Portrait of an Artist Part 1 by Jennie Hart

Inspiration from:  Anna of the Five Towns by Arnold Bennett.

(3^rd chapter, 3^rd page, 3^rd line)

When he had arranged the correspondence in a flattened pile, he put on his steel-rimmed spectacles and began to read. He was squinting through a smudge on his left lens, so took them off and rubbed them on his sleeve. Joe was proud of the steel rims and thought he looked the image of his grandad. He felt a pain in his heart when he thought of Grandad Jacobs; he had never expected to miss him so much.

  It was rare to be reading from a pile of paper and not from a file on screen but Joe was studying two letters concerning a painting by the deceased artist Fred Elwell. He’d been excited to see the artwork for sale in the local paper and had left a message for the vendor, a Mr Oswald Hamilton. Grandad Jacobs had admired the artist and had once met him, so purchasing an Elwell painting with some of the legacy he had left Joe, was a perfect memento.

  Joe assumed Oswald Hamilton was elderly because he had corresponded by post; first, a letter with details of the painting, followed by a carefully hand-written note requesting Joe phone and arrange to collect the picture. The address was in Goodmanham, a small East Yorkshire village. Joe grew up in Beverley, where Fred Elwell was born, and was grateful now to the art teacher who had taken his class to the local gallery to look at the Elwell paintings. In his work, Fred Elwell had captured the atmosphere of the streets of Beverley, painted closely observed images of local people and created stunning landscaped in delicate watercolour.

  A friendly voice with a strong East Riding lilt replied to Joe’s phone-call.

     ‘Good day to you young sir, y’r picture is ready and waiting. I ‘aven’t wrapped it because I know you’ll want to have a good look at it before tekking it ‘ome. I know y’ve paid but that means nowt if ye doesn’t like it.’

  Joe assured Mr Hamilton he couldn’t wait to see it and arranged to go over the next day. A grassy track led to an unkempt farmhouse. He knocked, then opened the sturdy door after a voice called       ‘Come in.’ A cool flag-stoned hallway led to a small dusty room where Mr Hamilton was sitting in a comfortable-looking saggy armchair wallowing in bright morning light. Heavy interwar furniture crowded the room, and an array of pictures, big and small added to the over-full feeling. Mr Hamilton had a dusty look too, but that only described his clothing. His face was positively shining and his eyes bright and scrutinising. He looked Joe up and down, then gave a cheerful smile and said,

     ’Sit down lad, I am that pleased to meet you; ye look a right lively young man.’

  Oswald explained that he was not in the habit of selling his paintings, he treasured them all, but money was tight and he wanted to give his granddaughter a bit of a ’step up’. The one he was selling was ‘a good’n’, a street scene with the Beverley Bar where Fred had lived in the attached house, with his wife Mary.

    ‘Aye, I went in that house once.’

 Joe felt at home with Oswald so started to tell him how he first became fascinated with the Elwells.

    ‘When I was a student’ he said, ‘I had a friend from Wednesbury in the West Midlands who told me about a family of iron merchants in the area, called Elwell. They’d had a forge for hundreds of years, making tools and nails and horseshoes, that kind of thing.’

    ‘I’ve ‘eard of them’ said Mr. Hamilton.

    ‘Well, I looked them up and found the Wednesbury Elwells and the Beverley Elwells were related. In Henry the Eighth’s time, the Elwells were doing well around Wednesbury and one Elwell became sword-maker to the King. Later, that bit of the West Midlands got called the ‘Black Country’ because of the dirt and muck from forges like the Elwell’s. Are you bored Mr Hamilton?’

    ‘Go on me lad, I’m all ears but I’ll bore you with my bit when you’ve ‘ad your say.’

    ‘Well, in the nineteenth century, one of the Elwells wanted to leave Wednesbury; I think he fell out with his wife, so, for a new start, he came over to East Yorkshire to work on constructing the Hull to Bridlington railway line. That’s how the East Yorkshire Elwells began, Mr Hamilton.’

     ‘Call me Oswald, lad and settle down, because I’ve things to tell you. Now I’ve already ‘eard a bit about what you’ve bin telling me but my story goes a lot further back. I’ll start by sayin’ I’m a relative of Fred Elwell on his mother’s side, not close, mind, but there you are, I’m a descendant. Being a Yorkshire lad, you’ll know that, far back, there were Viking raids on Flamborough, on that bit of coast near Bridlington.’

    ‘I know Flamborough Mr Hamilton; I live there, if you remember from writing to me, and I’m a History lecturer in Scarborough. We’ve got Danes Dyke nearby and that’s where the Vikings landed.’

    ‘Good; well I’ve read up a bit about them Viking attacks and looking into the Elwells I found a Viking raider who cem over to Britain. Those ‘istory buffs think the Elwells are descended from this raider’s son Aelle. Ye see? Aelle-Elwell, not that different.

    ‘Blimey! Another reason for the Elwells being in East Yorkshire.’

    ‘Ordinary folk didn’t write things down Joe, they passed on names in folk tales and songs, and spellings were all over the place.  I’ve learned a good bit more about Aelle. He became a king and settled north of the River Humber. Ye know, where we are today.’

    ‘So he might have lived in Beverley? Or Goodmanham?’

    ‘Precisely! But then there was another Viking raid so King Aelle sent his son to Middle England to be safe.’

    ‘It sounds a bit like Lord of the Rings!’

    ‘Aye it does. And explains why there is a Black Country branch of the family in the first place. Did ye know this bit of Yorkshire was called Deira?  Aye Joe, we live in Deira and isn’t it a beautiful place? It’s that fertile; we can grow anything.’

    ‘Were you a farmer Mr. Hamilton?’

     ‘Aye, I ‘ad a reet good farm ‘ere once. And I’ve summat else to tell ye Joe, I was on that dig on another farm a few years ago where they found an iron-age chariot. That was in Wetwang; ‘ave you ‘eard about that?’

    ‘I think it was before my time. I’m only twenty-five.’

     ‘Well Joe, I’ve been a bit of an amateur sleuth miself in mi time; even found a brooch and a few other bits a metal ‘ere on the farm.’

  Oswald Hamilton’s voice became distant and his bright eyes stared vacantly.

     ‘Probably thinking about past times’, mused Joe.

  He gazed around the room; there was so much to look at; paintings were edge to edge on faded wallpaper and he still hadn’t seen his new purchase but would wait till Mr Hamilton recovered from his reverie. A young woman’s voice called ‘Grandad’, and Oswald Hamilton woke from his short slumber.

     ‘Sonya! Me Sonya! That’ll be ‘er checking up on ‘er old grandpop. Come in love, ‘I’ve bin waiting for ye; come and meet Joe’.

  Joe looked towards the low farmhouse doorway as a slim young woman bent forward to enter the room. Sonya; it wasn’t a common name but he’d known a girl called Sonya in Beverley. When he moved to Flamborough, he’d lost touch. As soon as he saw her, he recognised her as the same Sonya. He especially remembered her big smile.

    ‘Of course’ he thought ‘Sonya Hamilton!’  

  He greeted her warmly and Sonya gave her big smile and a slight gasp.

     ’Gosh I remember you! From Beverley!  It must be at least ten years ago. It's Joe isn’t it?’

  Joe felt a flush of embarrassment as he thought back to those school days. A group of friends from school and from the girls’ high school used to meet in the coffee bar and go to the park. He’d had a crush on Sonya but he’d left Beverley and never saw her again. Also he’d only been fifteen.

    ‘Well, ye know each other do ye?’ said Oswald ‘That’s a coincidence but a good’n. Sonya’s a bright lass and up to all sorts of interesting things. Go on Sonya, tell Joe what y’re occupied with’.

    ‘Grandad, Joe won’t be interested in what I’m doing. Besides, how do you know my grandad, Jo?

I didn’t know you knew any young people grandad.’

  Joe explained about the painting and the fascinating story Oswald had told him. Sonya knew of her grandad’s obsession with Fred Elwell and the Vikings, and that prompted her to tell Joe of her current project.

    ‘I work for the East Riding council and they put funding aside every year for research. I’ve been cataloguing the new East Yorkshire archaeological finds. They’re mostly sent to the British Museum and the work’s quite interesting; but I’ve a hobby I enjoy more.’

    ‘Go on Sonya, tell the lad about it.’

    ‘Well, my friend Phoebe and I have permission to do digs around here as long as a professional looks in occasionally.’

  Joe remembered how much he’d liked Sonya and realised he was beginning to like her all over again. With Sonya’s help, Oswald got out of his chair and, holding on to furniture, made his way to a corner by the window. He ferreted around amongst a number of paintings propped against the wall and found Joe’s picture which he carefully carried over to show him, then took to the kitchen to wrap. Sonya and Joe began to reminisce about school days, laughing as they recalled the silly things they got up to. It was Sonya who’d taken Joe for another visit to the gallery to see Fred’s paintings and he told her how her grandad’s enthusiasm for the past, made him enthusiastic too. When Sonya asked Joe if he would like to join her and Phoebe on their own dig, he said ‘Yes please!’

    ‘Loads of Bronze Age barrows have been discovered near Goodmanham,’ she said, ‘And also the ancient site of a Roman town, Delgovitia. The name means ‘Backwater’ Our East Riding villages are still a bit like that aren’t they?’

    ‘Definitely’ murmured Joe.

    ‘There was also pagan worship here in Goodmanham. Do you know the All Hallows church?’

    ‘I’ve driven by it.’

    ‘That’s our church and it stands on the site of a pagan shrine. There so much history around here. My friend Phoebe and I are doing our own dig on the farm her family used to own in Wetwang. It’s famous because an Iron Age chariot was found there forty years ago.’

    ‘Your grandad mentioned that.’

    ‘The chariot’s on display in the British Museum.’

    ‘That’s amazing,’

    ‘We’re hoping to find something special one day. You can join us if you want Joe, you’d be really useful. The dig’s fairly deep and it’s slow work but if we make any finds we’ll hand them over to the council. We’re like treasure seekers!’

  Oswald Hamilton returned to the sunny room with Jo’s parcel and chuckled to himself to see the two young ones getting on so well.

     ‘I’m going to join Sonya on a dig Mr Hamilton. Maybe when we ‘ve finished on the Wetwang farm, we can come and do a dig on yours. Your farm could be famous too!’

    ‘That would be very nice indeed, just as long as you promise that you’ll ‘andle the fame!’

    ‘No problem!’

    ‘Now Sonya, why don’t ye mek us all a nice cup of tea and then after that, Joe can go ‘ome and enjoy his Fred Elwell.’

    ‘Thanks Mr Hamilton but I am quite enjoying myself here; there’s definitely no rush!’