I'm of the opinion that almost every secondhand bookshop of any size also contains rare books. I don't say valuable rare books mind, just rare ones. On a recent trip across the water to the Isle of Wight I was combing through the poetry section of the very good Ryde Bookshop and came across this pamphlet: Between the Hills by Leonard Clark (Stockwell, London: 1924). It is in parlous condition but it turns out also rather scarce not being found in the British Library nor for sale online.
I've had an idea for a long time that I'd like to put together either a collection or a handlist or something based around the idea of 'books by boys'. It's not a very developed idea but it's been around for a while. There are a number of problems, two of which are illustrated by this book. The first is that books don't have the age of their author on the cover, finding them relies on information which is often relegated to the preface or dustwrapper or sometimes not mentioned at all in the book; in this case we are enlightened by a Preface which begins, "These poems, written by a boy of eighteen..." The second issue is that such publications are often ephemeral and small: in this case we can gauge the nature of the publication because the publisher, Arthur H. Stockwell, was essentially a vanity set-up, hence the book is so scarce today. So, for these and many other reasons, my project may not really take off for a while but whenever I see something that relates I either buy it or note down the details.
This book is charming. It begins with a lovely 'Author's Note' - "I desire to thank my foster-mother, who, all my life, has been my best friend..." but the collection also has a slightly more poignant note from it's dedication to "The memory of William Thomson George who died for England, October, 1918." George was a 25 year old Private in the Machine Gun Corps and, when he died, the author of these poems was only 12 years old: I have yet to discover the relationship between them. The short Preface is by F. W. Harvey (1888-1957) a soldier and poet of WW1 and a well-established regional poet who became known as "The Bard of Gloucestershire". This World War One theme is continued on and off through the short collection and it is notable, even though this book was published in 1924, how the effect and repercussions of The War were still strong in the mind of a young and impressionable boy like Clark.
Clark went on to become a 'grown-up' poet publishing several more collections in the 1940s including two with The Fortune Press, he was an anthologist as well with a particular interest in creating poetry for children. As well as a poet he was a teacher and sometime school inspector. His poems are, like F. W. Harvey's, very grounded in the Gloucestershire countryside and in particular on the Forest of Dean where he grew up. A series of autobiographical reflections on his childhood were published in 1965 as, A Fool in the Forest and I'm much looking forward to reading it and getting more of a sense of the man, the boy, his life and his writing.
There is always more to discover in this job and if any of you lovely people out there in the world of the Interweb should happen to know either more about Mr Clark or indeed, have any suggestions to add to my list of 'books by boys', I'd be delighted to hear from you either in the comments below or in my email inbox using the link to the top(ish) right of this page.
I expect Front Free Endpaper will see more of Leonard Clark yet but, for now, let's hear the eighteen year old Clark speak for himself:
THE STATUE SPEAKS
(CINDERFORD WAR MEMORIAL)
I am the soldier. Here I lonely stand
And keep my watch, because you planned
It so. I hear the country-people's feet
Go echoing in the Market Street.
"Am I e'er cold?" No chillier now than when
I knelt in mud with other men
Or shivered as I felt them drop -
And so I stand upon this granite top.
Weep not for us, but pray that you
May live more wholesome lives. We knew
How sweet life was - and yet we died.
I here - they slumber side by side.
I am your soldier. Here I proudly stand
Firm as an oak in this our Forest land.
November, 1923.
