Golding and War

Next Monday, 19 September 2011, is the centenary of William Golding's birth. Together with my colleague Adeline Johns-Putra, I am organising the centenary conference in Cornwall (Golding's native county) this weekend. If you are lucky enough to be in the Duchy with time on your hands, come along to one of the plenaries: Golding's daughter, Judy, will be speaking at 3pm on Friday 16 September, and John Carey at 11am on Sunday 18th. The venue for both talks is the Chapel Lecture Theatre in Tremough House on the University of Exeter's Cornwall Campus.

Before anyone asks what this has to do with war poetry, let me explain that Golding started his writing career as a poet (if you find his pamphlet in a second-hand shop, I will buy it from you for a tenner), and he later wrote a great deal about the Second World War. To prove the point, my own talk at the conference is titled 'Golding and War'.

William Golding and the U-boats

Preparing for my talk on 'William Golding and War' at the Daphne du Maurier Festival in Fowey last Thursday, I became increasingly intrigued by his experiences with U-boats, as my previous post hints. Golding was born in Newquay in 1911, at his mother's family's B&B, 47 Mount Wise, which is now the Blenheim Hotel. Several of his earliest memories are of sitting at its bay windows watching the shipping as it came in and out of harbour.

During the First World War, the U-boats caused havoc along the North Cornish coast, sinking coal ships and fishing vessels alike. Not far down the coast in Zennor, D. H. Lawrence was given three days to leave the county under the Defence of the Realm Act in 1917, on the off-chance that he and his German wife were signalling to the U-boats.

Golding's family kept him away from the gruesome sights of the harbour, but luckily he had the next best thing: an elder brother, Jose, who would report back with all the inappropriate details. Usually, the U-boat would surface next to its target, order the crew into the lifeboats, and only then sink the ship. On one occasion, the gentlemen's agreement had been broken. Jose had seen a lifeboat brought into port, full of blood and bullet-holes and 'bits of men'.

Golding himself believed that from his 'box seat' in the house he had seen a U-boat being sunk by 'three small naval vessels' which dropped their depth charges in turn, making the sea climb 'like a fist':

The surface of the sea was calm again. Smooth, slick mirrors enlarged themselves [...], ran together, became a ring of silvered water. A huge bubble burst on the surface, another and another. When they had disappeared, black blobs and speckles were floating in the ring. Presently the three little ships went away, follow my leader, and disappeared again round Trevose Head. (Areté, 2)

At the start of the Second World War, Golding joined the navy as a common seaman, and took the exam for promotion to officer. He did well enough to prompt Lord Cherwell's research establishment to give him the task of 'trying to invent things that would sink submarines'. Golding's involvement came to an end when he 'put a lot of detonators in [his] pocket and dropped a torch battery in with them and blew [himself] up'. After that, it seems that everyone agreed that perhaps he should do something else instead. Back in the navy, he served on the Atlantic convoys, helped to hunt the Bismarck, captained a rocket craft at the invasion of Walcheren, and provided naval support during the D-Day landings. He probably encountered U-boats in those years, too, but to find out for certain we will have to wait for John Carey's biography, due from Faber this September.

Dates for the Diary

Two events next week. On Thursday 14 May, 2.30 pm in Fowey Town Hall, I will be speaking at the Daphne du Maurier Festival on the topic of 'Golding and War'. William Golding served as a naval officer during the Second World War, and was involved in the Atlantic convoys, the sinking of the Bismarck, the invasion of Walcheren, and the Normandy landings. The First World War also left its mark. Some of his earliest memories were of wartime incidents in the bay at his home town, Newquay. He claimed to have seen the sinking of a U-boat, although he wondered in later life how much was the work of imagination rather than memory. The significance of war in Golding's fiction can be gauged from the fact that six of his twelve novels are set during one war or another.

On Saturday 16 May at St Andrew's Church Centre, Churchdown (near Gloucester), the Gurney Society holds its annual meeting. The AGM begins at noon, and there are talks by Richard Emeny, Richard Carder and Pamela Blevins from 2pm, followed by a song recital at 3.30. Pam Blevins will be signing copies of her book from 4.30pm.