Real Lives

Alan Johnson - wannabe rock guitarist, postman,
trades union official, MP, Home Secretary and
elder statesman - and chronicler of the late 20th century

As I approached retirement a few years ago I promised myself that this would be a time to read all the books that I wanted to read and to revisit favourites from the past. The result is that the shelves in my office are rapidly filling up with books already read and those still to be opened. I had some book tokens for my 70^th birthday – which I soon spent – and each month sees my Amazon account climb as I find something new to keep me busy!   I often have several books on the go at the same time and these can vary from popular novels to non-fiction to classics. In the last few weeks I’ve re-read and relived my youth with Dickens’ David Copperfield and Pickwick Papers (both tales that I last read as a teenager), loved reading again Laurie Lee’s Magical Cider with Rosie, hugely enjoyed Bill Bryson’s One Summer:1927,  been engrossed and inspired by philosopher Michael Sandel’s Justice, as always enjoyed my favourite crime writer John Harvey, been gripped with one of the few John le Carré spy story that I had not previously read (A Delicate Truth), delighted in  a few more chapters of Music in the Castle of Heaven, John Eliot Gardiner’s vast and hugely detailed, erudite and seminal biography of Johann Sebastian Bach and, at the opposite extreme, slummed out with a Joe Nesbo thriller! And at the moment I’m reading the second instalment of Labour politician Alan Johnson’s acclaimed autobiography (or “memoir” as he prefers to call to it): Please, Mister Postman.

As I have become older biographies and autobiographies have increasingly become my most enjoyed read and amongst my favourites are:

• The Outcasts’ Outcast – a wonderful biography of Lord Longford by Peter Stanford. The life of the great reforming Lord – a man of infinite goodness and intention who was often reviled by the media and much of the population
• Eric Clapton – The Autobiography. The life of the great rock guitarist
• Michael Foot by Kenneth O. Morgan – the life of the great Labour politician and probably the last of the great political orators
• Macmillan by Alistair Horne. The biography of probably the last ‘one nation’ Tory Prime Minister. Famed for his phrase “You’ve never had it so good” he was one of the few more recent Prime Ministers that we could describe as a statesman.
• The Time of my Life – the autobiography of Dennis Healey, often described as the best Prime Minister England never had.
• Lincoln by Carl Sandburg – a truly inspiring trilogy about a truly inspiring President
• Kennedy - An Unfinished Life by Robert Dallek. One of the best of the many biographies of the iconic President
• Trautmann – the biography of the much loved German goalkeeper by Alan Rowlands
• Harold Larwood  by Duncan Hamilton – the biography of the great fast bowler forever remembered for his part in the Bodyline Test Series.
• Tom Finney – My Autobiography. The story of arguably England’s greatest footballer who was born and lived only a few streets away from where I grew up and who I watched play so many times.
• The Long Walk to Freedom – Nelson Mandella’s life and times
• My Life in Pieces – the wonderful story of the great actor Simon Callow
• Testament of Youth – not strictly a biography but the great tale and indictment of war by Vera Brittain
• Roosevelt by Conrad Black – the life of the great American President
• Boycott, the Autobiography – the life and career of the great English batsman Geoffrey Boycott
• Aneurin Bevan the biography of the great Welsh Labour MP, father of the NHS and great orator by his protégé Michael Foot.

Three sporting greats

I could go on and on. Many of these I return to again and again. Sandburg’s Lincoln is a case in point. I first read this almost half a century ago when at college as part of my American History option. I loved the book then and still today occasionally take it down from the shelf, its pages now a little faded by time, to read Sandburg’s stirring prose retelling the life of the great American President. Sandburg, being a poet, has the knack of capturing atmosphere and the man. In places Lincoln reads like an epic poem rather than a book about a politician. To read Sandburg’s words describing of Lincoln’s early years as a humble prairie lawyer and then to read the final chapters following his assassination as America and the world mourned his passing is both humbling and often overpowering. Similarly, the touching tale of Harold Larwood by Duncan Hamilton takes one back to another time and allows one to witness and be part of the feelings of the day. Harold Larwood, a humble coal miner’s son from north Nottinghamshire, only  a few miles from where I live, became the most feared fast bowler in the world playing a sport which in those days still segregated its  players as either “players” or “gentlemen” (Larwood, being a working man, was the former). Larwood, pitched into the mighty Ashes series against the Australia of Don Bradman, was England’s secret weapon to destroy Bradman and the Australians by bowling at the batsman’s body. The 1932 series became known as the Bodyline series and caused international tensions, almost broke up the British Empire and Larwood was vilified by the powers that be for simply carrying out his captain’s (the ‘gentleman’, Douglas Jardine) orders. In the aftermath  Larwood was largely ignored and rejected by the upper echelons of English cricket because he refused to apologise - he was an easy scapegoat, an ordinary guy faced with the full force of "the establishment" - but thirty years later was ultimately welcomed and loved in Australia, the land who had, during the series, so hated him. He lived out his life there and only rarely returned to England, his country of birth and for whom he had given so much. Only a couple of miles from where I live is Trent Bridge Cricket Ground – one of the great Test Match grounds of the world - and where Larwood  played out his career for Nottinghamshire and England. Today, part of the magnificent ground celebrates Larwood’s memory by having a pub called the Larwood & Voce Tavern (Bill Voce was the other part of the fast bowling partnership in the Bodyline series – and also a Nottinghamshire man). The inside is filled with memorabilia of these two and of Bodyline – but in the quarter century after the series when the two  were subject to constant criticism by politicians, “gentlemen”, high society and the public school educated administrators of cricket it was a different story. They were effectively disowned by those who had used and then abused them. It is a tale of inspiration, overcoming the odds and ultimately forgiveness – it has the power to make me angry and sad at how mankind can so quickly turn on those it has loved. Like Lincoln  it is a bitter sweet tale and the same is true with the wonderful biography by Alan Rowlands of Bert Trautmann the German goalkeeper. A prisoner of war in the Second World War Trautmann, a German paratrooper was imprisoned near Manchester during the War and initially thought to be dead by his parents. He stayed in England and became the greatest goalkeeper of his day playing for Manchester City. In the post war years he increasingly became the symbol for reconciliation between England and Germany. The story reached its high point when, in one of the great sporting moments, while playing in the 1956 Cup Final at Wembley he broke his neck, but played on despite being in great pain. He became a true hero in every sense of the word. And finally, the biography of Lord Longford – The Outcasts’ Outcast. A man born into great wealth and privilege for whom it was the natural order of things that he should progress serenely through life at the upper levels of mid twentieth century society. Born an aristocrat with the right to sit in the House of Lords he confounded his heritage and became a Labour party politician. He was devoutly Christian but often vilified by many for his forgiving views and belief in the inherent goodness of even the most terrible crime or criminal. His commitment, belief in redemption and in the rightness of what he was doing and his untiring hard work ensured that he became one of the century’s renowned social reformers. Sadly he was frequently and savagely  abused in the popular media and criticised by his Labour colleagues for his perceived lack of ability – and maybe there was a bit of truth in this. But any lack of ability was more than made up for by his industry, his strength in standing true to his beliefs and principles against the severest of criticism and satire, and his obvious goodness as a man.  His footprint can still be seen in our contemporary views about prison welfare, homosexuality, equality and pornography – his contribution over so many years has done much to make our society what it is today. In short, like Lincoln, Trautmann and Larwood he made a lasting difference society and certainly did more than many of those who most criticised him.

Lord Longford - often ridiculed and
scorned  but stayed true to his
beliefs

And, I suppose that is true of virtually all the biographies that I have listed. Each person written about  in their way  ‘made a difference’ – be it on the sports field, in politics, in music or in life. The two music biographies that I have mentioned – that of rock guitarist Eric Clapton and that of the Baroque composer Bach would seem on the surface to be miles apart but in their age and beyond both changed the musical world. So, too, with political biographies such as those of Harold Macmillan and Aneuurin Bevan. Macmillan, the public school boy, like Lord Longford, had the world at his feet. It was almost predictable from the day of his birth that he would achieve high office. And at the other end of the spectrum, Bevan from the most humble of backgrounds who worked from the very bottom to the top. Politically and socially these two were worlds apart. Macmillan, a Conservative by both upbringing and inclination would have sat in the House of Commons and heard the fiery and heart on sleeve Bevan scathingly  castigate Macmillan’s Prime Ministerial predecessor thus:  “Sir Anthony Eden has been pretending that he is now invading Egypt in order to strengthen the United Nations. Every burglar of course could say the same thing, he could argue that he was entering the house in order to train the police. So, if Sir Anthony Eden is sincere in what he is saying, and he may be, he may be, then if he is sincere in what he is saying then he is too stupid to be a prime minister.” Macmillan would undoubtedly have winced but at the same time had a worthy riposte to Bevan when in 1948 the Welshman declared “No amount of cajolery, and no attempts at ethical or social seduction, can eradicate from my heart a deep burning hatred for the Tory Party. So far as I am concerned they are lower than vermin.”  And for his part Bevan would have been infuriated by the unflappable, incisive and pragmatic Macmillan when he calmly declared “It is the duty of HM Government neither to flap or falter”  or when ‘Supermac’ as he was labelled suggested that the population ‘had never had it so good’ or finally when asked what things in politics he most feared he allegedly  and laconically replied ‘Events dear boy, events’. But, as with Clapton and Bach, as with Longford and Trautmann, as with Larwood and Lincoln and all the  rest, Macmillan and Bevan were game changers and their biographies illustrate this.

Foot & Bevan - two of my (and Johnson's, I think) heroes

The life stories that I have enjoyed most are those which have, in some way, resonated with me as an individual and reflected my own experience or convictions – my childhood, my background, my basic beliefs about life. Or, often I have enjoyed them because the subject is someone for whom I have a great admiration – although not necessarily liked. Sometimes the personal link is obvious – for example the biography of Tom Finney tells of the streets, people and places that I knew as I grew up, like him in Preston. As I read it I can picture every place and event as well as appreciate the life story of this great footballer. Similarly, the life of Nye Bevan chimed with me partly because of his humble background but especially because his beliefs, his idealism, his commitment and because his passionate words expressed my ill thought out feelings more or less exactly. Other biographies have spoken to me in other ways – especially in that they might have opened up an understanding of a person that was not there previously; those of Macmillan and Eric Clapton very definitely fall into that category. In the “admiration” bracket I would include the biographies the great actor Simon Callow, the writer Doris Lessing, the economist John Maynard Keynes and the life stories of Michael Foot and Dennis Healey – the latter two  being men who often crossed political swords although of the same political creed but for whom I hold a great respect and admiration. Occasionally I read something which disappoints or frustrates me – and a previous admiration begins to wane. For example, I have always had a huge respect and admiration for politician Shirley Williams, the daughter of the great pacifist Vera Brittain. Brittain’s great work Testament of Youth is, I believe, one of the great books and should be compulsory reading in all schools and I long felt that her daughter, Shirley Williams, lived many of her mother’s ideals and beliefs as a Labour politician – especially when she was Minister for Education. As a teacher I had great respect for her and much of that respect is still there – she was and still is, in my view, the last great Minister for Education that we had. But, having said, that I found her autobiography (Climbing the Bookshelves) disappointing and shallow. After reading it I began to seriously question her real commitment and passion and felt let down wondering if she really believed in anything at all. Deep down, it seemed to me, she had all the ideals that I cherished but never the will and the passion to turn these into reality. Politics, I think, is a brutal game and it seemed increasingly that Shirley Williams was born into a privileged background but unlike Lord Longford (and to use sporting parlance) she talked a good game but never really got bloodied. Maybe I’m wrong!  Sometimes I have enjoyed books which might not be strictly biographies but are written by people who have lived through great events and use these, and their life story, to provide an insight into world history and society. Two writers stand out here: historian Eric Hobsbawm with his Interesting Times and Fractured Times and, secondly, the writings of historian and political scientist, the late Tony Judt – especially Ill Fares the Land and The Memory Chalet and Postwar: A History of Europe Since 1945. Ill Fares the Land and The Memory Chalet are two books which have left a lasting impression and if forced to choose would certainly take these to support me should I be cast onto a desert island! And finally, it is always a joy to read of someone who I don’t have any particular affection for – or maybe even dislike – and to then find that despite my prejudices that the subject does have redeeming features. The biography of impeached and disgraced American President Richard Nixon by Conrad Black springs to mind here; despite Nixon’s politics and the manner of his downfall via the Watergate scandal, “Tricky Dickie” (as he was often called at the time), was maybe not so bad as often painted. Like others I have mentioned, he came from humble origins, rose to the supreme office, was the ultimate "fixer" politician and on balance made a lasting contribution to the world - especially in opening up dialogue between the communist and the free world. Following this line of thought I keep trying to convince myself that I should read the biography of Margaret Thatcher! I’m sure that I will find some things to applaud. I certainly respected and admired her – there can be little doubt that her commitment, single mindedness and industry changed Britain and probably the world for ever.  But, I fear that my dislike, indeed hatred and revulsion of her policies, style, manner and arrogance would lead me to, at the very least, hurl the book through the window or more likely cause my sudden demise via a combination of apoplectic fit and heart attack. Perhaps she is one biography too far.

Tricky - "there will be no whitewash at the
White House" - Dickie Richard Nixon". There was, but
maybe he wasn't all bad.

At the top of this blog I mentioned the biography which I am currently reading – indeed have just, last night, finished – the second instalment of Labour politician and now elder statesman, Alan Johnson’s memoirs. Aptly named Please Mister Postman (Johnson spent much of his pre-MP life working in the  postal service) the memoir, and it’s first instalment This Boy, ticks all the biographical boxes for me. This Boy when it was published a couple of years ago was widely acclaimed and rightly became an immediate best seller; it told the tale of Johnson’s very humble, and at times desperate, upbringing in post war London against the backdrop of the 50s and early 60s. Apart being beautifully written and inspiring as Johnson and his older sister struggled to overcome the heavily stacked odds it is also a wonderfully evocative and accurate memoir of the time and place. I could relate to it exactly and the convictions about life, society and politics that were slowly dawning in Johnson’s young mind I could largely recognise as similar to my own. When he mentioned that one of his favourite books was the western Shane it rang an immediate bell – one of my all time favourite films is Shane (see blog: Wooden Ships and Iron Men -July 2011) and as I read of his early teenage years I often felt as if I was reading my own story. And this feeling has continued into the second instalment Please Mister Postman when Johnson traces his marriage, setting up home in the late 60s, his growing interest in reading and in his dawning political awareness, aspirations and ambitions. He talks of his “secret” reading of The Times when all his work colleagues read the tabloid newspapers – I can relate exactly to that; my wife often says that when we were at college – and before we were an “item” -  she always noticed me as I would always have my copy of The Guardian with me! He talks of learning new phrases such as lingua franca  as his work brings him into contact with a wider range of people and situations. When I read that I reflected how many times that sort of thing happened to me when I went to college and was suddenly mixing with fellow students who had come from very different social backgrounds to my own. I still remember vividly the very first night at college when a formal dinner was held and I found myself sitting on a table with a lecturer and seven other students; I had never sat at a table where there was a range of cutlery set out in front of me or where grace would be said or wine served. I sat praying that I would not commit a social sin and watched everyone of the others like a hawk to see which knife, fork or spoon they used, how they held them how often they sipped their wine, how they passed the salt and pepper, what phrases they used, how they laughed, when they laughed. I was on a steep learning  curve and as I read Johnson's memoir I sensed the same thing had happened to him too. I can relate, too, to the pictures he draws of life in the 70s – the cheap white (often German) wine like Blue Nun, the Party Seven [pint] beer cans which were popular at the time, the slowly growing chance for ordinary people to own things like cars and telephones. Then came the growing tensions that began to appear within society: the Labour Party becoming dominated for a time by left wing militants, the miners’ strike, the Thatcher government and so on. Johnson documents these all too well and his words took me back to that time with a  vengeance.

The first two instalments of Johnson's memoirs -
will there be a third?

And by a stroke of pure coincidence I was engrossed with Johnson’s depiction of where he and his wife settled in the Thames Valley town of Slough. This became very personal for me since my son, when he moved to that area over 15 years ago, shared a house with a friend only a couple of roads away from where Johnson had lived on the Britwell Estate. My son then bought a flat in the area where each day Johnson would have delivered his letters all those years before. As with Johnson’s first book depicting his childhood I began to feel that I was almost part of this story!  I knew the pubs he mentions: The Feathers opposite the gates to the great Cliveden House  (see blog: A Saturday Afternoon Walk Through History - May 2012)  and the Jolly Woodman near to Dorneywood – both places where we have enjoyed a drink and meals – and many of the other areas and places Johnson writes of. Today my son still lives in the Thames Valley and I know that when I next visit him and his family I will be noticing, with new interest and insight, some of the places that Johnson referred to.

I remember it well!

And finally, Johnson’s occasional comments that he makes concerning his political beliefs and ambitions they too resonated. He talks of the schools of the time although called comprehensives were that in name only for selection still existed and “the best” were creamed off to go to the local grammar school, When I started teaching that was exactly the same situation that we had here in Nottinghamshire. In my village, children I taught took the 11+ test and if they “passed” then they went to one of the two comprehensives in neighbouring West Bridgford; if they “failed” then they were sent to the local village secondary modern. And yet, when I moved schools to teach in West Bridgford I discovered that children living there did not need to take the 11+ at all to go to these same “comprehensives” - they simply transferred to the one of their choice. So children within only a couple of miles of each other were treated completely differently – and I would argue grossly unfairly. It was, too, a situation that had an interesting and telling spin off. The parents in my village whose children had to take the 11+ viewed the comprehensives as highly desirable, a step up, and their ultimate goal and where their child, if they passed the 11+ would gain opportunities unheard of at the local village secondary modern. Like a rare antiques these schools were highly valued because they appeared exclusive. But the West Bridgford parents on the other hand had a low opinion of the comprehensives – after all any child living in West Bridgford could go there so there was no exclusivity. For the West Bridgford parent it was a case of familiarity breeding contempt. In fact, of course, as with Johnson’s example in Slough, the whole situation made a nonsense of the term “comprehensive”; for some children (the “less able” as defined by the test my village) were being hived off to a secondary modern whilst at the other end “bright” children were gaining admittance to selective schools in wider Nottingham. These “comprehensives” were not comprehensive at all! It was a sham reinforced by parental snobbery and ambition and it went on for several years before some limited kind of equality was put in place. It would be nice to think that anachronisms like this are a thing of the past; sadly they are not, inequality and educational snobbery are alive and well in 21^st century Britain. In Trafford (Manchester) for example, where my granddaughters are at school, and where selection grotesquely skews the school system and thwarts any real chance of equality. It is an undeniable truth that England has never, at any time in its history, had an education “system” – for “system” implies something thought out, coordinated, logical, organised in a progressive manner, whole and cohesive. Instead, we have always had and still have a lottery, an ill un-thought out, disorganised and  fractured hotchpotch of competing interests and self interest that creaks along with no discernible logical or educational structure  giving some huge advantages and others almost insurmountable disadvantages. In the 21^st century as yet more pieces of nonsense - free schools and academies - are introduced into this complex and unedifying mess of  independent schools, public schools, faith schools, grammar school, comprehensives, aided, voluntary aided, controlled schools, voluntary controlled schools........and so on – equality via education becomes more and more unlikely as they all vie for a bit of the educational action. Whatever the merits of the various kinds of school that we have in this country what we have could not even in the broadest of terms by called a "system".  If some future dictator or visitor from Mars decided to impose an education system on the UK then this is exactly what he or she would not have - it is a mess and a shambles. It is a great sadness and source of no little anger to me that after all these years the Labour Party have never been prepared to grasp the nettle and resolve this situation once and for all.

Some political greats

That, however, is another story! There were other things that resonated in Johnson’s memoir such as the left wing “take over” of the Labour Party. Like Johnson, I remember that as a very difficult time. In schools we were increasingly being subjected to what I considered to be left wing propaganda at in-service courses and from the local education authority.  Political correctness ran amok and for a time one feared that Orwell’s dystopian society really had arrived.  It was the only time in my almost 60 years of reading The Guardian that I gave the newspaper up for a few months in favour of The Times. I remember too, as Johnson refers to, the coming of Neil Kinnock – now often, and wrongly,  criticised by “New” Labour. But Kinnock began the slow rebuilding of the Party after the left wing debacle and in my view put the building blocks in place for Tony Blair’s later victories.

And finally, I felt totally at home when I read  towards the end of the book of Johnson’s admiration for Michael Foot and especially Foot’s magnificent biography of Nye Bevan which I listed above as one of my favourite biographies. Foot and Bevan may, in the modern Labour Party, be “old hat”, and not the subject of polite conversation amongst the Party  apparatchiks and the trendy young turks, indistinguishable from their Tory counterparts and those who are currently vying for the leadership of the Party following the election result a few weeks ago. But when I read of Johnson’s respect for these two giants of another age I felt that maybe all is not lost!

On my desk waiting to be read!

When I read this reference to Foot and Bevan the circle was completed, the icing on the cake; and as last night I closed the book having got to the end I began to wonder if Johnson will write a third instalment and if so what will it be called? His previous two have been the titles of Beatles’ songs: This Boy and Please Mister Postman reflecting, I suppose, Johnson’s unfulfilled ambition from his teenage years of becoming a rock guitarist. So what will he choose next as his memoirs come up to date and he becomes a cabinet minister holding high office – Yesterday or maybe All You Need Is Love or A day in the Life or We Can Work It Out or maybe it's just got to be Paperback Writer! I shall look out for the next instalment if there is to be one – but until then there are plenty of other biographies to go at; sitting on my desk at the moment are the biographies of the late and much respected politician Roy Jenkins and the ex-Archbishop of Canterbury, and a man I hugely admire - Rowan Williams. So there’s plenty to keep me out of mischief!