Philip Larkin’s reputation took a battering with the publication of two books in the early 1990s. First came his selected letters, compiled by Anthony Thwaite, followed by Andrew Motion’s official biography: Philip Larkin: A Writer’s Life. Suddenly one of England’s best loved poets was regarded as a misogynist, racist and bigot. It was no longer cool to like his poems as Larkin had committed the cardinal sin of being politically incorrect.
James Booth, Larkin’s colleague at the University of Hull, has sought to restore the poet’s reputation by writing another biography entitled Philip Larkin: Life, Art and Love.
Booth argues Larkin kept many relationships alive by developing a different persona for each; consequently his friendships, like his love affairs, were contained in separate silos.
It is a fascinating read that prompted me to return to the poems and what a treasure trove they are. Booth makes a compelling case that Larkin is one of English literature’s great poets; a status he achieved while holding down a demanding day job as a university librarian when higher education was undergoing a major expansion.
My ears are still smarting 24 hours after visiting my local barber. Rather than trim them, he used thread to remove the hair by its roots. Ouch!
Taken completely by surprise, I was not prepared for the pain, which was eye-watering. Pride compelled me to keep silent as my barber went about his task with great dexterity. I spent an uncomfortable few minutes in his chair as my extraneous earlobe hair was removed. I broke into a cold sweat and could see myself in the large mirror opposite desperately trying to keep a poker face; I just about pulled it off… as my barber pulled it out.
Unexpected memories flashed through my mind as I coped with the pain; for instance, when Mr Leece, my primary school teacher, threw a piece of chalk at me for not paying attention in class. It clipped my right ear; I was hurt more by the shame than the pain. Teachers were allowed to throw improvised missiles at pupils in those days (the 1960s); there would be hell to pay if they did it now.
Another barbershop memory concerned the wrestler Mick McManus. The Achilles’ Heel of this Saturday afternoon villain was, so to speak, his ears; he didn’t like his opponents touching them. When he retired from the ring, McManus, known as “the Dulwich Destroyer”, became a connoisseur of antique porcelain. I recall thieves targeting his sought-after collection when I worked as a reporter for a news agency in Surrey.
McManus reminds me of the time when I interviewed fellow wrestler Shirley Crabtree (aka Big Daddy) for Red Rose Radio as he prepared for a bout in Preston. I asked him if wrestling was fixed; he looked me in the eye and said “No”. Coincidently, I was getting my hair cut the next day when my interview was broadcast on the radio playing in the background. My barber was incredulous; at least he avoided clipping my ear with his scissors as he reacted to Crabtree’s robust denial.
Crabtree turned out to be a decent bloke. I told him my elderly grandfather, Edward Brooks, was a big wrestling fan so he wrote a personal note that grandpa treasured for the rest of his life. It read: “To Eddie, Keep punching, from Big Daddy”.
In the movie Manchester By The Sea, Casey Affleck plays Lee Chandler, a man castrated by catastrophe. A family tragedy has left him seething with self-loathing, forcing him to flee his home town to work as a janitor in Boston where he snaps at tenants and gets involved in bar-room fights. Here’s a man with an atrophied heart in desperate need of hope. Redemption beckons when he’s named guardian to his 16-year-old nephew Patrick (Lucas Hedges) and he returns to Manchester By The Sea. It’s a New England coastal town of fishing boats and timbered buildings in the grip of snow and ice; it remains an emotional wasteland to Lee for reasons that soon become apparent. But will the seed of family love take root in this frozen ground?
The ensemble acting is impressive, as is director Kenneth Lonergan’s use of classical music. The Pifa from Handel’s Messiah was particularly consoling for this viewer at York City Screen yesterday; perhaps it was consoling to poor, battered Lee as well.
Does love conquer all? What is the cost of pursuing your dreams? These timeless questions are posed by La La Land. The screen musical, despite its feel-good song-and-dance numbers, has a melancholic motif as a love story unfolds. Sebastian (Ryan Gosling) is a pianist passionate about jazz whose ambition is to run his own jazz club; Mia (Emma Stone) is an aspiring actress/writer. Fate brings them together but then stuff, as they say, keeps getting in the way. I watched the acclaimed movie at York City Screen today; excellent entertainment.
Hacksaw Ridge tells the remarkable story of medic Desmond T. Doss. The conscientious objector refused to bear arms, yet vowed to do his duty in the combat zone by saving the wounded. He had to counter US Army red tape before getting his opportunity. His unit took part in ferocious fighting against the Japanese on Hacksaw Ridge during the Battle of Okinawa (1945) and Doss proved his courage by rescuing more than 75 soldiers. He was awarded the Medal of Honor by President Harry S Truman. Hacksaw Ridge, directed by Mel Gibson, is a brutal film with its graphic portrayal of combat; but there are moments of Christian-inspired tenderness. Doss was a man of faith who refused to compromise his beliefs, yet he did not flinch when confronted by extreme danger. I left Vue Cinema, York, feeling both emotionally drained and uplifted.