The Thirties: An Intimate History of Britain. Juliet Gardiner

clubs used church halls or schoolrooms, which might only be available for a few hours a week, but in some cases disused premises were offered, perhaps a local church, shop, pub or empty factory, or in the case of Salford a fire and police station, and the unemployed spent time painting and equipping them as places in which they would want to spend time.

      Some of the clubs received help from their local authority, or Lord Mayor’s Fund, others from voluntary social service agencies under the umbrella of the NCSS, the Pilgrim Trust, the Society of Friends, the WEA, which also allowed the unemployed to attend its classes free of charge, or the National Unemployed Workers’ Movement (NUWM). Others were ‘adopted’ by local industrial or other concerns, though they tended to manage them undemocratically, with little input from the members, a situation that ‘seems to have been based on the theory that unemployed men were unfitted to take any responsibility for their own Clubs and that the Management Committee, by definition, knew what was good for the men better than the men knew it themselves’.

      There were five residential centres, including Hardwick Hall in County Durham, which opened in October 1934, and provided classes in upholstery and bookbinding as well as more usual crafts; The Beeches, Bournville, which was solely for women (courses there only lasted for two weeks rather than the usual six, since it was presumed that women could not afford to be away from home for any longer); and Coleg Harlech, an established adult education college which regarded itself as the Welsh equivalent of Ruskin College, Oxford. In October 1933 the Coleg started running residential courses for the unemployed offering a more academic curriculum rather than crafts and practical skills.

      The various organisations received small — if any — grants from the government, usually via the NCSS or the Scottish Council for Community Service. By March 1935 the Ministry of Labour had tipped in £80,000, while voluntary donations totalled more than £125,000. However, while Thomas Jones spoke of ‘trying to fob off the unemployed with a miserable grant of a few thousand pounds to Ellis’ show [Captain Lionel Ellis was chairman of the NCSS]’, the voluntary schemes appeared to value their independence from government funding — and control.

      Despite the stringency of its financial support, the government rarely failed to instance the success of such schemes in dealing with the ‘residual problem’ of the long-term unemployed. And there were many successes: on Clydebank, where one club had ‘a membership of seven hundred and twenty three and a waiting list of two hundred’, and where men were ‘split into fifty groups, occupied in motor mechanics, dress-making, photography, shorthand, music, swimming, boot repairing, metal work, woodwork and wireless’; a Boys’ Club in Barnsley where members took ‘a nightly run’; Blackburn, which had its own parliament, or Barnard Castle, where traditional quilt-making was being revived.

      The Reverend Northcott described a club in Darwen in Lancashire, where only twenty-eight of the sixty cotton mills were still working. It was housed, ‘ironically enough, in a building which had been used as a Labour Exchange … The motto is “Occupation of Hand and Brain”.’ Facilities were provided for ‘cobbling of all descriptions, woodwork classes, discussion circles, lectures and concerts. Twenty men a day pursue the art of rug making. There is first-aid instruction, a physical instruction group, and singing lessons given in a room in the fire station. Men have gone to camp, played cricket regularly, and have learned to swim.’

      Since, according to the vicar, the ‘Lancashire woman who has gone to the mill has not been a great housewife’, a women’s centre was ‘helping its members in the management of their families’ food and clothes’, and a number of the occupational centres had women’s sections. ‘Members bring old clothes and are shown how to remake them … The men have made wheelbarrows out of old boxes and wheels made out of circular discs. Jigsaw puzzles were made out of magazine pictures and three-ply wood.’ In a neighbouring centre an unemployed weaver of fine cloth ‘modelled two vases of fine shape’ out of old gramophone records he had melted down, ‘and felt immediately that he was in the line of genuine potters’. It cost a penny a week to belong to such a club, and this entitled a member to vote for a committee which drew up the programme of activities.

      Spennymoor Settlement in County Durham was started in 1931 by Bill Farrell, who had studied at Toynbee Hall, the original example of a settlement house founded by Henrietta and Samuel Barnett in Whitechapel in the East End of London in 1884 with support from various Oxford colleges. There the privileged came to live and work among the poor, in the words of Samuel Barnett, ‘To learn as much as to teach: to receive as much as to give.’ Funded by the Pilgrim Trust, Spennymoor was open to all (though initially there was suspicion that Bill Farrell’s title, ‘warden’, meant ‘warder’) and offered classes in such things as carpentry, shoe repairing, elementary psychology and the British Constitution. It instigated a debating society, a male voice choir, a children’s centre, a needlework class for women taught by Farrell’s wife, Betty, and a public lending library, also on her initiative. The Farrells’ interest in art and drama stimulated a sketching club and a play-reading group, with scenery made in the carpentry classes. The centre put on its first play in 1934, largely organised by a group of miners’ wives, a theatre was built which opened in 1939, and soon Spennymoor was dubbed ‘The Pitman’s Academy’ for its prodigious success in helping its members win scholarships to Oxford and adult colleges. Sid Chaplin, a very successful novelist in the 1950s, honed his writing skills at Spennymoor, as did the miner Norman Cornish his artistic talents at the ‘wonderful’ Spennymoor sketching club. The Prince of Wales paid a visit in December 1934.

      ‘Ashington, pop. 40,000. Mining town mostly built in the early part of this century. Dreary rows a mile long. Ashpits and mines down the middle of the streets,’ was how the 1937 Shell Guide to Northumberland & Durham described this Durham town. Not the sort of place to which to take a scenic detour, but some of those — employed and unemployed — who lived in those ‘dreary rows’ had a yearning for the finer things. There was no public library, but there was a Harmonic Hall, built by the miners so that string bands and brass bands had somewhere to play, as could a children’s orchestra with ‘violins for about eighty kiddies’, and there was a football pitch that doubled as a greyhound track. There was also a thriving branch of the WEA. Harry Wilson, who could have opted to learn music or drama there, instead plumped for ‘Experimental Evolution’, which took the students out into the surrounding area to poke ‘around in ponds and look for flints’. When the course was over, he and some friends felt they were ‘at a dead end again so we started on Art’. Robert Lyon ARCA, Master of Painting and Lecturer in Fine Art at Armstrong College, Newcastle, then part of Durham University, was invited by ‘a number of men … all associated with the pits’, to discuss the possibility of forming an art appreciation group in Ashington. After a lecture by Lyon at which he showed them black-and-white slides of Renaissance paintings and classical Greek sculptures, the twenty-four men and two girls (who didn’t last long, since ‘there’s a strict understanding in mining districts where women fit in and where men fit in’), made it clear that that was not what they wanted: they ‘wanted a way, if possible, of seeing for themselves’. So Lyon agreed (entirely against the spirit of the WEA, which was ‘all theory: nothing which could possibly be interpreted as being of any use for making a living could be taught’) to teach the men how to draw and paint, setting them homework each week to produce a picture on a subject like ‘The Dawn’, ‘Deluge’ or ‘The Hermit’, on cardboard or whatever material they could find.

      Lyon took his class to look at watercolours in Newcastle Gallery, and in February 1936, thanks to the generosity of the daughter of the chairman of the P&O shipping line, Helen Sutherland, who lived nearby in Alnwick and was a discerning collector of modernist art, to London to see the Chinese exhibition at the Royal Academy, and visit the Tate and other city sights, ending up with a cream tea and madrigals in the Hampstead home of the owner of Kettle’s Yard Gallery in Cambridge, ‘a celebrated exercise in applied tastefulness’.

      In 1936 the Ashington Group held its first exhibition of ninety-seven paintings and several engravings in Newcastle. The ‘experiment’ received favourable notices; soon the art world (the Surrealist painter Julian Trevelyan and the post-impressionist Clive Bell in particular) began to take notice, and the group was mentioned in a Penguin survey of art in England. Inspired by Ashington’s success, other