Shelley’s Mask of Anarchy at the Manchester International Festival

Ahead of the fifth RSN on 30th October, I thought I’d re-post something I wrote for the Journal of Victorian Culture Online.

It was published on that site first, on 29 July 2013.

Jen Morgan


‘The Masque of Anarchy’ at the Manchester International Festival, 2013

‘The sun looked down through a sultry and motionless air’ (Samuel Bamford, Passages in the Life of a Radical, i (London: Simpkin, Marshall, and Co, 1844), p. 208.

Monday 16 August 1819 was a hot day, the weather contributing to the size of the crowd that assembled at St Peter’s Field to attend a political meeting that entered the annals of history under the name ‘Peterloo’. Nearly two hundred years later, around two thousand people a night (12–14 July 2013) braved a heat-wave to gather in the Albert Hall on the site of the Manchester Massacre. In one of the Manchester International Festival’s (MIF) highlights, Maxine Peake, directed by the Royal Exchange Theatre’s Artistic Director Sarah Frankcom, performed Percy Shelley’s Masque of Anarchy. As a rendition of the poem it was related directly to the concerns of my doctoral research, though it was beyond my period of the early to mid-nineteenth century. If Maxine had been a Chartist performing the poem I would certainly be writing about the performance in my thesis. So I wanted to write about the performance for another forum, and also because I think it deserves a more extended analysis than is possible in a newspaper review.

The tickets for the event sold quickly, at £12 each they matched the standard charge for the limited number of tickets for more expensive MIF events which were reserved for residents of Greater Manchester. Macbeth featuring Kenneth Branagh and Alex Kingston, for example, cost £65 but there were some tickets available at £12. Masque was pitched at and attended by local people, many of whom will have followed the routes into town from Ashton, Middleton, Oldham, etc. traced by attendees of the reform meeting in 1819. This aspect of the performance was not incidental, as the intention was to speak to present-day concerns on the site of the event, and I argue that the performance placed the relationship between performer and audience at its heart for a political purpose.

My Ph.D. research uncovers the specifics of Shelley’s presence in Chartist and Owenite socialist newspapers and journals. It has long been a critical commonplace that Shelley exerted a strong influence on these movements, but I thought it necessary to situate their use of his poetry in terms of the development of those movements. If Shelley gave Chartists ‘a better hope and a faith in the future’,[1] then the facts that Chartism went through periods of hope and despair and that the movement ended without gaining what it demanded — the People’s Charter — must surely have affected their relationship with Shelley. I wanted to see whether and in what ways poems like the Mask of Anarchy entered into the political rhetoric of Chartists as well as the poetry columns of their newspapers. One example I found was in a speech by Chartist leader Feargus O’Connor in which he stated that: ‘The only astonishment that now prevails is, that the lion of England has not arisen before from his slumber, and in his majesty shaken the dew from his mane’.[2] The rising of lions from slumber or the working class from political subordination, O’Connor suggested in 1839, was long overdue. Chartists also referred frequently to Peterloo, with one Northern Star article describing a semi-theatrical remembrance of the event on its site and on its anniversary: ‘It has been customary with the Radicals of Manchester to celebrate that important though memorable day, by holding a meeting on the spot where the dreadful tragedy was performed’.[3] The narrator, Edward Curran, was a veteran of Peterloo, and directed his audience’s attention to the scene of action and to its historical meaning:

In yonder window (pointing to a window opposite,) sat a number of magistrates, who read the Riot Act, and who afterwards rioted in the blood of an unoffending and starving people. (Hear, hear.) That scene had passed away; they were then subjected to a temporary defeat, but he hoped they had now sufficient courage never to allow either the sabres of the Yeomanry, or any other weapons drive them from that field again. (Loud cheers.)

Peterloo was to be, as it was so often described in Chartist discourse, the ‘never to be forgotten’ event, the wave of repression that followed was to be only ‘a temporary defeat’, and the only thing that could redeem the blood sacrifice of Mancunian reformers in 1819 was Chartists’ efforts in their own era to obtain political representation.

I thought of Curran’s speech when Maxine performed the poem, for it was a true performance rather than a recitation of a poem on a page. Mask’s dramatic possibilities, all those whispers, shouts, and murmurs, the ventriloquising of the ‘hired murderers’ (60) and the ‘Maniac maid’, were given shape and voice.[4] The poem’s sections were marked out in the way Steven E. Jones described it: ‘two major parts: the first part, twenty-one stanzas of the satiric masquerade, then, after a brief transition scene, the second part, fifty-five stanzas of exhortation’.[5] Masquerade, an aristocratic form of entertainment, was used formally by Shelley in order to invert conventional values: the forces of law and order were actually Anarchy, Murder was disguised as the politician Castlereagh. I thought I detected the use of RP tones in this section, with ‘blood’ rendered ‘blad’ rather than ‘blud’ as Maxine would normally say it, though this may be fanciful. If it was intentional to give the masquerade section an artificial gloss then it made the delivery of the poem’s last exhortative section all the more immediate.

I have always found it difficult to imagine the transition scene, in which change is wrought by the actions of the Maniac maid Hope prostrating herself before the horses of Anarchy. Its indeterminacy seems politically problematic — What, exactly, happens at this point? Who or what is the ‘shape arrayed in mail’? (110) Whose is the voice that speaks words of ‘joy and fear’ (138), ‘as if’ they had sprung from the heart of the ‘indignant Earth’? (139, my emphasis) Mask has been read variously as a call to arms, arguing for political violence in the face of state oppression, and also as advocating non-violent actions. MIF’s slogan is ‘Made for Manchester. Shared with the World’, and this could equally stand for Mask and its afterlife — it has inspired or been used by Ghandi, the students in Tiananmen Square, and Brecht during the Nazi period. My own view is that Shelley imagined, in his recommendations that the next crowd assembled in a Peterloo-like scenario ‘fold their arms’ when threatened, a virtuous circle in which repeated mass martyrdom encouraged more people to join the reform movement until their collective mass was ‘unvanquishable’ by sheer force of numbers. Even if that worked it would require a tremendous commitment to the sacrifice of yourself and your friends, something the Chartists in their frequent rhetorical references to Peterloo rejected. We might reflect here on the great changes in military hardware that does not pitch cavalry and artillery against people armed with guns and pikes, the chosen weaponry of the Chartists, but unmanned drones against unarmed civilians. It may seem incredible that a poem can be taken as having something serious to say about modes of political action, but it seems to me that Mask’s great virtue is not that it describes a particular course of action but that it poses ‘again — again — again’ (371), for successive generations, the problem of the necessity for political action. Not only that, in posing the problem it places decisions on the agenda: Should we act, or not? If we are attacked, what then?


Maxine’s version of the transition scene in the dramatic venue of the Albert Hall’s Methodist chapel gave to the haziness of the images offered by Shelley what I can only think of as bulk and the space to breathe. They were not translated into literal figures (that would have been a loss), but their imaginative possibilities were allowed to occupy the space of the chapel reaching up to its ornate ceiling. She gestured at the ‘clouds [growing] on the blast’ (106), watched the Shape’s ‘step as soft as wind’ passing ‘o’er the heads of men’ (118–19). We were helped to see the invisible, to imagine that which does not exist — this section functioned, as it was meant to, as a representation of political awakening if not a provocation of such an experience. The section had the emotional intensity and indistinct shapes of a sublime dream, offering a contrast that was felt like a shock when it was succeeded by Shelley’s definition of Freedom as the labourer having ‘bread’ (221) and a ‘neat and happy home’ (224).


As the performance moved to the final section of the poem, the ‘exhortation’ as described by Jones, Maxine looked very much like the best political speech maker of her generation. (In the Culture Show episode dedicated to the event, she described herself (in a reversal of the usual story of frustrated ambition) as an actor who wanted to be a politician.[6]) It begins with the lines ‘What is Freedom? Ye can tell/ That which slavery is, too well’ (156–57). Maxine posed the question to the audience directly as a real question, pausing after ‘Freedom’, forcing a moment of reflection. As she took a step towards the audience (I nearly wrote ‘crowd’), the poem turned into a direct address full of immediacy. Stress was laid on words that left us in no doubt of the intention to make the poem relevant to our own time: ‘Such starvation cannot be/ As in England now we see’ (228–29), and ‘They are dying whilst I speak’ (171). RP tones, if they were present in the opening stanzas, were now gone. Food banks were described in a Guardian article in March 2013 as an ‘austerity-era civil society growth industry in the UK’, and the Albert Hall was used as a venue for soup kitchens. All of this was present in the performance; the Chartists would have loved it.


(From ‘To the People’, a passage from Mask reprinted and given a new name in the Chartist publication The National: A Library for the People, pp. 124–26.)


[1] Bouthaina Shaaban, “Shelley in the Chartist Press.” Keats-Shelley Memorial Bulletin. 34 (1984), 41–60 (p. 47).

[2] ‘Feargus O’Connor, Esq. at Nottingham’, Northern Star, 6 July 1839, p. 6.

[3] ‘Great Demonstration in Commemoration of the Peterloo Massacre’, Northern Star, 18 August 1838, p. 8.

[4] Line references to Mask refer to the Longman edition. (The Poems of Shelley, ed. by Geoffrey Matthews and others, 4 vols (London : Longman, 1989–), iii: The Mask of Anarchy, ed. by Jack Donovan (2011), pp. 27–63.

[5] Steven E. Jones, ‘Shelley’s Satire of Succession and Brecht’s Anatomy of Regression: “The Mask of Anarchy” and Der anachronistische Zug oder Freiheit und Democracy’ in Shelley: Poet and Legislator of the World ed. by Betty T. Bennett and Stuart Curran (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1996). pp. 193–200 (p. 195).

[6] ‘Maxine Peake — Performance, Protest and Peterloo’, The Culture Show, BBC Two, 17 July 2013.

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‘What’s Left of Communism?’

A fascinating series of five half-hour World Service radio documentaries, made by Andrew Whitehead in 1992, exploring the Communist movement in the wake of the collapse of the Soviet Union is available to listen to on Andrew’s website.



Ethel Carnie Holdsworth: A Centenary Celebration

The Working Class Movement Library hosted an event on September 7th 2013 to celebrate the centenary of the publication of Ethel Carnie Holdsworth’s Miss Nobody. Holdsworth’s novel has recently been republished as part of a new series of her works by Kennedy and Boyd with an introduction by Belinda Webb.

Nicola Wilson of the University of Reading introduced the novel, describing the barriers faced by readers and students in engaging with work by working-class writers. As Wilson pointed out, many students graduating with English Literature degrees are likely to complete their studies without having read any work by working-class authors, and even less likely to have come across working-class women writers. This is, of couse, damaging, and contributes to a distorted image of the cultural lives of working people. The practical difficulties of changing this situation, however, are not inconsiderable. Many texts have been lost altogether, or otherwise exist only in specialist archives. (Chris Hopkins has produced a useful case study on teaching out-of-print novels that offers some ways through these problems for academics.) Then there is the fact that when these texts are republished they are often on the expensive side, which is discouraging for students and general readers. Cuts to public libraries restrict access further. Then there are a series of questions about literary value: a critical dismissal of the genres and modes – romance, thriller, melodrama – often employed by working-class writers leads to a tendency to regard their work as having an kind of ethnographic and sociological interest, but of little value to literary scholars, and still less to general readers. At the root of that is, among other attitudes, an assumption that working-class writers are basically uncreative in the forms they use, and unreflectively reproduce the conventions and codes of popular fictions, with their attendant connotations of shallowness, unreality, and so on.[1]

The republication of Carnie Holdsworth’s novels will, it is hoped, intervene in this conspiracy of factors that work to marginalise working-class writers. Born into a radical weaving family Oswaldtwistle in 1886, she wrote at least ten novels together with a startling volume of journalism, children’s stories and poetry, beginning to write while working in the mills in Great Harwood, Lancashire. Belinda Webb’s introduction the new edition of Miss Nobody identifies three literary traditions that feed into the novel: the ‘New Woman’ novel, the Chartist novel, and the romance. She combined elements of these forms with a language rooted in working-class experience to bring into the remit of the novel the lives of working women. The novel appeared in the year of Emily Wilding Davidson’s death at the Derby, and while Carnie Holdsworth seems to have had connections with the Pankhursts, her work insists on the distinctive nature of oppression faced by working-class women, an emphasis that was not typical of the middle-class dominated Suffragette movement.[2] A video of extracts of the novel read by the actor Keeley Forsyth gave attendees an sense of the humour and grit of Carnie Holdsworth’s writing.

This was followed by three short films by Nick Wilding, a film-maker who has worked to track down and show the 1922 film adaption of Carnie Holdsworth’s Helen of Four Gates, shot near Hebden Bridge. Nick showed a film tracing Carnie Holdsworth’s steps around Great Harwood and the surrounding moors that provided an atmospheric glimpse of the landscape in which she wrote. Nick also showed a film of Dorothy Sutcliffe, who herself worked in the mills in the area, reading Carnie Holdsworth’s poem ‘The Bookworm’. Nick concluded with a film shot in the Working Class Movement Library, in which Nick and Rae Street discussed the comparable lives of Ethel Carnie Holdsworth and Enid Stacey.

After a break to view to Library’s holdings of Ethel Carnie Holdsworth’s work, including a very rare copy of The Clear Light, the anti-fascist journal she established in the 1920s with her husband, Kathleen Bell of De Montfort University gave a keynote lecture. Bell argued that examining the reading and writing lives of working-class people helps us to think about what literature is for. Drawing on her research into working-class women writers from the eighteenth century onwards, she noted that it is common in their work to find an idea of literature as a kind of alternative wealth, the ‘treasure house of the intellect’. This is the central concern in Carnie Holdsworth’s ‘The Bookworm’, which imagines the reading experience, the entry into ‘the world of books’, as a way of ‘owning the world.’ This is often attended by anger at the way those with unfettered access to knowledge hoard and squander it. Economic and social conditions affect the reading and the writing experience for working-class people, and especially the lack of leisure time in which to read and write – Carnie Holdsworth described struggling to read two pages in six hours. Bell argued that this experience of time affected both the choice of reading matter and the writing practices of the working class. The need for concentration of effect and strength of plot were identified as primary concerns. Working-class writers were affected by the economics of publishing that meant other working people could not always afford to read their work, depriving them of an audience, but also by prevalent myths of artistic production, such as the romantic image of the struggling and starving artist.

The event was rounded off by a recital of two of Ethel’s poems, ‘Possession’ and ‘On the Road’, set to music by Ethel Smyth in 1913, by Emma Walton and Stuart Overington of the Royal Northern College of Music.

There is of course a long way to go before the reading and writing experiences of working people are treated as other than marginal and peripheral concerns. Discussing the politics of literary recovery, Raymond Williams pointed out that academic and critical attention alone was not enough: ‘Significant recovery begins when at least some of the novels are put into active circulation again, for the readers and the children and successors of the readers among whom and sometimes for whom they were written.’[3] Having Ethel Carnie Holdsworth’s novels in circulation once more, available for those who shared – or whose parents and grandparents and great-grandparents shared – the life she lived and wrote about is surely a major achievement in this struggle.

A few photos from the event:

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Elinor Taylor

[1] Critical discussions of this assumption can be found in (among others) Pamela Fox, Class Fictions: Shame and Resistance in the British Working Class Novel, 1890-1945 (Duke University Press, 1994); Barbara Foley, Radical Representations: Politics and Form in U.S. Proletarian Fiction, 1929–1941 (Duke University Press, 1993); Christopher Hilliard, To Exercise Our Talents: The Democratization of Writing in Britain (Harvard University Press, 2006).

[2] The complex relationship between the Suffragettes and the working class is discussed by Paula Bartley, in ‘Suffragettes, Class and Pit-Brow Women’.

[3] Raymond Williams, ‘Working-Class, Proletarian, Socialist: Problems in some Welsh Novels’, in Gustav Klaus, ed., The Socialist Novel in Britain (New York: St Martin’s Press, 1982), p.110.




Summary of RSN 4

The fourth meeting of RSN on 24 April 2013 featured talks by Nottingham Trent’s Cathy Clay and the University of Salford’s Elinor Taylor.

Elinor Taylor, a final year PhD student at the University of Salford (and RSN co-convenor) gave the first paper, entitled  ‘James Barke and the Popular Front: Communism, Scottish Nationalism, and the Spanish Civil War’.

Taylor’s paper drew on her doctoral research and discussed the relationship between the Scottish novelist James Barke and dynamics of communist politics in the 1930s. In particular, her paper sought to explore how Barke negotiated the ‘national turn’ in Communist politics introduced by the Comintern in the 1935. While for socialist writers like Edgell Rickword and Jack Lindsay the new popular front line opened a space in which to imagine a new Englishness, celebrating traditions of popular radicalism and resistance, the new line presented problems for leftist Scottish writers like Barke.

The discussion focused on two of Barke’s novels, Major Operation (1936) and The Land of the Leal (1939) to consider the differences in their relationships to Scottish history. These differences, Taylor argued, can be related to the outbreak of the war in Spain in 1936, just as Major Operation was about to be published. Overtly, The Land of the Leal seems the more conservative text, with its emphasis on a long history of struggle narrated through the formal paradigm of the family saga, as against the aggressively modern, experimental Major Operation.

Barke’s Major Operation is fiercely anti-nationalist: nationalism is a middle-class affectation figured as kitsch: he describes the ‘city folks’ with ‘their kilts and their bastard Gaelic’ drawing from their ‘peculiarly dull wit, a superficially attractive semi-Celtic tartan ragstore twilight’ (Major Operation, London: Collins, 1936, p.81). The novel does not imagine a national or nationalised solution to the crisis it depicts. Instead, the solution is obviously implied in the novel’s title: a massive and immediate intervention in the body politic: revolution. Taylor sketched the novel’s arguments to this end at the level of its form – the central plot of physical collapse and painful rehabilitation, and the regular figuration of Glasgow as an afflicted beast – and argued that were a sign of the novel’s ‘sustained dialogue’ with Lewis Grassic Gibbon’s novel Grey Granite (1935).

Taylor then drew on published letters and unpublished manuscripts held at the Mitchell Library to identify the way Barke’s thinking exhibits an interlocking of two issues: the national turn and the defence of the Spanish Republic. She described how Barke argued that it was against the traditions of Scotland to abandon the Republic at its time of need – a marked shift from his earlier line.

Finally Taylor turned to Barke’s 1939 epic of the Scottish working class, The Land of the Leal, which she described as ‘a history of Scotland that ends in Spain, but also a story of Spain that begins in Scotland’. She described the novel’s positioning of the war in Spain as the latest front in the working-class struggle that was both national and global. This in itself is quite a conventional proposition, and can be found elsewhere in the literature of the period. But what is most compelling in the novel is the way that the text suggests that the war in Spain is also a war for definition, for the meaning of class experience: the communist character Tom senses that:

‘Only now was his life having point and significance. But not only his own life. Now the life of his father and his mother might be fulfilled. They had toiled and laboured from the Galloway fields to the city itself – from one century into another. […] They had been exploited and victimised without ever understanding why and without being able to make any conscious effort to save themselves’. (The Land of the Leal, 1939; London: Collins, 1950, p.596.)

Taylor noted the rather strained, even hyperbolic feel to this passage, but also pointed out that through it Barke is attempting to resolve the contradiction between the national and the international. It maintains a kind of national emphasis: a connection to the land, and to the labouring of the land, in a particular place; and it’s crucially about family, about inheritance, while also accepting that those things cannot be fought for or won on home ground alone.

Cathy Clay’s talk — ‘Eleanor Farjeon’s “Weekly Crowd”: Work, Leisure and Socialist Politics in the Feminist Periodical Time and Tide’ — was exemplary in its handling of poetry in periodicals and the politics of print culture. As a poet Farjeon came into conflict with Time and Tide’s editorial policy on the subjects of socialism and war. For the periodical’s editors, the intersection of socialism and feminism in Farjeon’s poetry was a liability. Post 1922 there was an overt tension between feminism and socialism, which impacted on Farjeon’s position in the periodical. The poetry in her column ‘Weekly Crowd’ advocated pacifism, while its editorial line was that ‘war was the only way out’ of the dispute in Greece between 1919 and 1922. She was, however, extremely popular with readers, with one writing that her contributions were ‘worth the price of the whole paper’.

Another major flashpoint in the relationship between Farjeon and Time and Tide was the General Strike of 1926. The wealth of Lady Rhondda, Time and Tide’s owner, came from coal and the periodical was dependent on this wealth as it did not generate profit. Time and Tide was, unsurprisingly, unsympathetic to strikers and ‘Weekly Crowd’ did not appear in the periodical during the strike. Farjeon’s poems in which she expressed solidarity with the strikers were printed in this period, however, by the British Worker.

Clay’s analysis took into account the formal qualities of periodical culture and poetry. She argued that ‘Weekly Crowd’ functioned as a liminal space in Time and Tide with Farjeon’s poetry introducing a nineteenth-century oral aesthetic associated with radicals and the working class that was in tension with the editorial line. Changes in the periodical’s title banner, with the icon of Big Ben being reduced in size to make way for the depiction of a crowd on Westminster Bridge but later shifted back to prominence, reflected Time and Tide’s politics.

The Radical Studies Network will reconvene after the summer break with a seminar scheduled for October 23rd, when we will be hearing from three postgraduate researchers. Full details will be published soon.


‘Even the dead will not be safe …’

Chris Witter, who will be speaking at our next RSN seminar in October, recently contacted us with a Call for Papers for an event at Lancaster University entitled ‘Fragments of Time’. Taking its cue from Walter Benjamin’s ‘Theses on the Philosophy of History’, the conference promises to ask searching questions about memory, commemoration and the cultural production of the past.

Fragments of Time Conference CFP-

Facebook page here.


Call for Participation: Issues in the Digital Humanities

Call for Participation: Issues in the Digital Humanities: A Postgraduate and ECR Training Event

June 20th & 21st, Working Class Movement Library, Salford

This is a two-day, AHRC-funded skills training event for postgraduate researchers. Day One (June 20th) will deliver a bespoke training course, designed by the Digital Preservation Training Coalition. The course will introduce participants to key issues in designing and managing a project to digitise archive materials (books, manuscripts, and other documents). Issues covered will include selection of materials, selection of equipment, copyright, and project management. Materials from the Library’s collection will be used as case studies.

Day Two (June 21st) follows on from the first day’s training, with the hope that a better understanding of the way that digital resources are produced will help us to use them more effectively.

  • Keynotes by Dr Helen Rogers (LJMU) and Dr Jim Mussell (University of Birmingham). Helen will be speaking about the Archive of Working-Class Autobiography and the Writing Lives research project, and Jim will address the methodological issues arising from use of digital resources in research.
  • Four short position papers around 15-20 minutes long on any aspect of participants’ use of digital resources in humanities research.

We invite abstracts (up to 300 words) for these papers. Such papers could offer advice or models of best practice that speakers have developed in their own research. Alternatively they could discuss an ongoing problem that digital resources present for their research, inviting feedback on methods of tackling it.


  • If you would like to give a paper, please send us an abstract for consideration. If you would like to attend but do not intend to give a paper, please send us a short statement (up to 200 words) which indicates your use of digital resources in research. We would prefer for participants to attend both days.
  • The event is free, but places are very limited. In the event that applications exceed the number of places available, the organizers will assess applicants’ statements and offer places to those who demonstrate research interests relevant to the WCML’s holdings, experience in archive work, and/or engagement with issues in digitization.

Deadline for abstracts and applications: May 16th 2013. Email:

Summary of RSN 3

The third Radical Studies Network Seminar (13th February) took a slightly different form from our previous events; rather than two academic speakers the seminar heard papers from two postgraduate students and two practicing artists grouped around the common theme of education. These three interventions together made for a really stimulating exploration of the meaning of education within a range of cultural formations.

Our first speaker, David Wilkinson, a PhD candidate the University of Manchester whose research concerns leftist post-punk, gave a paper entitled ‘Prole Art Threat: The Fall, The Blue Orchids and the Politics of the Post-Punk Working Class Autodidact.’

At the heart of post-punk, David argued, is a political struggle to define freedom and pleasure. David examined this through a discussion of The Fall and the Blue Orchids, both of whom were negotiated post-punk at the start of Thatcherism, signed to Rough Trade and, David argued, both expressed the interaction of traditionally working-class and residual hippie structures of feeling – though both in different ways.

The Fall‘s ‘Fiery Jack‘ is aware of the problems a particular version of ‘pleasure’ takes in a working-class culture without clearly rejecting it; indeed the lyrics seem to disavow social responsibility  and politics altogether, moving towards and egalitarianism coincident with the philosophy of the New Right (‘And put down left-wing tirades/ And the musical trades’). The lyrics echo Smith’s frustration with the attempt by Rough Trade’s ‘socialist’ principles, which to Smith amounted to priggish left-wing interference in the artistic process (‘What the fuck has it got to do with you? Just fucking’ sell the fuckin’ record you fuckin’ hippy’ was his response). Smith’s caricature of Rough Trade’s management as naive and middle class, lazy and privileged, aligned with the neo-liberal stereotype of the ‘politically correct’ left.

In the work of the Blue Orchids, meanwhile, a complication of class stereotypes is in evidence. The influence of a residual working-class ideal of self-education. interacting with the residual influence of the hippie movement, crucial to their work.The Blue Orchids, by contrast, expressed what David described as ‘an alternative ethos of personal fulfilment.’ Formed by two former members of The Fall, Una Baines and Martin Bramah, the band’s influences included the Russian mystic G.I. Gurdjieff , the hippy movement and a faith in self-education, and mutual self-education, which combine to imbue their work with the quality of ‘a socialist ethics of flourishing.’ But the band were sceptical about the capacity of the state to deliver that type of fulfilling self-development, as exemplified in their ‘Bad Education‘.   The band’s self-educating approach – through which they could challenge material definitions of wealth – was aligned with an aesthetic that valued music for its own sake, as a source of freedom and pleasure, a feeling that made them more at home at Rough Trade than The Fall were. But paradoxically the comfort and the discomfort come from the same source: the Blue Orchids’s rejection of a commercial approach to art, on the one hand, and Mark E. Smith’s rejection of the meddling of what he saw as Rough Trade’s bourgeois socialists reflect both groups’ effort to defend the autonomy of their work.

Our next speaker was Matt Kavanagh, a second-year doctoral student at the University of Salford. Matt’s paper, ‘Class against Class and the Classroom: The CPGB, Teachers, and Education in Schools, 1929-33′, explored a question alluded to by David’s paper – the question of whether a radical education can take place within the education sysyem of the state. Matt’s paper contested a common assumption about the Communist Party of Great Britain’s attitude to education during its ‘Class against Class’ period, which is that the Party considered there to be no point in trying to reform the education system or develop any new pedagogical approaches during this era. Teachers played a prominent role in the CPGB since its inception: key members such as Ellen Wilkinson, Marjorie Brewer (later Pollitt), G.T.C Giles, Nan McMillan, and Ben Ainley were all schoolteachers.

Althogh this was a time when the cultural impetus in British Communist was in the direction of forming radical working-class organisations, such as the Workers Theatre Movement, rather than reforming existing institutions, Matt argued that there was an effort by Communist teachers to discuss and intervene in the established processes of education. Matt argued that the Communist-dominated Educational Workers League saw itself as concerned with the industrial politics of education – working conditions, salary cuts, etc. – rather than with questions of curricular content or pedagogy, but this was not its exclusive focus. Critics have tended to assert that these questions were not topics of discussion in British Communism at this time, but Matt’s paper disputed this; drawing especially on the Library’s holdings of The Educational Worker, journal of the Teachers’ Labour League/ Educational Workers League, he argued that discussion of content did take place. In particular, the question of how to oppose imperialist teaching was subject of much debate, activated particularly by opposition to the observance of ‘Empire Day’. Matt’s research suggests that the cultural and intellectual politics of this notorious period of British Communist history are more complex that is often supposed.

Finally, artists Ruth Beale and Amy Feneck spoke about their projects based on the Library’s holdings in a paper entitled ‘The Alternative School of Economics: Art Practice, Politics and Education’. Ruth and Amy described their interest in the way that histories are told and retold, and considered the role of artists in that process. Their exploration of self-education was stimulated by their explorations of the Library’s material, such as Eddie Frow‘s notebooks, and by their residency at Cove Park. Ruth and Amy described the parallel between the artist’s pursuit of their own path and the self-educator’s pursuit of knowledge, and described how these questions have becoming more prominent over the past decade, amounting to something of an ‘educational turn’ in art, and a renewed interest in such thinkers as William Morris, John Ruskin, and in Ivan Illich’s Deschooling Society.

Ruth and Amy participated in an exhibition at the Jerwood Space, London, called ‘Now I Gotta Reason‘, co-curated by Grizedale Arts and Marcus Coates, showcasing work by artists who place themselves firmly within communities. The work was expected to be useful, to work within the existing activities run by the gallery, and to be managed collectively.  One way Ruth and Amy responded to this challenge was a series of study groups on the subject of money, using books from the Library as start points. Other projects included a weekly skills swap inspired by Robert Owen’s notion of ‘equitable labour exchange’. Topics of discussion included the nature of money, and alternatives to the present system, but also drew attention to the fact that economics is not routinely taught in schools. During the question and answer session there was a definite feeling that this lack of economic education is real problem, and an issue that those interested in radical education should consider.

Elinor Taylor


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