A Kind of Writing

Gosh, Stan Barstow has died. I must have read most of his novels at one time or another but it is quite a long time since I did so.

He was one of the old boys of one of the schools I went to. He was soemtimes one of the features at Prize Days, along with his wife Connie, who wore a hat and gave out the prizes.

The language of my schooldays is nowhere more clearly written down than in some of those novels.

That language is but one of the speech-patterns that I don’t really have in my own speaking.

Speak Your Mind