Previous investigators had mistakenly believed Hilton died in Wiltshire because of an incorrect report in a newspaper at the time. As to the sociological information that Mr Hilton provides, I have only one fault to find. He has evidently not been in the Casual Ward since the years just after the war, and he seems to have been taken in by the lie, widely published during the last few years, to the effect that casual paupers are now given a “warm meal” at midday. I could a tale unfold about those “warm meals”. Otherwise, all his facts are entirely accurate so far as I am able to judge, and his remarks on prison life, delivered with an extraordinary absence of malice, are some of the most interesting that I have read.

(DOC) ‘The ugly duckling that is a ‘literary’ curiosity

His piece for us is just as thrilling, covering a similar topic, but with the story turning out in a very different way. Len Doherty was a working-class author who was feted by the establishment before suddenly withdrawing from the literary scene. He later became a high profile journalist in Sheffield but his career was cut short by a chance encounter with unimaginable horror. Each striking detail in the account Hilton gives of his early life in Caliban Shrieks had left me keen to know what had happened to its author and where his story had gone. Details like the first chapters’ image of an eleven-year-old Hilton shuffling into the mill on “puny little legs” as part of the half-time system of child labour — equipped for the day’s graft with nothing more than a half-empty stomach and a bleary belief in the “myth of work being a recreation.” Another great article (‘ What football asks of young women ’), which I really enjoyed, not just because I was a women’s football chairman for 25 years, but also because it does capture the conflicts and clashes off the field, as well as on it. Bill His loss from literature was a tragedy, but unsurprising given what he was up against. Hilton could have been up there with Orwell, with D H Lawrence, had the literary world been more ready for him.”Hilton was not just the working-class answer to Orwell, but a talented and fiercely original artist in his own right,” said Professor Ben Clarke, associate professor of English at the University of North Carolina. Now celebrated as one of the best writers of the twentieth-century, Lawrence died in 1930, reviled. Murry was hated too — described in one 1934 biography as “the best-hated man of letters in the country.” He saw himself as a “moral prophet” engaged in a war of position against bourgeois stodge of the type that had driven Lawrence into exile abroad, since 1920. Doherty had always been out of place. His columns for The Star were not his first choice of written medium: he'd produced three excellent novels in the Fifties, despite the arduous demands of his then- day job — down the mines. He'd worked in pits since he was seventeen, and was always deeply proud of this first calling, especially as the pivot to journalism relegated him to an office of “fokkin' graduates.” While he respected and could get on with many of his colleagues at The Star , the middle-class trimmings of the average journalist grated on the rough and ready Len. This is the autobiography of an unemployed Lancashire working-man now aged thirty-five. In portraying his own life and his reflections upon it he has described a case which is more broadly typical than those who only know the unemployed as statistics will easily realise. Mr. Hilton, of course, is exceptional in that he has broken through the formidable barriers between experience and the recording of that experience on paper (and they are formidable indeed to those whose schooldays end at fourteen). But all over Great Britain, in the devastated industrial regions, there are men of the same brave and generous temper, who express it in the like rich and vigorous speech. Men who know that it is Man's mismanagement and not Nature's law that has thrust the role of Caliban upon them. They are disillusioned, but seldom cynical, industry cannot use them. But society needs them. And they know - better than most - what the real needs of Society are. They are worth listening to. Hilton was proud to be a plasterer. Part of the magic of Caliban Shrieks is the novel’s interrogation of the status games compelling so many into decades of drudgery, in the mills, trenches, factories. He never wanted to rise above his class, “the lower working-class type,” into mortgaged respectability: "Whenever I’m with the intellectuals I always feel they do not belong to my world,” he wrote, continuing, “...with all their theories and mentalised life they have had very little experience of living…they’ve been too sheltered, and too looked up to." If the price for becoming a professional writer was his position within the working-class — the aspect of his life he believed enabled him to write with such critical directness about what he saw — then he would choose plastering, and proudly so.

Caliban Shrieks by Jack Hilton | Goodreads

Weekend 🌤 A touch cooler on Saturday and Sunday but there will still be large amounts of sunshine. Temperature highs will still be very warm around 27°c. In fact, it was Orwell’s correspondence with Hilton that led to him writing The Road to Wigan Pier. Chippy Tuesday at Levenshulme veggie and vegan bistro The Gherkin gives you a free chip butty with every drink. Don’t miss out. Info here .

Z-Arts in Hulme has an interactive exhibition, called Fairytales. It’s a world of play and storytelling for little ones and their grownups. Dates throughout the week, but typically open from 10am. Book here . This witty and unusual book may be described as an autobiography without narrative. Mr Hilton lets us know, briefly and in passing, that he is a cotton operative who has been in and out of work for years past, that he served in France during the latter part of the war, and that he has also been on the road, been in prison, etc etc; but he wastes little time in explanations and none in description. In effect his book is a series of comments on life as it appears when one’s income is two pounds a week or less. Here, for instance, is Mr Hilton’s account of his own marriage: It seemed there was little hope – Hilton was married twice but had no children and his closest relative moved to Australia and had long since died.

He captured the imagination of Orwell and Auden — then he

As ever, we have a great list of things to do this week including a twilight art class, a visit to a ‘bee corner’ in Salford, and readings and music at Chetham’s Library about a radical reformer. Before his death, Hilton used to come round to Mary and Brian’s for tea several times a week, eating with them and their two boys. None of the family had known that he’d ever been a writer, nor did they ever hear much about his tumultuous early life.Hilton did eventually come home to Rochdale, and was able to find steady but varied work — until the Great Depression hit. One of millions forced onto the dole, he used the time to read and some of his mates did the same. This small band of semi-illiterate twenty-somethings came together to read about the world, about the crisis, about the official reasons for their hunger, about the cobbled-together solutions of the day’s top politician. Hilton read Marx, he read Shakespeare. They all did. It’s hard to imagine a private school which could have imparted a better knowledge of the classics than that which this bunch of working men in Rochdale gave themselves, while on the dole, in these bleak years. OT Creative Space in Old Trafford has a ‘Twilight Art Class’. It’s a 6-week art course, and no experience is needed. You’ll learn how to create art with charcoal, pastels, and watercolours. Starts 6.15pm. Info here . ACCESS: Accessible to registered readers by advanceappointment; some series are restricted pending full cataloguing. And the fallout from the local elections continues with news in The Star that local Labour councillors fear being purged after Labour HQ took control of selections for 10 key positions. Jobs members are being required to reply for include council leader, deputy leader, chief whip, group chair, secretary and treasurer, as well as committee chairmanships held by Labour members. Some councillors plan to protest by not applying or resigning, they say. Respected poet and academic Dr Ian Patterson, of Queens’ College, Cambridge, said: “Hilton was a terrific, provocative, phenomenally surprising writer – a true iconoclast.

Len Doherty wrote the best novel you’ve never heard of — in

How Green was the Psychedelic Revolution? Acid King Richard Kemp breaks his 45-year silence January 6, 2023 Half-time system, how many bow legs have you made? little puny legs shuffling along up hill at early morn, then bearing a doffing box plus a tired body. No wonder the comedians of the day made the Lancashire lad a skit; still it was a tragic one. What a price to pay for prestige; cotton the world and ruin the child! Over three hundred years of civilised evolution, and still the workhouse for the native, and the spike for the rover, the propertyless are still with us, they are multiplied over a hundred times…You get there about 5.30 and find others there like yourself, waiting aimlessly and fatigued, spread along the road, making a picture of untidiness to the eye of the aesthetic. Slowly a distant thin chained army is streaming in dribbles to the bottom of this road, the prelude, the wait, for the opening of the spike. From a childhood of poverty, yet joy and freedom, to the punishing grind of factory life and the idiocy of being sent blindly into war, Caliban Shrieks’ narrator takes readers on a lyrical tour of life as a young man born into the first days of the 20th century. Doherty’s literary past had slammed shut not long after the publication of his masterpiece third and final novel, The Good Lion . Finished in 1958, the novel opens in the late Forties. Its three-year narrative maps the same period in Len's own life, beginning with his arrival by train in Sheffield, all alone, a lad of seventeen.Patterson’s right: Caliban Shrieks is an acid bath for the kind of ideas and assumptions that, prior to its publication, had gone almost entirely unquestioned in literature, even within the progressive flanks of the modernist movement. After Hilton’s exit from writing it would still be years before any movements in the arts launched similar challenges. One of the main arguments for the value of Hilton’s writing today is the way it probes the development of his own ideas, his own relationship to the myths that hold up the class system. His writing models this process of critical self-examination to the reader, as if in invitation for us to join in. Benjamin Clarke is a professor of literature at the University of North Carolina. He tells me how this depth in Hilton went unseen — “[Hilton’s] writing is so distinctive, it’s so unusual, I would like to think people would see it today and understand that there are so many dimensions to working-class writing; it goes far beyond just simplistic realist accounts of what happens in factories or mines.”