Woolfian Boundaries - Clemson University

Woolfian Boundaries - Clemson University Woolfian Boundaries - Clemson University

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52 WOOLFIAN BOUNDARIES the group, was studying English at Birmingham University. Th e group widened when Leslie Halward, reading O’Brien’s piece, decided to get in touch with Chamberlain and Hampson. He noted: Chamberlain’s reply was very vague, intimating that it would not be a bad idea if we had tea together somewhere, some time. Hampson’s was much more to the point. It began: “Do you know a pub off Corporation Street…?”…and stated that at seven o’ clock on the following Th ursday evening he and Allen would be there. (Halward 247) Chamberlain’s aloofness was characteristic. Allen described him as “very much the public school man” who “knew London at least as well as he did Birmingham and…had his own circle there” (68). Halward’s fi rst impressions of Hampson were not favourable: he found him “a frail little gentleman…toying with a glass that had a drop of whiskey in the bottom” (247). However, he quickly hit it off with both Hampson and Allen and the Th ursday evening meetings became a regular fi xture. By this point, John Hampson had been established as part of Bloomsbury with the publication of Saturday Night at the Greyhound. Allen wrote that the novel “had brought John into contact with Virginia and Leonard Woolf, both of whom he idolised, and had brought him the friendship of Forster, whom he adored” and that his chest of drawers at this time displayed photographs of Hampson with Virginia Woolf and Forster (62). Allen himself also forged strong links with the younger generation of Bloomsbury through his studies at Birmingham University, in particular with Louis MacNeice. MacNeice had come to Birmingham as a Classics tutor in 1930 and Allen wrote: “I realised later that probably the most important thing that had happened to me [at university] was that I met Louis MacNeice” (45). Th e poet wrote in his own autobiography that in 1936 “literary London was just beginning to recognise something called the Birmingham School of novelists” stating that “they wrote about the People with a knowledge available to very few Londoners” that he found “very refreshing” (Strings 154). MacNeice’s attitude to Birmingham itself is best documented by his 1933 poem, “Birmingham,” in which he describes life in the suburbs where the masses “endeavour to fi nd God and score one over the neighbour / By climbing tentatively upward on jerrybuilt beauty and sweated labour” (Collected Poems 17). In Autumn Journal he rather disparagingly describes his time at the university: I came to live in this hazy city To work in a building caked with grime Teaching the classics to Midland students… And to hear the prison-like lecture room resound To Homer in a Dudley accent. (115) Allen said that whilst being taught by MacNeice he “gazed at him as at a rare wild animal caged in a redbrick university and quite out of place there” (45). He catches Mac- Neice’s own early feelings about Birmingham, although for MacNeice the wildness is Birmingham’s and not his own. In his autobiography MacNeice describes the reactions of

Buggery and Montage his friends to his appointment: “‘But my dear,’ they said. ‘You will not be able to live in Birmingham!’ Birmingham was darkest Africa” (Strings 128). He describes the university itself as “a mass, a mess of grimy neo-Gothic” that “could have passed for a typical block of insurance offi ces” (130). Th e students came in for a similarly unfavourable reaction: “they were all so unresponsive, so undernourished, I just could not be bothered” (131). It was after his marriage broke up that MacNeice began to appreciate Birmingham and to make friends with students like Walter Allen. He wrote that he surprised himself with the discovery that “the students were human” and found that they were refreshingly free from the obsession with politics prevalent amongst students at Oxbridge (154). He and Allen became friends in 1934 and Allen documents the friendship in his autobiography. He describes dinners in Louis’s fl at after the end of his marriage, always accompanied by Betsy, the handsome Borzoi bitch who Allen cites as “one of the hazards of visiting Louis”: “she had the habit of poking her long snout into the private parts of his guests, behaviour which seemed to amuse him rather than not. I had the feeling that he saw one’s reaction to Betsy as a test one passed or did not pass” (46). Th eir friendship continued after MacNeice and Allen had both made the transition from Birmingham to Bloomsbury, and perhaps reached its peak the day after Chamberlain came back from Munich, waving his ineff ectual piece of paper: MacNeice telephoned me to say that, since there’d be war by Monday and petrol, even if obtainable at all, would be rationed, he’d just sold his car for £14. Would I join him for lunch at the Café Royal? I think both of us assumed it was the last good meal we’d have and we did ourselves proud. Th en, fl oating on brandy and cigar-perfumes, we took a taxi to the Tottenham Court Road, where a cinema was showing one of our favourite Westerns. (114) With MacNeice, of course, came Auden, and both Hampson and Allen got to know Auden fairly well, with Allen acting in the fi rst staged reading of Th e Ascent of F6 at Birmingham University. Auden himself was from Birmingham, and Allen included him in a BBC Midland Region series he wrote on Midlands authors, the others being Henry Green, C. Day Lewis, and Hampson. Allen met Auden whilst writing the programme and saw him sporadically over the next few years. Although Auden claimed that: “Clearer than Scafell Pike, my heart has stamped on / Th e view from Birmingham to Wolverhampton” (88), Allen said that he did not think Auden actually regarded himself as a true Birmingham man. Hampson’s own friendship with Auden was cemented by his bizarre wedding. Auden himself by this point had married Th omas Mann’s daughter, Erika, in order to save her from Nazi Germany. He prevailed on Hampson to marry Erika’s friend, Th erese. Hampson asked Allen what he thought of the suggestion and Allen writes: I said all the conventional things; I advised caution; later, he might discover he wasn’t a homosexual, fall in love with a woman and want to marry in the real sense…. He listened to me and said: “Wystan says, what are buggers for?” I knew I was defeated. Put in that form, Auden’s appeal, I realised, was irresistible. (56) Th e ceremony itself is described by Allen, who vied for years with MacNeice over the 53

52 WOOLFIAN BOUNDARIES<br />

the group, was studying English at Birmingham <strong>University</strong>.<br />

Th e group widened when Leslie Halward, reading O’Brien’s piece, decided to get in<br />

touch with Chamberlain and Hampson. He noted:<br />

Chamberlain’s reply was very vague, intimating that it would not be a bad idea<br />

if we had tea together somewhere, some time. Hampson’s was much more to the<br />

point. It began: “Do you know a pub off Corporation Street…?”…and stated<br />

that at seven o’ clock on the following Th ursday evening he and Allen would be<br />

there. (Halward 247)<br />

Chamberlain’s aloofness was characteristic. Allen described him as “very much the<br />

public school man” who “knew London at least as well as he did Birmingham and…had<br />

his own circle there” (68). Halward’s fi rst impressions of Hampson were not favourable:<br />

he found him “a frail little gentleman…toying with a glass that had a drop of whiskey in<br />

the bottom” (247). However, he quickly hit it off with both Hampson and Allen and the<br />

Th ursday evening meetings became a regular fi xture.<br />

By this point, John Hampson had been established as part of Bloomsbury with the<br />

publication of Saturday Night at the Greyhound. Allen wrote that the novel “had brought<br />

John into contact with Virginia and Leonard Woolf, both of whom he idolised, and had<br />

brought him the friendship of Forster, whom he adored” and that his chest of drawers at<br />

this time displayed photographs of Hampson with Virginia Woolf and Forster (62). Allen<br />

himself also forged strong links with the younger generation of Bloomsbury through<br />

his studies at Birmingham <strong>University</strong>, in particular with Louis MacNeice. MacNeice had<br />

come to Birmingham as a Classics tutor in 1930 and Allen wrote: “I realised later that<br />

probably the most important thing that had happened to me [at university] was that I<br />

met Louis MacNeice” (45). Th e poet wrote in his own autobiography that in 1936 “literary<br />

London was just beginning to recognise something called the Birmingham School of<br />

novelists” stating that “they wrote about the People with a knowledge available to very few<br />

Londoners” that he found “very refreshing” (Strings 154).<br />

MacNeice’s attitude to Birmingham itself is best documented by his 1933 poem,<br />

“Birmingham,” in which he describes life in the suburbs where the masses “endeavour to<br />

fi nd God and score one over the neighbour / By climbing tentatively upward on jerrybuilt<br />

beauty and sweated labour” (Collected Poems 17). In Autumn Journal he rather disparagingly<br />

describes his time at the university:<br />

I came to live in this hazy city<br />

To work in a building caked with grime<br />

Teaching the classics to Midland students…<br />

And to hear the prison-like lecture room resound<br />

To Homer in a Dudley accent. (115)<br />

Allen said that whilst being taught by MacNeice he “gazed at him as at a rare wild<br />

animal caged in a redbrick university and quite out of place there” (45). He catches Mac-<br />

Neice’s own early feelings about Birmingham, although for MacNeice the wildness is<br />

Birmingham’s and not his own. In his autobiography MacNeice describes the reactions of

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