Navigation

Goldsmiths students misbehavin’ – College rules and what happened to those who broke them.

These male seniors of 1908 were labelled ‘The Not Innocents.’ We have no information about why they earned this nickname. Image: Goldsmiths College archives.

Is there a spirit connected with being a Goldsmiths’ student that is somewhat distinctive, radical, questioning, and protesting?

Beyond any desire to ‘brand’ and make distinctive something about Goldsmiths, it is a question with no easy answer.

It might be foolish to generalise. In the photograph above these are men behaving badly for a brief moment: sticking their tongues out, pulling rude faces, making somewhat impolite gestures with their hands, and in one case smoking a cigarette and pipe at the same time.

But there are events and evidence of a tradition that could suggest something.

The Warden, Ross Chesterman (1953-74) recalled deciding to ring up the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, Sir Robert Mark, in the late 1960s when some of ‘our students occasionally got into mild trouble with the police, usually because of demonstrations.’

Mark had a fearsome reputation. The local police commander was certainly in fear of him: ‘When the Commissioner Mr Mark says jump, you don’t think about it or argue, you bloody well jump!’

Ross recalled:

I told him that most of my students were law-abiding and moreover interested in helping others less well-off than themselves. Our talking, conducted at a pleasant conversational level, went on for more than half an hour and I like to feel that I may have helped a little to liberalise the police force.

The senior men students of Goldsmiths’ College in 1908. They were known as the ‘the Dears!’ We have no idea why they earned this nickname; particularly when there are at least two pairs of the young men actually, or pretending to beat each other up while the photograph is being taken. Image: Goldsmiths College Archive.

One wonders whether one of Ross Chesterman’s predecessor Wardens, Tommy Raymont, had a similar chat with the then Commissioner when Goldsmiths’ students were arrested for being somewhat over-boisterous with the College’s donkey outside New Cross Gate station in 1926.

There had been a procession of one hundred Goldsmiths’ students ‘led by a young man in particularly wide Oxford bags and wearing a long black coat’ which surrounded police officers on traffic duty with the chant of ‘ring-a-ring-of-roses.’

This was accompanied by the loud and aggressive rattling of collection tins.

The College donkey played a major part in the procession straddled ‘by a weirdly dressed figure’ quite possibly one of the students.

Goldsmiths’ College rag students were the Millwall soccer supporters of the university rag world.

The local community lived in fear of impromptu false imprisonment on Lewisham Way or the New Cross Road during rag week.

The College’s first history, The Forge, recorded the origin of the donkey:

It was on the ostensible ground of economy that in May 1920, a donkey was purchased to replace a horse for the roller on the playing field.

The notoriety of the Goldsmiths’ rags continued until 1930.

How the College donkey of 1920 to 1930 may have looked. Much loved by the students and used as a mascot in raucous student ‘rag’ stunts to raise money for charity. Image: Tim Crook.

The third Warden, Arthur Edis Dean, decided enough was enough when an entire tram of passengers had been captured by a ring of students outside the College main building while the College song was being sung at morning assembly.

The incident was followed by the students bursting into the Great hall with their ill-gotten gains and the over-excited donkey during the National Anthem.

Warden Ross Chesterman’s philosophy was conveyed to the College’s freshers in the Great Hall in October 1966 with the exhortation:

Students should divide their time into three segments: one third should be spent working, one third should be spent sleeping, and one third spent enjoying yourself.

An examination of the College’s picture archives has plenty of evidence that one third enjoyment is something that has been taken to heart rather enthusiastically throughout the generations.

When the college had its own swimming pool, and before it was burnt down by Second World War Luftwaffe bombing, these members of the College Water Polo team certainly showed every sign of enjoying themselves.

But I do wonder if their group hug was a way of dealing with the damp cold of a Deptford winter.

They do look a bit desperate.

It can’t have been much fun walking barefoot on that stone grit scattered over the pathway.

The player in swimming costume top right appears to be grimacing rather than smiling, and I do wonder if he was thinking ‘when is this photographer going to press his flash gun so I can get back inside and warm myself against a radiator?’

Goldsmiths College Water Polo team 1911. Image: Goldsmiths College Archives.

When you next walk through the corridor entrance of the Richard Hoggart main building  just imagine the shenanigans of the College rugby team ‘messing about’ during this photo-shoot in 1910.

In this picture consider all the characters, attitudes, emotions, feelings and relationships.

The central player balancing the rugby ball on his friend’s head below, with his legs around his friend’s shoulders, and peering over the tip of his fingers so only his squinting eyes and forehead can be seen. And then there’s the player leaning forward over the top of his head and scrunching onto his hair as if he were holding onto a pair of goat’s horns!

Goldsmiths’ College rugby first XV of 1910. Image: Goldsmiths College Archives.

So far it’s been all men looking naughty and mischievous.

Well the women during this time had their own way of showing how smart and quick of wit they were.

The ‘Swanky Swotters’ of 1910 you would not want to be pitched against in an Edwardian University Challenge, or indeed a pub quiz game at the Rosemary Branch or Marquis of Granby.

Group of women students at Goldsmiths’ College in 1910 who called themselves the ‘Swanky Swotters.’ Image: Goldsmiths College Archives.

And as for dancing, you do get the impression that these Eurythmics of 1910 could jive and boogie off the dance floor any rapper or disco break-dancer of the late 20th and early 21st centuries.

Eurythmics dance class at Goldsmiths’s College circa 1910. Image: Goldsmiths College Archives.

By 1916-18, Eurythmics were still thriving and dealing with the darker times of the Great War when women students dominated the student cohort and were coming to terms with continual reports of student and staff casualties from the Front.

It is understood Goldsmiths’ was one of the first British colleges to pioneer this expressive movement art which became quite popular during the early part of the 20th century. It was primarily a performance art, and students were encouraged to develop a movement repertoire relating to the sounds and rhythms of speech, to the tones and rhythms of music, and to ‘soul experiences’, such as joy and sorrow.

Goldsmiths’ Eurythmics of 1916-18. Image: Goldsmiths College Archives. Note the fair amount of photo-bombing faces of people peering through the windows.

Rest assured Goldsmiths’ women students knew their steps and moves, and were ready for anything as this photograph of a physical education class from 1907 undoubtedly confirms.

Women students in physical education in the College gymnasium in 1907. Image: Goldsmiths College Archives.

It is not generally known that up until the early 1930s, Goldsmiths’ College students were issued with a student handbook in which they were instructed on rules of gender segregation and strict behavioural standards.

Student handbook for 1914-15. Image: Goldsmiths College Archives.

To begin with the first floor was out of bounds.  It was exclusively reserved for the staff, apart from the gymnasium gallery- what is now the part of the first floor of the refectory.

Men could only use the western corridor and women could only use the eastern corridor. Yes, they had separate entrances.

Men and women even dined at different times. Women had the first luncheon at 12.15, and the men with two sittings afterwards. For some reason the rulebook states categorically that ‘Women students may not absent themselves from dinner without permission.’

No such stricture applies to the men.

Men had priority over the main lower playing field for cricket and soccer. Women had the upper and smaller playing field. Each had different pavilions. The men’s was bigger. Neither could be seen using each other’s.

The men and women students had separate common rooms.  Men could smoke in their common room.

Nothing was said about whether women could smoke in theirs. So perhaps they did!

The enforcers were a cadre of awesome looking Goldsmiths’ students recruited as prefects.

Consider this delightful selection of rule enforcers for the academic year 1908-9.

Goldsmiths’ College prefects 1908-9. Image: Goldsmiths College Archives.

The young woman sitting far left in the front row has a very disapproving face. You can almost hear her saying: ‘Crook, not you again!’

The young man standing far right does not look like he has much tolerance for slackness and lack of discipline. Such an attitude appears to be held by his compatriot standing bold and upright on the other side holding his hands behind his back.

And the young woman sitting far right might be wearing an expression of grave disappointment in the human race.

There was more discrimination in the ‘in bed’ and ‘lights out’ rules.

Men had to be in their hostels by 10 p.m., but for some reason women had to be confined two hours earlier at 8 p.m.

Landladies and landlords of private lodgings were contractually obliged to report the comings and goings of Goldsmiths’ students according to this timetable. And no early morning jaunts before 6 a.m. though it seemed to be accepted that there did not appear to be any need for gender differentiation for the early morning stricture.

The view from the women’s Upper Playing Field- smaller than the men’s lower playing field which had the bigger pavilion (seen with the clock on the right) and soccer and cricket facilities. The position of the women’s playing field is now occupied by the Professor Stuart Hall Building and tennis courts.  Image: Goldsmiths College Archives.

It has to be said that where there are rules, there are rule-breakers and you do get the impression from this jaunty and riotous image of ‘Dan Leno’s troupe’ from 1909, that the students of yesteryear had their own ways of living and breathing the necessary freedoms to develop as young adults in the early part of the twentieth century, without being caught by the formidable prefects.

Goldsmiths’ College senior men students in 1909 not taking very seriously an occasion for official photography. Image: Goldsmiths’ College Archives.

Rules for Goldsmiths’ students from the Handbook 1914-15

Image: Goldsmiths College Archives.

When the College started in the autumn of 1905, the staff recorded their evaluation of the first students in very precise minutes.

The general view was not particularly optimistic. In November the science lecturers reported that their students were: ‘All quite ignorant.’

Miss Strudwick was concerned that: ‘they express themselves badly and are very inaccurate.’

In history the lecturer Miss Spalding despaired: ‘very unintelligent, unable to take proper notes, and very ignorant of present conditions.’

There was concern about the students’ lack of punctuality which was not helped by the College clocks showing different times.

It was suggested that lecturers ‘close doors occasionally and reckon all excluded students as late.’

On the subject of homework, the students were complaining of being over-worked.

The minutes state: ‘The Vice-Principals think there is overwork in the case of the more stupid students.’

Pages 6-7

Image: Goldsmiths College Archives.

There is not much evidence of punishment and sanctions being applied to Goldsmiths students in the early decades of the College’s existence.

It is possible that any documents relating to most disciplinary processes may well have been destroyed.

But just occasionally it is possible to identify traces of action being taken to terminate a student’s participation.

For example, Goldsmiths’ College Delegacy minutes for the University of London disclose that in 1923-4, ‘Two men students have been dismissed in consequences of grave misdemeanour since the opening of the session. One woman student returned in January to complete her interrupted course.’

In December 1924 there is a very sad record of the College reporting that a trainee teacher had to be dismissed after suffering ‘seizures’ while at the college.

The indication is that the student concerned was epileptic.

It transpired that when the college’s medical officer checked with his general practitioner, the student had concealed his condition when applying for a grant.

It was a reflection of the prejudiced values of the time that the minutes declare he: ‘…was not, therefore, a suitable person to be trained as a teacher.’

Those records that have survived ask many more questions than they answer about students whose unusual lifestyle did not necessarily conform to the norms of the time.

Certainly more research is going to be undertaken in respect of a named student whose dismissal was recorded in February 1922:

The Warden stated that an ex-service student of the training department had been under suspicion of leading an irregular mode of life for some time; that after this was proved to be the case, and after having obtained the sanction of the Board of Education, he had dismissed him, acting on behalf of the delegacy, on the ground that he was not a proper person to be enrolled as a certificated teacher.

In 2018 we want to know what was meant by ‘irregular mode of life’ in 1922, what was the nature of the ‘suspicion’ and whether it were possible to find out how the student had been judged as ‘not a proper person’ to be working as a teacher.

Pages 8-9

Image: Goldsmiths College Archives.

Caroline Graveson- A founding conscience of Goldsmiths’ College

Caroline C. Graveson, first Woman’s Vice Principal of Goldsmiths’ College, University of London on her appointment in 1905 with the women staff. Centre front row. The picture was taken at the entrance to the women’s corridor on the east side of the building

Caroline Graveson’s appointment as women’s Vice Principal of Goldsmiths’ College in 1905 received national newspaper exultation.

The Daily Telegraph and London Evening Standard said ‘it was one of the most valuable and important among those now open to women.’

Some of Caroline Graveson’s first women teacher training students in 1905-6.

She remained one of the most important women in British Higher Education during the Edwardian period, through the First World War and continuing through the 1920s and 30s until her retirement at the end of 1934.

A typically distracted pose of Caroline Graveson in group photographs

During the Great War, Goldsmiths became virtually an all-woman’s place with most men students and staff joining the armed forces. By 1916 the roll call of students was 268 women to 20 men.

It was a pioneering training college centre for educating teachers because it was the first to be co-educational and non-denominational. This meant it could admit students with non-Christian backgrounds such as Jews and Muslims, and it partnered with the prestigious Art School and thriving adult evening educational programme started by the Goldsmiths Company’s Technical and Recreative Institute in 1891. It was also run by the University of London- the most important and influential university in Great Britain outside Oxford and Cambridge.

Caroline was one of the first women members of the British Psychological Society- a reflection of the College’s commitment to researching and teaching educational psychology.

She spoke fluent German because she had been a student at German universities for 2 years between 1896-98.

She wrote several books during her career, and was one of the leading Quakers in the UK.

She was also an international traveller with trips to Algiers in 1913 and the USA in 1938.

Caroline could be described in modern terms as a quiet feminist radical who travelled the country attending speech days at state secondary schools to encourage girls to be ambitious. She wanted them to challenge the public school domination of the professions and elite institutions.

Photographs and written accounts reveal a person who was physically small, slightly built, who did not dress or live ostentatiously, but had a voice described as ‘superb’ with perfect elocution.

This enchanting voice ‘could, without the microphone, penetrate to the remotest corner of the Great Hall of Goldsmiths’ College.’

Hymn and libretto writing

Caroline wrote the words for the College hymn sung at the morning assemblies held in the Great Hall for over fifty years.

Original score for ‘The Smiths’ Hymn’ signed by the composer Leonard Rafter.

The lyric was inspired by a passage from Ecclesiasticus XXXIX 28 about the spiritual creativity of the blacksmith fashioning the future with hammer and anvil.

She was an expert on the Old and New Testaments writing three books before the Great War on ‘Lessons on the Kingdom of Israel’, ‘The United Monarchy of the Hebrews’, and ‘Lessons on the Kingdom of Judah.’

Her writing was romantic and hopeful about the teacher’s role in conjuring ‘countless forms of beauty’, perfecting the ‘golden enterprise’, before ‘dreaming eyes’, and seeking to ‘fashion children for a finer, nobler land.’

This was Goldsmiths’ College’s version of William Blake’s ‘Jerusalem’ where the ‘Smiths were working on’ in the midst of desperate urban deprivation and poverty to build their own ‘green and pleasant land.’

She also wrote the libretto for R.T. White’s composition ‘The Court of Old King Cole’ first published by Faith Press in 1914 and revised in 1952.

It was a kind of jaunty two act children’s nursery rhyme opera.

Caroline Graveson was a woman who acted, moved, decided and directed with quiet and concentrated dignity.

Caroline’s memories

This is evident in two powerful memories she offered in the college’s 1955 history titled ‘The Forge’:

One vivid recollection I have of the German Zeppelin flying low over our college field, of the women students in gay summer dresses running out to look at it, and of urgently shouting them back to shelter. We had not yet learnt to look up at the sky for danger.

One of Caroline’s students, Kathleen Porter, kept an evocative scrapbook of her time as a student at Goldsmiths during the First World War, and her remembrance of the cry ‘Air Raid, Take Cover’ is just one example of the caring and effective leadership the women’s Vice Principal set her students.

Illustration of Zeppelin raid in UK First World War recruitment poster.

Caroline Graveson was also a pioneer of progressive education that baulked at over-disciplinary and retributive regimes of punishment:

One day in 1905, sometime before the Opening, as I was working at my desk in the woman Vice-Principal’s room, an elderly naval man walked in unannounced. He looked surprised to find a female in possession, and apologised by saying that he only wanted to re-visit the scene of his many thrashings as a boy at the Naval School. He told me that in those days my room was the Headmaster’s room, and the cane kept in its corner cupboard. I had heard of the terribly harsh treatment of the young boys in the school, and felt like disinfecting the room.

Family background and education

Handwritten staff profile for Caroline Graveson.

Caroline Cassandra Graveson was born into a Quaker family on 16th June 1874, and was one of six children of Michael T Graveson and his wife Hanna. They ran a grocer’s shop in Liscard Village, Birkenhead near Liverpool.

It must have been a successful enterprise because the 1881 census shows Mr Graveson was able to employ an 18 year old apprentice grocer, George Cooper, who was living with them along with two servant girls aged 16 and 21.

Caroline and her three sisters all pursued professional teaching careers and remained unmarried.

It is problematical to apply contemporary understandings of gender and sexual orientation to individuals and social situations of more than 100 years ago.

It may be the case that these impressive women decided that their commitment to public service and teaching was far too important to sacrifice on the altar of romantic entanglements and marriage. In the late 19th and early 20th centuries women faced a discriminatory marriage bar in the teaching profession which meant they had to surrender their careers on marriage.

Caroline’s education and professional career paralleled the immense struggle for equality and the right to vote by the women’s suffragist and suffragette movements.

It would not have escaped the attention of women staff and students at Goldsmiths in June 1914 that the first cousins of the architect of the new Art School block, Sir Reginald Blomfield, had infiltrated Buckingham Palace to stage one of the most dramatic suffragette protests of the time.

Mary and Eleanor Blomfield, WSPU activist first cousins of Goldsmiths’ Art block architect Sir Reginald Blomfield.

The Daily Herald reported that instead of ‘passing the Royal Presence with the customary abject attitude’ Mary Blomfield ‘fell on her knees and cried out in a loud, shrill voice that penetrated the limits of the Throne Room “Your Majesty, Won’t you stop torturing the women?”‘

The orchestra was ordered to play louder as she was bundled away by royal attendants. The newspaper reported that the sisters had been able to gain entry to the event because they had previously been presented at court. They were described as ‘ardent suffragettes and students of Persian Philosophy.’

By 1939 Caroline Graveson was living in Malvern Worcestershire with her older sister, Bertha, who started out as a teacher and then became a hospital almoner, a pre-NHS forerunner of a hospital social worker, and her younger sister Hannah, a retired teacher and nurse. Her oldest sister Agnes had also been a teacher and was living in Hoylake, Cheshire, though was described as ‘incapacitated’ through ill-health, and died in 1943.

Caroline was educated at the famous Friends boarding School, Ackworth in Pontefract, Yorkshire, the Jersey College for Girls in St Helier, Jersey in the Channel Islands, and took a first class degree at University College, Liverpool between 1892-96 which in those years could only be validated by the University of London.

For the next two years she travelled and studied in Germany where she gained fluency in German while at the University of Jena.

She gained her first class Teacher’s Diploma and distinction Frobel certificate in theory and practice at Cambridge Training College between 1898-99.

She began her lecturing career at the University of North Wales in Bangor moving onto the University of Liverpool between April 1900 and September 1905.

Personality and character

In college archive photographs it has to be said Caroline does not indicate that she very much liked being photographed.

She is always pulling a face, looking in the distance, or away from the camera.

Caroline Graveson sitting second row fourth from the left in 1911.

A former student G.R. Lloyd who did his teacher training between 1923-25 said:

The sound of Miss Graveson’s beautiful voice reading a passage of great prose, or giving one of her erudite and finely constructed talks would also impress me immensely and send me away with the feeling that the day had indeed begun.

Handwritten minutes of Goldsmiths’ College staff meeting 28th February 1907.

But behind the diffident mannerism and mellifluous voice was an acute concentration on human character and a mischief she would often deploy to advance what she thought was right and fair.

This is evident in the minutes of a staff meeting held 28th February 1907 which was discussing how to deal with the ‘rustication’ of minor misbehaving students.

Most of the men appeared to be advocating draconian measures.

Caroline’s ally, the kind-hearted and soft-natured Vice-Principal for men, Tommy Raymont, complained that the proposal was ‘brutal.’

Caroline deftly explained that women students should have to be dealt with by women staff and vice versa.

She then discharged the heat from the discussion by suggesting a stop-gap step beginning with a meeting before the Vice-Principals before any kangaroo court style committee trial process.

The issue fizzled out and was not followed up in future meetings.

In July of that year she was invited to a prize giving ceremony at Leamington Spa Secondary School for Girls.

She noticed the array of male local government dignitaries soaking up the pride of being appreciated for  supporting state funded education for girls.

The first women students of Goldsmiths’ College lodging at one of its nearby hostels.

Caroline was there as a pioneering role model of achievement and assured them: ‘How better you are going to be than your grandmothers.’ She hinted that in order to succeed they would have to work harder then boys: ‘Avoid drifting along learning a little here and a little there. Make an effort to do over and above what is required.’

She finished her address by recommending that the school’s managers give all the girls and their teachers a day’s holiday as a reward for their great achievements.

The motion drew rapturous applause, particularly from the students, and became something of a fait accompli.

Kathleen Porter’s scrapbook from the time she was a student at Goldsmiths during the First World War. Her middle annotated photograph of ‘Some of the STAFF’ includes Caroline Graveson sitting front row fourth from right. Again she looks unassuming and hardly noticeable.

Another former student, L.R. Reeve remembered that she was ‘one of those exceptional women whose integrity, judgment, fairness, and dignity were suggested immediately one met her, and one always felt that any of her interpretations was likely to be the right one.’

In the memoir he added:

Then, too, she was fearless in her decisions. She wouldn’t, she couldn’t, choose an easy way out of a difficult situation. Her self-respect permitted no relaxation, and compromise was possible only when no principle was involved.

Some of Caroline Graveson’s first women students training to be teachers at Goldsmiths’ 1905-7 and holding tennis rackets and hockey sticks.

The leading Japanese psychiatrist, Kamiya Mieko, recalled meeting Caroline at the Friend’s House in London in 1939 and after being taken by her to a vegetarian restaurant she recalled:

How warm and pure was her love towards me. She rejoiced with me that a way had been opened for me to become a doctor. She added, however, that I would probably turn to psychiatry later.

Goldsmiths Old Students’ Association Yearbook for 1935 said:

…her gracious personality, her impelling influence and her complete devotion to the College will be an abiding memory to us all and particularly to the women students (nearly 5,000 of them) who have known her as their Vice-Principal.

Caroline Graveson was clearly a self-effacing individual who put her public service and concerns for others way before herself.

Sports day at Goldsmiths College 1905-6 before the building of the Blomfield art block that closed the open quadrangle looking out onto the back field.

She always lived simply. Despite being appointed with a salary of £540 a year in 1905, which is the equivalent of £60,250 at the time of writing, the 1911 census reveals that she was boarding at 33 Gordon Square in Bloomsbury.

She made no effort to demand any increase in her salary from 1908 to 1920.

And it is also significant she was paid about 17 per cent less than her male equivalent.

Some of the first women students at Goldsmiths’ College lodging at the Kent Hostel.

In 1922 the College delegacy minutes reveal that her doctor recommended she needed six months rest due to ill-health.

She was 48 years old and had endured all the stresses and grief of trying to save the college from closure with her colleague Tommy Raymont during the Great War.

Sports day on the back field in 1908 after the completion of the Blomfield building accommodating the Art School. Men and women in Edwardian dress.

She had written sorrowfully of how she had to deal with the trauma of the first Warden’s death at Gallipoli in 1915, and then the equally tragic death in action of the highly popular English lecturer Billy Young:

The First War dealt a heavy blow at the College. The loss of our Warden, of Mr Young and of many students deeply over-shadowed those left behind. I recall going down to the College (it must have been a Saturday afternoon) to break the news of the Warden’s death to the women students, who were having some sort of impromptu dancing in the Great Hall. I asked them all to be present at Monday morning’s Assembly and they silently left the college.

Caroline Graveson front row second from the left sitting beside Warden William Loring killed in 1915. English lecturer Billy Young, another treasured colleague, standing back row on the far right was killed while serving in France in 1917.

I remember how strangely empty and desolate the place felt when they had gone. I remember, too, making the journey into Buckinghamshire to consult with Mrs Loring about the Memorial Service, and how heavy with sorrow and foreboding seemed the late autumn countryside.

Times continued to be tough after the 1918 armistice.

Memories and herstory

When the college was preparing to celebrate its 50th Jubilee in 1955, an editorial committee discussing and deciding content for the college’s first history book decided that Caroline should be commissioned to write Part III ‘Daily Life In College.’

True to her democratic and inclusive spirit the section became something of a style of broadcast programme where she linked presentations of contributions from students and colleagues who had worked and lived through the half century of college life with her.

Because despite retiring at the end of 1934, she was still centrally active in the students’ association and her professional career continued with her election to the presidency of the Training College Association.

Her ‘links’ in ‘The Forge’ are lively and characterful descriptions of the atmosphere of those first years:

The building was entirely in the hands of workmen, and we moved from one corner to another of the Great Hall, as chips of plaster fell on us and our previous time-table then in the making. In those days one looked out from the windows of the passage behind the Gymnasium, across the Quad into the field.

The Great Hall adorned with decorations for the grand opening in September 1905.

Dear, unwieldy, spacious, dusty buildings! Even your oddities proved useful to us. The mezzanine corridors were ghostly wastes of space, but very convenient for lecturers to hurry through when the ground-floor passages were crowded, and opening into many small, low-ceilinged rooms, useful for staff studies. There were unexpected, tucked-away little rooms and for the first year or two, whenever more space was required, I went exploring with a pass-key and always found a cubby-hole that would serve.

Despite being ‘co-educational’ there was gender segregation by prefect patrol.

Women entered and left by their own entrance on the east side. Men on the opposite west side.

A scene from the first Goldsmiths’ College library situated on the upper floor of the main building. A woman student is concentrating reading a book while a man in plus fours looks somewhat furtively behind the racks of newspapers, periodicals and magazines.

There were separate common rooms. Integration would be achieved initially through teas, clubs and societies:

In those days women students came to College in gloves and were liable to faint. Had one of them appeared in the street in the short skirts of today (1955) , or – simply scandalous – stockingless and hatless, she would certainly have been followed as a laughing stock. We might be bent on making history, but meanwhile we had to prove we could live well in the present.

Teacher training consisted of a two year programme for students without a degree until 1962.

They called themselves ‘Aborigines’ and were among the first women students at Goldsmiths’ College. In this group photograph you can see the faces of other women students pressing against the window-panes on the left to watch the photographer at work or trying a version of ‘Edwardian photo-bombing!’

The first year was packed with English, French or Mathematics, History, Geography, Science in some form, Handwork or Needlework, Drawing and Physical Education:

They had lectures almost without pause from 9.45 a.m. to 5 p.m. Every student by order of the Board of Education had to learn 200 lines of poetry by heart. If I remember rightly, Wednesday afternoon was free for all; though later, owing to rivalry between men and women for the playing field, the men took Wednesday, and the women Thursday afternoons. It was touch and go whether the College should meet on Saturday morning also, and I was always grateful to our Jewish contingent for making this impossible.

Between the wars, Caroline recalled the college filling up with men to almost bursting point.

Men were coming back to ‘Civvystreet’ from the armed forces and those taking up teacher-training 1919-21 could not be found enough accommodation. So the College’s ground-floor teaching room number 14 becoming a temporary hostel:

As was to be expected, the men just released from Army discipline were in high spirits, and I remember an eruption of arm-linked men into the women’s corridors, and being accidentally knocked down. I heard, considerably later, and with some amusement, that Mr Raymont (now the Warden) had used the enormity of knocking down Vice-Principals as his text to an address to this army of invasion.

All Goldsmiths’ College students had to dine at lunch-time at long tables with the staff sitting at a top table under a huge coat of arms. There were separate sittings for male and female students. True to the patronymic values of the time, the men had their lunch first, though the situation changed by 1914 when they were outnumbered 20 to 1.

Caroline Graveson also recalled sitting furiously ‘doodling’ on the blotting paper in unspoken sympathy with young women being interviewed by all men local education authority committees:

Does any old student interviewed early in the first war recall the patriotic elderly gentleman who asked each candidate in turn what she would have done if she had been born a man; and the student who, after some moments’ consideration replied: ‘Well, I suppose I wouldn’t have been an Infant Teacher.’

Post retirement influence

The Warden of Goldsmiths’ College from 1953 to 1974, Ross Chesterman had close connections with Caroline Graveson and speculated that this may have smoothed his path during the early and rather difficult years of his appointment. In his 1998 book ‘Golden Sunrise’ he said:

She was a distinguished person and a very strong character with, I soon discovered, almost unlimited influence in College affairs. As I have said I had myself been for many years a member of the Society of Friends (a Quaker) and Caroline, like me, lived in Malvern where we both attended the same Meeting of Worship, and where she was an Elder of the Meeting. We were close friends.

Caroline Graveson in her senior years.

When the college held a reunion of ‘The Aborigines’ with a planned dinner for 1,000 alumni in the Great Hall in 1954, she stayed overnight with the Chestermans at their home in Eltham:

Her actual visit to our home can hardly be described as a total success because John, our son, was at a difficult stage and was not very pleasant with the somewhat strict Caroline.  No harm was done, though Caroline did say she thought John was rather spoilt.

While the domestic scene had been rather frosty, the professional connection in the College proved to be very promising:

…at College she was in her element, and did a lot to make the day a success. The fact that Caroline appeared to like me was naturally an enormous help in my relationships with the old students and the present staff. I am quite certain that this scuppered any plans by our local communist cell to make life difficult for me. From that day I no longer had to be afraid of a hostile attack from the rear, as poor old Price (the previous Warden) had had to put up with during the whole of his short stay at Goldsmiths’.

Ross Chesterman argued that Goldsmiths’ first students ‘were charming old people, even if some were reactionary in their educational views.’  He added:

I’m afraid that after a few years when I began building – extending and altering the College and bringing standards up to something acceptable – the old students were less forthcoming, and soon became bitterly opposed to any changes from the Goldsmiths’ they had known and loved all those years ago. Apparently they liked it looking tatty and depressing.

But if the older generation were set in their nostalgic and Edwardian ways, Caroline Graveson remained an advocate for social progress and equality.

In a speech to the Malvern National Council of Women in 1943 on ‘Education and Social Class Distinctions’ she advocated an expansion of the Secondary School system so that elementary education could be widely extended to state pupils until the ages of 16 to 18.  She complained that:

About 80 to 85 per cent of the better paid positions in this country are occupied by people from the Public Schools. England was the only country in the world where a public school education served as a means of entry to a club or society.

First history of Goldsmiths’ College published in 1955 to commemorate its first half century of existence.

She agreed with her fellow speaker Dame Elizabeth Cadbury that the war was acting as a great leveler, and it was going to make for a very great fellowship in peacetime.

Caroline Graveson passed away in Portsmouth in 1958 in her 84th year.

It would be 59 years before the College would recognize her contribution to its legacy by naming a building after her.

She signed off her collaborative section of the 1955 college history by quoting from her hymnic lyric.

The old-fashioned language and metaphor is, or course, somewhat lost on the present 21st century generation of students studying and researching at a ‘postmodern’ university:

The ‘Smith still works at his forge, and those of us who set him there, and those who so valiantly re-established him there (after the Second World War) unite in the same prayer that he may ‘set his mind to finish his work and watch to polish it perfectly.’

Goldsmiths College as it was in 1905-6 when Caroline Graveson took on the role of Woman’s Vice-Principal.

Written and researched by Professor Tim Crook.
All images strictly copyright of Goldsmiths, University of London. All rights reserved.

A greatly lamented Goldsmiths’ casualty of Passchendaele- William Thomas Young

The men staff and students of the Goldsmiths’ Training Department 1907. William Thomas Young is the lecturer sitting centre of the front row, 7th from left and right.

One day in the middle of July 1917 a telegram boy delivered the message to Mrs Hilda Young that her husband, Lieutenant William Thomas Young, had been killed in action.

It is impossible to imagine the shock and grief of such news; particularly when she was caring for their infant daughter, Diana, born just over a year before.

He had been blown up by shell fire on the 12th of July while serving with number 12 Heavy Battery, the Royal Garrison Artillery during the battle of Passchendaele.

It was also the first day the German Army had deployed mustard gas.

He was 36-years-old and had been hailed as one of the country’s most promising scholars of English Literature.

He had been lecturer in English at the University of London, Goldsmiths’ College since September 1906 and he was also Joint Editor of the prestigious Cambridge Anthologies.

Goldsmiths’ women students and staff 1905-7. Three of the men, including the Warden, William Loring and Vice Principal Thomas Raymont still managed to ‘inveigle’ themselves into the frame. You can see them standing at the back to the far left and right.

Three of his books, poetry during the age of Shakespeare, the poetry of Robert Browning, and a ‘Primer of English Literature’ had been published by Cambridge University Press and formed the core of the English syllabus in schools and colleges throughout the country.

Before he joined up on 28th November 1915, shortly after Goldsmiths’ Warden Captain William Loring had died from wounds inflicted by sniper fire at Gallipoli, he had written most of Poems of Keats: Endymion: The Volume of 1820; And Other Poems. 

This was rapidly completed by his mentor at Liverpool University, Professor Oliver Elton, and published posthumously in August 1917 only a matter of weeks after his death.

Lost to History

Researching the lives of the early pioneers of education at Goldsmiths shows how fleeting the notion of significance and memory is in human society.

Very few people have any idea of the contribution of W. T Young BA, MA to the field of English literature.

Yet he was a rising star, and when he died during the relentless battle of attrition that was Passchendaele, Professor Elton would write in the Liverpool Daily Post and Mercury on 25th July 1917:

W.T.Young when 26 years old.

I have seldom come across a student with a more direct passion for literature in itself as an art, as a reading for life, apart from all the scaffolding, the philological, and historical, that is apt to surround and obscure it. In these studies Young duly equipped himself, but for him they were never the root of the matter. The right spirit, accordingly, was evident in his teaching and writing; he was the straightest and most loyal of colleagues as Liverpool University and Goldsmiths’ can testify? and his going was a loss to our university.

Young produced some very good anthologies from Browning and the Elizabethans, and also a short hand-survey of English literature. His quality, perhaps, can best be judged by turning to the last two volumes of “The Cambridge History of English Literature.”  I had been reading his chapters on George Meredith, Samuel Butler (of “Erewhon”), and George Gissing, and on a number of other novelists, when news came of his death.

This is not the place or moment for a review; but it is as well that these pages, the fruit of years and so full of close, fresh thinking, of pointed expression, should be secure within the covers of the monumental “History” and should not go down the stream.

William T. Young’s portfolio of books are no longer in the College library apart from one copy of the 1910 edition of An Anthology of the poetry of the age of Shakespeare ‘in the reserve stack.

Perhaps the Goldsmiths’ copies of his other books had been incinerated in the fires of 1940 and 1971, or simply withdrawn when new academics on the block addressed more contemporary fashions of criticism.

But his students treasured their possession.

This copy of the anthology of Browning’s poems has the owner R.C.G Hunt’s personal library plate.

R.C.G. Hunt of Goldsmiths’ Training College in New Cross printed his own book plates including his home address at 14 Orbel Street, Battersea Park.

It is also carefully dedicated by William in fountain pen with the words ‘Remembrances from the Editor W.T.Young July 10 1912’ to his student.

Apart from his name being carved on the wooden memorial in the lobby of the Richard Hoggart main building, there is so little trace of how he shaped the critical and literary imagination of hundreds of Goldsmiths’ students and, indeed, the thousands of scholars and teachers throughout the English speaking world who used his texts.

The College’s first woman Vice Principal, Caroline Graveson, wrote in the 1955 College history, The Forge, ‘I have Mr Young’s most promising book on English Literature on my shelves. He was killed in the first war with a career before him in the world of letters.’

In the college archives, there is a hand-written personnel page setting out his birth and early education in Peterborough, where his father had been a traveling salesman in confectionery.

He had attended Doncaster Grammar school and gained his BA and MA at Liverpool University where he started his academic career as tutor and assistant lecturer during the period 1904-6.

Professor Elton had said ‘bad health had delayed his powers of production’ before his move to Goldsmiths in September 1906, one year after the College’s opening.

His annual salary on joining was £280 (about £23,000 in today’s money) rising in £10 increments to £325 in July 1915 when he left to join the army.

He had been a cadet in the University of London officer training corps, artillery section.

Goldsmiths’ students digging out the rifle range before the First World War where members of the College’s Officer Training Corps could improve their marksmanship.

His entry in the Goldsmiths’ College staff book ends abruptly with the words ‘Killed in France, July 1917.’

The college archives do not have any clearly identified photograph of Mr. Young.

Liverpool University does not have any images of him either.

There are many group staff photographs from the early years, and one from 1909 has a hand-written list below it, but the second and third lines have faded out in places.

Faded Goldsmiths staff photograph from 1909. William Thomas Young is identified front row seat second from left.

A process of elimination and digital electronic enhancement of the faded writing seem to indicate W. T. Young is the male lecturer second from the left sitting in chairs on the front row.

William was short-sighted and wrote in his army documents that he wore glasses.

In other staff line-ups perhaps vanity led him to take off his spectacles and mortar board.

In 1907 William Thomas Young standing second from left, right of his friend Harry Curzon who was head of maths. Woman Vice Principal Caroline Graveson is seated below him, along with the Warden, William Loring, and Vice Principal for men, Thomas Raymont, second and first from right respectively.

Public archives reveal that at the time of the 1911 census William was living at 15 Bloomsbury Mansions in Hart Street WC1 and was hosting a visit of his friend William Loryton Hicks, an assistant secretary at Cambridge University Press.

Hart Street is now Bloomsbury Way and the site is occupied by the headquarters of BUPA.

At the time William was courting 27-year-old Hilda Black, the daughter of the former secretary to the Viceroy of India, Lord Curzon.

She and her family were boarding at 60 to 62 Queensborough Terrace in Paddington and it was in the Paddington district where William and Hilda married towards the end of 1911.

The protesting culture of Goldsmiths’ students as early as 1910-12 during W.T. Young’s time as lecturer. The students are taking part in a ‘Dinner Strike,’ after complaints about the College catering. 

Their daughter, Diana Joan, was born 25th April 1916 and her birth was registered in Woolwich.

After her father’s death it would appear she and her mother moved to Southport to live with William’s parents.

William’s War Office file contains a letter of administration whereby his estate of £463, 19 shillings and 11 old pence was held in trust until she was 21-years-old.

William’s surviving First World War officer file also includes a note from his father Thomas, now an Alderman on Southport Council, insisting that the memorial plaque sent to the families of people who died in the Great War, bore his proper rank of first Lieutenant.

William’s grave is tended by the Commonwealth War Grave’s Commission in the Belgian cemetery of Brandhoek and bears the inscription: ‘He gave himself, his all, for freedom’s cause, greatly beloved.’

Passchendaele – a life and morale sapping series of battles in 1917

Photograph Q5723 Imperial War Museums (collection no. 1900-13) THE THIRD BATTLE OF YPRES The Battle of Pilckem Ridge: A British 18 pounder field gun battery taking up new positions close to a communication trench near Boesinghe, 31 July 1917.

Lieutenant William T. Young was commissioned in the Northumbrian North Riding Royal Garrison Artillery and it would seem he would have witnessed or taken part in the Battle of Messines Ridge.

This was a prelude to the Third Battle of Ypres and lasted between 7th and 14th June 1917.

The British final objective was the capture of the ports at Ostend and Zeebrugge from which German U-boat submarines were trying to sink Allied shipping.

The British generals hoped to capture the German positions at Messines by surprise through detonating massive mines set in underground tunnels.

19 of the mines exploded in the early morning of 7th June with horrific casualties in the German lines.

Smashed up German trench on Messines Ridge with dead.’ Photographs from the Haig “Official Photographs” series, National Library Scotland. Licensed under CC BY 4.0

William Young and the men in his ’12 Heavy Battery’ would have heard and felt the explosions viscerally.

The explosions were so loud it was said they could be heard in London.

Lieutenant Young in the Royal Garrison Artillery operated much larger pieces of gunnery than the Royal Field Artillery.

These would include six inch and nine inch bore Howitzers, and 60 Pounder heavy field guns which often had to be pulled by motor tractors and on railway tracks.

William Young’s officer file indicates he died from shell fire on 12th July.

It was in the Ypres salient in 1915 that the German Army had first introduced the evils of chemical warfare to the Western Front.

They started with shells releasing grey-green chlorine gas that blinded allied soldiers and caused many to drown in their  own phlegm.

On the 12th of July the Germans experimented with a new yellow mustard gas for the first time.

The French troops called it ‘yperiet.’

It was heavier than air and collected at the foot of trenches.

It would cause the skin of victims to blister, make their eyes very sore, and cause vomiting, internal and external bleeding.

It was insidious in the way it slowly stripped the mucous membrane from the bronchial tubes leading to an extremely painful death lasting four to five weeks.

It is possible William’s unit was shelled as a result of German planes, air balloons, or forward spotters correctly identifying and predicting their coordinates.

He died more than two weeks before the beginning of the Third Battle of Ypres on 31 July 1917.

Legacy and loss

William Young was not the only man of letters in the Royal Garrison Artillery to be lost in the slaughter of First World War.

The journalist, essayist, novelist and poet, Edward Thomas, had been commissioned into the RGA as a second lieutenant and was killed in action soon after he arrived in France at Arras on Easter Monday, 9 April 1917.

The First World War Goldsmiths’ casualties included two members of the teaching staff (Captain William Loring and Lieutenant William T Young), one member of the office staff, 92 teacher training students, and eleven from the Evening and Art Departments.

Professor Elton reflected on the sacrifice that British Society was making when sending its crown jewels of artists, writers and academics into the throes of battle and death:

It is said the Germans save up and keep back from the front for the sake of the future, their brilliant young men. I do not know if this is true and the policy could be argued. Anyhow, it is not our way, and our way with all its tragedies, with its apparent wastefulness, rests on the conception that the claim for self-sacrifice is nothing less than universal, and that the gap which may follow in the intellectual life and production of the country is self-repaid and is necessary. High now and austere is the cairn rising over the younger scholars and writers, like Dixon Scott and Brooke and Sorley and Young, who have perished willingly – instead of being saved up – for the sake of the future – and whose voices we seem to hear saying:-

But if the old world with all the old iron rent

Laugh and give thanks, shall we be not content?

Nay, we shall rather live, we shall not die.

Life being so little and death so good to give.

William Young’s study of Robert Browning includes the poem ‘Prospice’ and is marked with the lines:

Fear death ? – to feel the fog in my throat,

         The mist in my face,

When the snows begin, and the blasts denote

        I am nearing the place,

The power of the night, the press of the storm,

       The post of the foe;

Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form,

       Yet the strong man must go…

William Young analyses the poem from Dramatis Personae published in 1864 and observes ‘it is a poem of fearless self-assertion uttered under pressure of the thought of Death. Shrinking and cowardice are condemned through the two-fold inspiration of the belief in immortality, and the hope of human love to be recovered.’

One wonders if the young father now in uniform in Flanders derived any comfort from this poem he had taught to his students at Goldsmiths when faced with the ‘power of the night’ of Passchendaele’s violence and destruction.

This is certainly the quality of criticism that marked him out as such an inspirational lecturer and literary academic.

 

Knitted poppies on a wall of Walsham-le-Willows church, Suffolk for Remembrance Day 2017. Image: Tim Crook.

The legacy of his daughter Diana (1916-2009)

William Young’s literary talents were inherited by his daughter, Diana, who was able to go to Cheltenham Ladies College as a result of a grant from the Officers’ Families Fund.

She began writing fiction from the age of 16 ‘sitting in an ABC café in the Harrow Road, London’ according to her obituarist, the award-winning BBC radio feature documentarist Piers Plowright. 

Piers also contributed to ‘In memoriam – Diana Raymond’ published in her church’s Parish magazine shortly after her funeral in St John-at-Hampstead church in 2009.

Diana was encouraged in her writing by her enormously successful cousin on her mother’s side, the novelist Pamela Frankau.

Her first novel was rejected by publishers but Pamela urged her never to give up and her second novel, The Door Stood Open, was published when she was only nineteen.

Later in life Diana was commissioned to write a biography of Pamela.

The project stalled when Pamela’s profile waned, but all her papers on the project have been donated to Southampton University’s Special Collections.

Diana published novels under her maiden name before marrying the influential novelist Ernest Raymond in 1940. 

By the time of her death in 2009 she had completed 24 novels described by Plowright as ‘infused with wit and metaphysics.’

It is likely that the sense of loss caused by her father’s death is an autobiographical theme running through Lily’s Daughter, first published in 1988 and reissued as an ebook by Corazon books in 2014.

Her husband Ernest helped trace her father’s grave in the Brandhoek cemetery so she could visit his final resting place for the first time.

Frontispiece to the posthumously published volume of Keats’ poems edited by W.T. Young before his death by artillery bombardment in 1917.

Her father’s posthumous work on Keats coincided with her own love for the poet.

 

She was inspired to write the play ‘John Keats Lived Here’ to mark the bicentenary of his birth which was performed by the Hampstead Players in 1995 with a one night performance in the West End.

When re-reading her father’s introduction to his Keats’ anthology she said: ‘the echoes there of my own love for Keats are comforting, like a hand held out across time.’

Research on Diana Joan Raymond by Mary Davies, Head of Alumni Relations and Regular Giving.

Pizzicato on the double bass, Spike Milligan and Goldsmiths

Advanced Music Class Goldsmiths College 1929-31. This animated and lively group photo features two mischievous double bass players at either end – the instrument that Spike Milligan took with him on the tram to his evening orchestral music class in the middle 1930s. Image: Goldsmiths, University of London.

Spike Milligan (1918-2002) is credited with revolutionising British comedy through his chaotic, surrealist, and subversive imagination.

He created the seminal radio comedy The Goon Show (1951-60), and wrote more than 50 books including six on his Second World War experiences.

To say he was larger and crazier than life itself would be an understatement.

And he was also a student of Goldsmiths College.

Spike Milligan was well-known for his zany and irreverent though affectionate memoirs of his time in the Royal Artillery in World War Two.

He attended a one term music orchestration course in the middle 1930s at the college’s evening department of Adult Education.

It seems this experience represented an important part of what he saw as his development as a musician and composer.

It is emphasised by Ned Sherrin who wrote his entry (2006) for the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography:

While working as an assistant storeman at Keith Prowse in Bond Street, Terence Milligan bluffed his way into a part-time evening course in orchestral practice at Goldsmiths’ College, Lewisham, and subsequently joined a local band, Tommy Brettel’s New Ritz Revels, playing drums, guitar, and trumpet, and occasionally providing vocals.

And it is also variously mentioned by his three biographers Pauline Scudamore, Dominic Beehan and Humphrey Carpenter.

John Cleese recognised his influence on Monty Python’s Flying Circus when he said: ‘Milligan is the great god of us all.’

This television comedy sketch of a tramp picking up his baguette in a café only to find that it produces a clarinet solo by Gershwin is a superb example of how Milligan’s surrealist imagination was also centred in sound and music.

Terence (Spike) Alan Milligan was actually brought up in India because his father Leo Alphonso Milligan was in the British Indian Army. Spike was born near Bombay in 1918.

For a while the Milligan family lived in Brigade House in Rangoon, Burma and remembered being visited by the famous author George Orwell when he was a police officer in his original identity of Eric Arthur Blair.

But in 1932 after the world-wide recession, cutbacks in military expenditure meant that Spike’s father was pensioned off at the age of 42.

The family, including his mother Florence and younger brother Desmond, left the splendour of colonial life with servants to face the hardships of unemployment and despair in a two room attic flat in Catford at 23 Riseldine Road, SE23.

Spike was fifteen years old, disaffected, and further disillusioned when he was turned down by the RAF.

He had a series of dead-end jobs including laundryman, and packer for a tobacco firm.

That is where he began to steal cigarettes to raise funds to buy his first trumpet.

It was the eloquent speech of mitigation by his father Leo at his trial that persuaded the magistrate to give him an absolute discharge on the grounds that his son’s genius as the world’s greatest future trumpet player deserved urgent consideration.

Spike liked to reminisce about his father’s blarney particularly when as a child he had woken him up in the middle of the night to confess that he had not shot any tigers.

When asked for an explanation Leo replied: ‘What would you prefer the boring truth or an exciting lie?’

Spike’s poem ‘Catford 1933’ captured the family’s fall from grace:

My father places his unemployment cards

                                      in his wallet –  there’s plenty of room for them.

In greaseproof paper my mother wraps my

                                      banana sandwiches.

It’s 5.40. Ten minutes to catch that

                                      last workman’s tram.

The tram from Catford to Lewisham Way and Goldsmiths’ College would be the way Spike struggled with his double bass to attend the evening course in orchestral practice.

Number 74 Tram from Catford to Lewisham and Blackfriars. Image: Lewisham Council Archives.

Humphrey Carpenter speculated that it is likely Spike had to deal with the conductors spinning the time-honoured joke that has irritated classical bass players since the instrument was invented:

How do you get it under your chin?

Answer: By keeping your big mouth shut.

Biographer Pauline Scudamore wrote: ‘He was not really of the standard required, but he bluffed his way into the class and it says much for both Goldsmiths’ insight and the immediacy of Milligan’s responses that he survived the course.’

When arriving for the first lesson he discovered that all the other string instrumentalists were rubbing resin into their bows; something Spike and his double bass lacked completely.

Biography by Pauline Scudamore first published in 1985 and 3rd edition in 2003.

He pretended that he had left his non-existent bow at home. The music teacher said he could play pizzicato little knowing that at the time that was the only way Spike could play it.

Scudamore says Goldsmiths taught him the rudiments of harmony and counterpoint, the discipline of formal music and sight-reading.

Milligan said:

Well, Goldsmiths was the nearest I ever had to a musical education. I suppose I wanted to show off a bit. To show that I didn’t only strum, and that I could play with a bow if I wanted to, and that I took music seriously.

The college was a thriving centre for music in all its dimensions.  It had its own music society known as the Clef Club.

These were the years when the Goldsmiths’s Choral Union and Goldsmiths’ Symphony Orchestra trained by Frederick Haggis were formed, and a String Orchestra conducted by Miss Kitty Kennedy became prominent in local music festivals.

Reginald Jevons was famous for taking group piano lessons with dummy keyboards when there were not enough pianos to go round.

In 1935 there were 300 musicians attending the Adult Evening Department – one third of the overall total of students.

An aerial view of Goldsmiths College at the time Spike Milligan attended his evening course. The college ‘back field’ had an athletics running track and the swimming pool inherited from the Goldsmiths Company’s Technical and Recreative Institute established in 1891. Image: Goldsmiths, University of London.

The biography of Spike Milligan by Humphrey Carpenter first published in 2003.

Jevons wrote optimistically in the Anvil, the Evening Students’ Association magazine:

Of the future surely there can be no mistake. We have to thank those whose foresight led us along this path of stimulating the love of good music, and in our own Department we rejoice to see the ideals being set before us, which gave opportunity for self-expression, and a sense of well-being which accompanies the rational expression of the faculties.

Such pompous classicism did not appeal to Spike Milligan.

He told another of his biographers, Dominic Beehan, he didn’t like Goldsmiths’ because it was ‘all classical music’ and at the time he only wanted to play jazz.

There is no doubt that having creative control and confidence over musical notation, arrangement and orchestration had an impact.

It all underpins the brilliance of such anarchic and in its own way, progressive and experimental musical pieces such as the Ying Tong Song first released by Decca in 1956.

Milligan says he wrote the Ying Tong Song in ten minutes during a journey on the London Underground.

The ‘I’m Walking Backwards for Christmas’ song was also written in 1956 and has remained another iconic sound track for what Dominic Beehan described as the Goons’ auditory surrealism.

Spike was not the only Milligan to attend Goldsmiths.

In 1948 his younger brother Desmond was eligible for a post World War Two education grant to study the three year Art Diploma course.

The entrance to Goldsmiths College as it would have been in the late 1920s and early 30s. Image: Goldsmiths, University of London.

In the early 1950s Desmond, and his father Leo and mother Florence emigrated to Australia while Spike teamed up with Michael Bentine, Harry Secombe and Peter Sellars to form the famous Goons and as has often been said, the rest was history.

Another Goldsmiths’ connection exists through one of his sons, James Turlough, whose mother, the artist Margaret Maughan also went to Goldsmiths’ College.

Spike Milligan’s headstone with the Irish Gaelic inscription ‘I told you I was ill’. Image: Domer48’fenian’ 

When Spike Milligan died in 2002 the intense media coverage indicated that a national figure of great cultural significance had passed away.

However, a dispute over his passport application in 1962 led to his adopting Irish citizenship.

And the line he wanted on his gravestone ‘I told you I was ill’ is inscribed in Irish Gaelic as Dúirt mé leat go raibh mé breoite.

Ned Sherrin said Spike Milligan ‘opened new doors of irreverence and absurdity in his mission to entertain.’

He described him as ‘a troubled, gifted man with a unique mind, an affinity for children, and a puzzled pity for humanity and the animal world.’

These are all qualities that could be said to perfectly qualify him for the honour of being one of the Goldsmiths’ alumni.

 

 

The Goldsmiths’ terms of one of Scotland’s most celebrated 20th century artists

Joan Eardley’s 1943 prize-winning self portrait at Glasgow School of Art – seen as the precursor to her powerful and enduring social portraiture of children in the Townhead area of Glasgow. Included for criticism and review.

The Times newspaper called Joan Eardley (1921-1963) one of Britain’s ‘pre-eminent artists of the 20th century.’

The Guardian says she is:

…the forgotten artist who captured Scotland’s life and soul, children from Glasgow’s slums, bleak seascapes, village fishermen at work … the vibrant visions of Joan Eardley are finding a new following.

In recent years Scotland has staged major exhibitions of her work in Glasgow and Edinburgh.

She is now the focus for the hugely popular exhibition ‘Joan Eardley: A Sense of Place’ at the National Galleries of Scotland in Edinburgh until 21st May.

Public demand is so great the National Galleries have extended opening times until 8 p.m. for the final weekend.

Exhibition ‘Joan Eardley: A Sense of Place’, Featuring Image: Children and Chalked Wall 2, 1963 Abbot Hall Art Gallery, Kendal © Estate of Joan Eardley. All Rights Reserved, DACS 2016

At the time of writing a new stage play, Joan Eardley: A Private View, is on national tour celebrating and exploring her life and contribution to the world of art.

Click through for links for booking touring performances. Worth ordering ahead as venues are selling out quickly.

The production by the Heroica Theatre Company has been written by Anna Carlisle, and is being directed and performed by some of the most respected figures in Scottish drama.

Joan’s critical reputation is largely based on her characterful and figuratively human portraiture of street children in Glasgow and for her evocative landscapes of the fishing village of Catterline and surroundings on the North-East coast of Scotland.

Sense of Place curator Patrick Elliott describes her Glasgow children paintings as ‘candid’, and her Catterline landscapes as full of ‘leaden skies and wild sea.’

What is less well known is that Joan was enrolled at Goldsmiths Art School during the autumn term 1938 and spring term 1939 – before moving to Glasgow School of Art where in 1943 she won the Sir James Guthrie Prize for portraiture for her remarkable self-portrait featured at the top of this article.

She came to south east London as a result of profound family tragedy.

In 1929, when she was only seven, her father, a veteran of the Great War and severely afflicted by the effects of a gas attack, took his own life when experiencing failure as a dairy farmer.

Her mother moved Joan and her younger sister back to the family home in Blackheath, London, to live with their grandmother and aunt.

They were able to afford to send Joan to a local private school and then a local art school.

She enrolled at Goldsmiths in the autumn of 1938 with the backdrop of the turbulent drama of Munich and the fear of war.

Her two terms at New Cross tend to be overshadowed in the biographical narratives by her undoubted achievements in Scotland.

Joan Eardley: A Private View is on a national tour beginning in Scotland during May and moving to Scarborough, Huddersfield, Halifax, London, Reading and Coventry in June.

Hitler’s ruthless takeover of Czechoslovakia in the spring of 1939 defied all the promises of ‘peace in our time’ and the impending storm of global war meant her time at Goldsmiths was cut short.

Joan’s style is largely attributed to being under the influence of Hugh Adam Crawford in Glasgow and the Scottish Colourists.

But when she was at Goldsmiths, the Art School was under the direction of the progressive and highly respected Clive Gardiner who had been appointed headmaster in 1929, the very year Joan moved to London.

As an artist, particularly in terms of the public realm, Clive Gardiner’s style is powerfully driven by bright and vibrant colour.

‘White City in Harringay Park’ is a striking poster design referencing cubism, modernism and rich in modern Art Deco colour from 1927 and is in a unique collection curated by the Transport Museum in London.

White City, Harringay Park, by Clive Gardiner, 1927 Published by Underground Electric Railways Company Ltd. Copyright: Transport for London. Included for criticism and review.

Clive Gardiner was also in great demand as a portraitist.

Does his self-portrait, held in the Goldsmiths Art Collection, have any coincidence with Joan Eardley’s famous award-winning self-portrait?

Clive Gardiner A Self-Portrait. The Goldsmiths Art Collection.

Graham Sutherland repeatedly credited Clive Gardiner for modernising Goldsmiths Art School, and being a huge source of inspiration for the students there during the 1920s and 30s.

He once said: ‘Everything worthwhile I learnt, I learnt from him.’

Clive was inspired by his love of Cezanne, Derain and Picasso, and his enthusiasm for the avant-garde breaking new ground in Europe.

He advised his students to respect commercial art and design as being the equal to fine art.

The London Transport museum collection of his poster art is distinguished by a style and engagement with colour similar to the Scottish colourist movement.

And at the same time Joan Eardley began her studies at Goldsmiths, Clive Gardiner was working on murals for the 1938 Glasgow Empire Exhibition.

The play Joan Eardley: A Private View is being performed at the London Omnibus, Clapham Common, on Monday 5th June and The Caledonian Club, London on Wednesday 7th June.

The book accompanying the exhibition Joan Eardley: A Sense of Place written by Patrick Elliott and Anne Galastro combines excellent criticism with biography.

Exhibition book ‘Joan Eardley A Sense of Place. Click on image for more information.

Other impressive critical books on Joan that are recommended for further reading and are beautifully illustrated include Joan Eardley by Fiona Pearson (2016) and Joan Eardley by Christopher Andreae (2013).

Joan Eardley was elected a full member of Royal Scottish Academy in 1963, the year of her untimely death from cancer.

It may well be the case that Joan’s time at Goldsmiths Art School in 1938-9 carried a greater influence on her development as an artist than has perhaps been realised.

Whether it did or not, the considerable recognition of her significance as an artist and the creative dramaturgy of the touring play about her life offers a delightful prospect for synergy in the new Goldsmiths Gallery being developed as a result of generous support from alumni.

Extract from BBC documentary programme on Joan Eardley’s beautiful depictions of the seaside village of Catterline.

The secret history of Goldsmiths’ Crimean War heroes

Officers of the 88th Regiment. Crimean War by Roger Fenton. Image: US Library of Congress, Public Domain.

Six young men educated in the corridors and rooms of the Richard Hoggart main building died a variety of horrible deaths between 1854 and 1855.

They were killed in the biggest clash of the superpowers of the Victorian Age.

This is the secret history of Goldsmiths’ Crimean War heroes.

They were students of the Royal Naval School, which occupied the neo-Wren style building designed by John Shaw Jr. between 1844 and 1889.

Sports Day on playing fields of Royal Naval School, New Cross. Image: Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News 4th August 1883

The story of the Royal Naval School is as chaotic and ‘finger-tips on the cliff-edge’ as that of the College.

At that time what we now know as the Great Hall was a large quadrangle open to the sky where the likes of cadet pupils, Edward Carrington, Edwin Richards, R.O. Lewis, Richard Morris, Sidney Smith Boxer, and James Murray did their parade ground drill.

The teaching rooms off the ground floor corridors are where they were taught mathematics, technical drawing, navigation and the classics.

And the corridors and ante-rooms on the first floors of the current main building are where they slept in hammocks sometimes looking out of the large windows at a clear night sky filled with the Milky Way.

Crimean War Tablet at New Cross Royal Naval School Chapel. Image: Illustrated London News 27th March 1858.

They had a magnificent carved marble memorial dedicated to their memory on the wall of what is now the George Wood theatre.

This had originally been built as the Royal Naval School’s chapel:

Sacred to the memory of the undermentioned officers, formerly pupils of the Royal Naval School, who fell while nobly serving their country in the Russian War … in remembrance of their gallant and meritorious services.

Each of the young men died in ways that symbolised the nature of the Crimean War and how it is remembered.

Great Britain became an ally of the French and what is now modern day Turkey to counter the military expansionism of Tsar Nicholas the First.

He wanted to replace the Ottoman Empire in the Balkans, and acquire the Crimean peninsula so as to guarantee access for the Russian fleet’s easy passage between the Black and Mediterranean seas.

This was the war which inaugurated the role of the foreign correspondent through the critical despatches of Times reporter William Howard Russell.

Times Crimean War correspondent William Howard Russell. Image: Roger Fenton, US Library of Congress, Public Domain.

It was the first British involved conflict with officially commissioned war photography.

It was very much the first modern media war as the laying of telegraph cables meant news could reach Britain in a matter of hours rather than days.

And the New Cross soldiers and sailors were in the thick of it.

Lieutenant Edward Carrington was killed on 6th June 1854 in a little known Royal Naval equivalent of the Charge of the Light Brigade.

This was on water opposite deadly gun batteries at Gamla Karleby – what is now the modern Finnish Baltic town of Kokkola, in the gulf of Bothnia.

He was killed as were  most of the men in his boat.

The Vice Admiral and Commander in Chief of the Baltic force, Charles Napier, publicly castigated Captain Glasse of HMS Vulture for:

…sending boats to attack a place so far distant from his ship without any apparent object, which has led to the melancholy catastrophe on this occasion.

This was the war that exposed the inadequacies of military medical supplies, care and treatment.

Florence Nightingale. Public Domain.

While Florence Nightingale was struggling in vain to save lives at the hospital in Scutari, tens of thousands of men died from cholera, dysentry and other diseases.

They included the former New Cross cadet Richard Morris who was Mate of HMS Wasp and died of cholera before Sebastopol on 24th November 1854.

The fate of Sidney Smith Boxer Esquire was particularly poignant.

He was assistant secretary to his uncle Rear Admiral Boxer who was being heavily criticised for the failures in the distribution of ordnance and supplies.

Sidney died from cholera at Balaclava on 1st June 1855.

His uncle, exhausted from the strains of his role and grief over the death of his young nephew, succumbed to cholera and died a week later.

Captain Edwin Richards of the 41st Regiment died from multiple bayonet and gunshot wounds at the head of his company in the Battle of Inkerman 5th November 1854. His grieving father in Ireland was told:

…he was surrounded by Russians. Refusing to yield himself a prisoner, he shot four of his opponents, and killed two with his sword – thus dying the noblest and glorious death a man could die, without pain; shot through the body and stabbed by several bayonet wounds, he suffered no pain as death must have been instantaneous.

The Master of HM Transport Resolute, R.O Lewis Esquire, was another Royal Naval School New Cross graduate.

Balaclava Harbour 1854. Image: Roger Fenton. US Library of Congress, Public Domain.

He drowned when a hurricane swept through Balaclava harbour on 14th November 1854 sinking and smashing transport ships.

Richard Nicklin, a civilian photographer, sent to take pictures of the conflict to build public support for the war, was also lost at sea, along with his assistants, photographs, and equipment.

Roger Fenton and his unit were sent to replace him and survived the journey, the weather, diseases, and all the dangers of the conflict.

The final New Cross Naval School victim was Lieutenant James Murray of the Royal Engineers.

He was mortally wounded while leading an assault on the Redan fortification on 18th June 1855.

Mary Seacole by William Simpson (1823-1899) Image: Public domain.

He could have been attended by the Jamaican born pioneer paramedic Mary Seacole who was seen going out into the battlefield to provide comfort and assistance to those struck down by artillery or musket fire.

The memorial tablet to these men was taken down when the chapel was deconsecrated following the Naval School’s move to Mottingham in 1889.

The building was converted into a lecture hall in 1891 and then a theatre in 1968.

The monument, designed by sculptor Edward James Physick, is now in the vestibule of Greenwich’s Royal Naval School Chapel, with no indication that it refers to the New Cross educated veterans.

More detail about this aspect of Goldsmiths’ history will be provided in the forthcoming book being researched and written by Professor Tim Crook. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Goldsmiths, Art and Winston Churchill

Winston_Churchill_statue,_Parliament_Square,_London_(cropped)

Parliament Square statue of Sir Winston Churchill by Goldsmiths College’s Head of Sculpture Ivor Roberts-Jones. Photo by Eluveitie – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0

It was the worst day of their lives.

That was the sense of emotional and professional disaster for Goldsmiths Art School alumni Graham and Kathleen Sutherland in 1954.

The Prime Minister Winston Churchill had sent round his official limousine with a letter furiously rejecting the portrait of him that Graham had been commissioned by Parliament to paint.

Winston had thundered:

…there will be an acute difference of opinion about this portrait…it will bring an element of controversy into a function that was intended to be a matter of agreement between the Members of the House of Commons where I have lived my life … the painting, however masterly in execution, is not suitable…

This was Parliament’s gift to celebrate the eightieth birthday of Britain’s war-time leader between 1940 and 1945.

Its unveiling a few days later in Westminster Hall would be another catastrophic humiliation for the Sutherlands; this time played out live on BBC television and reported in newsreel cinemas.

The irascible statesman, having been persuaded to avoid publicly rejecting the gift, used sarcasm to twist the knife into the portraitist he believed had made him look like a decrepit old man:

…the portrait [turning to look at it] is a remarkable example of modern art. [Haughty laughter as well as applause] It certainly combines force and candour. These are qualities which no active member of either House can do without or should fear to meet.

 

ChurchillinWestminsterHallrespondingtogiftPathe

Further Pathe footage of Winston Churchill’s Westminster Hall 80th birthday ceremony 1954. Click through to view.

The tragedy of this event has been the subject of a book and a high profile television documentary series written and presented by the historian Simon Schama and, more recently, an entire episode of the Netflix television drama series on Queen Elizabeth II, The Crown.

Graham and Kathleen met each other when they were art students at Goldsmiths College between 1921 and 1926.

BlomfieldblockatDusk

The Blomfield block built with funds provided by the Goldsmiths Company between 1905 and 1907 for the Art               School where Graham Sutherland and his future wife Kathleen Barry were students in the early 1920s.

Their encounter at Goldsmiths is one of many romantic and charming love stories in the history of the College.

At first they would simply gaze at each other in wonderment during life drawing classes unable to say a word.

In July 1921 the ‘chat-up’ ritual involved passing onto her a written invitation to the Diaghilev ballet.

It was not until the rendez-vous at Charing Cross station that they actually exchanged words for the first time.

Kathleen recalled:

I remember I was very surprised at the timbre of his voice, being so high and light, like the Duke of Windsor’s. It was all very agreeable, and he had to borrow half a crown to get his train home.

BlomfieldArtBlockrear

The third floor studios of the Blomfield Art School block where Graham and Kathleen studied etching and other crafts between 1921-6.

Graham Sutherland initially established his reputation as an engraver, sometimes earning £700 in sales in one year, but the international market collapsed with the 1929 Wall Street crash.

Goldsmiths’ Art School had begun in 1891 before it became part of the University of London in 1904-5.

The intention was that it should pursue the higher education of art, concentrating on painting, modelling and design and avoiding crafts ‘conducted along trade lines.’

One distinction of the school, according to a previous College historian A.E. Firth, is that for many years: ‘very few of its students took any examinations at all, or received any nationally recognised qualifications at the end of their courses.’

This was the case with Graham and Kathleen.

Pedestal Table in the Studio 1922 André Masson 1896-1987 Bequeathed by Elly Kahnweiler 1991 to form part of the gift of Gustav and Elly Kahnweiler, accessioned 1994 http://www.tate.org.uk/art/work/T06819

‘Pedestal Table in the Studio’ 1922 by André Masson 1896-1987 Bequeathed by Elly Kahnweiler 1991 to form part of the gift of Gustav and Elly Kahnweiler, accessioned 1994. Surrealism was not on the curriculum of Goldsmiths’ Art school between 1921-26.

During their time in New Cross, Graham recalled that if they sought inspiration from modernism or any pioneering ideas in contemporary art movements, they had to find that in the galleries and exhibitions of Central London and Paris:

While the teaching at the school was sound and was certainly practical, it was totally out of touch with the great European movements, then in full flower and moving to a climax. If Old Masters’ names were heard I do not remember much serious attempt being made to implant any real understanding of the significance of their work. Still less were we really taught to apply their example to our own work. I do not remember hearing a word about the Impressionists and on the subject of the Modern Movement there was profound silence.

It was in the 1930s that he developed as a painter mixing a continental modernist influence with the English romantic tradition.

His etching ‘Pastoral’ from 1930 was significantly referred to in the dialogue of the episode ‘The Assassins’ from the Netflix series ‘The Crown’.

The scriptwriter dramatised a sense of sympathy between Sutherland’s grieving over the death of his 2 month old son, John, in 1928, and Churchill’s profound sadness over the death of his 2 year old daughter Marigold in 1921.

It is suggested ‘Pastoral’ shares an undercurrent of personal despair with Churchill’s repeated attempts to paint the pond at his home in Chartwell.

Sutherland further developed his reputation as a home front War artist between 1939 and 1945.

He produced a haunting series of images of the impact of the blitz on domestic life that he titled ‘Devastation.’

Devastation, 1941: An East End Street 1941 Graham Sutherland OM 1903-1980 Presented by the War Artists Advisory Committee 1946 http://www.tate.org.uk/art/work/N05736

Devastation, 1941: An East End Street 1941 Graham Sutherland OM 1903-1980 Presented by the War Artists Advisory Committee 1946 http://www.tate.org.uk/art/work/N05736

Edward Lucie-Smith said that it was ‘Sutherland’s arresting image of the writer Somerset Maugham, painted in 1949, followed by the equally arresting full length [portrait] of Lord Beaverbrook, started in May, 1951, that made him the most sought after portrait painter of his time.’

Edward Sackville-West wrote the introduction of the Penguin Modern Painters’ volume on Graham Sutherland in 1944.

GrahamSutherlandPenguinBooksModernPainters

This placed him in the frame of leading contemporary artists and Sackville-West had no hesitation in comparing him with Henry Moore:

It is not only that, in excellence of technique and invention, they are two of the most significant artists of our time; they possess as well, the unmoved, receptive eyes which alone can reflect the tragic idyll of contemporary England.

Graham Sutherland was offered the Churchill commission because of the recommendation of the left-wing Labour MP Jennie Lee.

Somerset Maugham 1949 Graham Sutherland OM 1903-1980 Presented by Lady John Hope 1951 http://www.tate.org.uk/art/work/N06034

Somerset Maugham 1949 Graham Sutherland OM 1903-1980 Presented by Lady John Hope 1951 http://www.tate.org.uk/art/work/N06034

And this may have been the source for what became the schism in what initially developed as a warm friendship between Winston and Clementine and Graham and Kathleen.

‘Wow’, wrote Lady Churchill to her daughter in law, ‘He is really a most attractive man.’

Winston relished being painted by a fellow artist and enjoyed joshing him over his socialist allegiance.

Sutherland recalled the Prime Minister throwing rather expensive food into the goldfish pond:

I would say ‘But the ones at the back aren’t getting anything at all, you’re just throwing it in the front,’ And he said: ‘Well, that’s life, you see. We can’t all be communists, we can’t all be equal.

There was always underlying tension beneath the surface of polite acquaintance.

Winston was so taken with Kathleen’s beauty that he expressed his intention and wish to paint her portrait.

He did not know that Graham was telling Kathleen that he thought Churchill’s paintings ‘very nearly first-rate, but had a touch of vulgarity about them.’

Sutherland failed to appreciate how important it was that Churchill needed to be a more consultative participant in the creation of his own portrait.

He felt excluded and discomforted by Sutherland’s determination to paint what he saw rather than how Churchill wished to be represented.

He would demand ‘How are you going to paint me? As a cherub, or a bulldog?’

In the end Sutherland saw more of the bulldog and lion at bay – a role that Churchill’s longstanding doctor Lord Moran tried to warn him was simply one of his performances.

One irony is that Winston’s defiant lion and bulldog pose was often captured by photographic and electronic media, and its inclusion in a 1965 film obituary by Pathe bears a striking resemblance to Sutherland’s controversial portrait.

Churchill as 'defiant bulldog' in 1965 Pathe obituary.

Churchill as ‘defiant bulldog’ in ‘This Was A Man’ Tribute To Sir Winston Churchill (1965) Pathe. Click through to see the film.

When Churchill finally got to see the painting, it was too late. What he saw was:

Sitting on a lavatory … It makes me look half-witted, which I ain’t … Here sits an old man on his stool, pressing and pressing … I look like a down-and-out drunk who has been picked out of the gutter in the Strand.

The guffaws of laughter cued by Churchill’s quip about modern art at Westminster Hall struck Graham Sutherland very hard.

Sutherland'shumiliationcaughtbyBBCcamera

BBC live footage shows Graham Sutherland holding his hand to his face in shock and mortification.

At the same time, a freeze-frame of Churchill’s countenance from the Pathe newsreel report indicates mischief and cunning.

Churchill'smischievouslookPathe

Churchill’s revenge on Sutherland in public. Pathe newsreel film. Click through to view.

Admiration and dislike for the portrait divided along party lines.

Lord Hailsham was scathing:

I’d throw Mr Sutherland into the Thames. The portrait is a complete disgrace. It is bad-mannered.

Sutherland had to walk past official guests complaining that their beloved statesman had a dirty face and openly expressing their feelings that a terrible tribute had been paid to one of the country’s greatest men.

In another age Sutherland as the courtier artist who had outraged the King, would have found himself on the scaffold.

In the middle of the twentieth century such trial and retribution was more socio-psychological.

A storm was to rage in the pages of the national press and the Churchill family would decide that the painting, rather than its creator, should be consigned to a bonfire of retribution.

What was supposed to have been a gift to the nation that would hang at Westminster after Churchill’s death was crated up and destroyed on Clementine’s instructions within the year.

Winston and his loyal family were not in a position to appreciate that Graham Sutherland had created a beautiful expression of Churchillian indomitability, a symbol of an old country’s defiance of all the ravages of total war, and a presentation of the sturdy and independent humility of a democratic Parliamentarian in plain dress.

Like his series of paintings from the Blitz, this was the climax of the devastation of survival, and indeed, victory.

One of Sutherland’s biographers, Roger Berthoud concluded: ‘Graham had seriously underestimated his sitter’s sensitivity. As a portrait, his work was masterly; as a gift, it was a dismal failure.’

Graham Sutherland said it was vandalism, but Clementine had been determined to protect her husband’s feelings.

Simon Schama explained that Winston had not wanted a painted obituary.

He also said:

With the exception perhaps of the paintings of the Duke of Wellington by Goya and Thomas Lawrence, Sutherland accomplished the most powerful image of a Great Briton ever executed.

This national treasure now only exists as photographs and the sketches the artist made in its preparation.

There have been noble attempts to resurrect the painting.

Aster Crawshaw & Alistair Lexden have detailed the painstaking reproduction of Sutherland’s lost portrait by Albrecht von Leyden – a great admirer of both the original artist and subject.

Crawshaw and Lexden report that this courageous rebirth of Sutherland’s Portrait of Churchill was donated by von Leyden to the Carlton Club:

It was Albrecht’s hope that the portrait would be hung in the Club’s Churchill Room. A photograph, taken apparently soon after its arrival, shows the portrait on the wall of another room. It was then stored in the Club’s attic where it remains.

Many years later Lady Clementine Churchill would not be so hostile to another expression of a Goldsmiths artist’s imagination in the representation of her husband.

Blomfieldarchitecturalfeatures

Architectural detail of the Arts building, designed by Sir Reginald Blomfield, completed in 1907 and situated at the back of Goldsmiths College main building.

Ivor Roberts-Jones (1913-96) was both a student and lecturer at Goldsmiths and eventually became head of sculpture in the college’s Art School (1964-78).

In 1971 he was invited along with eight other sculptors to submit maquettes for a potential statue of Churchill to be erected in Parliament Square.

None were thought suitable. Roberts-Jones and one other artist were asked to submit again.

This time round Ivor made two models.

One was similar to his first submission with Winston Churchill in robes.

The other was awarded the commission.

This was a more sturdy and pugnacious figure similar to the famous war-time photograph of the Prime Minister in long coat standing among the ruins of the House of Commons in May 1941 digging his cane into the rubble.

It replicated the image of Winston with his left hand thrust into his pocket, jaw jutting outwards, grim-faced and with a posture of steely defiance.

Roberts-Jones had made his reputation with sculptures of the prominent figure of Augustus John in his home town of Fordingbridge, and the reflective looking head of Yehudi Menuhin.

London_068_Parliament_and_Churchill_(9185420889)

Ivor Roberts-Jones statue of Winston Churchill. Photo by David Holt from London, England – London 068 Parliament and Churchill, CC BY-SA 2.0

The Churchill statue, cast in bronze, cost £30,000, and met the full approval of Lady Clementine who enthusiastically unveiled it with the Queen in 1973 at its prominent position in Parliament Square facing Big Ben.

Unlike Sutherland’s infamous painting, this impressive public work of art by a Goldsmiths artist has survived.

However, it might be argued that rioting in Central London on May Day 2000 challenged the dignity of Churchill’s stature when its head was dressed with a green mohican of turf cut from the grass in the square.

The figure was also made to look as though blood was dripping from its mouth and graffiti was sprayed on the plinth.

A student from Cambridge, studying English and European literature, was jailed for 30 days.

He said he wanted to express a challenge to an icon of the British Establishment, but the Magistrate told him the statue symbolised to many people the war effort and the struggle against the Nazis.

Ten years later the statue plinth was subject to further defacement in student protests covered by the media.

These events are a reminder that public art will always be a matter of politics as well as culture.

At Goldsmiths art, politics, culture and society have frequently been an enduring combustion of controversy and protest.

And we are left with the poignant legend of the finest portrait of a British leader ever painted not surviving the conflagration.

By Professor Tim Crook, Goldsmiths historian

Sources

Anon, ‘Sculptor for Churchill’, London: Illustrated London News, page 12, 27th March 1971

Berthoud, Roger, Graham Sutherland: A Biography, London: faber & faber, 1982

Chesterman, Ross, Golden Sunrise: The Story of Goldsmiths’ College, 1953-1974, Durham: The Pentland Press, 1996

Crawshaw, Aster & Lexden, Alistair, ‘Homage to a Hero and a Masterpiece: The Destruction and Rebirth of Sutherland’s Portrait of Churchill’, London: The London Magazine, pages 25-42, June & July, 2016

Dymond, Dorothy ed., The Forge: The History of Goldsmiths’ College 1905-1955, London: Methuen & Co., 1955

Firth, A. E., Goldsmiths’ College: A Centenary Account, London: The Athlone Press, 1991

Lucie-Smith, Edward, ‘A Visionary At The Tate’, Illustrated London News, pages 64-5, 1st May 1982.

Sackville-West, Edward, Graham Sutherland, Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1944

Schama, Simon, The Face of Britain: The Nation through Its Portraits, London: Viking, 2015

The mystery of Goldsmiths ‘College Beggar’

postcardofgoldsmithswithbeggartoleftofentrance

Entrance to Goldsmiths College – a picture taken between 1910 and 1912. Three small boys are standing left, right and centre. To the left of the entry route into the college you can see the figure of a man sitting on a box and the outline of his broom leaning against the wall.

In the early part of Goldsmiths history a character known as ‘The College Beggar’ occupied a makeshift box to the left of the college’s entrance.

Fully equipped with a broom stick he kept the pavement and drive-way of the college clear of rubbish for many years.

He has no name. In the portrait he looks distracted. It is possible his right arm is missing as it does not appear to be present in his apparently empty jacket and coat sleeve.

thecollegebeggar1910-12

The ‘College Beggar’ outside the entrance of Goldsmiths College 1910-12.

He wears a big, shabby coat and bowler hat. He has a white, long, unkempt, and drooping moustache.

His boots or shoes are worn. His right eye is bright and focused on the camera, but his left eye is closed.

Perhaps he is a wounded and vagrant veteran from some Victorian colonial war.

Had he been a cadet in the Royal Naval School that inaugurated the building from 1844 and was grievously disabled in battle, losing an arm and an eye?

Ex-servicemen have always made up the ranks of the homeless in history.

Who was this elderly gentleman of the road who decided to make this position on Lewisham Way his home?

His presence and character had been so strong that somebody who worked in the college, and was ready to put together a photographic album of its staff, key interiors and locations, decided that he should be included.

That album was acquired by a former Director of Marketing, Recruitment and Communications, Vicky Annand, and donated to the College’s Special Collections and Archives.

‘The College Beggar’ lived in an age with no welfare apart from the spartan conditions of the Workhouse.

His choice was stark. Either he could submit himself to the mercy of the streets, and any money or food given by generous passersby, or he could surrender to the charity of the Parish.

The poor and destitute of this time had recourse to the Woolwich Road Workhouse and Vanbrugh Hill Infirmary from 1840.

From 1904, paupers could seek admittance to the newly built and opened Grove Park Workhouse run by the Greenwich Guardians.

Blocks for the male and female ‘aged’ were situated at the front of what from a distance might have resembled a country estate, but in reality operated with a rigid regime of restrictions.

This was where poverty was something to be punished rather than relieved.

I like to think ‘The College Beggar’ was a friend of everyone in the college – lecturers, students and support staff.

I imagine that the men and women working in the famous building designed by John Shaw Jr. went out of their way to show him compassion, giving him the dignity of ‘a job’, and making sure he would keep his body and soul together even though he had nowhere to live.

If you have any family diaries and archives that could shed light on the real identity of this man, feel free to email me at t.crook @ gold.ac.uk.

I imagine people did say ‘Good morning Norman’ or ‘Good night Raymond’ as their days of teaching and learning began and ended.

Because of the more formal mode of public address of the time they most probably said ‘Good day Mr Goodwood.’

I also think he was sustained and supported with meals from the college refectory kitchens.

But where did he go after sunset and the temperature dropped below zero?

Was it the local ‘dosshouse’ or ‘spike’ in Carrington Road, first opened in 1903?

The ‘College’ beggar may well have been a part of the local geography for some decades even before the college opened for business in 1905.

His outline and figure appear to be present in a postcard of the Goldsmiths Company’s Technical and Recreative Institute that occupied and developed the building between 1891 to 1904.

The 'College Beggar' with his broom does appear to be present in this postcard from 1904 with an image of the College when it was the Goldsmiths Company's Technical and Recreative Institute.

The ‘College Beggar’ sitting on his box does appear to be present in this postcard from 1904 with an image of the College when it was the Goldsmiths Company’s Technical and Recreative Institute.

An etching from circa 1880 mysteriously indicates an outline of the same kind of figure seated, against the wall with what may well be a broom stick by his side.

royalnavalcollegenewcross1880engravingbw

The Goldsmiths College main building in its previous incarnation of the Royal Naval School New Cross c 1880. A seated figure is evident in the same position as that of the ‘College Beggar’ in photographs taken around 1904 and between 1910-12.

The back of the postcard of the Goldsmiths Institute would appear to have been written by one of the first of Goldsmiths College’s students, or perhaps one of the first members of the teaching staff.

backof1904-5postcard

I suspect that the student or teacher is a young man. Note the afterword in the top left hand corner: ‘Send me a razor and brush.’

I also presume he was writing to his mother or wife, Mrs B. J Pearce, in Monmouthshire in Wales.

He has just started his studies, or teaching duties, as his card is dated from the beginning of the first academic year at the College – 8th October 1905.

It is a fascinating insight on the first impression that the building had on the College’s first students and staff travelling across the country to London:

This is a picture of G.C (Goldsmiths College). It is an old one – that is when it was Institute for South London. Those words have now been taken down and it has been renovated. There will be new ones issued shortly I suspect. It is an enormous building. Have you signed my salary sheet yet? What about Lena’s position? I was in the Wesleyan Chapel last night and heard the Creation.  Joe

Is it more likely Joe Pearce was writing to his wife?

The style of address seems more like that of a teacher than a student.

Would a student be asking a friend or family member about the signing of a salary sheet?

I intend to find out more about Joe Pearce for the next posting in the Goldsmiths History series.

If you are a descendant of Joe Pearce and know more about his life at Goldsmiths in the first year of its existence, do contact me.

The changing faces of Goldsmiths from 1840s to 1930s