Betty Newman

Betty Newman

Betty was born on the 9th September 1935.

She is being interviewed by Ros Witten.

 

[At Betty’s request, she and Mary Grover have amended a few details in this transcript for clarification.]

Ros Witten: This is an interview conducted by …  can you tell me your name?

Betty Newman: Betty Newman.

RW: Can you spell that please?

BN: B E T T Y N E W M A N

RW: And today’s date is Thursday the 13th October. [2012]

RW: And you were born … ?

BN:  1935.

RW: What was the month?

BN:  September.

RW: September the …

BN:  20th.

RW: And you lived in which area of Sheffield?

BN:  My home was at Norton Lees but I spent an awful lot of time at Darnall.

RW: Right, so between 1945 and ‘65 would it have been Norton Lees?

BN:  Oh, well …

RW: Both?

BN: Both. My mother was always ill. I can never remember my mother not being ill and I spent an awful lot of time during the war particularly at my Grandmother’s because father was away. So that was where I went and I did a lot of my young schooling at Whitby Road School [as well as at Norton Lees]. But then mum died when I was 13. I was at grammar school by then. Mum being ill had a great influence on my life generally.

RW:  Oh I see, right. So did she read to you? Did anyone else read to you?

BN: I can’t remember who taught me to read but I could read a long time before I went to school. I fished this out actually. [Betty shows interviewer a novel called A Peep Behind the Scenes by Mrs Walton published by The Religious Tract Society]. I’m quite amazed but it’s true that I could read that before I went to school.

RW: That’s very impressive isn’t it?

BN: Not that particular copy, but that was my Grandma’s, and I didn’t help to clear her house out so I don’t know what happened to her copy. But I bought that in a junk shop some time afterwards. That was the first book I ever read.

RW: This was a story was it?

BN: It was a story about, a Bible story [inspired by the parable of the Good Shepherd].

BN: My Grandmother’s had been a school prize. It had a bookplate for a school prize in her copy. But that was the first book I ever read.

RW: What kinds of books were you reading?

BN: My Grandma had a lot of bound copies of the Strand magazine. I used to read Sherlock Holmes in those. And when I went to school I could read. I was floundering because I could read. I think if it had been now it would be a bean bag, but then it was a cushion. And when the other children were learning to read I sat on this cushion and read my own book. I can’t remember learning to read. It was something I always could.

RW: Yeah, something early on. So what other kind of books were you reading when you were young?

BN: I’ve written my notes down here actually. The first book, oh no, not the first book, that was A Peep Behind the Scenes and I read it many times. But at school one of the teachers in the infant school had Enid Blyton’s Book of the Year. I don’t know if you know that but it had a chapter or section for each month of the year. A poem, a play, some nature notes for each month. And we used to do the plays at school and I, I suppose I was a bit fortunate that my mum and my then teacher were friends and mum put her name down on a waiting list at a bookshop for one of these books because you had to put your name down and wait. So Enid Blyton’s Book of the Year influenced me a great deal and Enid Blyton’s Nature Lover’s Book did. Later it came out in four paperbacks. And that’s how I taught my own children nature.

RW: So this was in primary school?

BN: Oh, yes, infant school.

RW: You were quite young. And then when moving on to when you were a bit older, what were the first books that made you feel like you were reading a grown up adult book?

BN: I always had done you see, because I always read these and I’d always read Sherlock Holmes. I don’t know what, I can’t remember actually. But I like Milly Molly Mandy and I really went back and I like Milly Molly Mandy books.

RW: So I suppose in a way if you were reading the adult books, things like Strand magazine and Sherlock Holmes they were the ones that were adult even though you were young.

BN: Yes, even when I was very tiny I was reading adult books. And somebody gave me a set of Dickens but they were like potted versions of Dickens and I read those when I was young. And then I went on later to read Dickens and I’ve read all the Dickens ever written I think.

RW: So when you were a teenager, when you were at grammar school, maybe 14/15. What were you reading then that made a big impression?

BN: Oh, nothing, not very much.

RW: Nothing you can think of.

BN: I mean we had enough to do, set books, at grammar school.

RW: Yes.

BN: And then we discovered Women’s Own and women’s things and we were reading agony columns and things. And you suddenly go off the reading bits then. And I had comics, I was given comics and we used to swap them. But my mother used to read poetry. She was in a wheelchair most of the time. And you know now you can buy pockets to go over chair arms to put books in? Well she had things like that over the wheelchair and she always had poetry books in there. So I’ve always read a lot of poetry, I still do read a lot of poetry. I can’t remember my father reading very much. I know he did read cowboy books and things but I don’t think he read a great deal. My father was a musician and we always had music and his relaxation was listening to music not reading I think.

RW: And the books that you had, were there books in the house?

BN: Oh yes, we always had books in the house. Oh, at junior school I had the potted versions of Dickens, and I had the Water Babies and Peter Pan. Somebody gave me, which I have still got, a first edition of Peter Pan. And it’s nothing like Peter Pan that you get on pantomimes, the original. So I read those at junior school, and then I say at grammar school I don’t remember reading very much independently. Except a book called Continuity Girl, and I can remember that. And I got it out of the school library and it was about a continuity girl in the film industry. And that was my short term ambition, I was going to be that. But then I say we had Woman, Woman’s Own, magazines. But those are the only two I can ever remember reading. It was all about make-up and agony columns and  … oh dear me!

RW: The books that you got hold of did you get them from the library or buy them second hand, or get them from friends or as presents?

BN: They were presents mostly, so a lot of them were second hand because during the war you couldn’t get books.

RW: What about the library? Did you go to the library?

BN: Oh yes, I was always in the library, but I can’t remember.

RW: You can’t remember much about what you borrowed. Would that be Darnall library then?

BN: Mm, no it was Attercliffe; there wasn’t a Darnall library.

RW: Oh no, Attercliffe, there wasn’t a Darnall, Darnall’s new.

BN: We used to go to the baths, it was the same trip, the baths and the library. Grandma had a neighbour who used to give me books but I can’t remember much about them.

RW: So you got a lot of encouragement at home to read, your grandparents and your mother.

BN: Yeah, and I always read a lot of poetry. My mum I think knew by heart every word of Tennyson.

RW: So nobody in your family would have made you feel reading was a waste of time?

BN: No, except strangely enough, father would never let us read in bed, because when I eventually got married, I said to my husband, “I want you to promise me two things, that I can read in bed and that I don’t have to eat cabbage”. [laughs] I do nearly all my reading in bed now.

RW: So that’s the main place you read at the moment. And when did you find time to read? You weren’t allowed to read in bed so would it have been after you’d done your homework?

BN: Yes, yeah, I used to read on the bus as well. I’ve always read on buses.

RW: And if your father wasn’t reading but listened to music would you be sitting listening to music and reading as well?

BN: Yes, it was always things we did together.

RW: He was listening to the radio and the gramophone.

BN: The gramophone mostly, well we did have a radio but it was the gramophone mostly.

RW: He bought his own records?

BN: He bought records. I used to be sent, every Saturday I used to go to Wilson Peck’s  to buy a record. Dad had all the catalogues.

RW: Were they expensive then? They must have been affordable.

BN: They were affordable. We weren’t rich but we weren’t on the breadline.

RW: Yeah, so you could afford a little treat.

BN: They used to be about 3/ 6 or something like that.

RW: Which didn’t seem too much?

BN: Well, we could afford them. And we had a new record nearly every week. Dad used to pick them out of the catalogue and let me go to buy them.

RW: That’s brilliant. Was that classical music?

BN: Oh mostly, yes. Purely was really. I remember being enamoured with Donald Peers singing ‘By a shady nook, By a babbling brook’. Father called it caterwauling [laughs]. I can remember. Imagine what he would say now to some of the stuff that goes on.

RW: So did you read the books that you had, you were talking about the magazines, would you say you were slightly guilty about reading those because they weren’t quite …

BN: Oh no I wasn’t guilty at the time. It was just a part of growing up. The agony columns must have been absolutely bland but they were … you know …

RW: They were quite interesting stuff when you’re young.

BN: Interesting stuff when you’re 14.

RW: Interesting when you’re trying to find out about stuff.

BN: They wouldn’t be interesting to 14 years now!

RW: Any books you read then that you think ‘oh I wouldn’t want to read that again’?

BN: Oh there’s one or two books, mm, I can’t really remember. When I was at school I was so busy reading everything else. Always history things, anything history I was reading. I went on to do history [laughs].

RW: Would you say, when you had to read a lot of texts they were a bit highbrow?

BN: Oh no!

RW: You liked them? You enjoyed them?

BN: Oh yes. The only thing I didn’t like at school, but I think it was the way it was taught, was Shakespeare. I do like it now. I have read most of the plays now. Not over and over but I have read them. And I was also busy reading the Bible, because I thought one should read the Bible. And I did read that in my teens. It’s like the Forth Bridge, I read it over and over again. I get to the end and start again. I read one chapter every night. [laughs]

RW: Would you have read any historical novels or anything like that?

BN: Oh no, I’ve never liked novels very much.

RW: Oh you’re not really a novel reader? Right.

BN: It had to be something, like this Continuity Girl. It had to be something that was tangible. I loved that book. I can see it now. I got that out of the school library. Something this is tangible, that is credible.

RW: Something realistic. But usually not fiction?

BN: Not fiction. I suppose Dickens was the nearest I got to fiction.

RW: Quite realistic fiction.

BN: I don’t think he really is fiction. [laughs]

RW: No, he was trying to fictionalise what was happening in the world.

BN: I went Tuesday night to see Claire Tomalin … I was a bit disappointed with it actually.

RW: Oh. And would you say that reading has changed your life in any way?

BN: Oh no.

RW: Just part of your life?

BN: Just part of my life. It’s always been part. At one time I worked in the university library. But I don’t think we read very much then. One thing, we had copies of Lady Chatterley before it was released. We all read that. [laughs] We read it when no one else had it.

RW: So was that like a guilty thing?

BN: No, it was just, you know, I was in my 20s – it was just the thing to do. Lady Chatterley was down in the stacks so we read it. I don’t think we knew it was there, really until all the court case, the hoohaa came up about it. But we all read that. And then when it was released, on general release, I went to buy it and they asked me if I was old enough. [laughs] I was a married lady by then, but they asked if I was old enough.

RW: What about if, mm, you said you read some of the Shakespeare plays, but would you say films influenced your reading much?

BN: No, I never liked films much; I’ve only ever really gone if someone else, I’ve never gone of my own volition, only if someone else has said let’s go. Or you know going out with lads, they always wanted to the cinema. But I don’t think I’ve ever been under my own steam. I think I’ve only seen about two films in the last 20 years. I’ve got a friend who goes two or three times a week and she used to say to me,”Oh let’s go and see that”. But then she says, “I’m not bringing you again because you either fall asleep or you wriggle”. Which I do, I sit and wriggle.

RW: Not something you’re interested in particularly. So is there anything else you want to tell me Betty? I mean we’ve covered quite a lot.

BN:  Well how far do you want to go up?

RW: Well you just come up with some things you want to say.

BN: When I was 22 I bought Thomas Armstrong’s The Crowthers of Bankdam. It really is fiction, but I bought it to read on a long journey. I’ve used up and spoilt, worn out some many copies. It’s my comfort read.

RW: Oh that’s your comfort read, that’s interesting. What was it called again?

BN: The Crowthers of Bankdam. It’s about a Yorkshire mill family with …

RW: What’s the author?

BN: Thomas Armstrong. And I’ve worn out so many copies, and I’m worrying now because the last two or three I’ve had have been from charity shops.

RW: Have the library got a copy do you know?

BN: Oh no, it’s one of the ones they throw away. It’s broken into about five pieces now, which is easier to read in bed actually because I can pick a section up.

RW: It’s in sections now.

BN: But I don’t read very much fiction at all. That is my one. That was from being 22. I read and have re-read Delderfield and I read his fiction as well.

RW: So that’s family saga type thing isn’t it.

BN: But I don’t read his historical novels, I read his other novels but I can’t be doing with them. Mostly I read biographies. I’ve at least three by the bed, or on the bed, and I read whichever one I’m in the mood for.

RW: It’s nice to have more than one going at the same time.

BN: Oh I’ve always got at least three books.

RW: Are you a library member now? Is that where you get your books from? And charity shops you mentioned.

BN: Yes I am. I also buy my books from a firm by the name ‘Postscript’. Some come from charity shops.

RW: And do you swap books with friends?

BN: No, no I don’t swap. I very rarely, I’ve only got one friend I lend to as well. My husband lent one of my books to somebody and I never got it back. I’ve only one friend I lend to. My very best friend lives in Blackburn, and if she comes over here, we never take books but we always start one and there’s one by the side of my spare bed now waiting for her to take back with her. I just read biographies.

RW: And you’ve got your history group, so you’re reading history with your history group perhaps?

BN: No, no.

RW: Oh, it’s an active history group?

BN: It’s a local history group, Newfield Green. And just generally do local history, not so much what’s under the ground there.

RW: Not the archaeology.

BN: No, in fact one of our members is an archaeologist.

RW: But more the social history?

BN: Yes, generally, what people do. And we do have speakers but we can’t afford speakers all the time so we take it in turns to do a …

RW:  … presentation yourselves?

BN: I tend to use a book that’s called Sheffield Rebels.

RW: Oh yes, it’s a newish one, I know the chap who wrote it actually; he would probably come and give you a talk actually.

BN: Who’s that?

RW: He’s written the book, about the rebels. David someone. He’s written the books about the rebels. He does walks around Sheffield.

BN: David Price.

RW: That’s it, David Price. He’s done some talks in the library for Off the Shelf. The Trouble Makers, that’s it. He has organised walks as well.

 

 

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Val’s Reading Journey: Word Games

Another instalment of my reading journey, in which I confess my affection for dictionaries and grammar books.

Forty years ago, I was a student at the University of Leeds, studying Latin and French. I was, then as now, rarely without a book in my hand and a spare in my bag: set texts and academic studies for my courses and novels for fun. With all that, it intrigues me that I have very clear memories of the reference books I used. I even feel affection for them.

The Parkinson Building

On most Saturday mornings back then, I would be found in the Brotherton Library. I used to climb the white stone steps into the Parkinson Building, cross the court to the library entrance with its creaky turnstiles, and walk into the main reading room. Turning sharp left, I went upstairs to the gallery, where Classics was shelved. The main undergraduate library was then the South Library, long renamed the Edward Boyle. But I always preferred the Brotherton, opened in 1936 and since 1950 peacefully hidden behind the Parkinson.

hic haec hoc
hunc hanc hoc
huius huius huius
huic huic huic
hoc hac hoc

I came to the Brotherton to work on my Latin prose. Every Friday we got a passage of English to turn into Latin – something philosophical, a political speech or maybe military history. Burke, Locke, Gibbon, Macaulay are the names that come to mind. I think there may also have been occasional old leaders from the Times. Writings by women never featured. Whoever the author was, I would in theory have done a rough draft at home on the Friday afternoon. Saturday morning in the Brotherton was for polishing, looking up words and phrases in Lewis and Short, and checking out, say, the optative subjunctive in Bradley’s Arnold or, if I was desperate, in the small print of Gildersleeve and Lodge. These are, respectively, a Latin dictionary and two grammar books. I have my copies still, shelved about six feet away from the sofa where I am typing this.

Written in 1867 by the grandly named Basil Lanneau Gildersleeve (1831-1924) and revised by him and Gonzalez Lodge (1863-1942) in 1895.

These books are always known not by their titles but by their authors. Our prose tutor never mentioned Bradley’s Arnold, quoting instead from Mountford. We were all mystified, and it was only by chance, halfway through the term, that we found out he meant Bradley’s Arnold all along. Theologian Thomas Kerchever Arnold (1800-1853) wrote it in 1839. Then, you see, George Granville Bradley (1821-1903), Master of Marlborough, later master of University College, Oxford and Dean of Westminster, revised it in 1885. Finally, the Vice Chancellor of the University of Liverpool, Sir James Mountford (1897-1979), revised it again in 1938. Impressive chaps.  

Mountford’s Bradley’s Arnold

Ut, Ne, Introducing a Noun Clause: One of the main difficulties in translating English into Latin is to know when to represent the English infinitive by a Latin infinitive, and when to use  a subordinate clause containing a finite verb. (Bradley’s Arnold, para. 117, p.83)

As well as these august publications, I found that I still relied on my school books: Latin Sentence and Idiom (1948) and Mentor (1938) by schoolmaster R A Colebourn. Comfortingly familiar, they were a gift from my Latin teacher when I left school. ‘In memoria temporum beatissimorum cum benigna tua magistra’ (‘remembering the happiest of times with your kind teacher’), she wrote inside the cover. Why I don’t have Civis Romanus, the companion book to Mentor, I just don’t understand. (Mem to self: check Abebooks).

Two more books on my shelves are Kennedy’s Revised Latin Primer (1888) and Meissner’s Latin Phrase Book. I never liked Kennedy much but it is the book perhaps most often associated with learning Latin. It turns out that it was not written by schoolmaster Benjamin Hall Kennedy (1804 – 1889) but by his daughters Marion and Julia and two of his former students. The Phrase Book is an English translation by H W Auden, a master at Fettes College, from the original German by Carl Meissner (1830-1900), and my battered copy dates from 1924. It helpfully runs from the philosophical to the practical.

Choice – Doubt – Scruple: unus mihi restat scrupulus (one thing still makes me hesitate) (p.83)

Victory – Triumph: victoria multo sanguine ac vulneribus stetit (the victory was very dearly bought) (p.269)

The king of all dictionaries was Lewis & Short, first published in 1879. I never knew until now that Short lived down to his name: he supplied only the letter A and Lewis did the other 25. At first I used one of the Brotherton’s copies but in 1981 I got my own. In a medieval Latin exam we were allowed to take in our dictionaries and, while the Latin of the Middle Ages is not difficult after you’ve done Cicero or Virgil, I carried in all 2.7 kg of my Lewis & Short, just for the pleasure of having it on the desk. ‘Really?’ said my Latin tutor, eyeing it up as we started. 

The Brotherton Library naturally had a set of Loebs, those blessed books with the Latin or Greek text and the English translation side by side. Red covers for Latin and green for Greek. The translations were often pedestrian but so very useful when you got stuck. The older editions of the naughtier poets are said to have passages translated into French, rather than English, presumably on the grounds that if you understand French, you must be pretty immoral anyway. 

Unbound – and hard to keep in good condition

Being happiest with dead languages, I also studied Old French and Old English. In Old French, it’s really the texts I remember: unbound and uncut editions of the Arthurian romances of Chrétien de Troyes from the French publisher Champion. ‘The idea,’ said my supervisor, ‘is that you get them bound yourself.’ A pause. ‘I always have my own books bound in episcopal purple.’

Cil qui fist d’Erec et d’Enide,
Et les comandements d’Ovide
Et l’art d’amors an roman mist
Et le mors de l’espaule fist
Del roi Marc et d’Yseut la blonde
Et de la hupe et de l’aronde
Et del rossignol la muance,
Un novel conte rancomance
(Cligès by Chrétien de Troyes, ll. 1-8)[i]

(I did have to look up a couple of words in my Larousse Dictionnaire d’Ancien Français to translate this quotation just now.)

For Old English, it’s all about Sweet’s Anglo-Saxon Primer and his Anglo-Saxon Reader. Henry Sweet (1845-1912) was a philologist said to have been an inspiration for Bernard Shaw’s Henry Higgins.

Ælfred kyning hateð gretan Wǣrferð biscep his wordum luflice ond freondlice; ond ðe cyðan hate ðǣt me com swiðe oft on gemynd, hwelce wiotan iu wǣron giond Angelcynn, ǣgðer ge godcundra hada ge woruldcundra… (King Alfred, On the State of Learning in England, Anglo-Saxon Reader, p. 4)[ii]

I also have a little book, An Outline of Old English Grammar (1976), especially written for Leeds’ English students. ‘Old English is a fairly fully inflected language,’ it starts. Quite.

Eth, thorn and ash – letters lost between the Anglo-Saxons and us

I don’t know if Sweet, Kennedy, Bradley’s Arnold and the rest are still standard texts. Perhaps they are somewhere. Dead languages don’t change. But the way of teaching them may well have. Mountford, Sweet and the rest are, well, a little dry and can seem almost as old as the texts they teach. The books I relied on may therefore by now have been carried down into the Brotherton’s stacks. Forty years ago, for me they unlocked epics, romances, speeches, philosophy and histories.

A few years ago, when I needed access to a university library, I travelled back to Leeds, to the Brotherton, to get a graduate library membership. I walked from the railway station, along Park Row, across the Headrow, past the Town Hall and the Central Library on the left, and up Woodhouse Lane to the university. Then up the Parkinson steps, across the court and into the reading room. I could see many differences. In my day, there was usually a porter on duty at the turnstiles, and now of course there were computer terminals everywhere, and they seemed to have moved the Classics books. But much was as I remembered: the huge circular room with wooden tables radiating outwards like spokes, the dome supported by green marble columns and, at the centre, wonderful Art Deco lighting known, I learn, as an electrolier. As I arranged my ticket, I mentioned to the librarian that I used to do my Latin prose in the Brotherton most Saturday mornings. ‘Welcome home,’ she said to me, as she handed me my new ticket.

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[i] He who wrote of Erec and Enide, he who translated the commands of Ovid and the Art of Love, he who wrote of the shoulder bite. of King Mark and the fair Yseult and of the transformation of the hoopoe, the swallow and the nightingale, he is starting a new story…

[ii] King Alfred orders greetings to Bishop Waerferth with his words in love and friendship. I want you to know that very often I think what wise men there used to be throughout England, both in the church and out in the world…

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