NORTH TYNESIDE STEAM - ON SALE HERE!

THOMAS SPENCE: THE POOR MAN'S REVOLUTIONARY.

THOMAS SPENCE: THE POOR MAN'S REVOLUTIONARY.

TALKS AND DISCUSSION, 7.30PM TUESDAY NOVEMBER 18TH, LITERARY AND PHILOSOPHICAL SOCIETY, NEWCASTLE UPON TYNE.

Professor Alastair Bonnett and Doctor Keith Armstrong will introduce and discuss their new book on Thomas Spence, published by Breviary Stuff Publications, which features an informative introduction by Bonnett, essays by leading Spence scholars, together with poems and songs by Armstrong and a selection from Spence's own writings and from his political tokens.

At this meeting, Alastair Bonnett will outline Spence's political and historical importance and Keith Armstrong will describe how Spence has inspired him in his cultural work.

Links from Bonnett and Armstrong: http://thomas-spence-society.co.uk/

http://www.northernvoicescommunityprojects.co.uk/Northern_Voices_Community_Projects/
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3IMy-h2re3g

Breviary Stuff Publications: http://www.breviarystuff.org.uk/thomas-spence-the-poor-mans-revolutionary/

FOLK SONG FOR THOMAS SPENCE

Down by the old Quayside,

I heard a young man cry,

Among the nets and ships he made his way.

As the keelboats buzzed along,

He sang a seagull’s song;

He cried out for the Rights of you and me.

Oh lads, that man was Thomas Spence,

He gave up all his life

Just to be free.

Up and down the cobbled Side,

Struggling on through the Broad Chare,

He shouted out his wares

For you and me.

Oh Lads, you should have seen him gan,

He was a man the likes you rarely see.

With a pamphlet in his hand,

And a poem at his command,

He haunts the Quayside still,

And his words sing.

His folks they both were Scots,

Sold socks and fishing nets,

Through the Fog on the Tyne they plied their trade.

In this theatre of life,

The crying and the strife,

They tried to be decent and be strong.

Oh Lads, that man was Thomas Spence,

He gave up all his life

Just to be free

Up and down the cobbled Side,

Struggling on through the Broad Chare,

He shouted out his wares

For you and me.

Oh Lads, you should have seen him gan,

He was a man the likes you rarely see.

With a pamphlet in his hand,

And a poem at his command,

He haunts the Quayside still,

And his words sing.

Keith Armstrong

THOMAS SPENCE BICENTENARY

SPEECH BY DR KEITH ARMSTRONG FOR HERITAGE OPEN DAYS’ COMMEMORATION OF THE BICENTENARY OF THE DEATH OF THOMAS SPENCE  AT THE SPENCE PLAQUE, BROAD GARTH, NEWCASTLE UPON TYNE, THURSDAY 11TH SEPTEMBER 2014:

On behalf of The Thomas Spence Trust and Hertiage Open Days, I’m delighted to welcome you here to mark the 150th anniversay of the death of that great free spirit, utopian writer, land reformer and courageous pioneering campaigner for the rights of men and women, Thomas Spence. Myself and other members of our Trust campaigned for well over 10 years for some kind of memorial to Tom Spence and it is with great pride that we gather here today.

We know that Spence was born on the Quayside on June 21st 1750. We know that his father Jeremiah made fishing nets and sold hardware from a booth on Sandhill and his mother Margaret kept a stocking stall, also on Sandhill, but it has not been possible, all these years on, to pinpoint the exact location of Thomas Spence’s birthplace, which is why this plaque was installed here at Broad Garth, the site of his school room and debating society and where he actually came to blows with Thomas Bewick because of a dispute over the contentious matter of property. Bewick gave Spence a beating with cudgels on that occasion but, surprisingly enough, they remained lifelong friends. As Bewick said of Spence: ‘He was one of the warmest Philanthropists in the world and the happiness of Mankind seemed, with him, to absorb every other consideration.’

In these days of bland career politicians, Spence stands out as an example of a free spirit, prepared to go to prison for his principles - the principles of grass roots freedom, community and democracy, for the human rights of people all over the world.

Spence mobilised politically in taverns in Newcastle and later in London. That is why this evening you are all invited to join us across the road in the Red House on Newcastle’s Quayside to raise a glass for Tom and to hear poems and songs in his honour. 

This plaque puts Thomas Spence on the map for all of those pilgrims who hold human rights and political freedoms dear. It does not trap his free spirit rather it gives his life and work fresh wings.

Thanks for coming this afternoon.

THE CRACK - REVIEW (2)

The Month Of The Asparagus
Keith Armstrong, Ward Wood Publishing, £8.99

This volume of poems from Newcastle born Keith Armstrong collects together a selection of his work, culled from the last thirty years, and displays the real depth of his talent. He has an obvious and enduring affection for the region that really comes across in lines which exalt the sights and sounds he sees around him. ‘Marsden Rock’ is a “Sensational Rock / swimming in light” and “Birds hurl themselves at the leaping Tyne” in ‘At Anchor’; and he has the kind of voice that you might hear in your own head when you’re caught on the cusp of being drunk; a woozy melancholy that is romantic but also given over to bouts of searing realism. His romanticism also touches on his love for other chroniclers of life including the painter Lowry (“His old boots squeak the floorboards of memory, / his heart is sad and soaked in loneliness”) and the great engraver Thomas Bewick. He has travelled extensively (one poem sees him cropping up at Baudelaire’s grave) but his voice – wherever he finds himself – always alternates between the sharp and the sensual. RM

THE CRACK: REVIEW

Splinters by Keith Armstrong, Hill Salad Books, £9.99

Keith Armstrong is a Geordie writer, steeped in local culture, whose pours seep with the grime lifted from the cobbles of Pudding Chare; whose blood is surely made up of the river Tyne and Brown Ale (when it was still brewed in the city, that is); and whose poems – fifty-three of them here – sing the praises of Newcastle’s “puddles and clarts”. This fine collection is chock full of ghosts and tributes to times and events past, as well as those who disappear under the radar (The Bird Woman of Whitley Bay). The author also checks out Garcia Lorca in Whitley Bay and implores William Blake to stand him another pint of Deuchars at The Bridge Hotel pub. His ire is reserved for the injustices of the world and those who seek to rechristen the city as NewcastleGateshead (“a city you made up for yourselves”) and their attempts to foist their version of culture on us (“You’ve reinvented our culture for us, you’ve rendered it meaningless. Guts ripped out”). A collection that looks inward to reveal wider truths. Bravo. RM