Cecil Beaton and Edward Thomas

Yes I know they sound unlikely companions but bear with me…

Earlier this week I went up to London for what turned out to be a double pre-Christmas treat. The Imperial War Museum (IWM), which is about to close its doors in January for six months, is currently hosting an exhibition of Cecil Beaton’s war-time photographs. I’d borrowed several books from the local library; his diaries and a book from the County Reserve stock of his war photographs published in 1981. I tried to persuade myself that reading the books would be sufficient for a glimpse of the man as I had neither the time nor the funds to add this exhibition to the evening’s planned theatre trip. I knew however that I’d be very cross with myself if I didn’t make the effort.

So I made my way through Lambeth’s drab and rainy streets to reach the museum somewhat wetter and colder than I’d have liked. The Museum is already being emptied with most of the planes gone from the rather chilly main hall. Then I stepped through the doors of the exhibition and there was Beaton in his official photographer uniform, with a serious expression but half smiling – look what I’ve got to show you…

The war was the making of him and he knew it.

‘Hitler has been responsible for enlarging my photographic horizon. The English do not approve of propaganda but they are content that events should be recorded.’

How hard he worked without complaint and paying no heed to his won comfort and safety. Of course he was often photographing men who he knew were likely to be killed.

“One is astonished at the youthfulness of these seventeen year olds with their subtle English looks, clear complexions, and thatch of hair shorn closely over the ears. One bright young man asked when my picture would appear, and in answer to my ‘in six weeks time’ said, ‘Oh,  most of us will be dead by then."

                                                                        The years between, p86 Beaton

I had the exhibition almost to myself and was able to spend as long as I wanted with each photograph and the artefacts, his cameras pages from his diary and letters to him. Nonetheless I still managed to bump into someone – he was stepping back to have a better look at a large-scale photograph of the bombed interior of a church and I was moving away backwards from a collection of memorabilia in its glass case. To the amusement of his male companion we both did the British thing of apologising to each other.

Then I made my way towards Waterloo to meet a friend, Judi for supper. Thanks to modern technology I did eventually find said restaurant – Tas ‘no it’s not on the Waterloo road Caroline it’s on the Cut, opposite the Young Vic’. The food was very good and for London not that expensive. It was well worth meeting up there rather than trying to find somewhere on Upper Street, near the Almeida.

The second part of my treat was the play about Edward Thomas The Dark Earth and the Light Sky and it was stunning. Readers of this blog will already known about my interest in Thomas.

I had the benefit of reading the reviews before booking the tickets. The play gives you his whole life and how he haunted the people in it, his wife Helen, his poet friend Robert Frost and his other writer friend Eleanor Farjeon. I knew the story but it came to life on stage and how forty years after his death each of them could summon him back. The play should not have worked. It stuck closely to the narrative arc of his life in which there was no happy ending – he did not come back from the war. And yet somehow both last night and this morning as I write this he is still alive. I had that unearthly feeling which I got listening to Matthew Hollis and others at that reading on the South bank that somehow Edward Thomas was there listening, watching and echoing the words of his poems.

And the link with Beaton. Well Thomas needed the crucible of the first world war to allow him to make something of himself didn’t he?

Lights Out

I have come to the borders of sleep,
The unfathomable deep
Forest where all must lose
Their way, however straight,
Or winding, soon or late;
They cannot choose.

Many a road and track
That, since the dawn's first crack,
Up to the forest brink,
Deceived the travellers,
Suddenly now blurs,
And in they sink.

Here love ends,
Despair, ambition ends,
All pleasure and all trouble,
Although most sweet or bitter,
Here ends in sleep that is sweeter
Than tasks most noble.

There is not any book
Or face of dearest look
That I would not turn from now
To go into the unknown
I must enter and leave alone
I know not how.

The tall forest towers;
Its cloudy foliage lowers
Ahead, shelf above shelf;
Its silence I hear and obey
That I may lose my way
And myself.

And the winner is.... Vanessa Gebbie

I'm so pleased that Vanessa has won the Troubadour International Poetry Prize. The results were announced earlier this week and can be read on the Troubadour website. congratulations to the other winners all excellent poems

http://www.coffeehousepoetry.org/poems

Looking at Art

At the beginning of last month I joined a school outing to the National Gallery in London. I’m a school governor at the local primary school that both my sons attended and they often need extra adult help for school trips. You’re normally allocated a group of five or six children to keep an eye on. Having helped on a number of occasions I no longer get nervous about losing one of my charges and my group of five were all very well behaved.

I didn’t have time beforehand to find out from the teachers what we were going to be looking at although I knew year 5 and 6 had been studying Greek myths. I checked the National Gallery website but was feeling rather like I hadn’t done my homework. The National Gallery has tremendous expertise in facilitating access to art for school children and this service is entirely free of charge.

Our first painting was by Rubens of Paris holding out the golden apple to the goddess he has just chosen. Our NG guide dealt expeditiously and tactfully with the issue of the Rubenesque curves by asking the children what was the first thing they noticed about the painting. One lad said it was the golden apple, which was the right answer as the whole point of the painting is Paris making his choice, which is to lead to the Trojan wars. It wasn’t the answer the guide was expecting which was that there were three naked ladies in the painting and how would you describe them…. fat? The children was easily able to explain how being fat would have been fashionable in Rubens time because it meant you were well fed and therefore well off. We continued with a discussion of the story behind the painting. Unlike me the children had prepared or perhaps had been well prepared by their teachers as they knew the names of all the goddesses and how you could tell which was which by the objects around them.

Our second painting was of Perseus turning people to stone at his wedding using the Gorgon’s head. This was my favourite of the paintings of the morning. Well it should be no surprise to readers of this blog that I like battle scenes. The more you looked at the painting the more there was to see. We probably spend about ten minutes in front of it while the children picked out elements of the story. Our final painting with the guide was Dutch painting by Pieter Lastman and shows Juno, Jupiter and the hapless Io who has just been turned into a cow. The children hadn’t seen this painting before but were able to make educated guesses as to what it was about. I deliberately use the term ‘educated guess’ as they clearly had been educated enough to be able to look at an unfamiliar painting and get a lot out of it. 

Our guide then departed and there was just time before lunch for a quick visit to Titian’s painting of Bacchus and Ariadne. This had a ship in the background which was of course the detail which I fixed on.

So in about one and a half hours we’d looked at four paintings and I was wondering why I’d never done this before. I love going to exhibitions, especially by a single artist, Degas, Peter Doig but I don’t think I’ve ever spent as long in front of an individual painting  and yet I still want to go back and spent more time with the painting of Perseus. It left as if we’d given the paintings a proper amount of time and attention. Not all the children will have appreciated the opportunity. A couple of the children I sat with at lunchtime couldn’t remember which paintings they’d seen or perhaps they just didn’t want to be quizzed y this adult helper. Some of the children, however may go on from this morning at the National Gallery to a lifetime of looking at art.

The day held one more surprise for me. Before boarding our coach we had a brisk walk around Trafalgar Square and there facing Nelson in front of the National Gallery was Admiral Cunningham. How appropriate he should be there with Nelson and yes I’m sorry but I did have a Malta moment. I was having to keep a close eye on my charges as we went round the square so I only had time to give his statute a brief acknowledging nod.

 And all this discussion of art brings me to a recently published book which I want to discuss shortly. This is ‘Girl in White’ by Sue Hubbard – a novel about  Paula Modersohn Becker (1876 – 1907).

My Next Big Thing

I’ll start by thanking  LIndsay Stanberry-Flynn for tagging me in the Next Big Thing which provides the opportunity for writers to answer questions about their current writing project. Lindsay is a novelist and short story writer. I recommend that you buy and read her prize winning novel,  Unravelling and her next novel The Piano Player’s Son will be published next autumn. Having read a little of the Piano Player’s Son in draft I can’t wait for it to come out.

And now I get a chance to talk about my Next Big Thing:

What is the working title of your book?

It had a variety of working titles; 'Life under the Red Ensign' and 'Pink then Red' before my publisher decided it should just be called Convoy.  I liked the simplicity of this as the poems are about the convoys to Malta during the second world war.

Where did the idea for the book come from?

It came from my taid, my grandfather. I've already written about the inspiration for the first poem which came out of the blue while I was taking part in one of Pascale Petit's workshops at Tate Modern.  After writing the first poem I tried ignoring the whole thing but it would not go away.

What genre does your book fall under?

Poetry

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

I'd pity any director endeavouring to turn this sequence of poems into a film. There are fifty nine ships involved for a start and a large cast including not just merchant seamen but also Royal Naval commanders, admirals, RAF pilots and people on the island of Malta. However if Jane Campion were willing to take it on I'd recommend concentrating on the important convoys and the father/daughter relationship between my taid and my mother. Taid would have to be played by someone from North Wales. My ideal choice would be Huw Garmon who played the lead role in Hedd Wyn. He was the poet Ellis Humphrey Evans who was killed during the first world war. Huw Garmon comes from Llangefni so his accent would be perfect and he is also about the right age as my Taid will have been in his late thirties during the war. There is also a lovely role for a six to twelve year old girl playing my mother growing up in North Wales and waiting for her father to come back from the war.

I'd like Ian McKellen to be Captain Thomas Horn, Master of the Sydney Star which was torpedoed during the July 1941 convoy. This is pure indulgence on my part but I would love to hear him say the lines:

I’m as old as this century.

Tonight I feel each year like an anchor’s weight.

I had wondered about the possibility of having Daniel Craig to play Lt Commander Roger Hill of HMS Ledbury although I'm not sure this would work as a) Mr Craig is likely to be far too busy, b) he'd have to grow a beard for the part and c) having been the hero of the hour during Operation Pedestal Roger Hill does get very emotional towards the end of the poem and later on is fraught to the point of throwing up at the prospect of putting back to sea. Much of this is definitely not James Bond territory.

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

They went to the sea in ships and fought and died.

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

A poet with an agent – now there’s an idea. I’m open to offers. Convoy, however, will be published by Cinnamon Press in 2013.

How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

I firstly started writing it seriously in the autumn of 2010. A lot of the poems were written whilst I was staying at Tyn-y-coed near Conwy. It is a marvellous place to go to get peace and quiet in which to write and it’s surrounded by mountains and not far from the sea. There are regular writers courses there organised by Cinnamon Press.

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

There is one poet who covered similar ground and that was Alan Ross. He served on destroyers during the war, although mostly in the Arctic and North sea rather than the Mediterranean. I thoroughly recommend his collected Poems published by Harvill Press in 2005 which includes his long narrative poem 'J.W.51B: a convoy'.

The only contemporary poet that I know of who has written about men going away to sea is Jehanne Dubrow with her third collection Stateside. She is the wife who is left behind when her husband is deployed and the poems are wonderful. Every time I pick up her book again I discover a new favourite; the current one is the poem Whisky, Tango, Foxtrot which is all about being deployed

I’m relieved that I didn’t discover either of these books until I was thoroughly engrossed in the writing of mine to the point where I wouldn’t have wanted to stop. I do hesitate about comparing my book to either of theirs though.

Who or what inspired you to write this book?

It was merchant seamen who inspired me to write the book. Having decided I’d better find out more about what Taid went through during the war I discovered all their forgotten histories. it has been irresistible and daunting at the same time and I just hope I’ve done justice to them.

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

Ships, loss, human frailty; those moments when men are braver than they believe they are capable of and other moments when they are terrified.

You can imagine it like one of those black and white war movies except that the poems are in colour.

Tag time

And now I’m going to pass the baton on to Ruth Downie and if you haven’t already met Ruso or to give him his full moniker - Roman Army Doctor and investigator Gaius Petreius Ruso then you are in for a treat.