Some years ago, when still a young actor, I auditioned to play the Milk Tray Man in an advertising campaign for the confectionery firm Cadbury's. The recipe for the ads was nearly as old as the firm itself. A muscle-bound man of mystery, clad entirely in black, climbs skyscrapers and shimmies along ledges, merely to deliver one of the firm's celebrated confections to the woman of his dreams. "And all because the lady loves Milk Tray," ran the slogan.
Alas, my chances of gaining this lucrative contract disappeared as soon as I unbuttoned my shirt. It was immediately obvious to the sniggering executives that my physique was built for comfort rather than speed: indeed, my waistline suggested that I'd consumed sufficient Cadbury's products to keep the company going for months. With a brief "Don't call us, we'll call you", I was sent on my way. I was reminded of this sobering episode upon hearing that Cadbury's itself has been the object of a shadowy visitor bearing gifts. In this case the interloper is the American processed food conglomerate Kraft, who have finally succeeded in buying it.
The takeover is a blow to those of a sentimental or nationalistic nature. Cadbury's is synonymous with all things British, along with Shakespeare, Winnie the Pooh and Rolls-Royce. And it wasn't just their chocolate that won the firm a place in our hearts. The Cadbury family, being Quakers, considered philanthropy and commerce of equal importance, and alongside their factories in the quiet Birmingham suburb of Bournville they built houses, schools, gymnasiums and even swimming baths for their cherished workforce.
But that was long ago. Far from worrying whether gyms and swimming pools will be in their new employer's portfolio, many of the firm's 4,500 British workforce will now be happy to cling on to their jobs. No wonder they were draping Union Jacks from the windows of the Bournville factory when the news broke. Kraft has had to borrow more than $7 billion for the privilege of owning this confectionery legend, and with speculation already rife about job cuts and closures to fund the debt, Kraft's chief executive, Irene Rosenfeld has been waxing lyrical on the company's website about respecting Cadbury's long and proud tradition.
Yet despite her honeyed words it was difficult to escape the notion that one was watching a regretful headmistress about to mete out some harsh but necessary punishment to a quaking pupil. Perhaps we'll all be proved wrong. Perhaps Cadbury's will flourish and yet retain its identity under its new owners. But one only needs to travel 100 miles up the motorway from Birmingham to witness a different outcome.
In 1993 another much-loved confectionery firm, Terry's of York (makers of the famous Chocolate Orange), was also taken over by Kraft: and despite similar assurances, the elegant Victorian factory, with a pleasing aroma of cocoa that inundated the entire city when the wind was in the right direction, was soon lying forlorn and deserted, production having been moved to Poland. Still: does it really matter who makes our chocolate, or our steel, or even our cars? In a global business environment, economies of scale are surely essential to remain competitive. And given that Shakespeare's plays were quite possibly written by Sir Francis Bacon, Rolls-Royce cars are made by BMW, and even Winnie the Pooh is now part of the Disney Corporation, perhaps brand loyalty is just so much sentimental twaddle.
But I think not. With so much of the UK's infrastructure now in the hands of foreign ownership, it leaves the government powerless to intervene in case of future industrial downturn. The prime minister, Gordon Brown, may well have pledged to pressure Kraft to ensure levels of investment are maintained, but sackings are inevitable. And if further job layoffs and plant closures have to be contemplated at some future date, where would you choose to make them if you were Kraft? On your own doorstep in Chicago, or in a suburb of some far-off English city?
Still, every cloud has a silver lining. I may not have prevailed as the Milk Tray Man, but if Kraft ever requires a British actor to embody their famous brand of full-fat soft cheese, I have the perfect physique. Michael Simkins is an actor and author based in London
