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.

 

 

Recent Posts

Postscript: On the Shelves at Tinsley Carnegie Library

After their struggle to build their Carnegie Library, what books did Tinsley parish council see fit to buy for the enlightenment and entertainment of its residents?

Opening ceremony of Tinsley Carnegie Library, by T.Wilkinson, on 8 June 1905 (Reproduced by permission of Sheffield City Archives)

The tone was set by Thomas Wilkinson, the managing director of William Cooke and Co, as he opened the library on Thursday 8 June 1905. The Sheffield Independent reported the next day:

[In his boyhood] there were no beautiful structures of that kind ready for the working man to use. He very much rejoiced that they had in the parish so excellent a building to which they could come in search of recreation of a rational character, or of the knowledge which was to be obtained from the scientific and engineering works he had observed on the shelves.

The Sheffield Independent noted the lending library’s capacity for ‘several thousand volumes’ and there was also a reference library to stock. But for now there were just ‘434 volumes’, ‘well and substantially bound in leather’. Mr H C Else, who chaired the council, said that they hoped to expand in time and that for now people

would probably think that the library looked bare … they only got the last half of the books on Tuesday of this week.

There were twelve shelves of novels, including:

Dickens, Dumas, George Eliot, Victor Hugo, Lord Lytton, Kingsley, Wilkie Collins, Hall Caine, Captain Marryat, R S Merriman, Scott, Mrs Henry Wood, E J Worboise, Stanley Weyman, Charles Reade. [i]

This range of mostly contemporary or recent novels was likely to appeal to both men and women. Some of the names, like Eliot, we rever today and others, like Wilkie Collins, are less well regarded but in print and read with pleasure by many. Still others are almost completely forgotten. Hall Caine and E J Worboise? Anyone? Sir Thomas Henry Hall Caine (1853-1931) wrote ‘novels of wide popularity’, says the Oxford Companion to English Literature. His Wikipedia entry lists his subjects as: ‘adultery, divorce, domestic violence, illegitimacy, infanticide, religious bigotry and women’s rights’, and describes him as the ‘most highly paid novelist of his day’. Emma Jane Worboise (1825–1887) wrote strongly Christian novels.

At this point the Independent’s journalist unexpectedly indulged in literary criticism of his own:

The ubiquitous Marie Corelli was unrepresented. Resenting this absence, the lady of Stratford-on-Avon will probably supply the deficiency by forwarding a complete set of  immortal works at the earliest opportunity.

Marie Corelli (1854-1924) was relished by the public for her exotic novels involving high society, ancient Egypt, debauchery, paganism, spiritualism and much else. Predictably, she was despised by the critics. Evidently there was no place for her in Tinsley.

Exotic author Marie Corelli (1909) (public domain)

It is interesting that fiction of any kind found a place in Tinsley’s public library. Libraries had been founded, in true Victorian fashion, with a view to improving the working man. To many minds the novel hardly suited this noble purpose. In addition, some ratepayers resented wasting public – or rather, their – money on providing the frivolous to the undeserving. In 1879, J Taylor Kay, the librarian of Owen’s College Manchester, called novels ‘the most dangerous literature of the age’.[ii] When he opened the nearby Walkley Carnegie Library, in December 1905, the Lord Mayor of Sheffield, Colonel Hughes

impressed upon the young people that it was not by reading three-volume novels that literary or other success was achieved, but by digesting the finest writers on subjects that would be of use afterwards. (Sheffield Daily Telegraph, 15 December 1905)

At all events, in Tinsley, in 1905, the council chose fiction that would both entertain and inform.[iii]

What then of ‘books of information’, in a phrase of the time?

The more serious books in the library included Gibbons’ Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, a small selection dealing with the coal and iron industries, half a dozen volumes of Ruskin, a dozen of the English Men of Letters series, and a fine set of over 30 volumes dealing with national heroes. The poets at present seem to be confined to Longfellow, Scott, Shakespeare, and Tennyson.

This is another solid and conventional selection on literature, history and art. The ‘fine set … dealing with national heroes’ has a confident, even imperial, ring to it, and the English Men of Letters series included luminaries like Samuel Johnson, Keats, Wordsworth and Chaucer (there were no women of letters). John Ruskin had local connections, with his Guild of St George and St George’s Museum for Sheffield’s working men. There was apparently little science or technology, apart from the ‘small selection dealing with the coal and iron industries’ reflecting the local economy and also vocational improvement.

John Ruskin (1879) (public domain)

There seem to have been no books for children, although older children might well have enjoyed,  for example, Captain Marryat. Junior public libraries were few and far between in this period, even in bigger cities. Had the idea occurred in Tinsley, there was in any case little money. There were perhaps books in local schools and Sunday Schools.

Early libraries were intended as a source of news and information and so there were newspapers and magazines in the reading room and the ladies’ reading room. The main reading room was well-equipped with ‘six newspaper desks, and three large oak tables, on which will be laid current magazines’.

Tinsley’s new librarian, Mr J O’Donnell, was named by the Independent. There is no other information about him, but it may be assumed that he advised the council on its book purchases. At all events, he did not stay long, for by 1912 the librarian was Mr A Burton, who also served on the council.

Underpinning Tinsley’s achievement was local financial support. Andrew Carnegie’s £1,500 was a donation strictly for construction, and councils could raise a rate of only 1d in the pound for libraries. In Tinsley this meant £110 a year. Money for books was always going to be hard to find, but the council, in a move as enterprising as its applying for Carnegie money,

went to several of the large works in the parish and asked them to give assistance. … which mounted in all to £50. That would not buy many books, and so they were obliged to put another £50 to it in order to make some show at the outset. … but before they could extend it much they would need to obtain either more money or more books from some one.

The businesses which contributed were carefully listed by the Independent: Hadfield’s Steel Foundry Co, William Cooke and Co, Edgar Allen and Co, the Tinsley Rolling Mills Co, and T Gray and Sons. With the exception of the last (the company which had built the library), these were internationally important businesses.

The Sheffield Independent evidently admired Tinsley’s efforts to secure its building and books:

The handsome little library … was formally opened yesterday evening, in the presence of an interested gathering of spectators. Neither architects nor builders have attempted anything to which the word pretentious could be applied, but the building is pleasing in appearance, and admirably planned for the purposes to which it will be put. … The surrounding grounds are nicely laid out and planted with shrubs.

An artist’s impression of Tinsley Carnegie Library from the Sheffield Independent (9 June 1905)

Read more about the building of Tinsley Carnegie Library (Parts One, Two and Three).

[i] R S Merriman is presumably a misprint for H S (Henry Seton) Merriman (1862-1903), another popular novelist of exciting-sounding books: Slave of the Lamp (1894), The Vultures (1902) and The Last Hope (1904).

[ii] Quoted by Thomas Kelly in A History of Public Libraries in Great Britain, 1845-1975 (London, Library Association, 1977).

[iii] Not everyone disapproved of novels. Opening Sheffield’s Upperthorpe Library in 1876, Alderman Fisher said that: ‘…many most valuable aids as to the conduct of life might be obtained from reading a good novel. … when the young read novels, they were kept from more dangerous pleasures, such, for instance, as the public-house and the dancing-saloon’. By 1905, novels with a Christian moral were often given to children as school or Sunday School prizes. By 1930, when Sheffield stocked Edgar Wallace, Ethel M Dell and the like in its new Firth Park branch, this proved tremendously popular with residents.

  1. Betty B’s reading journey Leave a reply
  2. Tinsley’s Carnegie Library 4 Replies
  3. Tinsley’s Carnegie Library Leave a reply
  4. Looking back on 2018 Leave a reply
  5. Sinterklaas Leave a reply
  6. In The Hague There Lives A Count Leave a reply
  7. In the Frosty Dawn of December 13th Leave a reply
  8. A, B, C, The Cat Comes With Me Leave a reply
  9. Tinsley’s Carnegie Library Leave a reply