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Waterland
Set in the bleak Fen Country of East Anglia, and spanning some 240 years in the lives of its haunted narrator and his ancestors, Waterland is a book that takes in eels and incest, ale-making and madness, the heartless sweep of history and a family romance as tormented as any in Greek tragedy.
BOOK
Review: MY HERO John Titchell RA
Last December I was at the opening of Fred Cuming's latest exhibition. \"Let's drink to Titch,\" I said. \"Yes, let's,\" said Fred. We were drinking to the memory of John Titchell, described by Kenneth Clark as \"the Seurat of Kent\". Fred had known him far longer than I, as a much-loved and gifted teacher, a fellow painter and lifelong friend, but like Fred, like so many who knew him, Titch enriched my life.
Newspaper Article
PICTURES WITH MEANING
The first time I heard of Eric Ravilious was from Titch, a painter, sadly dead now. Ravilious' name cropped up whenever we met -- here was a British artist who seemed to exist on...
Newspaper Article
Buster Crabb was murdered by MI5
On his return to civilian life, [Lionel 'Buster' Crabb] became engaged to a woman called Pat Rose. However, Pat broke it off and moved to France, where she married someone else. On the rebound, Crabb married Margaret Player, a divorcee, in March 1952 but the relationship dissolved a year later. Meanwhile Pat returned from France similarly disillusioned. At the time of Crabb's disappearance, their engagement was supposedly back on. Crabb struggled with civilian life. A solitary man, he was happy propping up a bar but ill at ease with more intimate relationships. Lost hero ... 'Buster' Crabb pictured while diving for Spanish treasure in Tobermory in 1950 Sea dogs of war... [Sydney Knowles], below, says 'Buster' Crabb would defect to Russia just so he could go diving. Left: Crabb (in suit) and Knowles working together in the early Fifties 19 April 1956 11pm: Buster Crabb and unknown diving partner set off to spy on Russian battleship Ordzhonikidze in Portsmouth Harbour 20 April 1956 Sometime in the early hours, Crabb is murdered by fellow diver. Both men disappear 9 June 1957 A headless and handless corpse is pulled out of Chichester Harbour 12 June 1957 Sydney Knowles under orders from MI5 identifies the corpse as Crabb
Newspaper Article
Books: I wish I'd written . . . Tim Binding on Pandaemonium
Humphrey Jennings, the author of Pandaemonium, is known principally for his work with the Crown Film Unit. From 1940-44 he made some of the most memorable films of the war years. But Jennings was also a painter and a poet and like Apollinaire believed that a poet must stand with his back to the future. Only by looking at the past could he see who he was and how he had come to be. Nations too. It was in this spirit that he perceived the purpose of his great, uncompleted work Pandaemonium, the title of which is taken from Paradise Lost, and which, using his own words, is an attempt to describe The Coming of the Machine as Seen by Contemporary Observers.
Newspaper Article
About men, about women Tim Binding recalls a day in spring when - as a young adult - he turned his back on his unloved father and so spurned a chance to escape from the deadly trap of isolation
As the figure drew closer, coat flapping, hands weaving in the air, I recognised him. This was my father, walking back from a morning of deep solitary drinking in the King's Arms, walking back to an empty house, with nothing in it except empty furniture, dark woodwork and the echoes of lost footsteps sounding in the hollow hall. My father had been fired some months back. lt was the usual thing. Drink. Drink at lunch time, drunk in the evening, drink hidden in sock drawers and brief cases, drink on his breath and in his overcoat pocket, drink swimming in his eyes, drink spilt over his thin and trembling legs. Now I am ashamed at what I did, for what I did to him, and for what it confirmed within myself. There is within all of us a protective core as immutable as steel and, though we may not be hostage to every insistent beat of its cold demanding heart, it hangs there nevertheless, hardened by the necessities of defence. I had long taught myself the need for isolation and the dangers of affection, but had I bent down and helped him, maybe I could have reached out and hauled myself out of that gleaming deadly trap. Who knows, I might have touched him too.
Newspaper Article
