The Decline of the Colonial Picnic by Andrew Sharp
The picnic above took place in southern Uganda in the 1920s five thousand miles from Georgian Britain . . . but this was all the more reason to maintain standards. A silver tea service, bone china and white linen were essential, as were the attendants standing at the ready to pass around the cakes. The children were politely happy with their wooden toys and cloth dolls. In the background is a swampy valley virtually devoid of habitation.
Incidentally, the dog on the right has had a lucky escape. Leopards roamed the hills. One evening, my grandfather had to shoo one away that had put its head around the sitting room door to eye the dog (leopards just love dogs – they could eat a whole one) which was snoozing in front of the fire.
I tried to get a picture from the same spot on a visit to Uganda recently but was thwarted by the houses that have sprung up and their high security walls. If I had been able to capture the same view it would have shown that the swamp has been obliterated by a sizeable town.
The moral is: never assume a picnic spot – or a style of picnic – will be there forever.
We are now four decades on – the early 1960s. The Empire has crumbled and my family are reduced to sitting on a blanket on the ground. However, we seem to be enjoying ourselves in the great outdoors, although have had to simplify now we don’t have the attendants and the silver . . .
And so to 2008: we’ve reached rock bottom in the story of the decline of the picnic. The cutlery is plastic, the food is plastic, and although the view is the wild Ishasha river in southern Uganda with its reverine forest bustling with primates and turacos, its seen through the dusty windscreen of a vehicle. At least she has the door open.
There is a consolation: the only way now, is up. It’s time for a come-back for the 1920s book by Jean Rey: The Whole Art of Dining – Picnic and ‘Al Fresco’ luncheons.