Read It's Only a Movie: Alfred Hitchcock for Free Online

Leytonstone, at the edge of London’s East End. Hitchcock told me that it was remembered in his family that the day was a Sunday, “because it was one of the only Sundays in my mother’s life that she missed church.” The family’s store is gone, but Hitchcock’s early life in Leytonstone is commemorated by a mosaic picture of him as a child and scenes from his films on the walls of the local tube station.
    The Hitchcocks’ first son, William, had been born in 1892, three years after their marriage, and their daughter, Ellen Kathleen, called “Nellie,” in 1896. “I was told,” Hitchcock said, “that as a baby and small child I never cried. Even then, I didn’t engage in the negative waste of energy. I have always looked upon that kind of behavior in public as a loss of control, not to mention dignity.
    “Since my brother and sister were so much older, they didn’t have much interest in me when I was growing up, so I had myself almost entirely to myself. I used my freedom to draw pictures and to watch life pass in front of my father’s store.”
    Very early, young Alfred became fascinated by the traffic on the High Road, at that time, mainly horse-drawn vehicles. “There was quite a horsey smell, in fact, you might say an overwhelming stench. There was also a lot of noise from the horse’s hooves and carriage wheels. I think it was the beginning of my lifelong interest in travel.
    “As a boy, I knew I wanted to travel just as soon as I could. If you are lucky enough to travel when you’re young, everything you see becomes a part of you on which you can draw all through life.”
    Early in the twentieth century, the horse-drawn streetcars that passed through Leytonstone were replaced by new electric trams. “I remember their tracks and sparking trolley wire, before they put it underground, coming from somewhere and going to somewhere else, rapidly transporting people to places I could only imagine. And the street smelled better.
    “When I was no more than six years of age, perhaps younger, I did something that my father considered worthy of reprimand. I don’t recall the particular transgression, but at that tender age, it could hardly have been such a serious offense.
    “My father sent me to the local constabulary with a note. The police officer on duty read it and then led me down a long corridor to a jail cell where he locked me in for what seemed hours, which was probably five minutes. He said, ‘This is what we do to naughty boys.’
    “I have never forgotten those words. I have, ever since, gone to any length to avoid a repetition of that kind of experience, loss of control to authority. I have never enjoyed surprises, even good ones, because they make me feel out of control.
    “I can still hear the clanging of the cell door behind me.
    “I’ve always said I didn’t remember why I was punished, but I think it was because earlier that day, late in the afternoon, I’d followed the tram tracks. I hadn’t gone very far when it started to get dark, and I lost my way. Realizing I would be late for dinner, I hurried home. My father had been forced to wait for his dinner, although I certainly would have been happier for him to have gone ahead without me. In later years, I considered perhaps he was angry because he was worried about me.
    “Even before that, I was never a little boy who wanted to grow up and be a policeman. Indeed, policemen have always frightened me, the British bobby being the most frightening. That may come from my youthful trauma, or perhaps it’s simply because British policemen were the first I saw when I was young, and thus they seem more policemen than the rest. I think they seem more sinister because they are so polite, all those good manners!”
    The Hitchcocks were Catholics, a minority in Leytonstone, as in England. “Just being Catholic,” Hitchcock said, “meant you were eccentric.” The ceremony of the weekly Sunday mass impressed young Alfred, though in later