desks and tables as though Buckers were the admin building at a small Midwestern college. Emily Blunt’s Victoria is filmed staring at him during these moments evidently with more in mind than her husband’s moral goodness and faith in the improving power of culture only.
 
The most telling bit of the current coronation exhibition at Buckingham Palace is when – dozy-dead on Duchy Originals at the garden café – you’re ushered out down a long-defunct corridor littered with vases, plant pots and bits and bobs that didn’t make it into the state rooms, or even the rooms off the state rooms, and you notice several slightly pervy marble statues of some Greek god sucking the face off a dryad and they all turn out to be gifts from Victoria to Albert.
 
You spare a thought for the poor man, unwrapping yet another Christmas present, worrying about whether it was going to be something suitable for the children to look at, and then catching Victoria’s eye and understanding that it was going to be another very long night not-in-Penge.
Prince Albert was behind the Crystal Park project from its beginnings in Hyde Park. Photograph: Getty Images.

Antonia Quirke is an author and journalist. She is a presenter on The Film Programme and Pick of the Week (Radio 4) and Film 2015 and The One Show (BBC 1). She writes a column on radio for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 02 September 2013 issue of the New Statesman, Syria: The west humiliated

Show Hide image

Forbidden forests: how Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows saved the trees

How Bloomsbury used the Harry Potter series to make publishing eco-friendly.

“Of all the trees we could have hit, we had to hit one that hits back,” says Harry of the Whomping Willow, which successfully whomps both him and Ron when they arrive at Hogwarts by car. The incident is representative of a natural world that often appears remarkably robust in JK Rowling's original series. There is little sign of wizards being plagued by air pollution or acid rain. And while Dementors may lurk in the shadows, climate change does not.

Yet just as Rowling's wands pay tribute to the trees they're hewn from – with their hawthorn, holly and hornbeam woods as key to their construction as their pheonix feather or unicorn hair cores – so too would her books.

By the time The Deathly Hallows was published in 2007, all its UK texts, jackets and cases were printed on forest-friendly paper. The move by Rowling and Bloomsbury “sent a clear signal to the rest of the world”, says Greenpeace’s Jamie Woolley, and was “the catalyst” for other publishers to follow suit.

The Potter transformation was inspired by a Greenpeace campaign. In the same year that the fifth Harry Potter went to press, their “Paper Trail” report revealed that the UK book publishing industry was unwittingly sourcing paper from vulnerable ancient forests in Finland and Canada.

Change spiralled from there. In 2005, Bloomsbury printed the UK’s hardback version of The Half Blood Prince on 30% Forest Stewardship Council certified paper. By 2007, the US publisher Scholastic had pledged that the first 12 million copies of The Deathly Hallows would all be printed on paper that was at least partly recycled or sustainable.

Thanks to this shift, UK books labeled with the Forest Stewardship Council’s (FSC) logo are now becoming the rule rather than the exception. Over half of all British adults now recognize the mark, numerous UK publishers have upped their proportion of paper taken from FSC certified sources, and Penguin and Harper Collins have both pledged to reach 100 percent FSC sourced paper in the next three years.

But the challenge is also far from over. According to the FSC, many European and US publishers outsource their manufacturing to China, where imported timber from Indonesia is accompanied by one of the highest rates of deforestation in the world.

In the UK, just 13 percent of land is covered by trees and a recent report from the Environment, Food and Rural Affairs Select Committee criticised forest regulation as “not fit for purpose”.

So what can readers do to help? The FSC recommends looking out for its logo on any book you buy. And if that's not enough to satisfy, the Harry Potter Alliance has created a guide to fighting climate change for fans. 

Now read the other articles included in the New Statesman’s Harry Potter Week.

India Bourke is an environment writer and editorial assistant at the New Statesman.

0800 7318496