cross words

Leaves from my "cross words" collection - poems inspired by the wars, religion & sexual politics of the twentieth century.

Oh! Reilly!

Oh! Reilly!

My Heart Forgets To Beat

My Heart Forgets To Beat

Oh! Reilly!

Oh! Reilly!

Oh! Reilly!

My Heart Forgets To Beat

Oh! Reilly!

Oh! Reilly!

Oh'd To Peace

My Heart Forgets To Beat

Sock it to 'em

Cover Story

The usual crowd are bound to say it,

I told you so. You shouldn't have...! Why didn't you...?

Familiar, eh? In this case they're on about the jacket design of MHFTB (“My Heart Forgets To Beat”). Yes, they warn me, I'll make a hash of it. They tell me to get a professional in to do the job. They urge me not to waste any more of my precious time.

Phooey to the lot of them. OK, I'm not a trained book designer; I'm no multi-tasking Comrade Billy of Blake; I do this for kicks. I love pens and pencils, brushes, crayons, photographs, scanning devices, artwork programmes, anything to do with the creation and manipulation of images. One of my favourite films is David Hockney's A Bigger Splash. Not actually a great movie, which is hardly the point, just a real delight to watch. Hockers spends a whole year painting and repainting this sexy poolside scene, trying to get the figure of an on-looker right. Friends/cronies go mad at him to finish the piece. Twice, he casually cuts the canvas up in bits and starts over. He doesn't care what anyone says.

I'm obsessive about texts, though hopefully a better writer than artist. So what's behind the jacket of MHFTB? What's the cover story, eh? While the novel should be self explanatory, the elements on the jacket derive from all the research I did on the project. In that sense, they are badges of authenticity. They show how immersed I became in the history; to what extent I got lost, and how the final writing and publishing has been the struggle to find my way out.

There are ten elements in the cover design. Ten's not a significant number, though maybe a large one to the orthodox,

That's nine too many! Keep it simple!

So they say. My response?

Nay, nay and thrice nay! Simple is not how it is.

The first element derives from a banner showing the Spanish Republican flag,

I scanned the colours from this museum piece. I absolutely love these faded pastel shades. Well, that much IS simple.

Overlaid on the background colours, there is text, pictures and three bars of music.

Six of the pictures are small, thumb-nail images. In the top left corner of the front cover, there is a Dornier 17, a German schnellbomber (fast bomber) which flew with the Fascist Condor League,

It was one of the types of aircraft used in the infamous attack on Guernica. I traced the profile from a scale drawing and have slightly elongated it because the plan-view doesn't really show its pencil-thin shape. A pair of Dorniers from the Condor League carry out a bombing raid in the Prologue of MHFTB.

Opposing the bomber, in the top right corner of the front cover, is the three pointed red star of the Spanish Republic. The Estrella Roja (Red Star) Café also appears in the Prologue,

The Estrella Roja (Red Star) Café also appears in the Prologue. Three pointed stars are quite unusual and it's hard to find good examples, even on the internet. I drafted this one myself and gave it a thin white outline, which is not exactly authentic, but helps in the definition.

In the lower left corner of the front cover is a 1935 Bentley Tourer, which appears in Part Three,

Vaughan Thomas, the poet-hero, helps to drive this car from England to the South of France in the summer of 1936, hence its rather worse-for-the-road appearance. While in this car, which is owned by the left-leaning son of a press baron, the Spain-bound London Volunteers are encountered. I hand-traced various vintage Bentley photos to produce this image. Incidentally, I've produced more detailed, coloured versions of some pictures for this blog. This is what I mean by getting lost in the process!

Vaughan's own wheels are much less grand, though no less legendary; opposing the Bentley is a 1927 KTT Velocette, a two-stroke engined bike of 349cc's,

A bike enthusiast friend suggested incorporating a Velocette and lent me an old handbook from his collection, me knowing next to nothing about the subject. The model Vaughan rides (with Ruth as passenger) is no slouch; the TT in its name deriving from the Isle of Man races, where it won fame. Once again, the image I use has been traced from various sources; the pillion seat is an extra on pre-1930's models. Here is a poem Vaughan writes about Sunday motorcycling,

Sonnet - new troubles in the old kitbag

The two-stroke mob, on leave from weekday jobs,
our motors stuttering like Vickers guns,
in Air Force goggles, surplus Army boots
and Navy loader’s gloves we signal turns
that camouflage the pacifist in us

And lasses too, hunching on barbèd steeds
we rip your peaceful town and village squares
not like the choirboys that sheepishly marched
to drown in gas of Ypres, mud of Somme.

Why don’t we halt at chapel doors, pack up
your troubles in our cast-off killers’ bags,
or put on bun fights down the orphanage?
Instead, we roast your Sunday mourners’ ears
yowling for freedom in the togs of war.

- V.T.

“Yowling” is the sound peculiar to two-stroke engines.

Turning to the spine. At the top, there is a Liver Bird,

At first, I was tempted to use the Liverpool FC logo, but of course that is an over-protected species. Then, after research into the origins of this mythical bird, I wondered if a cormorant wasn't more in keeping. The image I finally came up with is much fatter and fowl-like than either of the above. There's also a touch of pigeon in its olive sprig. I grow olive trees, so I consider it a point of honour that the leaves look right. Here's part of an Oh Reilly poem (from Leaves of the Poets Vol. 2):

odd of the liver bird

eh blue which god vouchsafed this perch

so far above the ships at berth

in fervent scenes of graft or work

and did I plead for such a perk

to stand and squawk for what it's worth

skulking up here all out to lurch

d'ye ken yon gulls upon the church

St. Nicks by name which comb the earth

no sparrows they of belfries' lurk

that eye the bat and miss the quirk

of early worms for there's a dearth

and precious nowt without a search

but blue to whom the beak addressed this dirge

flew fleet and dumbly by the giant's verge

- Alain Oh Reilly (from work in progress)

At the bottom of the spine is the Welsh dragon,

Though Liverpool is famous for its Irish connection, in fact the Welsh more or less built the city. Where I grew up (in Walton, next door to V.T.'s Anfield) the old tongue was still spoken on the streets in the 1960s. Why is it so many English people despise the Welsh? That game show presenter, Anne Whatsername, got away with murder. What would she'd have been called if she'd said all that about British Asians or Africans? She'd have been lynched, that's what; but because she vented her spite at the Welsh, she got clean away. Some people seem to forget that without Lloyd George this country would have been finished. He was the genius who pulled us through 1916-17. And where did the Tudor family come from, eh? I am proud of my Welsh heritage and will never forget it. In 1992, I was so disgusted by what Murdoch did to Kinnock, I left the UK. Lost the thread again, eh?

The large image on the front cover is inspired by one of E. Dean's B&W seaside pier photographs,

Dean was active in the mid-Thirties, providing Newspaper and Picture-Post type images from all walks of life (i.e. crime, sport, politics, current affairs, human interest, etc.). He was often sent to cover seaside or maritime stories, having an eye for “bathing beauties”. I dug up a shot with another link to Vaughan Thomas's story. Getty Images hold the copyright of this Topical Press Agency photograph and I can't reproduce it here for fear they will sue for royalties! You can view it here: http://www.gettyimages.com/2672559. Look at the expression on the well-dressed, dishevelled protester’s face. Like Vaughan Thomas, a decent bloke who had the prescience to understand the dangers of fascism. I hope those bobbies didn't put the boot in after throwing him in the back of the Black Mariah.

To return to the “bathing beauty” theme. The pier-end “peep show” image is from 1936, almost ten years after the seaside resort scenes in Part Two of MHFTB. And yet, the date is right for Part Three, if the girl in the picture represents not Ruth Parry, but rather the younger Maura Carter peeking at Vaughan's goings-on in Spain. Note the texture of the bathing costume, made to look like heavy towelling .. when will such fabrics make their comeback? I vaguely remember seeing their likes at New Brighton outdoor swimming pool, circa 1962...

So much for the graphics. The music, six descending notes from Ray Noble's song, “The Touch Of Your Lips” are sung to the words, “My heart for-gets to beat”:

I'm no more of a musicologist than artist, but here I attempt to analyse these notes. In fact, Ray was a top British band leader who went over to the States in 1935 and who, among many other accomplishments, schooled Glen Miller in the mysteries of orchestration. The six notes of MHFTB are haunting, I guess, because the first three descend through C minor, while the second three segue into B major. The changeover from minor to major (i.e. from sad to happy) – on the word “for-gets” - gives the effect of your heart skipping a beat. On one level, MHFTB is about a guy's discontent with the sedentary life. Ray, who was a genius (me Dad's fave), wrote both music and lyrics. The song was often sung by Al Bowlly. I put Ray in the book, though the character Larry LaSalle isn't supposed to be Al. I wanted a title from a 30's popular song partly in homage to the TV series, “Pennies From Heaven”. Elsewhere in the novel you will find other quotes; for example, “the fight for love and glory” - from another famous 30's song with a Spanish Civil War connection.

Now we come to the texts on the jacket, which I consider a single element, though they could be sub-divided into four. (i) At the top appears the line, “Leaves of the Poets, Vol 1.” There will be four volumes in the series, though the numbering will be Ø-3. Each deals with a Liverpool poet of the 20^th century. (ii) I've already talked about the title, so that leaves (iii) my name at the bottom and (iv) the publishing details/ISBN on the rear.

Also on the rear cover there are bleached and reversed-out texts and images from the front. I guess this is not particularly original, but having thought of it, I simply couldn't resist expressing the idea that the book is both transparent and deep.

Finally, I tried through the faded colour scheme and sepia tints to give the book an old or even second-hand look. My purpose? Well, I love second hand books. As the digital age progresses, we will begin to lose such things, which seems a shame. I anticipate a huge nostalgia for old books and I want my books to seem old, even though I've only started my publishing career in 2012. Ideally MHFTB, and possibly the rest of the series, would come already packaged with the tea stains and folded corners of second hand. And I wouldn't care two hoots what the usual crowd had to say about it:

A word about formats. You can purchase MHFTB as a paperback or as an electronic book. Follow the link on the top right of this blog for the version of your choice. I would be most grateful to any reader who cares to post a rating or a review, on Goodreads.com for example. Trade enquiries should be made to downwritefiction@gmail.com. Professionals who want to request a review copy can also contact me there.

poetry republic
3 members welcome readers/writers/critics

Books we've read

The Society Of The Poem
by Jonathan Raban

Literary Theory: An Introduction
by Terry Eagleton

View this group on Goodreads »

Land and Freedom, Ken Loach, 1995 film review

I started the project which became My Heart Forgets To Beat in June 1991. At that time, I approached my prof at Lancaster University with the idea of writing a novel about a Liverpool man who goes to fight in the Spanish Civil War. My mother had a cousin, one of the Merseyside Brigadeers who went but never came back. I had often wondered what I would have done had I been around at the time. My aim was always to explore the background that led someone to join up, never to write a great deal about the war itself.

In 1995, some way into the project, I was dismayed when I heard how Ken Loach had released a film with a similar theme. Watching a trailer for Land and Freedom, my hackles stood up: Loach had covered much of the same ground! A Liverpool volunteer, working class, leaves girl behind, etc.. At that point, I took the decision not to see the film until my own work was published. That way, if there were to be any similarities, they would come about by chance. I didn't want to have to manipulate my ideas in order not to clash with those of an another artist. Since publishing my book, I've watched the film and I'm relieved to say the two works stand - or fall – by different criteria.

Ken Loach has been well-known since his 1966 drama documentary about homelessness, Cathy Come Home. He is singular if not quite unique in his methods. Mike Leigh, for example in Abigail's Party (1977), has a similar approach to film-making; but his work veers more towards farce and social commentary than Loach's politically motivated drama. Both, however, are known as solid left-wingers. Loach is a director who progressed from TV drama into making full scale films, though remaining outside the mainstream. Often raising money from governments and foundations, his award-winning films have touched on characters and situations other producers tend to avoid, for example migrant workers, delinquent youths & loan sharks. From the point of view of an actor's career, appearing in his work can attract great kudos while exposing them to a very different way of working. Loach draws some of the greatest performances from non-professionals who don't need to worry about their next acting job. Unlike Cathy, when the shooting is over, they may simply go home to everyday lives.

In fact, the improvisation and workshop techniques which these films employ are more popular with theatre than film directors. The major difference is in their approach to plot. Both Loach and Leigh are notorious for letting actors build up their own characters, then informing them what the action will be. As Loach says in an interview about Land and Freedom, actress Rosana Pastor guessed she was going to be killed near the end of the film after realising that her contract was slightly shorter than the others'. He also chortles that a plot direction during the making of Land and Freedom led to a cast rebellion. This combination of actor-devised character versus director imposed plot follows the political theory that individual free-will plays little part in the great events of history.

Land and Freedom is unusual for a war film in that while the battle scenes are both exciting and realistic, they avoid the sentimentality of a Saving Private Ryan. The plot is taken from Orwell's Homage To Catalonia, following the fortunes of an English volunteer with the socialist POUM militia. POUM, which translates as Unified Marxist Workers' Party, was allied at the time with the British Independent Labour Party, hence Orwell's involvement. In Land and Freedom, though, the volunteer isn't an Old Etonian, ex-Burmese policeman, but an unemployed Liverpool man, David Carr. Another difference with Orwell's book is that much of the action centres on the revolutionary processes going on in the wake of the war. Orwell doesn't take much time out to examine peasant land issues or feminism. However, the plot of the film does stay with Homage to Catalonia in following the struggles between POUM irregulars and the Moscow-backed Popular Army. At this point, Carr's Communist Party membership leads him to break with the POUM and to join the Moscow-backed International Brigade. The film suggests these volunteers were caught up in clashes with anarchist militia in Barcelona. During a street battle scene, for instance, Carr is heard shouting across the lines to a Manchester man. Each asks the other what he's doing on the wrong side. Though this incident is based on anecdotal evidence, the film glosses over the complex politics in order to show Carr as a victim of factionalism. He tears up his Communist Party card and returns to the POUM unit on the Aragón front. The inevitable love-interest takes over as the denouement is reached and we are left pondering how wartime revolutions are betrayed.

Orwell's account was a personal documentary, whereas Land and Freedom employs fiction over fact. In my book, this should give the film an extra dimension. It opens and closes in modern day Liverpool, with the death and funeral of the aged David Carr; while the scenes in Spain are interspersed with his granddaughter reading through a suitcase of old newspaper clippings, pamphlets and letters from his time there. Many of the tropes are set up by such epistles, though what we see of Carr in Spain goes beyond what he would have written to Kit, the girl he left behind in Liverpool. For example, after promising that local girls can't hold a candle to her, we see him propositioning Blanca, a young woman he takes to be a prostitute. It turns out she is nothing of the sort and the resulting scene is a cack-handed piece of farce. Later, when her militiaman boyfriend is killed, she and Carr take up with each other. No doubt such things were common at that time and place. But Orwell's report of his wife's visit to him in Spain leaves out the juicy details – along with any dalliances he may or may not have had. Here lies the greatness of fiction over fact. According to one of his colleagues on the Aragón front, Blair (Orwell) received a neck wound from a sniper's bullet while carelessly reminiscing of his visits to Paris brothels. I mean, after Orwell's List when will the real Eric Blair finally stand up?

Orwell's Paris: Out But Not Down (1928)

I can't imagine Loach raised anything on the scale of a Hollywood budget to make this film, and yet it's lovingly realised. The costumes, sets, street scenes, vehicles and the host of paraphernalia necessary to make an historical film credible are all there. The countryside and towns of Spain are fully exploited. Most notable are passionate performances by local and international members of cast, with Ian Hart as David Carr and Rosana Pastor as Blanca. At several times there are long arguments and discussions conducted in Spanish, English, French and German, subtitles switching between languages and struggling to keep up. English too often dominates to be sure; even so the mixture of Scottish, Irish, American and Liverpool accents adds to the glorious babble... sorry, powerful dialectic. Loach's skill as a film maker is the ability to blend many disparate elements and come up with a credible whole.

I'm just suspicious of interpolating anecdotal material, as in the Barcelona street clash mentioned above. Another instance is lifted straight out of Homage to Catalonia. After enduring months of stalemate in the fighting, appalling weather conditions and poor supplies, both sides on the Aragón front take to bombarding each other with propaganda. Orwell reports a comical incident when one republican militiaman starts hollering about toast, hot buttered toast. It's a moment of sublime hysteria, guaranteed to have the reader laughing out loud, despite the seriousness of the situation. Twice in the film, similar lines are used – yet the bathos of the original is lost. I think the shortness and fast pace of this film is part of the problem; you need an epic length production, such as All Quiet On The Western Front, to put over the terrifying boredom of trench warfare. The other problem is the very interpolation of Orwell's story itself. I don't know why Loach didn't use a real Liverpudian's account, such as No Shoes To My Feet by Bob Clark.

The next downwritefiction post will be more shameless self-promotion: "My Heart Forgets To Beat" - Cover Story.