Fourth Day of Advent

The children had been up early in the morning, and beginning to roll a snowball about they very soon saw that at every roll they gave it got bigger and bigger, and at last got so big just by the cottage door that they couldn’t move it, and then it stood right in the way, so that they couldn’t get in and their mother couldn’t get out.

From ‘Snowball’ by Edric Vredenburg, illustrated by Lizzie Mack, volume 3 in ‘The Daisy Chain Library’ published by Ernest Nister, 1891

Lizzie Mack (1858-ca. 1905) was a highly successful children’s book illustrator. Her trademark winsome children express the sentimental portrayal of children in popular art at that time. This book was published by Ernest Nister (1841-1906), a German lithographer and printer of children’s books, greetings card, postcards and calendars based in Nuremberg.

 

#victorianchildrensbooks #victorianchristmas #adventcalendar #victorianpicturebooks #advent #childrenspicturebooks #victorianillustration #victorianillustrators #lizziemack #winter #snowball #edricvredenburg #lizziemackillustrator #ernestnister

 

Third Day of Advent

O is for Orange – good, eaten in reason,
P for Plum Pudding, the crown of the season.

From “Father Christmas’ ABC” illustrated by Alfred J. Johnson, published by F. Warne & Co., 1894

I love the bright, cheerful warmth of this illustration – I can almost smell the tangy scent of those oranges. Is the little dog startled? Or off on its own harum scarum adventure?

 

#victorianchildrensbooks #victorianchristmas #adventcalendar #victorianpicturebooks #advent #childrenspicturebooks #victorianillustration #victorianillustrators #alfredjjohnsonillustrator #christmaspudding

 

 

Second Day of Advent

Come to the window, little folks,
And read these tiny Story-books!

From ‘Snow-Flakes and the Stories they Told the Children’, by Matilda Betham-Edwards, illustrated by Hablot Knight Browne (Phiz), published ca. 1862

 

This is my personal favourite, it’s by Phiz, Dickens’ illustrator. I love his pictures full of charming, quirky detail. The elves in this are delightfully mischievous.

 

#victorianchildrensbooks #victorianchristmas #adventcalendar #victorianpicturebooks #advent #childrenspicturebooks #victorianillustration #victorianillustrators #christmas #matildabethamedwards #hablotknightbrowne #phiz #elves

First Day of Advent

And the games that we had, oh! they were so nice,
Such sleighing and skating and bowls on the ice!

From ‘The Twigs, or, Christmas at Ruddock Hall’, illustrated by Robert Dudley, published by Castell Brothers.

 

I thought it would be nice to create an Advent Calendar, by posting an illustration each day from Victorian children’s books from the Tower Project collection I worked on at Cambridge University Library. I hope you like them as much as I do.

 

#victorianchildrensbooks #victorianchristmas #adventcalendar #victorianpicturebooks #advent #childrenspicturebooks #victorianillustration #victorianillustrators #christmas #robins #robertdudleyillustrator

For Truth’s Sake

I was privileged to work on the Tower Project at Cambridge University Library, cataloguing books, pamphlets, broadsides, fiction, even children’s games, published between 1805 and 1925, held in the seventeen storey library tower.

An enjoyable challenge of the job was to find a suitable subject heading to express what a particular book was about, so that researchers would find it when doing a subject search of our online catalogue. Some books made it easy, others required considerable pondering before that “mot juste” sprang to mind.

When I plucked a pamphlet entitled An exposition of the polypantoglyphograph by Thomas Tyldesley from my trolley, I thought “Hmmm, this is obviously about something of which I know nothing, what an opportunity to learn something new” – well, something along those lines, anyway. Now I pride myself on my grasp of the English language, I consider myself moderately well read, and will tackle pieces of literature that require more than a passing moment’s concentration, but after scanning a few pages of Mr. Tyldesley’s publication I began to feel confused. I flicked through looking for fresh paragraphs to attempt, each time failing to grasp the meaning of the text before me, such as:

M– An eMbleM of coM-Munication by analogy between the OWL(e)’s and Man’s Sense of household habits, and the whole WORLD’S Light by coM-Munion from SOPH-I-VAU with his dog (re dog and GOD, in series 5), and the love of Man through All the dead-men’s skulls to THOX-I-TAU, and the workings of that LeVER  and fulcrum … 

By the time I’d worked my way through that paragraph I had a headache.

I did a quick search on the author’s name and chased up other publications of his in the hope of clarifying my thoughts.  I retrieved a number of pamphlets, all self-published, in a series entitled For truth’s sake.

After failing to grapple with Ex-shæphoenominology, or, The science of letters I started to browse The ressus(c)itation of the revælation and ‘natural’ meanings of letters, which were sought by Plato and his compeers, but got a bit bogged down, to be honest.  Determined not to be beaten, I decided to tackle The original meaning of K, but fell at the first hurdle with:

All abstracts of thought have tails, and, like comets, the quicker they move the longer their tails become; and I fear that the majority of all classes of our literati, from the lorey occupant of the professor’s chair to the standard-fixed multitudes in our common schools (the latter being battered by strifeful contending Ismst, and fettered by the circumfused fickle curriculum of a co-deified power, emanating from a consanguineous body of clannish richly-paid officials) are more attracted to the tail (tales and stories) than to the body – substance – nucleus – root – ORI, not pri-ORI.

Now I was beginning to feel decidedly cross. It is hard to explain the sensation of reading something in your own language and not having a clue as to its meaning – vexatious, perhaps? Mr. Tyldesley obviously enjoyed language, and I have managed to glean from his ramblings that he believed the shape of letters to be crucial to their meaning, which explains his predilection for peppering his prose with capital letters and symbols.

And to be fair, I did learn something new. In my ignorance I had never heard of the Sator Square, which is a satisfying palindrome of ancient origin and various interpretations, suitably obscure for Thomas Tyldesley, but a genuine phenomenon in the real world:

Tyldesley’s overarching obsession was a mystical interpretation of the alphabet, upon which he built a complex, and frankly baffling, theory of language, which I am sorry to say I have failed to get to grips with. I’m obviously not alone in my bewilderment, as he frequently complains of having his articles and letters rejected by the various papers to which he sent them, and even quotes a baffled individual to whom he had shown his work: “Put your books in our language, and then we can understand you.” Undeterred, Mr. Tyldesley continued his pursuit of the truth with zeal:

The rejection of newspaper editors to publish my letters on this subject … constrains me to publish this additional paper; although great and severe has been my financial loss up to the present  …

 He claims to have left school at 6½ “to wind bobbins and learn to weave,” in which case perhaps he belongs to that admirable tradition of the autodidact. It would be interesting to know where he gained access to the information he used in his pamphlets, what, or who, set him on his path of discovery.  I got the feeling, as I struggled to interpret his convoluted prose, that his mind was teeming to bursting point with arcane occult concepts, hieroglyphs, symbols and quasi-religious concepts, but however eccentric or bizarre we may think him, Thomas Tyldesley was evidently happy inhabiting his peculiar world view:

The unspeakable joy which I possess is begot of my communion with words true to nature, by inception, conception, and comprehension of her mæanderings and the commingling of forces, within the power of order and design, radiating, refracting, and reflecting each clearer ray of light, by which the knowledge of the celestial and the terrestrial becomes fused into matter, mannas for the mind, through a knowledge of visible form, cosmical movement, and invisible but thinkable shape, the steps to higher planes upon which the sublimity of the mind can solve supernal problems. The reality of this rare and lasting pleasure renders me imperious and impervious to all acrimonious attacks of human ignorance and infelicity, and subdues my loss to the value of dross in the smelting furnace of the soul.

I wish I could say that after grappling with Thomas Tyldesley of Bolton I could agree with Dr. Seuss, who said “I like nonsense; it wakes up the brain cells.” I’m afraid I had to do as the gravedigger in Hamlet advises his baffled companion, who is struggling with a riddle, to do: “Cudgel thy brains no  more about it” and assign the best subject headings I could muster, and move on to more mundane, but blessedly comprehensible, works.

 

The pamphlets referred to may be consulted on request in the Rare Books Room, either through the online catalogue here: https://idiscover.lib.cam.ac.uk/primo-explore/search?vid=44CAM_PROD&lang=en_US
or by completing a paper request slip in person in the Rare Books Room at the University Library. You can search by title, author or classmark, as given below:
  • An exposition of the polypantoglyphograph … / by Thomas Tyldesley. Classmark 1913.8.768
  • Ex-shæphœnominology, or, The science of letters … / by Thomas Tyldesley. Classmark 1906.8.920
  • The resuss(c)itation of the revælation and “natural” meanings of letters, which were sought by Plato and his compeers. Classmark 1906.9.355
  • The original meaning of K  … Classmark 1906.9.352.

People see what they want to see

David Henty is an extraordinarily gifted artist who paints copies of paintings by well known artists, such as Caravaggio, Rembrandt, Monet, Modigliani, Basquiat, Lowry, Rockwell, Sickert, Picasso and many more. Is this art forgery? Not really, because David is transparent about his paintings, signing them on the back and selling them openly as copies – there is no deceit involved.

Norman Rockwell’s Saying Grace by David Henty

David was already copying pictures from books when quite a young child. He remembers a book at home which had a reproduction of Hogarth’s Gin Lane, which he copied when he was around nine or ten years old. He never thought this was unusual, and admits he thought everybody could draw.

When adolescence hit David ‘like a cricket bat to the head’ he, by his own admission, went off the rails and found himself on the wrong side of the law for some years, resulting in a short stretch in prison for forgery. It was during his time in prison that he started to paint in earnest, and discovered an enduring passion for art, which led ultimately to a new direction in life and a legitimate career as  an artist.

David’s paintings are commissioned by all kinds of organisations and individuals around the world, including film companies and television producers, interior designers and private investors. A David Henty copy has a distinct cachet, and sells for several thousand pounds. Some wealthy art investors, who can afford to own an original painting worth millions, like to buy a David Henty copy to hang on their wall, while securing the original in a vault.

Copying another artist’s work is technically extremely difficult, more difficult in some ways than painting a new work from scratch. To produce a copy that is well nigh indistinguishable from the original requires tremendous skill. David’s preparation involves in-depth research into the artist’s technique, their palette, brush strokes and pigments. But the preparation is not just technical, although that is of course essential, and of necessity meticulous and painstaking. The fact is that David cannot paint a copy of an artist’s work until he has achieved an intense, imaginative affinity with the artist’s psyche. This process involves extensive reading, prolonged viewing of the original painting (if accessible), watching documentaries, listening to radio programmes and podcasts, and so forth.  He describes the “flow state” of mind he needs to enter before he can paint, a kind of trance-like immersion in the artist he is copying, which enables him to inhabit the imagination of the artist and consequently replicate their work. If he cannot reach this “flow state” with an artist, he cannot copy their work.

Caravaggio’s Supper at Emmaus by David Henty

David is passionate about what he does, he is utterly obsessed with art. All he wants to do is paint, and when he can’t do that, all he wants to do is talk about art. Some might argue that copying devalues the original, but David’s remarkable paintings are a deeply-felt tribute to the artists he copies. They are works of art in their own right. However, there is no doubt that the art of copying raises all kinds of uncomfortable questions about the intrinsic value of a painting, as opposed to its market value. If art experts are hard pressed to distinguish a copy from an original, why is one of them worth millions while the other is not? Why does the (supposedly) authentic signature of an artist confer on that painting a vastly inflated market value, as opposed to its exact copy hanging beside it? Of course a prospective buyer wants to have confidence in a picture’s provenance, wants to feel that it comes with a patina of authentic history, touched by the artists’s creative genius. But is the physical picture itself intrinsically more valuable than the copy beside it, which looks exactly the same?

A room full of art

In the western cultural tradition copying is largely frowned upon as an affront to the original artist, or perhaps to a post-Romantic concept of the artist as an inspired individual of genius. In other words, if someone can replicate a Renoir, how can Renoir still be considered special?  And yet despite this disapproval among some connoisseurs, experts, and art critics, there are evidently people happy to pay for a top quality copy by an artist like David Henty, who told me that people who buy his copies value them as an authentic piece of art, with the texture and physical presence of a painting, as opposed to a machine-generated print.

We can only wonder how many alleged originals hanging in galleries around the world may not be what they are claimed to be. And yet visitors to those galleries, blissfully unaware of that possibility, will stand in admiration before great paintings and experience their beauty and power regardless. As David repeatedly says in his book Art World Underworld: ‘people see what they want to see’.

 

Pictures provided by David Henty and Rosalind Esche

 


David Henty was born in Brighton in 1958. During a short stint in prison over 30 years ago for forgery, David discovered his passion for art. He has been painting copies of famous paintings by renowned artists, and creating his own renditions of ‘undiscovered works in the style of the artist’ ever since.

 

#davidhenty #artworldunderworld #artforgery #artcrime #brightonartists #crimefiction #crimewriters #brightonauthors #peterjames #roygraceseries #pictureyoudead

Graham Bartlett talks about his second calling

There’s a powerful sense of frustration in your book Bad For Good with cuts to the police, the merger of police authorities, and officers being stretched to the limit. In your plot that leads to vigilantism – do you think that is a real threat?

I definitely think it’s a real threat. I think the police are being not only cut to dangerous levels, but also the expectation is being spread too thin, so they’re forever dealing with mental health, they’re dealing with basically non police issues, and because they’re 24/7 they’re the service of first and last resort. I’ve not seen vigilantism on the scale that I portray in Bad for Good, it was supposed to be something that could happen in the future, it is a work of fiction, but I can honestly see that if things don’t start to improve the public will just get fed up with calling the police and they’re not turning up, or not turning up quickly enough, or not having the resources to do a thorough job, and just think “You know what? We’re going to take it into our own hands. We know who’s making our life a misery on this estate so we’ll send a couple of big boys around and sort them out”. I think that’s a very real possibility, and it’s obviously hugely scary.

It’s very frightening in the book, but you can understand why people might turn to private security firms instead of waiting for hours for the over-stretched police to turn up because they haven’t got the resources to cope with demand.

They haven’t, and if you speak to them they are literally run ragged, they’re not sitting around waiting for work. They’re not getting a meal break, they’re rarely off on time, they’re being run from pillar to post every day, every night.

How many police officers down are they?

I think it’s about 20%, something like that, which is a huge number to cut. Sussex Police was 3000, so 20% would bring it down to what, 2400? I had 600 police officers in Brighton and Hove, so that’s 600 police officers you’ve removed, so basically, across Sussex, you’ve removed the entire police complement of Brighton and Hove. But of course what you also do, and this goes back to an earlier question, you lose a lot of experience. You can’t make police officers redundant because they’re not employees, it’s kind of antiquated, they hold an office, they’re not employees, so you can’t make them redundant, there’s no way to do that. What you can do is you can make them retire when they reach retirement age and so a lot of people were forced to retire when they might not otherwise have retired. And a lot of experienced people chose to leave as well because they just thought “Do you know what, I just can’t do this anymore.” So you lost all the experience and then you have the [government saying] “We’re going to invest millions of pounds in new police officers.” Well, first of all, all you’re doing is bringing it somewhere close to the numbers there were before (but not when the cuts started) and secondly, you’re bringing in new people, so you’re bringing in people that you’re going to need to vet, train, deploy, develop and then eventually promote. If you think you’re getting rid of people that are inspectors or chief inspectors, that will take years to replace those properly, and all of the air bubbles that that causes through the system, it takes 15 years to do that.

The merging of police authorities means they have fewer resources between them, doesn’t it?

Yes, but I think there are some benefits of that. You have a system where you’ve got 43 police forces across the UK, including the Met and the City of London, the two London forces. On each of those forces, with the exception of those two, you have a police and crime commissioner, which is an elected person who replaced police authorities, you have a chief constable, you have a group of chief officers, you have a director of finance, director of HR for each of those forces. Now some of those forces are huge, really, really busy, and probably warrant all of that. And you have other forces of 1000 police officers, tiny forces that still have that same infrastructure, so I think there is some benefit in structurally merging and creating some rationalisation at those higher levels, but not at the expense of the operational levels.

In the book you have an officer driving from Kent to Sussex who won’t get where he’s needed for a couple of hours.

Well that again is looking into the future. Surrey and Sussex share their Major Crime Team, which is where we first meet Jo. In the book she’s head of Major Crime for Surrey and Sussex, so I stretched it and added Kent and  Hampshire.

You could have an officer who lives in Dover and they pick up a murder in the New Forest, that’s still on their patch, and it’s going to take them most of the day to get there. If you have an officer who’s living in Woking or Guildford who’s got to get to Hastings, that’s still a long way, so there are issues with merging operational units, but I think there are opportunities to make savings to reinvest at the operational level.

What made you want to make your detective a woman?

It was stupidity ’cause it was so hard! It was so hard to write, but I wanted to. Obviously I’ve done the role that Jo is doing, not quite the same circumstances, but I had done that role and people know that I’ve done that role. I’ve been the divisional commander here, so I didn’t want people to think “Oh, this is just autobiographical. He’s just using it as a cathartic exercise”.

But also I did actually want to explore something about how it was different for women both in terms of what they go through, but also what they offer, because I’m what you would think was out of central casting of a senior police officer. I’m a white, middle aged, straight, middle class bloke. So I know what it’s like to do this job, I did it for four years, but I don’t know what it’s like to do it as a woman. So when I was writing Jo I wanted to explore a lot of that, but I also wanted to give her greater depth and I think there’s more opportunity to do that with women. I think you’re able to show their strengths better, I think you can authentically show their emotive response better because they do tend to be more honest with their emotions than blokes.

There’s a scene where she’s being vilified in the press after a press conference and her husband Darren, who’s a journalist, is going “Look, it’s still headlines” and she’s going “No, they all think I’m useless” and she’s able to say that kind of thing.

I had a really, really useful person help me on this who’s a woman called Di Roskilly, who was the divisional commander for East Sussex after I’d gone. She’s a wonderful, wonderful human being, she’s just amazing. She read it and I thought she’d say “Just do this here, tweak that there” but her reply to me was “I think we need a Zoom call” so I’m thinking “Oh my God! I’ve been called to the head teacher’s office!” So we have this Zoom call and essentially what she was saying is that you’ve got most of the external pressures just about right, you kind of understand that it was harder for me than it would have been for you, and there are challenges around child care that you probably didn’t have, even though we both did it when we had young children. It’s easier for me to do a Darren and wander off and do my job than it was for her, even though her husband is a fantastic bloke, he’s a police officer, really nice bloke. But she said “What you haven’t touched on at all is the internal pressures, the guilt”. A lot of the impostor syndrome that Jo suffers from came from Di – you know, she’s thinking, “Somehow I’ve managed to find my way into this role, but I’m not ready for it.” Jo says to Gary “People think you should have got the job, and maybe they’re right“ or something like that. That’s the sort of thing that she’d be feeling, almost like “Have I been put in this role for tokenism rather than because of ability?” and so I was delighted that Di guided me on that because I wanted to get that depth, because it’s a continuing story and I wanted to mine that even deeper in the second book. You can develop that and I just think it’s interesting. When I decided to write that character as a woman I made a pact with myself to do it as well as possible and to really open my eyes and understand.

What made you decide to write in the first place? Have you always wanted to write?

No, no!

Did that happen because you were helping other authors?

Yeah, it’s Peter James’s fault, it’s down to him, I blame him! So what happened was in my last year or so in the police the chief constable and deputy chief constable were very keen on the divisional commanders blogging, everyone was into blogging, Twitter had just come out, they wanted to get a bit of a social media presence and people blogging. So we were all up for that, it’s a good idea, a good way of getting your thoughts down, getting your voice out there, so I wrote a few blogs and published them.

You sent those to Peter, didn’t you?

I sent them to Peter. I really enjoyed it, and one of them the Argus picked up and they said “Do you mind if we use this as a page 8?” which is their guest page, or it was at the time. It was about running towards danger rather than away, and it was all connected with an off duty Essex officer who got killed because there was a knife man in his street, and everyone else is running away and he’s running towards it, and I wrote a few hundred words on why someone would do that, why the police do that, and why you find yourself in the middle of something where you think “God how did I get here? I’m in danger!” So I said to the Argus “By all means if you want to publish it, yeah, but I don’t want you to edit anything out of it because there’s a lot of meaning in there, but if you want to improve the writing, the English or whatever, crack on” and they said “No, no, it’s absolutely fine as it is.” So I thought “Oh, maybe I could write some articles or whatever when I leave the police” so I sent it to Peter and Peter said “Actually, you’ve got quite a good style, it’s not commercial yet, but you could really work with it” and then a couple of months later he came up to me and said “I’ve been chatting to my agent and publisher, would you write a non fiction [book] with me?” So it took off from there. So I started it and it was a struggle to start, I really, really struggled to find my voice, to get a rhythm going and all of that. But once I got into it, I absolutely loved it and now it feels like a sort of second calling really, you know? It’s all I think about day in, day out, which annoys my wife ’cause I should be thinking about the shopping and the gardening and stuff like that.

And you’re just thinking!

Yeah, musing!

So Peter encouraged you and worked with you and spotted your talent, but how long had you been working with him before you got to that point?

Probably a couple of years, three years.

And how did that happen?

Well he already had a relationship with Sussex Police through Dave Gaylor, and when Dave left other people took on the mantle, and because of the job I was doing, and he based his books in Brighton, it was very much a case of, doing the role I did, the chief wanting us to kind of facilitate Peter. Peter’s a lovely, lovely fellow and really easy to get along with, so we just became friends really.

I’d guide him on certain things, and we let him go and spend some time with particular units if we felt it was appropriate. So we just became friends really, but I didn’t start officially advising him until I left the police and started to read his books through in draft form. And from that, once we published Death Comes Knocking, the crime writing community got to hear about how I worked with Peter and then they all came to me and asked me to do the same for them. And it’s been like a full time job ever since.

So you’ve got a big client base now?

Yeah, it really is.

Do you still advise him or have you handed him over to someone who’s still in the police?

No, I still advise him. Dave does a lot of the development work with him because they’ve been doing it for years, but I’ll pick up particular things, I’ll go through all his manuscripts twice and just check them for authenticity. We’re always talking, we were talking the other day about plot and character and that sort of thing, always on the phone to one another. But one of the things that I’m really, really conscious of is that I have been gone for a while now, so I do have to make sure that my knowledge is up to date.

I keep in touch with a lot of current officers, a lot of recently retired officers, and actually doing the work keeps you up to date because if someone asks you a question you think “Oh, I think I know what happens there” and then you go and research it and you find that actually it’s changed a little bit.

So an example of that is when I was in the police, one of the discipline outcomes up until about 1996 included reduction in rank, so if you were a sergeant or above you could be demoted. That then went in 1996, and it actually came back at the end of 2020. I don’t know why I checked it, somebody asked me “can you be demoted as a police officer?’ so I must have got a whisper or something, ’cause I went and researched and I think about a month before, the law had changed and you could again, after all that time. So actually doing the advising and being assiduous in my own research on behalf of other people, helps me keep up to date.

Has it been a big culture shock moving from the culture of the police to the literary world of publishers and authors and literary agents? 

Yes it has. Obviously in the police you’re surrounded by people all the time, and you’re kind of bouncing off people and you’re getting feedback, even if it’s subtle feedback, from people about your own performance. So if you were in the middle of doing something like running a big policing [operation] or a big protest or something like that, and you said you wanted to do something and you voiced that, and you’ve got someone next to you you trust and they’re going “Oh”, immediately you think “maybe that’s wrong.” If you’re writing a book, you don’t get any feedback until you send it to your agent, if you’re lucky enough to have an agent!

I need to be careful about saying this but basically in the police people are very responsive, so whatever rank I was, if I sent an email to you and said “are you able to do this for me?” you’d reply back yes or no, you’d tell me straightaway. Or if you were my boss and said “Graham, we need you to come in at 6:00 tomorrow morning, really sorry if that’s awkward, but need you in” I’ll be in at 6:00 tomorrow morning. In the publishing world the urgency to respond to needy authors like me is not quite as great as I’d expect. It’s not bad, I mean, I’ve got great publishers, they are very good, but it is a culture shock. And at the end of the day what I’m doing is not life and death, and sometimes in the police it can be.

Sometimes I say to David Headley, my agent, “Should we chase this up?” and he’s “No, it’s fine, it’s fine, just don’t worry about it, this is quite normal”. And then you speak to other authors and they go “No it’s fine, don’t worry, that’s just how it all works.” So there’s a bit of that, and it’s a bit of getting used to lone working.

What a different world you’re in!

It is, it’s really different. I did feel that the police was a calling and it was a calling, as I said, there was no plan B. And I feel I’ve had a second calling now, and if anything my only frustration at the moment is that I don’t have enough time to write, I’d love to write more.

Are you writing the next Jo Howe book?

I’m writing the next but one, so the second one is already written, it’s just waiting for copy edits to come back from the publishers, it comes out next year, and then hopefully if this one [Bad For Good] sells well, and the next one, hopefully they’ll offer me another contract and I’ll be able to write some more. I’ve started writing the third one, so I’m getting ahead of the game.

So you knew it was going to be a series when you started?

Yeah, I don’t know how long. It’s interesting because I was at this event last night, there were two authors that have got very long series, Mark Billingham and Tim Weaver, and both of them were saying “We thought three or four books and that would be it”. I think Tim’s on about 12 or 13, Mark’s on about 21 in the series!

If they’re still enjoying it, that’s fine, isn’t it?

Yeah, they still go through the “I’m gonna get found out, I haven’t got another story in me” but they just recognise that as part of the process. But they write a fresh, and often a better, book every time. And they do still enjoy it, and they do write the odd standalone in between just to keep themselves fresh.

That’s what amazes me about Peter James’s books. When I asked him about this, he explained how he keeps it fresh for himself by learning new things. He loves to learn about something, such as art forgery, do a lot of research and then write a book, and that keeps him going. His books never dip in quality.

No, no. He’s obviously got a great set of characters there and people invest in characters. You know you can have the best story in the world, but if they don’t care about your characters they’re not going to read it. So Peter’s got fabulous characters that he keeps deep and nuanced, and you can have empathy with all of them. You know the art forgery one that’s coming out, it’s just inspired. He’s about three or four books ahead, in terms of what’s in his head.

Why did you retire when you did, did you have to go after 30 years?

I’d done 30 years. So about a year before I was due to leave, Sussex Police brought in this kind of enforced retirement, ’cause it’s the only way they could get officer numbers down, because it was at the beginning of the cuts, so they were requiring people to retire when they reached pensionable age.

A sort of side story here, it was my job as a divisional commander to serve the notices on the people who were having to retire, and most of them didn’t want to go. I had tears in the office and everything. One of the people that I had to serve a notice to was that officer I was talking about earlier that got the Queen’s Police Medal, so she got the Queen’s Police Medal one week, and in the next week she’s in my office getting served the papers that she had to leave, that was awful.

I didn’t want to go at that point, I thought “No, I want to stay on. I’m still quite young, I’ve got lots to give still” but as the months went on I thought “Yeah ok, I’ve got my head round it now and I’ll find something.”

About six months before I was due to retire they announced that in two months’ time they were going to stop this thing, it was a regulation called A19.

What year was that?

This was in 2012. So everyone was saying to me “Oh, that’s great, they’ve ditched A19 in Sussex, now you don’t have to go” and I said “Do you know what? My head’s gone, now my head is out the door, I’m left, I’ve made that decision and I can’t rethink it, that I’m going to stay for another four or five years, or whatever.” So I didn’t have to go, but the circumstances kind of pushed me in that direction. Then I took my own decision to leave when I did.

Did you already have this other career in mind, perhaps?

No, no, I don’t think I’ve ever thought this has been a career until about three years ago. I mean, I was doing a lot of safeguarding work when I left, I was chairing safeguarding boards, I was undertaking safeguarding reviews. I still do some of that, so still very much in the criminal justice world. But then the writing and the advising started to take over and it’s almost full time now. It’s mainly advising but a lot of writing as well, I’m trying to bring it to 50/50, that’s my aim. With a bit of time for myself in there too.

You’ve had a really good, strong family life, haven’t you? You talk about that in one of your books, that that was such a help, because a lot of police marriages suffer from the stress and strain of the work.

Yeah, I’ve been very lucky, we’ve been married 30 years, we’ve got 25 year old triplets, they’re just an absolute blessing, they’ve grown into such wonderful young men and young woman, just so proud of them.

As far as possible I’ve tried to put my family first. I think the more senior you are, although I was a sergeant when we had the children, so I wasn’t very senior then, but the more senior you are, the more you can engineer your diary a little bit better. I don’t think I ever missed a birthday. I always made sure I took leave on the birthday, I only had one birthday to worry about in a year! I went to as many school things as I possibly could, sometimes I couldn’t. But I think by trying to work it out that you can, it’s surprising how much time you can give to your family.

I was able to come home and talk about things that had happened, but I also didn’t allow it to kind of consume family life. Sometimes things completely overcome you. You’ve read Death Comes Knocking about the cot death, that’s an example that completely devastated me. But I tried to have this view that my family’s my family, they were a good release for me but at the end of the day they needed me as a dad and as a husband more than they needed me as somebody to counsel. And one of my sons is in the police now, he’s a police officer in mid Sussex.

Carrying on the family tradition?

Yeah, he’s loving it. He’s been in just over two years but he moans like a veteran, he’s fabulous!

Is that part of the deal?

Oh God yeah. I hear myself through him so much, I used to sound like that!

 

 


GRAHAM BARTLETT was a police officer for thirty years and is now a bestselling writer. He rose to become chief superintendent of the Brighton and Hove force as well as its police commander. He entered the Sunday Times Top Ten with his first non-fiction book, Death Comes Knocking – Policing Roy Grace’s Brighton in 2016. He followed that up in 2020 with another non-fiction book, Babes in the Wood, the harrowing 32-year fight to bring a double child killer to justice. Both these books he co-wrote with international best seller, Peter James.
As well as writing, Bartlett is a police procedural and crime advisor helping scores of authors and TV writers (including Mark Billingham, Elly Griffiths, Anthony Horowitz, Ruth Ware, Claire McGowan and Dorothy Koomson) achieve authenticity in their drama.

 

#crimefiction #crimewriters #detectivefiction #brightonauthors #grahambartlett #badforgood #policeprocedural #peterjames #roygraceseries

Graham Bartlett, bestselling author and advisor to crime writers, talks about his police career

I thought we could start with your police career, Graham. Could you tell me why you wanted to join the police?

All I ever wanted to do was join the police, my uncle was in the old Brighton Borough Police and it came from him really. He used to come round to our house, he was traffic police, and he used to go dashing off when the radio went out, it was exciting so it just kind of grew from there, and my dad was a volunteer police officer. There was never a plan B really, and I think that worried my parents because you know, same with any job, you’re not necessarily going to get the first job you go for. I said to them, “Well, if I don’t get into Sussex Police, there’s 42 other forces that I can try and I will”. And I was lucky, I got into Sussex.

It sounds a bit clichéd, but I just wanted to work where I could help people, where I could make a difference. I didn’t fancy the idea of being in an office, although that’s obviously where I ended up when I got more senior. So, it was a worthwhile career to embark on, I was only 18 so I had no life experience at all and that was a bit of a challenge, but I soon learnt it!

So you learned on the job and went on training courses as well?

So locally our initial training was at Ashford in Kent, that was the regional training centre. So we went there for 10 weeks’ residential, home at weekends, then you come back to your force, do a couple of weeks just understanding the local procedures and then you’re on to your police division. I was at Bognor Regis first of all, 18 and a half, wet behind the ears, out with a tutor constable. I wasn’t allowed out on my own until I was 19, so I had a very long tutorship.

That’s young! You could come up against anything.

Well, that’s right, but you do have to learn on your feet really. You go on courses throughout your probation and throughout your whole career, but you do have to learn from how you do things. I was no size, I was very young and I was often walking the streets on Saturday night in Bognor, knowing that my backup was quite some way away, and I knew straightaway that I was never going to fight my way out of any situation, so I had to develop a kind of gift of the gab, and just learn to use humour and very fast lips to get myself out of trouble!

And did that work?

Yeah it did, I never got assaulted in those days. In fact it wasn’t until two years later when I came down to Brighton that I actually got assaulted and that wasn’t that serious. I got abuse, people used to chant “Does your mum know you’re out?” and things like that as I was walking down the street, but I kind of laughed it off, I couldn’t do anything else really. There was no point in me turning around and facing off a gang of 25 year olds, so I’d just laugh it off and say “well, I’ll phone  her when I get to the next phone box and let her know”!

Did you ever feel anxious or were you quite confident?

I did have anxiety at times. I think you’d be a bit strange if you were going into a violent situation, or a shop’s been broken into and you’re going in to try and see if anyone’s still in there, if you didn’t feel a little bit of fear, but you just have to go through that, really, you have to work through that. I remember my tutor constable saying to me that “people call the police ’cause there’s no one else left to call. So if we don’t do it who else is going to?” So you’ve got to step up, and that was how I ran my career and how I taught other officers as well as I went through.

I’ve read that you went up through every rank during your career.

I was every rank in Brighton and Hove. So Brighton and Hove has officers from police constable to chief superintendent, and most people that arrived at the chief superintendent rank hadn’t fulfilled every rank in Brighton and Hove. I sort of darted in and out occasionally, but I served every rank in Brighton and Hove in some capacity.

What was your favourite rank? What did you enjoy doing most?

I think enjoyment-wise probably detective sergeant, that’s a great rank because you’ve got just enough seniority, it’s the second tier, so you’ve got enough seniority to pick and choose a little bit of what you’re going to do, but also you’re low enough down the ranks to actually go out and do it. Once you get to inspector, certainly chief inspector, you’re more or less office bound. It’s not all admin, but you’re running big investigations, I describe it as you’re like a project manager, really, particularly if you’re a Senior Investigating Officer on a murder, you’re project managing so many strands to investigate that murder you don’t get out, but detective sergeant was a great job, I loved it. And I worked with some brilliant people in Brighton and Hove at that rank.

So you don’t get out at all once you reach a certain level, or can you? This comes up in Peter James’s Roy Grace books doesn’t it, that Grace still likes to get out and be in the thick of it.

Yes, and detective superintendents don’t normally go out, but it’s within their gift to go out if they want some fresh air or they want a bit of excitement, and Peter’s built his whole series on the fact that Grace does that. In my book, Bad for Good, Jo Howe does that once or twice, which is kind of the norm really. But you don’t get out very often, but the pressures and the variety come in different forms. So if there was a massive protest closing down Brighton and Hove, or a dynamic firearms incident or something like that, I’d probably be in charge of that, but from the police station, because that’s the best place for me to command from.

Some people prefer to stay in response their whole career, don’t they, because they like the variety and the excitement?

Yes, and it’s a very noble ambition to do that, you know. A lot of people say to me “they’ve been a constable for 20 years, they can’t be very good” but it’s quite the contrary, it’s because they are very good at it, and they enjoy it, and they could be role models for people coming through. We had an officer here in Brighton, she joined I think slightly before me, and she did 30 years 24/7 response and never did anything else. And in the end we put her up for a Queen’s Police Medal, and she was in the honours list one year because of her dedication to frontline response. She was a role model, particularly for women coming through, dealing with all of the pressures there were particularly around in the ’80s and ’90s, she was great for that.

Can you think of some of the major changes you experienced in your career, good and bad?

The forensics have just changed beyond all recognition. DNA hadn’t even been discovered as an investigative tool when I joined the police in ‘83, you had fingerprints and blood grouping and that was it really, so that was huge. And technology in surveillance, surveillance used to be sticking people behind somebody and following them around. There’s a bit of that now, but most of it is technical because of phones, CCTV, all kinds of data sources, you’ve got telematics in your car, all those sorts of things. So technology has made things not easier so much, but certainly it’s given greater opportunities to be able to catch people.

I think the negatives – I could talk about the police numbers and the cuts – but I think there is a lack of respect for the police now, and it’s not just the police that suffer. I think some people seem to think that because they know a little bit about a profession, be that being a police officer, a journalist, a politician, that they’re entitled to portray that they know everything, so criticism comes much quicker. There’s not much empathy for the police nowadays. I was talking to somebody the other day, who was making quite a difficult arrest in a shopping centre and they managed to get the chap restrained in the end, and he said that he was just surrounded by people on their phones taking video of it, no one coming to help. I certainly remember in my young days, not just me because I looked like a kid, but with other people as well, you’d quite often get members of the public coming in and just helping you hold someone while you got the handcuffs on.

Why do you think that is? Is this a general sort of malaise about authority, or is it because of high profile cases in the media about the Met?

Yes, I think there’s a lot of that. I think people have lost a lot of respect for the police because of some of the dreadful things that individual officers have done, and in some cases, cultures within particular forces. So there’s not that unconditional respect that there used to be. But the way these things are reported leads people to believe that that is the norm, and I genuinely don’t think it’s like that.

People do talk as if the whole of the police force is bad in some way because of individuals like those at Charing Cross. But there are thousands of police officers, clearly they’re not all going to be like that.

No, they’re not. When I was here in Brighton and Hove I had about six hundred officers on my division and I think about three or four hundred civilians, and I was proud of every single one of them, I really was. And the odd one or two that erred, I remember people coming to us, to myself as commander (it’s a big thing to come to me, even though I’m quite a warm and friendly person, I hope!) and they would make a complaint about a fellow officer who they thought had used excessive force, or who was cheating the system in some way. Police officers despise officers that are corrupt or violent, or bullies, as much as the public do, and will do everything to root them out.

It’s a shame then, isn’t it, that this is the public image of the police at the moment? What do you think can be done about it?

I think it’s down to policing to show that it’s not that, and actually in the main it never was that. Everybody joins the police at least to do good, to be fair and to be equitable and to treat people well. Some people veer from that at some stage, but very few. So it’s up to the police, I think, to show that they’ve changed, and certainly some of the things that are going on in London at the moment, you have to question how long that can take, how long those opinions will take to change and how much proof needs to happen. I think it’s seismic.

I heard the Secret Barrister say on his radio broadcast that all the police he’d ever met and worked with were decent, good people trying to do their best in a difficult job. 

I’d agree with that. I’ve met some incompetent police officers in my time, and I’ve met one or two that have let themselves down because they’ve been lazy or distracted and therefore dropped the ball. I’ve met one or two who were violent, but they’ve all been dealt with. I mean they’re found out quite quickly, but by their peers, not by people like me, their peers will find them out, because with the majority, the overwhelming culture in the police is hard work, courage and standing in between good and evil.

People must be reluctant though to grass up their colleagues, aren’t they? The police is quite a family, quite a cohesive culture.

You’d think that but my experience is no, they’re not, they’re not reluctant at all. There is this kind of myth that professional standards departments are hated because they chase down corrupt officers. You know that there’s nothing officers detest more than somebody that is corrupt or lazy or uses too much force or whatever.

Because it gives everyone a bad name, doesn’t it?

It does, yes. I’ve been on the streets when there’ve been scandals elsewhere in the force and it comes straight back to you, you know “you’re all the same”. I know that when Wayne Cousins was identified as being Sarah Everard’s killer police officers were getting vilified on the streets, and actually the judge in that trial said that it was one of the most thorough and tenacious investigations (I can’t remember if those were the exact words) that he’d ever seen. And it was the Met that caught him, the Met caught one of their own.

And yet people talk about it as if that’s a cultural norm, but the reason it’s such a shock is that it isn’t the norm, surely?

No, it definitely isn’t the norm. There were some stupid people that don’t deserve to be in the organisation who got involved in WhatsApp chats around it, and there are police officers in prison now for taking photos of dead bodies and sharing them. That is stupid, it’s criminal and it can’t be tolerated. But you know, I’ve never met anyone who’s done that. I’ve never met anyone who’s met anyone who’s done that. It is rare.

Has the culture changed a lot since you were in the police, or are you saying it didn’t really need to change that much?

No, no, I think it has changed in a lot of ways. I think in the early ’80s, certainly the force was a lot less tolerant of diversity at that time. I can almost picture now every woman officer that was at Bognor, I can’t picture every man officer, but there were so few women I can picture them now nearly 40 years on. We had no officers of colour there at all, none, no out gay officers, be they male or female, certainly no transgender or gender neutral people at all that were out, so that was really, really tricky for people that were part of those demographics. Until the Police and Criminal Evidence Act came in in 1986 the police was less accountable, so what went on in interview rooms wasn’t really seen too much. But I served three years in that pre-period and I didn’t see anyone being beaten up or thrown in a cell for days or anything like that. It must have happened because that’s one of the reasons why the Act came in, but it wasn’t prolific, certainly in my experience it wasn’t prolific.

What do you say to people on the street ,after some awful case, who say you are all the same?

Well, if they are prepared to hang around and have a conversation with you, which often they’re not, then I would try and speak to them and say “look, do you really think that we aren’t as repulsed as you are by this, do you really think that we support those officers, do you really think that this is something that the police service wants within its ranks?” But whether they listen or not, quite often in this day and age people are very quick to make their minds up and not change them.

There’s been a lot of noise in the media about how people are screened to get into the police after the Sarah Everard case and those awful incidents at Charing Cross. Is there a problem with screening, or is it just that now and then someone will go bad?

I don’t think there’s a huge issue with the vetting of people coming into the service. Only 5% of people that apply actually get in, it’s very few, 5% that start the application, because there are various kinds of trapdoors throughout it, and the first one is around your values and beliefs. It’s multi choice questions around values and beliefs, and you can’t hide in those ones, they’re not obvious.

You couldn’t lie your way through them and convince everybody?

You get about 60 questions and the algorithm would find you out. Then those that do get in, a proportion of those don’t get through their first two years, not a huge proportion because the police want to keep them. But I think there’s a lot of that at that early end, a lot of vetting and a lot of scrutiny for the first two years, and I think the cultures that we see reported in places like Charing Cross, develop over a long period of time. It’s having the systems and the abilities, and the right people to be able to spot when things are starting to get out of hand, and that’s a leadership issue, there’s no question about that. That’s down to sergeants, inspectors, everybody of rank, plus experienced constables, to go “hang on a minute, we don’t talk like that here, that’s not how we behave here.” And that takes courage and it also takes support. So if you’ve got a sergeant who’s brave enough to do that, yet their inspector is out drinking with the lads later on that day, it leaves you a bit vulnerable.

What’s your attitude to graduate entrance? Do you think it’s a good thing to have different routes into the police?

Yes, definitely a good idea to have different routes in. I think the police recruited from the same pool before, you know ex-military and kids really when I joined, and obviously I fell into the latter.

I’m not a big fan of people having to be graduates to come in, or even having to do a degree to get through their probation, which is what they have to do at the moment, because some people just aren’t suited to academic study. I’ve worked with some incredible people that really struggled to get through even their basic probationary courses. I was at Bognor, as I said, and down there you had people who were at the Royal Military Police barracks in Chichester, a lot of people out of the navy in Portsmouth, a lot of them lived in the Chichester area and around there, and they joined the police and worked with me in Bognor. They were fabulous police officers but not academic in any way, so I think you need a mix.

I’m not a big fan of direct entry at senior rank. I think that is something which is going to cause some big issues going forward.

How does that work?

Well, you can join as a superintendent, or you can join as an inspector, with no background in policing. The people that I’ve met who’ve gone in that route are lovely people, clever people, they’re bright and they bring a different perspective, but my worry is, when I was in senior command roles, I would sit there sometimes  – it can be quite a lonely place to be – drawing on every ounce of my 30 years’ experience that went before, knowing what it’s like.

If you’ve got a group of six officers trying to stop a mob invading Brighton Town Hall because they want to disrupt the council meeting, I’ve been there, I know what that feels like, so I know the impact of the decisions that I’m making at a strategic level, and how that’s going to affect the people that are actually standing there taking the bricks. So I’m not a big fan, but what I am a big fan of is very early talent spotting. Let’s start to identify the bright and the best as they come in and accelerate them through the system, expose them to all of the experiences and the challenges that they’re going to need when they are operating at that high level. But not just parachute them in, I just worry about the officers themselves, and I worry about the public in those situations.

How long has it been the case that people with no policing experience whatsoever can enter at high level ranks?

About eight years, it was just after I left that that came in. I was very vocal on local radio about that, which is interesting, because the then Chief Constable Giles York was very vocal in favour of it, and he’s actually a friend of mine, so we agreed to differ on that!

Do you have any feelings about the criminal justice system being broken, as people say, and about the prison system? I’m thinking of Bob Heaton in your book, who is so shocked at what he sees in prison that he doesn’t want to work for the police anymore.

That’s right, he decides that he’s not going to subject people to these bullies, and some of the bullies aren’t always on the wrong side of the door. I think the theoretical model of our criminal justice system is very good in terms of the onus is on the prosecution to prove beyond doubt that the defendant is guilty. There are some obligations on the defence to flag up what their defence is likely to be, and there’s disclosure obligations both ways. I think the bureaucracy of it designs in justice denied for people. I think particularly now when you’ve got such a backlog because of Covid, that you’re not going to get somebody to trial for a year at least.

That’s terrible.

It is terrible. And in a lot of those cases you’ve got innocent people on remand in prison who may be acquitted. And if they are acquitted, they’ll just be told “you’re free to go” and there’s no comeback for them.

I think prison is a good place to protect the public, so putting violent people in there, putting sexual offenders in there, because I think the public do need protection. I think as a mode of punishment and rehabilitation it just doesn’t work. When you look at people who are imprisoned for non violent offences, for offences against justice in some cases, for contempt of court or something like that, I’m not saying they shouldn’t be punished, but is that really a place for somebody like that, for fraudsters, white collar criminals? You put them in prison for five years, what’s that actually doing? The way to hurt fraudsters is to go after their money, go after their assets, that’s what’s really going to hurt them. It’s just a very expensive kind of warehouse, really, and more often than not people that go in come out worse.

And we have more, don’t we, in prison than most countries in Europe?

Certainly in Europe I believe, yes, but we tend to use it with impunity and for no good reason.

So you’re fairly jaded about any rehabilitation that could take place in prisons, you don’t believe it works?

No, I don’t think it works. I think you have to have quite a long sentence to even get on the first rung of rehabilitation in prison. Short sentences don’t work. If you’re a drug addict and you commit a theft or robbery, and you get six months, you’re getting no rehabilitation in there. You’re probably going to get your hands on more drugs in there than you could out, and you’re going to come out without a job, without a home, without money, possibly without a family and with a raging drug habit, and there’s one place you’re going and that’s back again, and it’s just crazy. I get very agitated about it!

And they just get shoved out the door, and that’s it, there’s no support at all?

Well, they have probation. If they’ve been sentenced to a year they come out on licence, but under a year they come out at the halfway point and they get post-sentence supervision. It’s not on licence, it’s basically keeping an eye on them, they don’t really do anything much other than to make sure they’re not offending and they’re living where they’re supposed to live, they can’t, they’re as underfunded as everybody else.

How can drugs be so prevalent in prison?

Well, there are so many ways of getting drugs in. Prison officers themselves will tell you, despite they have these chairs that visitors sit on that they’re supposed to X-ray and find drugs or phones or whatever, it even gets in there. There’s talk of prison officers bringing it in. There’s spice, which is synthetic cannabis, can be liquefied and then what happens sometimes is that somebody will make a kid’s drawing and send it in, as if “oh look, your little boy’s done you a nice painting” and actually the paint is infused with spice. Some prisons photocopy those or anything that comes in like that, they just photocopy it and give the inmate the photocopy. They’re so imaginative! The one thing that prisoners have got is time to think.

And what about corruption? Do you think that’s not as rife as TV dramas like to portray?

I don’t think it is as rife. I mean there is corruption as there is in local government, national government, because it’s human beings, but my experience is that corruption is on an individual basis rather than on an endemic basis. There have been examples of big squads that have been held corrupt in the ‘70s and ‘80s, but I think it’s more the individual, and certainly the corrupt officers that I know of that have been dismissed and sent to prison have been working very much on their own, and it’s been, I say low level, no corruption is low level, but no one is buying big manor houses in the country or driving Rolls Royces, it’s almost, well, it is quite pathetic really. The worst kind of corruption is mishandling of evidence and fitting people up, and there’s quite a lot of safeguards around that now, but that’s always a worry for me, the innocent going to prison.

What’s the most memorable case you worked on? 

I worked on the Russell Bishop case, which I’ve written about [in Babes in the Wood], but another one which always stuck with me was, and I wrote about this in Death Comes Knocking, a chap who ran a pizza shop in Hove, he ran it with his partner, they were a lovely couple, really unassuming. After locking up one night, as they got home she got out the car to go and unlock the door and he parked the car and then he got jumped and then taken away in his car by two people and beaten almost to death, left blind, very nearly died and that was all for a couple of hundred quid. They wanted his safe keys so they went back to the shop and emptied the safe, but didn’t know he’d done the banking on the Friday instead of the Monday, so there was hardly any money in there.

I actually met him, I went to see him when I was writing Death Comes Knocking, they were still living in the same flat, still together, just an amazing sense of humour and humility and just getting on with life.

I remember when we were sitting in court, there’s a process called “warrant of further detention” – when you want to keep people in custody longer than 36 hours, you have to go to court and a magistrate has to grant that, so we were behind the prosecutor and we had old style Nokia phones in those days, and I was literally waiting for somebody to text me to say he’d died, and that we were changing the investigation to a murder, so I could brief the prosecutor, but he didn’t die, thank goodness. One of the people who did it had no previous convictions at all, and the other one only had a couple for burglary. It stuck with me for a long time.

Yes, I got that impression, I read your books and also watched that documentary Peter James did about the “Babes in the Wood” case – so many police officers say how things haunt them for their whole lives, that they never forget certain crimes.

Yes, certainly the “Babes in the Wood” one lives with everybody who was involved in that, which was interesting when I wrote the book with Peter, because I couldn’t speak to everybody, and so many people wrote to me afterwards saying “you should’ve spoken to me, I was the scene guard here, I’d’ve had something to tell you.” You know, everyone’s got a story about it, and sometimes you just have to go “yeah, but I only had ninety odd thousand words, that’s all I had to tell the story” –  it could’ve gone on for ever otherwise!

Did you ever get jaded and cynical? Do you think it’s inevitable after years and years in the police seeing the worst of human nature?

I don’t think I got jaded, I think not much surprised me after a while. Some of the things people do, or the lengths they go to to scam each other or hurt each other, not a lot really surprised me. I’m not saying I’ve heard it all before, but it’s just like “Oh, that’s what they’re doing now, is it?” So you do get a bit like that.

But certainly the way I was trained, and tutored and brought up really, was that you always try to put the victim and the family at the centre of everything, so you know you can’t afford to be dismissive about anything, even where you know it was bad on bad crime, you know, where somebody attacks a rival criminal or something like that, at the end of the day, they’re still someone’s son, daughter, brother, partner, whatever, and you try and think about the impact on the family as much as you do on the individual.

You’re seeing the worst of human nature most of the time, aren’t you? It must be quite hard to keep all of that in mind, but the families aren’t responsible, are they?

No, though sometimes the families are problematic as well, but they still hurt. If you’ve got to go tell someone that their son or daughter has been murdered or died in a horrific car crash by someone driving in a ridiculous manner, however much they might hate the police and been on the wrong side of the law they still cry, and they still want you not to be telling them that, they’ll still live with that moment. Sometimes I dwell on it, sometimes I think of all the death messages I’ve given, and I know that every one of those people will always remember me knocking on the door and what I told them. They’ll never forget that police officer’s knock, whether they be holier than thou or somebody who spent half their life in prison, they will cry, they will hurt.

Did you dread doing that? Was that one of the worst things you had to do?

Yes, it was horrible. You walk up to somebody’s house and sometimes you’d see them like a silhouette behind a curtain, or moving around, or the curtain might be open and you see them watching the telly or having a cup of tea or a drink or something, and you think “I’m just about to devastate your life and you don’t know that yet. You’re sitting there, life is rosy, and I’m just about to crush you with what I’m going to have to tell you.”

And reactions could vary hugely. I’ve been attacked for giving that message before. They’re not attacking me, they don’t want me to say what I’m saying, they don’t want to believe it, so you don’t take it personally or anything like that, but I’ve been attacked. And sometimes I sat there for hours and hours and hours ’cause they’ve not wanted me to go, and I’ve not felt that I could go. Sometimes you think is that professional, to just keep staying there? I just think that I’d owe it to someone. I never got criticised for it, but you know that while you’re sitting there you’re not answering the other jobs that are coming over the radio. But I think you’ve just got to do what you’re doing the best way that you can.

I remember my old boss here Malcolm Bacon, a detective inspector, dealt with a child death, and the police and the prosecution couldn’t prove whether it was the mum or the dad that did it. One of them did it, one of them was guilty of murder and one of them wasn’t guilty of murder, but might be guilty of lots of other things, so they both got acquitted because you’ve got to prove it beyond reasonable doubt against each one. And he got the law changed, he just made it his life’s ambition to lobby government and to get the law changed. We were very lucky because Lord Bassam, who was one of the Home Office ministers, was ex-leader of the Brighton Council, so Malcolm used him to start this debate going and they created an offence of Causing or Allowing the Death of a Child, which carries a significant custodial sentence, so cases where both parents don’t say anything, people are being convicted of that now, and that’s all down to Malcolm Bacon. That came out of one case where he just felt this huge injustice for this child that had died, and made it his life’s ambition to stop that from happening again.

Have you ever had a case where you knew someone was guilty and they got off and it was terribly frustrating?

The obvious one is Russell Bishop, that’s the obvious one. I’ve had serious assaults and burglaries, where people have got off and you just have to brush yourself down, really. It’s quite hard to adopt the mindset that your job is to get it to court. There are so many checks and balances before you get it to court. The CPS  [Crown Prosecution Service] have to approve the charge first of all, and then they have to continually review it so that they’re satisfied there’s sufficient evidence. If it gets to trial the judge has to agree that there’s sufficient evidence for it to continue. When the prosecution case is finished, if the defence ask them, the judge can determine whether or not there is a case to answer, whether the prosecution has done enough. So if you get to the point where the jury are walking back in, you’ve actually done all you can, there’s nothing really more to do, so you can’t dwell on it. But it does hurt, again for the victims, it does hurt, and particularly when you’re trying to explain to the victims that it’s not about belief, particularly if it’s a personal crime like a rape or something like that, it’s not that the jury didn’t believe you, it’s just that they couldn’t be sure, and it’s only that element of doubt, because not guilty doesn’t mean innocent. In Scotland they have not proven, which is our equivalent of not guilty. If you’re found innocent in Scotland you’re innocent, here not guilty is not innocent. You hear people on the court steps sometimes claiming “I’ve been found innocent by the jury” – well you haven’t, you’ve been found not guilty.

That’s a really interesting distinction, which I think most of us don’t understand.

Yes, the standard of proof is mountainous, and if you don’t reach the summit of not guilty it doesn’t mean you’re not a climber, doesn’t mean you’re not brilliant, but you’ve only got to have the defence be able to sow a seed of doubt in the jury’s mind. And sometimes if the judge is insisting on a unanimous verdict, then the defence has only got to seed that in one of the juror’s minds and you’ll at best get a hung jury.

Going back to the Bishop case, it’s interesting that eventually, because of improvements and progress in forensics, he was finally found guilty years later.

Yeah, that’s right. The law changed first, that’s the first thing, which meant that in serious cases, like murder and rape and robbery and kidnap, if there was significant new evidence the Court of Appeal could quash the acquittal and order a retrial. That’s only been in place since 2005, so that happened. Science then caught up and meant that the minute forensic samples that were gathered in 1986 were re-examined. It was DNA within the tapings. So they taped Karen’s skin, they’re looking for fibres and hair and stuff like that, but in doing that (they don’t realise it because it’s 1986) they’re also taping skin particles off there, and in those skin particles was Russell Bishop’s DNA, and the first part of the prosecution case was to prove that there’s no way that Russell Bishop had any opportunity to touch Karen Hadaway’s naked arm legally. He’d seen her during the course of the day, when she’d been wearing a jumper, didn’t touch her, was stood away from her, so there was no way other than during the murder that his DNA could have ended up on her skin. That trial was in 2018 and I think that evidence came through in 2015/2016 so a long, long time after the murders.

Prior to that, there’d been a problem with a window of time for the murders, hadn’t there?

Yes, that was the prosecution’s fault really. Nowadays the prosecution don’t really tie themselves down to times unless they can be certain. But it used to be the convention that everyone wanted the time of death, they’d go to the pathologist and pathologists were more inclined in those days to bow to that pressure, so “oh yeah, you know, between 6.30 and 7.00” but nowadays you ask a pathologist the time of death, and they’ll say, “well, it’s between the time they were last seen and when they were found dead”. That’s how they frame it.

So that was nothing to do with the police and their evidence, was it?

No, no, in fact police had gathered evidence which discounted that time of death, because they had a witness who knew the girls who was waving to them at quarter to seven.

So why wasn’t that taken more into account then?

Well that’s something that we ask in the book, why? Because you’re backing yourselves into a corner and the prosecution counsel did that, with the CPS. As far as I’m aware, and I’ve spoken to the senior investigating officers, no one picked up on it until it was too late. A lot of people criticised the judge in that case, and I think there are some questions about the judge, but at the end of the day, the judge has to direct the jury based on the case that the prosecution presents, and the prosecution presented the case that the girls were dead by 6.30, so the judge can only present that to the jury because that’s what the prosecution case is, notwithstanding that there was somebody who saw them at quarter to seven.

So the police provide all their evidence and hand it over to the prosecution?

Yes, they work with the police, but at the end of the day, the barrister, the leading counsel, will decide how he or she is going to conduct the case, and that’s how they decided to do it.

 

To be continued …

 

GRAHAM BARTLETT was a police officer for thirty years and is now a bestselling writer. He rose to become chief superintendent of the Brighton and Hove force as well as its police commander. He entered the Sunday Times Top Ten with his first non-fiction book, Death Comes Knocking – Policing Roy Grace’s Brighton in 2016. He followed that up in 2020 with another non-fiction book, Babes in the Wood, the harrowing 32-year fight to bring a double child killer to justice. Both these books he co-wrote with international best seller, Peter James.
As well as writing, Bartlett is a police procedural and crime advisor helping scores of authors and TV writers (including Mark Billingham, Elly Griffiths, Anthony Horowitz, Ruth Ware, Claire McGowan and Dorothy Koomson) achieve authenticity in their drama.

 

 

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Elly Griffiths talks about life under lockdown in her latest Ruth Galloway book The Locked Room

Spoiler Alert: if you haven’t read The Locked Room yet this interview contains information about some plot developments.

 

Why did you decide to set the book in lockdown?

Well, I thought long and hard about it, and I think it’s a decision that lots of writers are going to have to take, particularly writers who write contemporary fiction, serious fiction. The book before was The Night Hawks, which ended in December 2019, so I knew that I was going to have to make a decision with this book.

And of course, because I write a book a year, I didn’t have long to think about it, and I had few options really. One of them was to set it in 2019, in which Covid and lockdown didn’t happen, and I’m sure lots of people will take that route, and that’s perfectly valid to my mind. Or I could have set everything in the last few weeks of 2019, made everything happen in those few weeks, but it’s a really tight timeline, and that would only be putting it off, wouldn’t it? I would have to come there eventually and so in the end I decided to go for doing Covid and lockdown.

Maybe if I was writing as a debut novelist I might not have gone that way, but having written a book about Ruth every year for the last 14 years, I thought that people might want to know what happened to her and the cast of characters during lockdown. I remember reading something about the Spanish flu’ outbreak, that there are hardly any contemporary fictional accounts of it. It would be a shame if there were no contemporary crime fiction that included Covid, I’m sure there will be people who do, and people who don’t. I guess a nasty little “writer-y” bit of my brain also thought, well, it’s quite a good opportunity really, because I’ve always wanted to write a locked room mystery, and here we are in a locked world.

Was it a device for you to explore Ruth and Nelson living together while Michelle is away in Blackpool, locked down with George at her mother’s?

Yes, definitely. I would never have planned to have that in this book if I’d thought about it, but yes, it was. I wanted to look at the way that lockdown changed lots of things. Lots of people were locked down with partners that they’d just met for example, or people had adult children locked down with their partner. Suddenly there was that sort of strange dynamic, dynamics changed didn’t they? And I did think it would be an opportunity to get Ruth and Nelson together in a real but in an unreal way, in that strange liminal zone, that strange in-between time. I suppose those people living in unusual setups did rethink their relationships, and it did make me rethink Nelson and Ruth a little bit, which was quite interesting. I’m writing the next book now, and even in my own mind I’m not quite sure how it’s going to play out, but I think it gave them a chance to live together and see what that was like.

Up until this book their coming together has always been at times of crisis and intense experience, hasn’t it? But here you show them in a domestic setup doing very ordinary things.

It’s domesticity squared, isn’t it? Because there’s nothing else going on during lockdown, so they couldn’t even go to the cinema or a restaurant, they had to be at home, prey to Ruth’s cooking, which isn’t up to Michelle’s, trying to entertain Kate, who is obviously locked down with them, saying “I’m bored”.

It’s touching that Kate accepts that Nelson’s there, as if it’s completely normal.

It did feel quite right to me that she might think that. There were things that she was questioning, but maybe not that, that he would suddenly just be there. And I even ask will Ruth’s cat Flint get on with Nelson’s dog, Bruno? Yet once they’ve shredded her suffragette cushions they’re the best of friends!

Flint’s reaction to Nelson tells us everything about Nelson’s supremacy over other potential partners for Ruth.

Flint is jealous of Nelson, you know how some cats seem to be able to shed hair on demand? Flint will only go to Nelson to shed hair on him, whereas he quite likes Frank, because I imagine Frank was quite respectful, quite a cat-like man in the way that Nelson’s a dog-like man, and he probably gave Flint his personal space. He likes Cathbad, but I think he’s a bit wary of him because Cathbad feels they have a psychic connection. He really just likes Ruth and Kate. But yes, he’s not mad keen on Nelson, and Nelson gets to give a few asides as to Ruth’s mad cat, and Ruth’s new neighbour Zoe, who has a beautiful Maine Coone cat, which Nelson is not convinced is a cat at all.

I thought their private reflections on their time together were interesting. Nelson adapted easily to a very different home life and was content, whereas Ruth, despite moments of “pure happiness,” struggled more to compromise.

I think that’s really true. Ruth hasn’t really lived with anyone for a long time, she briefly lived with her boyfriend Peter when she first bought the house, and Peter does come into this book a little way, as do memories of when they first bought the house. I think Peter says to her something like you never really wanted me there and she really didn’t, she was quite happy when it was just her and her cats, and then with Kate, so I think that’s definitely true. Nelson is quite adaptable in a way, and he does like the fact that Ruth leaves the Guardian on the table for a week and doesn’t move it, he finds it restful. And he likes watching Kate and Ruth together and seeing their interactions.

He likes seeing them laugh together, even when they’re laughing at him.

Yes, he doesn’t mind that at all, and he likes spending more time with Kate. I did try to bring in the funny bits, like neither wanting the other one to see them wearing their grungy dressing gowns and fluffy slippers. But they both have those, and I think that tells you in a way that they are quite dissimilar, but also quite similar, and I hope this book gave a chance to explore that.

When I realised they were going to spend a Saturday together it gave me a task – what would they do? What would it be like with such a chance? As I say, it’s the 14th book about them and they have never been able to do those things, so it’s fun for me to write about them. The thing about lockdown was it made us really appreciate those moments.

But I absolutely wanted to show in the book how lockdown was for key workers and for people who were locked down with people they shouldn’t be with. And for students as well, that was really uppermost in my mind because my kids were students, they were  postgraduates so that was a little bit different for them, but it would be awful to be a first or second year I think. Universities did just suddenly shut down and not everyone had their lovely cosy Mum and Dad to go home to. I did do some research into it, I’ve got a very good friend who’s a Dean at a university and she was very helpful. She actually gave me the little thing that I put in the book, that when she first had to sit in on her colleagues’ Zoom sessions she had to tell them to put away the empty bottles in the background, and stop their cats climbing on their shoulders!

I teach creative writing and and I was teaching via Zoom and it was hard. The only really fun bit was you could put people into breakout rooms. I eventually learned how to do this, you can just press a button and they will divide up into groups. Even when you teach very clever adults as I do, and you say to people “divide into groups” they’re all saying “Can I be with Sam?/I want to go the loo/Have I got time to get a coffee?” but with Zoom you can just press a button and they go! And then when you want them back in place again whoosh! they come back, that was wonderful!

There’s quite a bit in the books about people not having anything in common but yet the relationships work despite being quite unexpected. Ruth and Nelson, Cathbad and Judy, Clough and Cassandra –  they’re all rather unlikely couples.

I hadn’t really thought of it that way, but it’s true actually, they are all unlikely couples. And sometimes that does work, doesn’t it? And actually maybe the worst thing would be to be with someone exactly like yourself. My partner and I aren’t that similar, I mean, he’s an archaeologist (maybe we’re Ruth and Nelson!), he’s an atheist, neither of which I am, and it works.

I can’t help but feel sorry for Frank. He’s a lovely person, there’s nothing wrong with him, he’s really kind, they shared interests and academic work, but Ruth couldn’t commit to him.

No, there’s nothing wrong with Peter or Max or Frank. My daughter is a big fan of Max, she says “what was wrong with Max?” Nothing was.

But Ruth knows in her heart, however nice other people are, that she’s in love with Nelson.

I think that’s true. You almost feel a bit frustrated with your characters, but I thought that at one point, the way to get her over Nelson would be to give her another man, so I created Frank and I made him as nice as I could, I said he was very good looking (he looks like George Clooney), everyone says he’s very clever. He’s a charming American, as I’ve found a lot of Americans to be very, very charming and erudite. And when she does live with him for a bit, he’s very respectful, he’s a good stepfather for Kate.

Yes, Kate likes him and even Flint likes him. But he’s just not Nelson.

There’s a little bit in Nancy Mitford’s The Pursuit of Love where she talks about Uncle Matthew and she says something like furiously as we sometimes hated Uncle Matthew there was something wrong with any man who wasn’t like him. And I think that’s the thing with Ruth and Nelson, there’s something wrong with every man who’s not like him. He’s not the man she would ever imagine spending any time with, but there he is. He’s not academic, he’s a very clever man, but he certainly would never call himself academic at all.

He probably doesn’t read and he never can remember about the Bronze Age and the Iron Age.

Yes exactly, those things really annoy her! She does keep telling him that all humans have a certain amount of Neanderthal DNA and that he has more than most.

She’s quite easily annoyed! She gets annoyed with him because he calls their daughter Katie.

Yes she is. I think for her there’s something about it as a diminutive that probably says something about his feelings towards women.

But that isn’t fair, the way Nelson treats women is absolutely fine.

It’s not fair, and in fact his women police officers will say that, annoying as he is, as most bosses are, they have to admit that he’s not a sexist dinosaur, he has promoted them and he does listen to them. He has occasional moments when he wants to say “thanks love” to Judy but he restrains himself. I think for somebody who’s as territorial as Nelson is, and family minded, in many ways he thinks of his team as a family, and so because of that he’s proud of them, he’s not a jealous person at all. When Clough does well and Judy does well, he’s really proud of them, so I think that those are the good sides of Nelson.

We get a glimpse in this book of Nelson’s feelings in a way we haven’t before. He admits to Judy that he loves Ruth and that sometimes he feels it’s killing him. 

Yes, I think it has been, I think it has really taken its toll on Nelson. He’s the sort of person who does internalise things and does feel them quite strongly.

He really cares about everyone involved, doesn’t he?

Yes, he does. I think he thinks it’s impossible. I think at the end of The Night Hawks when he has the chat with his mum, that might have given him some idea that there is a way to do this well.

That conversation with his mother was such a surprise, and would have astonished Ruth.

Yes, Ruth has met Maureen and I think she sees her as this great defender of the family, which she is in some ways, but she does understand. And you know Maureen has never admitted it but Nelson is her favourite, she adores him and she wants him to be happy.

She does tell him that what he did was wrong, but she understands it’s complicated.

Yes, it’s complicated when you write things, but we do see in life don’t we, that sometimes if there’s enough love things do sort themselves out.

The two mothers, Jean and Maureen, have been quite prominent in recent books with their own past experiences and secrets.

Yes, and of course five years after Ruth’s mother dies her dad has married Gloria, which was a shock at first, but Ruth’s very glad now he has got company during lockdown, and Gloria’s family are rallying round. But even when Ruth’s mum is dead she still has surprises, Ruth is still able to learn about her and get closer to her.

Such as the letter that she wrote to Zoe, which reveals her pride in Ruth, when Ruth had always felt that her mother disapproved of her.

Yes, exactly. And her mum used two exclamation marks when talking about Ruth’s achievements, which moved Ruth so much.

Your portrayal of the three main men in the cast, Cathbad, Clough and Nelson, is warm and affectionate, each of them in his own way very protective of his family, wanting everyone together and safe.

You know it could have gone either way really with Clough when I first invented him, because he was kind of a cliché view of a Neanderthal stomping about, but he has changed and one of the things I wanted to write about was his friendship with Judy, they are really good friends and when she needs him, he’s there.

When he’s trying to encourage her about Cathbad he says “you know I’m always right” – something which at one time would have made Judy feel an actual physical rage, but now she just wants to hug him.

Yes, and she’s not allowed to because of social distancing! It’s very hard to write about lockdown in lots of ways, and it was hard to live, wasn’t it? You weren’t allowed to touch people or hug them. You always had to remember about people being distanced.

I’m not sure how realistic it would be that Clough had actually heard that there would be a vaccine, but he tells Judy that he’d heard somebody at Cambridge (he works in Cambridge now) who said there was an Oxford vaccine, and how that was quite a lot for a Cambridge man to admit! I wanted to give them that little bit of hope, because of course in March 2020, we didn’t know there’d be a vaccine.

Before you started writing the book, had you decided that one of the characters would get Covid?

Well, I did think somebody had to get it. I think it would be almost insulting to people for there not to be somebody who got it. I’d forgotten how early it was in lockdown that Boris Johnson got it, it was really early, in that April. I’m not a fan of Boris Johnson but it was shocking, wasn’t it? You felt sorry for him, you hoped he was going to be all right. We realised anyone could get it, and that was frightening, so I wanted that feeling in the book, so somebody did have to get it. And perhaps Cathbad was unlikely because everyone keeps saying how fit he is, but he’s a little bit older than the other characters, so maybe slightly more vulnerable. Those were hard things to write but I did feel they needed to be there.

We get a lot more of Judy in this book.

Yes. I wanted to explore the way that neighbours were quite an important theme. Ruth gets a new neighbour Zoe, who’s an enigmatic character in the book. Judy knows that she has not made the effort to get to know her neighbours. There was a tiny little joke, I don’t even know that anyone got it, that she continually gets their next door neighbour’s name wrong, I think she calls him Fred all the way through, but actually he’s Barney, and I had in my head that she might just have had the Flintstones in her mind and got the wrong one! She hasn’t bothered to learn their names but Cathbad has, and when Cathbad is taken ill, her neighbours really do rally round her from a distance, they bake cakes and give support.

That makes sense as Cathbad is the homemaker, so he’s more involved in the community whereas she’s out to work early and back late.

Yes, that’s right. And Ruth says several times that Cathbad’s spirituality as a Druid is one thing, but the other thing is he just loves a party. He loves people, he loves a party, especially if there’s a bonfire involved, so actually he’s very sociable. He runs these yoga classes and he’s very involved in the community, loves taking the kids to and from school. Ruth is one of those people who dreads the school gates.

Judy is too.

Judy is too, exactly. I think there’s a scene in one of the other books where Judy and Ruth meet at the school gates and they’re at a distance, whereas you can imagine Cathbad is right in there chatting with everyone.

It struck me that Ruth’s friendships have been shifting, that she’s now leaning more towards Judy and Cathbad, and at times in the book refers to them as her best friends in Norfolk. She’s almost moving more towards the police world in her friendships, rather than the academic world, she’s even quite fond of Clough.

I think that’s really fair to say, possibly because there is just a simple thing in that her child Kate gets on better with their children than she does with Shona’s slightly, let’s say, difficult Louis. I think we all find that we drift towards people whose values and family setup just sort of merges with us.

I think she sees them as more trustworthy than Shona, who let her down badly earlier in the series. Ruth has tried to overcome a distrust of Shona, because she felt that she didn’t have any other friends in Norfolk.

Yes, I think possibly she might think back and see that she did have more friends than she thought. She was always going to be a person who has a few close friends rather than a whole mass of acquaintances. I think it’s in only the third book The House at Sea’s End where Ruth goes to Judy’s hen night, which she absolutely hates, and I think Judy hates it too, really. From that moment she is drawn closer to Judy.

Why have you introduced a sister for Ruth? And with Simon in this book more, will you develop the dynamic between the three siblings?

Yes I will. I’m really interested in writing about that. When Ruth initially finds that her mother had a secret, I did kind of know it would be an illegitimate child and wanted to write about the fact that Ruth has this neighbour who she feels drawn to, and actually there’s something about her which she says slightly reminds her of her mother. I tried to put those little clues in, like they meet at a slimming club, and they both struggle with their weight, as did their Mum. And they both hopefully learn to love themselves a bit more by the end of the book.

But yes, I really want to write about that – I’ve got two sisters, I’m interested in family relationships and in the book that I’m writing now Nelson is thinking about sisters. He has two older sisters, Maeve and Grainne, and of course he has two daughters who are sisters, and they have a much younger sister in Kate. There’s one book, I think it’s The Lantern Men, that ends with Kate running on the beach with her two older sisters, who are about 17 and 18 years older than her. My good friend Lesley Thomson said “that’s you and your sisters” because my sisters are 15 or 16 years older than me, and I said “no it’s not!” but then I thought it absolutely is! You know how somebody sees something you don’t, and obviously we’re full sisters, so it’s very different. I certainly feel I’d be able to write about Kate’s feelings about having much older sisters, they just seemed like wonderful people. Of course they can be annoying like all sisters, but also I absolutely hero-worshipped them.

Well Kate just adores Laura, doesn’t she?

Yeah, she does adore Laura I think. I’m going to have to bring Rebecca in a bit more, she’s been a bit out on a limb, but she lives in Brighton and was locked down with her fairly new boyfriend and that relationship.

She played really well with Kate when she did meet her.

Yes she did. I think Laura is very nurturing and very serious, she’s a teacher and she finds it quite hard in this book, I really felt for teachers during lockdown. I think Rebecca is a bit more impetuous.  

With all these relationships Ruth keeps saying it’s very complicated, especially because not only does Kate adore Laura, but Ruth is very fond of her as well.

Yes it is. Ruth cares about her as well and it is complicated. There’s Cathbad’s blended family with the two children he has with Judy and his older daughter Maddie from a previous relationship. I think Maddie slightly comes into her own in this because she does really support Judy, being a great big sister.

There’s a lot about nice people getting hurt in the books, people like Frank and Michelle. I suspect most readers would like Ruth and Nelson to be together at last, but also worry about Michelle.

Well I’m certainly fond of Michelle, and I want to give her agency, she’s not just the victim in this. I think she’s behaved really well, she’s probably behaved the best of all of them really, give or take a little bit of indiscretion along the way, but generally she’s behaved really well. So I’m sorting that all out in the new book now.

Is it going to be the last one?

It’s going to be the last for a bit. I’m going to have a little break from writing them, but I’m not going to go forever. However, I think we’re saying that’s the end for now. But there will be a book 15 which is The Last Remains – I guess there’s a clue in the title! There will be  a sort of resolution to all the issues we’ve been talking about.

There will be some tough bits. I think there will be a lot of Cathbad and a lot of Judy in the book, and some new opportunities are going to appear for Ruth and for Nelson, and it’s whether they take them. Just one small thing I can probably give away is that it’s been so shocking to see archaeology departments closing, and that’s going to threaten Ruth. But with that threat comes another opportunity.

So you’re going to take a break from the Norfolk books, and you’ve got a new book coming out featuring Harbinder Kaur again. Is that the direction you want to go in at the moment?

I might go in a totally new direction. So this is part three, it’s called Bleeding Heart Yard and is set in London. Harbinder’s just been promoted and she joins the Met. The case is a very high profile one, but I think this is also going to be the last Harbinder book, although I might write a book about the other characters in The Postscript Murders, I did have so much fun with them, I would like to write about them, so they might come into a book, but in a way I feel like I’m nearing the end of that series. Maybe not quite at the end of the Brighton Mysteries, there’ll be another one I think next year, maybe a few more of those, but I think I might try and come out with a new series. And I’ve just published the fourth Justice book and that might be the last Justice book. But there may be new things coming. And along the way one of the things I’m also going to do is to write the book of Ruth’s Norfolk, with some lovely illustrations of Norfolk, telling the story behind some of the places in the series.

 

 

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Professor Stuart Sillars talks about illustrated fiction between the wars

 

 

It struck me while reading the chapter in which you discuss illustrations in detective fiction, that nowadays we tend to associate illustrations with children’s books, as if we grow out of the need for pictures when we’re adults, and I just wondered when and why this happened? 

Yes, I think that’s true. I suppose there are several reasons for this. One of them is that it becomes much easier to lose yourself in the world of fiction if there aren’t pictures. Another is the way that crime fiction has developed, probably from the 30s onwards, it’s become so much more violent that you can’t really make pictures of it.

But I don’t think that you have that same kind of need for pictures from Dickens onwards, where fiction is something that’s read over a much longer period. The reason why Dickens illustrations are so successful really is an accident, because he was asked to take over writing some fiction which was illustrated. If you put in illustrations you actually lose about a quarter of the extent of the story that you’re writing, which immediately means that it can be done much more quickly. And it also means that if it’s coming out weekly or monthly then the readers have more time to get to it, and they can use the images as part of the involvement.

It’s very much to do with the genre really. The first Agatha Christie and the first Dorothy Sayers were actually published as stories in a magazine of fiction, and they were illustrated, but after that it just stopped. But there are a couple of exceptions with Sayers – like the picture of the actual church where The Nine Tailors is set.

If you look at the frontispiece and the title page, you’d never guess that it is actually a piece of crime fiction, it could be a novel of any kind. You’ve got the church, and a series of maps which draw out the main lines, and the fen ditch at the top, which I find completely incomprehensible. Presumably she knew about all of these things, but whether the illustrator did is another question.

Really it’s a matter of the fact that the illustrations are going to get in the way of reader involvement, and my feeling is that at this period the involvement isn’t so much finding out the author, and the nature and reason for the crime, although that’s part of it, but it’s actually joining into a completely different world from that that’s occupied by the reader. It’s the kind of thing that Queenie Leavis describes as “living at the author’s expense” and a “corrosive habit of fantasy-ing”. But now of course it’s perfectly legitimate to say “Oh, I read this for escapism”.

It’s like the attitude to WH Smith, who actually brought reading to a much wider public by selling newspapers and popular novels on railway stations, but intellectuals thought that the whole of civilisation was being undermined by this, didn’t they?  

Yes, absolutely. Sidney Dark wrote about the “new reader” who he says should be reading Balzac and all kinds of literature, which is really quite endearing in a way, it’s as if people have been fighting in the trenches for four years, leap out of the trench and say “Right, now I can get down to some serious Balzac.”

But this attitude, as you say in your book, lacked understanding and kindness, didn’t it, as those who needed escapist fiction were leading very different lives from those who deplored it, weren’t they?

Absolutely, yes. And the “new reader” that emerges is the reader who is concerned with practical skills, which come out in magazines for men, and other things which will advance them in skills, like the Everyman editions, which have just celebrated their 500th anniversary.

Although illustrations can have a limiting effect for the reader by narrowing down to the illustrator’s vision, what they can do is create a powerful atmosphere, as they do in Sherlock Holmes stories, for example. 

I think that’s absolutely right and it’s actually very interesting you should say that, because when I was thinking about what you’re going to ask me, I dug out something that I wrote ages ago. I was asked to do something on the short story, in a colloquium that a friend of mine organised in Oslo, and I wrote something about the Sherlock Holmes stories and their illustrations, and I found that in almost all cases the illustrations have nothing to do with the mechanism of solving the crime, they’re all about the situation.

I wrote mainly about Silver Blaze, which starts off with this wonderful image of the two of them in the railway carriage. And then there are pictures of the horse and various other things, but nothing that will actually help you identify who did it. And that’s more or less the same for almost all of them. So I don’t think that they have much to contribute to the unfolding of what’s actually happening.

But they contribute something else?

They do, they contribute a great deal to the world in which the story takes place, the world of the expensive gentlemen’s clubs in the Wimsey books, and that rather spurious, even in the 20s and 30s, English village, which has much more to do with the novels of another century earlier.

It’s interesting that the deerstalker is the abiding image of Sherlock Holmes, although he was never described as wearing one by Conan Doyle.

Yes, that’s a very powerful impact and it’s something that is very personal to him. I mean not many people wore deerstalkers, or if they did they were, well, stalking deer! But it’s a way of making the central character instantly identifiable, like his enormous cape.

You talked about the role of maps and plans in detective novels – presumably they’re intended to encourage active engagement in puzzle solving?

Yes, I think that’s right. The thing about the plans is that they’re never terribly good. The one that I mention in the book The Santa Klaus Murder, which is one of those wonderful British Library ones that they suddenly rediscovered and reprinted, if you actually read the thing and look at that map, it doesn’t make any sense at all.

So why would that be? The illustrator presumably would have read the story?

Well, I’m not convinced of that. I think reading the story would have been very quickly done. And it may be that the writer hasn’t actually got the architecture right, in which case I suppose it makes the puzzle even more infuriating for the reader.

Would the writer have had a consultation with the illustrator?

I really don’t know. My sense is probably not, because many of the very popular ones were produced very quickly.

Can you tell us about that extraordinary dossier you describe in your book, which sounds more like a kit or a game, something a child would love, rather than a reading experience.

I do actually have that one, I bought it years and years ago, I just found it in this junk shop I used to go to. And it’s quite fascinating, it has things like a piece of hair, a cigarette stub, bits of bloodstained curtain. I think there was one more published but after that they died out because they must have been extraordinarily expensive to produce. Or they ran out of blood.

That really is reducing the detective novel to just a series of exhibits and clues which you then solve yourself, isn’t it, rather than engaging in a deeper way with narrative and character?

Yes, I think it’s very interesting. It was published in the mid 30s, when perhaps there was a wish to move further away from the Golden Age and offer something different. I’ve never found anything that is parallel to that. There are a few references about this one and the one more that was published, but after that it just vanishes.

Would costs have been a factor in stopping illustrations in fiction generally?

Yes, I think so. I think it’s cost, and taste as well, because presumably in the 20s and 30s people associated them either with magazine fiction, or earlier fiction by people like Dickens and Thackeray and all of the earlier writers.

However, it’s also an age of very fine illustrated books with wonderful illustrators, many of them women, who are producing illustrated versions of the classics, and contemporary fiction as well, in limited editions. And they’re appealing to a quite different readership, which is as much concerned with the book as with the fiction that is part of it.

But the other thing that is interesting is that magazine fiction is almost always illustrated. It’s a bit like the kind of paperback fiction that you find in the vaults of charity bookshops these days, they’re very often fairly strongly moral in tone, and they move towards a very satisfactory conclusion.

What I found was that the women’s magazines are actually much more precise and much better structured than most of the ones for men. Although the women’s magazines are very much centred on the home, and it’s all about cooking and flower arranging and various other things, once you get over the barrier of thinking that their lives are curtailed, if you like, just by being stuck at home all the time with the children, what’s going on in these magazines is showing how to survive that, and how to do it very well. There’s a strong element of nurture that is involved there.

For instance several of them have wonderful tiny cutouts, double page spreads which will give you sixteen tiny pages when they’re cut and folded. These would be special little magazines for children which come with the woman’s magazine. There’d also be knitting patterns which are for the children as well, and some of them actually give away dress patterns which are very complicated sheets of tissue paper that you’re supposed to pin on the fabric. There’s something very positive about that, and you realise that they’re performing a very important function. And also through the fact that you can write in with your own suggestions about how to hem a curtain, or whatever, that’s creating a community, and you realise that a lot of these women would have been very lonely. So it’s a very positive thing that they were doing, alongside this dual existence, that on the one hand some of the stories and some of the illustrations are very glamorous, but alongside that is the actuality of doing the washing and the cooking and all the rest of it.

I came to think of these magazines as very important survival mechanisms, keeping people together in families and especially in communities, because of finding a shared interest, because you realise that one of the problems with the great explosion of house ownership, which is really to do with building societies in the 20s and 30s, is that people are stuck in the home for much of the time. In the Victorian period that does happen to some extent, but it’s not quite as extreme as it is in the 20s and 30s with the growth of suburbia, and the fact that much of suburbia is subsidised by the railways, which means that the houses are built close to railways, so you have to have a job which you reach through the railway, which takes you away from that community, whereas in earlier periods you perhaps worked closer to where you lived. And that’s something I find very interesting, social change that nobody seemed to have thought would happen.

A lot of women must have felt quite lonely when they moved out into the suburbs where there‘s less of a community than terraced streets, perhaps, where there’s always someone close at hand to chat to and share things with.

Absolutely, yes. The very interesting thing about the development of, I think it was Harlow New Town, or one of the new towns, is that they quite deliberately had a small apartment at the end of each street, and that was intended for an an older couple, or an older woman, who would be there to advise the younger women with their children, which makes quite a lot of sense.

Because people are further from their own parents or family members who might have provided that support?

Yes, I think that’s certainly true, and increasingly so with the new towns, because by definition they’re new, and people are moving away from parents, and friends and family. From around about 1930/31 people who had a steady job were actually doing pretty well, the house prices were coming down, the prices of most things were coming down, so they could afford to move up a notch or two.

What I’m trying to say in relation to this reading business is that it’s another way of extending awareness and having a different world, which I think is very important in that period. In the chapter where I talk about house design and the number of books which actually show the designs of houses, you realise that this isn’t something that people are going to rush out and buy, it’s another kind of fantasy, it’s another way of furnishing the house in the imagination.

And I think that the novel, and particularly the crime novel, is very much within a part of that, because you have a clear aim, which is to find the villain so that life can go back to placid actuality, which of course never existed, and there’s a terrible, terrible irony about this, because of course In the 20s people are longing to go back to normality and peace, and in the 30s there is considerably less peace around really from about 1935 onwards. There’s this almost desperate plea to make things better and make things static, to have a resolution. This comes out in the way that houses are built, they almost all look the same, but there are tiny differences if you walk down one of these streets, in the way that they are painted or the quality of the windows and things like that, and I think the crime novel is one of the symptoms of that.

Stuart Sillars is Emeritus Professor of English, University of Bergen. He has written extensively on the exchange between words and images, including books on their relation in Shakespeare, the Victorians, and the two world wars.

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