A Writers Notebook

No.50, August 2014

Watsonworksblog.blogspot.com
Contact address: Watsonworks@hotmail.co.uk


CONTENTS
Editorial
Notes in Passing: More Than a DRIP
Jarama Remembered
Book review
Correspondence

EDITORIAL
50 and counting slowly
Novelist and media scholar Umberto Eco writes in the Preface to Travels
in Hyperreality (Picador, 1986) that while he is capable of writing learned
volumes, 'work that demands time, peace of mind, patience' he also feels
compelled in journalism and in teaching to communicate his ideas now
rather than later: That is why I like to teach, to expound still-imperfect
ideas and hear the students' reaction. That is why I like to write for the
newspapers, to retread myself the next day, and to read the reaction of
others.
He is probably echoing the feelings of many writers largely committed
to works of length, novels, plays, academic books. There is a need for
balance, in Ecos case, journalism and teaching.

Practising for pleasure
As a writer of journalistic pieces during vacations from college,
subscribing to my university newspaper, editing a magazine during my
National Service, writing profiles of Italian artists while I was teaching
English in Italy, then employed as a reporter on a Thomson newspaper
before, eventually, switching to teaching in further and higher education,
Ive always prized journalism as part of my DNA. Moving from work as a
journalist to lecturing in media I tried to keep up with writing as an
expression of pleasure, admiration or in some cases, anger (TALKING IN
WHISPERS was born out of anger at the seizure of power by the military
in Chile). I did art reviews, book reviews, film reviews, all the while
combining these, and teaching, with writing fiction for Young Adults.


Counterbalancing
Novels take one hell of a time, and the more you write, the longer they
take. Thats what so attractive about writing them: they engage you for
the foreseeable future; they structure that future and when theyre
finished there is often a terrible feeling of loss. Writing short pieces can be
compensation, for the pleasure is in the process, of getting things down
on to paper, of shaping texts which never existed before.
The idea of doing a blog, A Writers Notebook (Blog 1, 3 September
2009) was thus an opportunity to be grasped with relish, for it took me
back to the days when as a teenager I produced my own magazines.
What evolved was something personal, not autobiography, but a
reflection of my particular interests writing stories, creating characters,
analysing narrative, in the hope that others might be interested too; and
that the blog might attract contributors, which it has.

Freedom to express
Much of what has been posted has taken the form of extracts and
summaries of novels, a series on Poems of Place, articles on press
freedom and censorship, pieces on writing academic works about media,
on the importance of history (Blog 4, 23 October 2009 featured
HISTORYS FORGOTTEN WOMEN), on womens soccer (prelude to my
novel FAIR GAME: THE STEPS OF ODESSA), an article on blogging itself
(Blog 13, 14 July 2010), a number of reviews of books, films and art
exhibitions.
There have been highly readable contributions including book reviews
by Tony Williams, comment by Alison Prince, dialogues by Bron OBrien
and two extracts from Laura Solomons novel Imitation of Life (Blogs
42/3, 17 September and 20 October 2013). The pages of A Writers
Notebook are open to contributors; in fact I have been troubled as to
where to put the apostrophe; yes, the Blog has been mainly mine, but its
contents have been enriched by others.

Not forgetting Ned
Last but not least, the editorial team are delighted to acknowledge the
(now regular) correspondence of Ned Baslow, secretary of the
Wickerstaff-cum-Fernhaven International Festival of the Arts. He is living
proof that the art of letter writing prospers. His letters to potential
performers at the Festival such as Wolfy Mozart (interlude pieces, choir
conducting), Billy Blake (scenery), Cervantes (script for the musical, The
Spectacles of Don Quixote), Florence Nightingale (first aid) and Capability
Brown (landscaping the festival site) are already being serialised on
Facebook.



Hastings: a 1000 year blip
Our only disappointment has been King Harolds ignoring Neds advice not
to rush in to things after his victory at Stamford Bridge. We are all rather
sad in the office that Harolds impatience has led to a thousand years of
the Normans, progenitors of the iniquitous Bedroom Tax and much
meddling with education.

NOTES IN PASSING: More than a DRIP
How slowly human rights progress; how swiftly they can be removed; and
with what casual concern. While we (some of us) were worrying about the
failures of the English soccer team in Brazil, the English cricket team at
Trent Bridge; shocked and helpless at whats been happening in Gaza,
those twinkle-toed politicians slipped through whatever defences the
British public has as its disposal and hit the back of the parliamentary net
with a new bill that will banish online freedoms once and for all.
The rush to legislate was as sneaky as schoolkids smoking behind the
bike shed. We are talking about the Data Retention and Investigatory
Powers Bill DRIP for short - which an Open Letter by 15 academics
stated is a serious expansion of the British surveillance state, while on a
Privacy International website posting, readers were warned, Make no
mistake about it both the current policy [RIPA, the Regulation of
Investigatory Powers Act. 2000] and the new bill give the government
carte blanche for massive and disproportionate invasion of privacy.

Submission on demand
Nothing, should the bill become law, will in future be hidden from the
eyes and access of what has been termed womb-to-womb government
observation. In future, everything we transmit on line will be subject to
surveillance. Individuals, groups and social platforms will be required, on
demand from the authorities, to surrender content about all of us. The
Security services will be able to trawl through all our exchanges.
RIPA was bad enough. This extended blanket powers of interception
to telephone and Internet traffic, allowing the police, local government
and, lets face it, every Tom, Dick and Harry in the nations machinery of
government, to probe our personal details. A Guardian leader declared
the Act a mockery of the right to privacy that the Human Rights Act is
supposed to protect.

Nothing to fear
The rationale for DRIP is as old as the political hills: it is being brought in
to protect us against terrorism. If we are not terrorists, we have nothing
to fear; if we have nothing to hide, we can rest assured that Big Brother
means us no harm. The legislation will only operate in extreme
circumstances. Relax. Journalists such as Rafael Behr are only trying to
work people up by talking of creeping spookocracy.
This will be very bad news for organisations and movements who use
the Internet to coordinate their (legitimate) activities, that of supporting
causes, advocating change, protesting about innumerable things they see
as being wrong with contemporary society. It will also prove bad news for
lawyers because DRIP is in breach of European law: perhaps that is one
reason why the present UK government plans to dismantle existing
human rights legislation.

Atlantic bargains
In Cheltenham, Britains Spy HQ, already equipped with the most
sophisticated and expensive surveillance system in the world, next to that
of their American buddies at the National Security Agency, theyll be
relishing extending the sale of our data, our online exchanges, or mobile
phone conversations for a tidy profit.
All of this, with scarcely a public voice or hand raised in protest. Surely
we dont believe what we are told; or are we waiting to join forces with
the poor old House of Lords when they come to discuss the bill, when
they remind the nation of its hard-fought liberties yet in turn get
railroaded by a parliament bent on regarding the entire population as
potential suicide bombers? Watch this space, but bear in mind that it
might also have been under scrutiny, its visitors and their traces duly
logged.

JARAMA REMEMBERED
While the nation has been commemorating the tragedy of the First World
War, another war has been recalled by a diminishing number of those
whose relatives fought in it, and who work hard to keep memories of the
Spanish Civil War alive.
What was it that took hundreds of British volunteers (and French,
Americans, even Germans and Italians) to fight and die in a foreign war?
First, a sense of brotherhood, the desire to support Spains republican
government as Francos fascists, supported by German and Italian
bombers (the ones that destroyed Guernica) as it struggled against the
odds from one lost battle to another: a democratic government cut off
from assistance by the impartiality of the states of Britain, France and
the US.
But second, the belief among the volunteers that the war they were
fighting was prelude to the war to come: victory for reaction, the success
of historys first blitzkriegs, the belief of Hitler and Mussolini that the
allies were too scared to get involved, and would be so when the big war
came, proved compelling, worth the risk of dying in a foreign land.
Among the battles that the British Legion of volunteers fought and died
in was Jarama. In a moving ceremony in February of 2014, the family of
Jack Edwards from Liverpool, wounded at Jarama, according to his
wishes, scattered his ashes on the field of battle. There were 400 others
paying homage to the fallen. At a gathering of the International Brigade
Memorial Trust in Manchester Town Hall on Sunday 9 February marking
the anniversary of the battle the lives of 120 volunteers who were killed
were commemorated.
Parallels have been drawn by some with the current call to arms of
Islamists carrying young Britons to struggles in the Arab world. The
inspiration, the youthful haste to act in a cause, are similar; the difference
is that the brigaders were volunteering for a humanitarian cause, while
jihadists seem to have it in mind that one day they will return to wreak
havoc in their own country.
Even so, among the volunteers who broke the law and evaded the
agencies of order to travel to Spain there were those with little cause to
love or respect their own country: unemployment in the 1930s stalked
Britain. The gap between the wealthy and a hard-up population was
almost as wide as it is today in contemporary Britain. Poverty and
hopelessness motivated many men to opt for a life of adventure and
sacrifice. It is unlikely that they imagined being pitched into such a
combat of horrors, of killings, of executions, of towns and cities
devastated by German junkers which would soon would be turning their
attention to London and beyond.
Their message had been clear: Spain was the practice-ground for the
2nd World War; alas few were paying attention. As for the volunteers of
the International Brigade, the memories live on in their families, through
the pages of the Brigades newsletter, in conferences on the war, in books
and magazines and on the commemorative plaques both in Britain and in
Spain that mark the heroism and the tragedy in which, contrary to the
imperatives of stories, the good guys lost.

**********************************************************************

Among the women volunteers who joined the war was artist Felicia
Brown who became a member of the Catalan Communist Militia. With
Felicia in their ranks, they attempted to sabotage a railway line. They
were ambushed and outnumbered by fascist forces. In going to the aid
of an Italian comrade who was wounded, Felicia was machine-gunned
down, possibly on 22 August 1936. She was the first of the women
volunteers to be killed. Her sketches will be featured at an exhibition,
Conscience and Conflict: British Artists and the Spanish Civil War, on
show at the Pallant House Gallery, Chichester, from 8 November to 15
February 2015.

**********************************************************************


R e v i e w: Dublin, the Bits in-Between
TONY WILLIAMS is impressed by James Plunketts Strumpet
City.

It is only just over the water but it might well be in farthest Oceania. Two
works, Ken Loachs Jimmys Hall and James Plunketts Strumpet City have
brought it home to me how sketchy my knowledge of Ireland is:
Drogheda, the Famine, the Home Rule debates, the Easter Rising, the
Black and Tans, the Civil War, the IRA, Behan all these are familiar to
me. But what of the bits in-between? What about Dublin in the years
preceding 1914, was anything happening then or was it just a lull waiting
for the independence struggle? Well no, as it turns out from James
Plunketts novel, these were years of terrible conflict and starvation
caused not by the usual villains, the British, but by the clash between
capital and labour.

Shades of the present?
Dublin was a populous overcrowded city which had lost much of its
manufacturing base and unemployment was the norm for the unskilled.
The poor, the extremely poor, were crammed into apartment blocks
formerly grand homes of the gentry. What work there was for the
unskilled, carting, delivering, on a zero hours basis, a days work here or
two hours there.
Onto the scene came Jim Larkin - a name which was to resound
throughout twentieth century labour disputes in Ireland, the USA and
USSR. In Dublin this Liverpool Irishman organised the unskilled into the
Irish Transport and General Workers Union, initiated strikes for tolerable
hours and pay and coined the slogan a fair days pay for a fair days
work. Larkin led the workers through dreadful deprivations over years of
lockouts, was jailed on several occasions and ultimately deported to the
USA.
James Plunketts great skill is in making me want to immerse myself in
this unpalatable story, informing yet without tub-thumping. Larkin
features in the background in this story of richly drawn individuals: a
carrier, a foundry worker, various priests, factory owners and managers,
prostitutes and, most vivid of all, Rashers Tierney, the lowest of the low.
Plunkett does not share the widespread contempt for the poor, Dublins
cast-offs, living in cast-off housing, in cast-off clothes bought in second-
hand shops, where even the fuel they burn is second-hand: Children and
the old searched the bins of the well-to-do for half-burnt cinders. Rashers
Tierney, despised and bullied by officialdom is reduced almost to the level
of his dog Rusty, his friend and equal: the child rooting in the ashbin,
the cat slinking along the gutter, the cockroach delicately questing along
the wooden joins of the floor.. these were sometimes his competitors, but
more often his brothers.

Police brutality
As a literary figure Tierney could have sprung from Gorky, but in the flesh
can be found in numerous favelas throughout the world. The brutality of
the police in smashing the strike, quite literally breaking into the houses
of the strikers and in front of the terrified wives and children taking
sledgehammers to all the sparse furniture, cookers and fittings, smashing
their delph, leaving them with nothing to take to the pawnbrokers this
brutality is unthinkable now, of course. We use bulldozers.
Plunkett is not a black-and-white polemicist, and even the most odious
Father OConnor who does his utmost to deny the strikers sustenance and
thwart their attempts to send their starving children to England, even he
can be seen as a human being at times. Individual capitalists and their
wives also make more than token efforts to help the suffering families of
the strikers.
The novel ends with the capitulation of the strikers, the banishment to
the USA of Larkin and the move toward war.


James Plunkett, (1920-2003) worked in the Irish trade union movement
and in Irish radio and television. He has been well-known for many years
to people in Ireland and beyond, but only recently, to my shame, to me.
Published Gill & MacMillan, Dublin 1969.

Correspondence
The major part of Blog 49 was given over to Ned Baslow as guest editor
on account of the Blogs editorial staff being up to their eyes planning the
future, specifically preparing new editions of heavy tomes. Ned mentioned
how keen his wife Betty is about having a water feature in their garden.
We immediately received a kind and generous offer:

We have surplus statue of Cupid that we could donate to
Betty's water feature.
Poseidon

Betty, we learn, who is studying for an Open University degree,
immediately cautioned Ned about accepting this gift, pointing out that
Poseidon was the Greek god of the sea, while Cupid was of Roman origin.
Something fishy about it, she said.

Neds postbag was too numerous for us to reproduce it in bulk, but below
is a selection of mainly-emails from our readers.

Dear Ned,
I was talking to Johan Sebastian during Evensong last Sunday and he
expressed genuine regret at not being invited to conduct his Motet for
Four Horns and Ukelele at the Festival you are organising. Is it too late to
book a performance? He would be happy to give a brief introduction to
the work; and his fee would be modest.
Yours etc.
Pete Urwin.




Dear Ned,
Talking of your wifes admiration for water features, my company
specialises in water feature spectacles. We would be very happy to design
such a feature to accompany your planned Tableau of Beauties featuring
the one-and-only Helen of Troy. We were the company responsible for the
fountains that served as background to the production of The Little
Mermaid at the Gove Memorial Free School in Balham.
Yours etc.
Splash Productions.

Dear Mr. Baslow,
Congratulations on holding the fort while your editorial colleagues
escaped their duties on Bournemouth beach. I personally was witness to
the mess they made as, eager to rescue their barbeque in a strong east
wind, their manuscripts were wafted out to sea or were consumed by
seagulls. Put two or more writers together, in my view, and mayhem
follows as swiftly as night follows day.
Yours etc.
Liz Motram

Dear Ned,
Im submitting two new songs in lieu of your rejecting my Lark Ascending,
on the grounds that its been done to death.
Yours etc.
Ralph V. Williams.

Dear Ned,
Were just finishing breakfast, though my housecarls have left a corner for
William of Normandys head. We have an insuperable advantage, being
located on a hill overlooking the battlefield. I shall be willing to give a talk
at the Festival on the theme of How to Net Harold Hardrada, His Brother
Tostig and Will Norman in Under 48 hours. See you shortly.
Harold Goodwinson.
PS: Please arrange for me to meet Helen of Troy in private.

MARKET STREET
Kindle editions at crazy prices:
Talking in Whispers (2.01)
The Freedom Tree (1.03)
Ticket to Prague (1.63)
Justice of the Dagger (2.03)
Fair Game: The Steps of Odessa (4.11)
Pigs Might Fly (4.11)

Contributions are welcome and should be e-mailed to:
watsonworks@hotmail.co.uk