BETTY ELZEA
WAYSIDE,CANTERBURY ROAD,BRABOURNE LEES,
ASHFORD, KENT TN25 6QT TEL:01303 812192

EMAIL: BELZEA@\7VAITROSE.COM

May 13, 2007

Dear Dr.Raraty:

After the Kent History Federation Conference at Bridge yesterday, I approached you to ask whether the
Bridge Society knew that the distinguished artist Williarn Townsend had lived there and, if not, whether you
would like me to send you information about him. I admit that he has been neglected in recent years.
However, there has been a recent exhibition of his work held at a fairly new gallery in the West End: James
Hyman Fine Art Ltd. The gallery tends to specialise in English artists of the post—war period. I was an art
student at that time and my teachers were of that generation.

I am enclosing a selection of copies from Hymarfs catalogue which should give you an outline of his life
and some idea of what his work looked like during the period 1930-1950.

A remarkable fact about Townsend is that he kept a daily journal throughout his life, which is now
deposited in the Library of London University: nearly 50 volumes! In the 1970s, his friend Andrew Forge
(1923-2002), also a Kentish artist, made a selection from these journals which was published as “The
Townsend Journals, An artist’s record of his times 192861”, at the ‘dmc of a major exhibition at Tate Britain
in 1976. I also enclose copies of some pages from this.

Townsend seems to have been very attached to his father, Lewis W Townsend, who was a dentist in
Canterbury (Burgate?) who lived in Bridge. Where in Bridge, I don’t know. He lived with his parents, or used
their home as his base, I think until the rnid—1940s. That’s all I know!

Yours sincerely,
z':?;?,‘r" rm,

Mrs. Betty bllzea


William Townsend: landscape paintings 1930-1950

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james hyman fine art lid
6 mason’s yard

duke street sl.james‘s
london SW1 Y GBU

tel +44(O)20 7889 
fax +44(0,l20 7839 3907
mail id jamesllyrnanfineartcom

www.jameshymanfinearl.com


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‘There is L? decided swing back from the problems of
abstractimz, even from the orgies of Surrealism, to the possilJilit_v
ofm.-zlciizg a new start from the Post-Impressionists. Bill
(Zoldstreanz and Cirtzham Bell have for instance renomzced
Pimsso and all his works and in despair proclaim that there is
nothing to do but sit dam: in from oft: landscape and paint it.’

\li’illiam Townsend, journal entry, December 1936

\William Townsend’s landscapes of the r93os and 19405 hold a central
place in the British art world of the period and in debates about the
relationship between Modernism and tradition. Extremely widely
exhibited during the mid twentieth century, they have in recent decades
slipped from such prominence. Although well represented in public
collections —— the Tate Gallery has three major paintings and the
Government Art Collection six works -— the present exhibition is
Townsend’s first significant show in Britain since the Tate Gallery in
1976 and the touring retrospective of 1978-80.

The present publication and exhibition are, therefore, a major
opportunity to appreciate the artist’s development, reassess his
achievements and reinstate his centrality to mid twentieth century
debates in Britain regarding modernity, abstraction and representation.

Townsend’s vivid journals, now accessible in the library of University
College London, provide essential insights into this period and also into
his achievements as a painter. These wide ranging journals reveal not
just Townsends acute political judgements but also his sensitivity to his
surroundings. They record, too, his circles of artistic friendships, his
regular gallery visits and his intimate understanding of such friends,
contemporaries and colleagues as John and Paul Nash, lvon Hitchens,
Victor Pasmore, Rodrigo Moynih-an and William Coldstream.

They are especially revealing given that Townsend, along with peers
such as Paul Nash and Ivon Hitchens, played a vital part in
reinvigorating British landscape painting in the 19305 and, with friends
such as Victor Pasmore and William Colclstream, did much to revive
rural and urban landscape in the 19405 and 19505.

As a painter and a teacher at (Iamberwell and then the Slade School
of Art, Townsend was a liberating presence who guided students such
as Michael Andrews, Euan Uglow and Victor Willing, encouraging their
engagement with a ‘national tradition’ of art based on life that gave
particular emphasis to the closely observed figure or landscape. One of

his lectures. widely delivered in the late 1940s and early I95os_. was
even entitled ‘A Realist Tradition in British Painting‘.

John Berger was quick to pick up on this. In February 195 I, in one
of his very first reviews, Berger used Townsend’s The Hop Garden, 21
version of which had been recently purchased by the Arts Council, to
champion the artist as an exemplar of the virtues of the ‘matter-of-fact
painting’ that he advocated. For him, Townsend”s controlled painting
was an antidote to the expressionist, the romantic, the surrealist and
the abstract. lt was also quintessentially English, an art of observation
and understatement: a realist painting with the essentially English
characteristic of restraint.

But this is to underestimate Townsend’s achievements. Placed side by
side, as they are in the present exhibition, "I‘ownsend’s landscapes of the
pre- and post-war years reveal an enquiring mind ever in search of new
stimuli, one that gave a particular role to the imaginative recreation of
the subject. They emphasise, too, a sophisticated artfulness that went
alongside the careful scrutiny. Indeed the varied responses to the
landscape, explored through notions of a genius loci, or spirit of
place, found in the paintings of his contemporaries is also evident in
Townsend’s own paintings of the mid 19 30s. One of the earliest such
paintings, Bower of Trees (1933) (cat. 2.) is at once prosaic and
mysterious, marrying solidity to suspense in a way that is also to be
found in the paintings of Paul Nash. It looks back to Nash’s Wood on
the Downs (I930) (Aberdeen Art Gallery), whilst other paintings by
Townsend look forward to N-ash’s Wittenham Clumps landscapes of the
mid l_94OS. Townsend’s Lcmdscnpe (Bricige, Cavzterhury) (1934) (cat. 14),
for ex-ainple, anticipates Nash’s Landsazpe of the Moon’: LastPhi1se
(1944) (National Museums of Liverpool — The Walker).

Meanwhile in more limpid paintings of the following two or three
years, in which forms are dissolved in light, it is hard not to be
reminded oi the work of Ivon Hitchens. Townsend’s The Nailborne
(1936) (cat. 1 5) may contain echoes of Hitchens’s paintings of the
preceding years, but works such as The Pool at Well (I93 6) (cat. 17),
Wizzter Lmdscape (193 5 -6) (cat. I 6) and White Avenue at Sandwz'ch
(1936) (cat. I8) anticipate Hitchens‘s work of the 19403 and even 19505,
although they often possess an ethereality that makes Hitchcns's work
seem heavier in comparison. In their combination of rootedness and
dissolution, such paintings also enter into a dialogue with the Objective
Abstraction of artists such as Rodrigo Moynihan, in which light is given
weight and the perceptual basis all but disappears.

Tmvnsend’s paintings of the 19305 also show a translation of


2
Bower of Trees

Signed and dated lower right
Oil on canvas

1933

h 61 cm (24 in)
w 50.9 cm (2.0 in)

Literature

William Townsend 1 909-1 9;-'3:
Retrospective Exhibition of Paintings
and 1)r;m-ings, Royal West of England
Academy, Bristol, 1978, cat. 4

Exhibitions

Ihzirztiizgs by William Townsend,
Wcrthcim Gallery, London, 19 3 3
She-rbournc School for Girls, 193 3
William Townsend 1909- I973:
Retrospective Exhibition af Paintings
and I)nm'ings, Royal West of England
Academy, Bristol, (touring) 1978--86;


rmrascapt?
Watercolour on paper
L 9 3 as

h 25.5 cm(1o in)
W 35.5 cm (14 in)

4

Study for Inzrzdsmpe begwmd
the Garden Walls, Bridge
Signed and dated lower left
\Xz’atercolour on paper

1936

h 15.1 cm (9% in)

w 35.3 cm (13 if; in)

landscape motifs into something more personal and even, at times,
emotional in which there is surely an attempt to convey mood through
colour. However, by the decade’s end and through the changed priorities
of the post-war years Townsend’s painting became more measured and
more tonal. The effect, however, is often rich, not spare. In two
paintings of 194 8, Bayswurer, Kildare Terrace (cat. 29) and Chiswick
Reach I (cat. 2.6), the subjects are bathed in the glow of the rising or
falling sun. In contrast to the cool, lonely quality of Victor Pasrnore’s
more silvered vision of the Thames at Hammersmith, these paintings
have the warmth of nostalgia.

By 1950 Townsend had assumed a prominent place not just as the
exemplary painter admired by critics, but as an art educator. alongside
William Coldstream at Camberwell and then the Slade. But whereas
Coldstream’s production declined as the burden of bureaucracy grew,

 
 

exhibiting regularly and widely, and it is intended
that his paintings of the 1950s he presented in a
subsequent exhibition at James Hyman Fine Art.

Today’s art world is based on an infrastructure of
critics, dealers, museums, curators and collectors
who together shape a market and construct a place
for the artist within it. Perhaps it has always been
the case, but today it seems that without a dealer
regularly putting the work before a public or
facilitating museum displays and instigating press
coverage it is all to easy for an artist to disappear
from view. It is especially problematic when the
artist only produced a small body of work or when
few works remain in the Estate. In the case of
William Townsend, as this exhibition demonstrates,
the A1-tist’s Estate does hold many of the artist’s
most important paintings, several of which are
now for sale for the first time in thirty years.
However, since Townsend’s death in 1973, most of
his work has been out of sight to a British audience,
being with the artist’s children in Canada and the
United States.

It is, therefore, to be hoped that with the present
exhibition and publication, with its illuminating
essay by Frances Spalding, the first steps have been
taken towards restoring Townsend to his place at the heart of the British
art world of the mid twentieth century.

This is a timely moment as the arts of the mid twentieth century
are being reassessed. Witll David Bomberg now Valued alongside his
students, such as Frank Auerbach and Leon Kossoff, the time is surely
well over—due for Townsend, too, to be more fully appreciated not just
for his role as a teacher but for his own achievements as a painter.

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H.932.

Horn 2.: lleliruary in ‘K-’a:itis\t‘t>:*tii, London. ‘I933,
Shortly after his birth the family motes

to llaltif Stmex. His mother is n lceen
Sllpp()t'rt‘.1‘ of Emziline Patildiurst. His. father
is at reluctant dentist by profession, but

also a poet, man of ietters, and author

of a liitigmpltjv of Oliver \‘i’<:n~;l-nil.

He encouraged his precocious son’s
passitinate intt:i'e.st in the natural world

and architeisture, and fostered his capacity
for oliiective olaservntitm and recording,
qtialities that served Towmtend well
throughout his life‘ While living in the
village of Atlversane. the fzunily is visited

by the writer Eleanor Farjeon, who recorded
in an as yet unpublished memoir: ‘I also
found, arnong the tribe of children in
Aclverc-.1116, kl ti-.‘l'I-§.'(:‘a‘li‘-(‘iltl selmollitiy, young
Will Townsend, who had inherited his
farliefss ‘rtustttitetl iirtiutry in tmotlier form.
His line pen produced not rhymes but
Featliery grasses, spidemwebs and
d1"ag,ii11flies.’

"FJ.:‘a5"5

Starts school.

In about 1919, his frequz-.ntly kept notes and
sketeiies coalesce into at daily journal which,
except during, the war years, he continued
until -.1 few days before hie» death, These
journals are now in the library of l.lniversit'y
(Iollege i.Oi1Cl(')X1.

i939

I939“40
Pizhlication of jo.m‘:: Door, by Eleanor
Fzarjeon Ifiilustr-.1ted by 'I'ownsei1d).

lintets the Slade School of Fine Art,
Universit_\-' College London, then headed

by Professor Henry Tanks. Coiiteniptiraries
and close friends include iilinor Bellingliani
Smith, Toinm}-' (Torr, ‘Williani (Zoldstream,
Anthony l)eVz1s, Edgar Hubert,

Gabriel Lopez, Nicolette Macnainara,
Rodrigo ;'\»loy‘nihan, (Ilaude Rogers, and
(ieoflrey Tibhle.

1940

I94I~6

I941
I945

.-\\V-nrtletl the Orpen Finrsary.

Completes studies at the Slade, and wins the
newl_v~inaugurated Wilszoii Steer l,;uiclsea_tie
l’ri‘1.e for At Bltisififiirti {now in the collection
of the Slade Scliimii.

Spends crucizil nine months travelling,

to Egypt, Fmiiee, Italy and Tunisia.

M-.il<t=s paintings nnd drawiiigs; in Florence,
Sienna, Rome, and V111'i0Ll.‘ti locations in
li§;_Vpt‘ and Tullifilfl.

First‘ solo exhibition, Bl()()l1'lSl\l21‘}/ Gallery,
loitdozi.

Ixlakes first paintings of (I;1nterbiir'_»'
(leitliediuil.

i949

(Iontinues to live and work at his p;1rent_<;‘
home at lBridge_. near (I-mtcrliury, vvhilst
workitig, as a hook illtistmtor.

Beeotnes infatuated with the ballet and
attends first pei'ioi‘1n;1i1ees of plays. the
symphonic repertoire, openings and similar
cultural events, usually in London.

invited to contribute at wori< for an anti~
hlscifiit solidarity exhibition. Other artists
include Dilncan (lr-ant. 1’-aul Nasli, liric Gill,
and Henry Moore.

Iiict‘eas%ngly involved in atiti-fascist ptulities,
initially in support of the Basques and
Republicans in Spain, then against the rise:
oi? Nzizism, and the activities of the British
Union of Fascists.

Invited to Ktnnd as Labour parlianientaty
candidate for (jiiitterbury, hut declines.
Participates in Aiiti-fascist rallies (including
the Surrealist Demonstration in TI‘afalgar
Square of I May 1938,! until the outbreak
of war.

1953

L951

Ttiwnsentl m21l<c.-1 <:o1npar:1tivel_v few
figurative paintings during his career but at
this time he shows people at work, perliaps
influenced by fellow A.I.A. members.
Clonipletcs sequence of A.R.l’. (Air~R:iitl
Pressautionsl drziwiiigs oi‘ Cianterbtinv
(Z-athedtal (now in the collection of the
Friends of (ianterbary (lathedmll.

Makes prints for the :\.l.A. ‘F.verym-an
Prints’ series. intended to make affordable
art For the public.

19??

War service as battery tifficer in Royal
Artillery, later transferring to Army
lidticntimi Corps, where he works with the
musician Erie l‘'e1il.v__¢ { formerly anianiiensis
to Frederick Delius}, and paints his portrait.
Marries .’v1ar_v Baxter on July 4.

I962~3

I')auglitc.r Charlotte horn on July 3.
Teaclies at the Cjattiherwell School of Arts.
and (Iraftst on R pz1rt—time lmsis.

Makes paintings of ptist-»w-at‘ London.

In a letter to The Times (June, I947}, he
and (Ioldstreani call for the ptcsermtiori

of it mimbet of Wren L‘l]l.1fL'l1CS burnt out
during the Blitz, including St Mary
Aldertnanliury zlzlcl St Alhan, \3i’ood Street,
which are [l1L‘.§'Lll7iCL'Ib of paintings by both.

L963

Ocuasicintil l31'<2z:dct1stin«,; and journalism on _
M y r /1; 71' f1 L},J 1' JV! :2! 4 ;;—~yL7"L 12...,» :;\r'?vW/' 6H7 >

liitnily moves to Rolvumleii, Kent and
retains :1 small flat in London near the Slade.
The l£lIlLl.'\C;];.7tf of the Weaicl of Kent will
dominate his English painting for the rest
of his life.

joins teaching staff at the Slade School

of Fine Art upon William (loldstreanfs
appointment as Slade Prtitesstir. (itillcagiies
will inciizcle Smart lirislley, Reg Butler,
Bern.-ard (Iohcn, Andrew Forge, l’:xtrii;l~:
George, Nikos (ieorgiadis, Robert Medley,
Thoinas Moimingztoii, Claude Rogerta.

lat: Trctgarthen jenkin and Euaii llglow.
Townsend will iI'1C1‘f)£lSll]gly urge the
recruitment of teachers active in media other
than painting and sciiipture, thus expariding
the scope of the Shade oftbriiigs, which leads
to the invitation for him to estahlisli the
postegmduate ]1l‘0g1‘EI.I’!Im€ there in 1968.
liegiiis :1 long series of tlrawings and
paiiitings based on the different methods

of stringing Kentish hop alleys.

Elected to the London GYOEID.

First Visit to (janziclzi at the invitation of the
Banff School of liine Airts in Alberta {now
the Baxiff (ientrcl, in the (I-anadiaii Roclcieai,
to teach the summer session. Returned to
the school for eleven sessioris until ltis death
there in i97f. First paintings of (Ian-tidian
l‘.1nLlSC‘.1p£‘€ and studies of inountains; derived
from sketclies en pleirz air are made over the
next two jrcnrs in his studio in Kent.

Son Niclwlzls born on 2,9 Decetnlier.
Appointed Senior Lecmrer in Fine Arts.
University (_Iollef.;e London. I __
Death of his father. 4:‘ Lléil/‘A/~.§ 5‘l/- ‘J “'["°"”5¢.”l"'i{~ ‘V -

‘,»(_ 5 11 27;’ /a

Visiting professor in thr I)ep;1rtment of
Fine Arts, Uitiversity of Alberta, lidmonton.
Lives in Edinontoii for 3! year, teaching at
tl1eUnivei¢sity of Alberta, and serves.» -.15
consultant to the (Jmmd-.1 Council and the
National Gallery of (faiizicia. listalilisites

the Lisverhulme (,Zaii-atlizui Painting
Selioiarship for live years with fumls from
the Leverlmlme Trust in London to enable
one gratin-ate painting student each yam‘ to
study in iitigiantl (holders will include Toni
Oiiley and Miclmel Morris).

invited to SCTVL‘ as eo—selector of ‘.\'()].'l<S for
the first comprelteiisive exhibition of the
works of Willi-iiiii (Ioldstrc-am, organised by
the Britisli (l(D‘t1i1L.‘il.


I064

ILM14-« 5

1136 5

1966

I967
I968

I'~}"13

x9~3

19“6

2.0:‘: 5

Iilfccts the introduction of hmther, Peter
'I'uwz1se:i1-.l. [(3 the plll"Vll.‘al'|L‘l‘S of .‘s'zmiir>,
whicli lmlklsi to Peter assiizxiiiig the editorship
of what will become .‘s'rua’in Irztmttzzicmzf.
Tnurs {Tait-.ida ass sole iuror to -select the
Si‘~:tl1 Bl(‘.!'il‘al'.‘.l Exiiélwititm of C-madiim
I’-ainting for the Natitwnal Gallery of Canada,
for which he writes the mtaliiguc csiszay

and notes.

Selects works and writes catalogue:
intrmlizctinn for lntcmationill Exliibitioii

of Paiiitivgs, Gihraltzir Arts; Festival.
Appointed Head r.)§ Paintiiig Division,
Banff Sclmol of Fine Arts.

R:¥.‘&l§3;l1L‘l.l from the London (inmp.

lilectctl Fellow of University College
I.(md0n, and zippuimctl l’mfcsst>r of Fine
Art lpersziital clmlrl, with rcspcmsihility for
CSf;1lJllSl‘lll1g and cmrtliziatiiig the p05t~
§II‘11Llll:1t’(:* programme at the Slade School.
Editor and cc)-author, ‘(Ianadi-mi Art 'I"oclay"
(5.tz4dio Iizzwmzticzrtitl, l.ondm1 and New
York); firs: published a special issue of
Stzrdin Imer/1.1tz‘mz.zl, then as !sC3fl£l*‘¢ll(?!3L‘
publication in hard-hacl-x.

Dies an 4 July, in Banfl. Alberta.
listexlwlisliineiit of zmnual Willizzm Townsend
.\k-nmrial Lecture at ‘University (Iullege
Lontlon. {lecturers will include l\1m'n1an
Bt‘_\'snn._ Rag Butler, :\:1tl10n}' Caro, ;‘«.mlri:W
(I-uL1»;ey. llernard (lolwn, Riczhard C<.)i'l<,
Michael (§1'aig~-}yli1rtlx1, Thomas Crow,
Richard l)::ac<m, Robyn Denny, Amirew
Forge. Anth<m_v Gormley. Peter (Ere:-iiaway,
Richard llamiltorx, Anthony Hill. Susan
Hillier, lmn Hitchens, Howard l“l()tl?,l<l11,
Norbert I...ynto2i, Kenneth Martin, Leslie
Martin, Bruce ;‘\.1cl.ean, l')ccl:tn Mc(}0nagle,
Cornelia l)z1!7l\'Cl‘, Bridget Riley. Richard
lltigcrs, l,2iwi'<:m;c \X='eincr_. Rachel
Wliitereatl. and Richard Wulllieiinl.
Tnwrzscml Mcziiotial Schoiaizship established
at the Bimff (Ientm.

F.3<$l’1‘21L'I‘S from tl1e_I<mrm1ls piilvllslzccl as ‘Tim
'I1:)wrz5c>rza' ]ozu'mzl'_~‘ -- An Artist": Reccm-I of
his ‘Times I92.§‘~§ ;_. edited l7)‘ Andrew
Forge (Tate Gallery, Lnmlun, I9"’6l.
Rettosp<:ctlw rsxhlbitlim at Tate Gallery.
Lomlmii

William "I'ow21-semi Symposium. Clare Hall.
(fiatiilwriclge (‘clmited by l?rufcs5<u‘ Dame
Glllliul Beer, }1il£‘[lClp&nt!-3 l1'iL‘lLl(.lL‘ Pmfess;oi'
I)-.wi<l (fast. l’r0f::ss<)r limcritus Bcrmwd
(lulwii. Dr. _l-aiiics Hyman, and Dr. Frances,
Spalnlingl.

“ WM"Wm"m”"‘Pf7£77?.t 5 “Z‘L‘:'i’l§fl‘:'ZM‘ll“L»,§‘)«L,,r

Alberta Arr Fciumlatizm, C:"£T1€lLlLl

Arts (nuncil England

Aucl<.land Art (3-alle1'y. New Zcaland
Banff Centre, Alberta, (faimda

P:€l'I€11L‘l€11 S-clmnl. Kent

lltriniiigliain .\'lus:‘,um and Art Grallcry
Bmclfonl Cflity Art (jzillcry

British Museurn, Lundun

(Z~.1nt<:rhm‘y City Art Gz1lll;‘.£‘}’

City (ittllery, York

Ihllmimsie If?i1ive.rsity, I‘-lalif-.1x. Canada
Friends of Cantu‘ifbL11'y Catlwtlml
Cllculwmv l\.l.usei1m, Calgary, (I-zmada
Guvermiieiit Art (Iollcction, LZK.
Gctvcrmmznt of (itixiada, ()ttawa. (Immda
The (Zity (}21ll&I‘)“, I,eicesm-r

Niztional Gallery of (Ianacla, ()ttaw-ti, Canzzcla
N£itl‘j11i‘2 Gallery of Victoria, Melhuurnc, Australia
Nuffielul Fc1ui1clati<>n

Red Deer Art Gallery, All)8E'fJ, Clanadsz
Royal West of Eaiglaxtcl Acadeiny, Bristol
Sallnrd l\luscum and Art Gaillcry

Simon Ii,;1i1gt(>n School, (I-ai:tethu.ry

Tate (li2lll€:‘1'_V, Londnii

Towner Art Gallery, E;1Stl7()U!'ne
University Ciolluége .[.()l1(l(,)I1

lliiiversity of :\lbcrt-.1. (janaclzi

University cf Calgary, Clmiada

Victoria and Albert Museiim, London
Ym'l<shire and Humber Regional (Immcil

i~' .44-.
L»LlCf"o\Vl/rfi

Karyn lilizahctli Allen, Stmta; and ( fharlmte

Tcuwmzmd--(itzult, ‘Getting it Right M ‘K-’illi;im Townsend

and Camida‘, camlogw: essays in Wiflitmz ’I'0zm2swzti
in Aliwrm, Nickle Arts Museum. Univ:-rsi.t_v uf
(Ialgary. r989.

Alan Bmviiess. V!’-’i!li.zaz1 ’I‘ozw:swz:1, 'l‘-.1t*.~2 (}a§lei‘}',
l.cmd<.>n, :L)7(fn

Richard (I-alvocorcssi, ‘Slwtchcs by the W-a_\", ‘Times
Litemr_~.' S:aj.2pIe::ze:zt. 19 Nm'cinbt:r 1,9-:6, p. 1.1.65

  

David (fast, ‘Representing Reality: G.

val. '1” :5’. mi. 3, 2.000, pp. 290-}, If:

Andrew Forge, (intmductinn and editor}. "7739 Tmmzserzd
]0:tm.zé’s: An Am's:’s Record of His Times 1923-5 1,

Tate Gallenv, l,LmLl0n, 1.976 {Very selectively edited
extracts from four periods in the writ<:r’,s’ life?
Douglas Haynes, ‘William ’I"0wn,send’_, lfmzgzuzrd,
September 1983, pp. 50w 5 1

Christopher ~.\Icvc, "The Architecture Lil Hap Ciarclens’,

(I.'>mzfr_~,* Life, 2.4Jl1}".i3‘ 19%-

(iltrisioplicr New, llfilfiani T0u'iz.sem1' 19u9—rz)~'3:
Retmspcrrrive I~L\*l.I:':’2iir'r)1-A of Paitztirzgs and I.)ra:umg.~:,
Royal West of Eiiglmid Aczzdcxny, Bristol, 1978
(lhtistophcr Neva, ‘Seeing, is Believing: Willizuii
'l"ownsend‘, Umgtdet I..az:dsctt_rw, lmidcm, 1990
Ilavid Silcox, ‘A Tribute to Will Townsmd‘,

A1'ts ifarzazzhz, 1 973

(Eh-zifiotte "lbwitsend-C}.1Lilt, ‘I)i‘-awing on (Innad-a‘.
catalogue essay in I)mwing rm (.3.-zrzmzh: Willitzm
Tazmzsemi: W~’ards and \¥":;ré2s on Pagmr‘ :95 z'-- 19'?’ 3,
Strung Print Room, University (_Tolle:g,c London, 1995

 

 

 

,. Moore, Tonlzs,
Viezmr Pasmnre mid Utliets‘, ‘tX~"r;rd mm‘ l!m1gé']!)ttI‘7Z.‘1l,

  


E
l
1.
‘,
V
I
1

 

Exhibitions

Solo Exhibitions

I9}2

T933

[938

.1942.

1949

I962
I963
-964
1966
1967

1968
I972

1973
1974

1976

x9';'S«-~80

198;

1987

E:cbib£tim1 of l’az'niings by ll’-Vllriznz
Towrzscnd, Bloomsbury Gallery, Lonclon
Paintings by Willzizm Touvnscnd, \X'/ertlieim
Gallery, Ixmdon

Pizintitzgs by Williani Townsend, Biirgnle
Gallery, Canterbury

William T(‘)1l.'i?S£’72d, Bloomsbury Gallery,
London

Pairziings by Wilham Townsemi, I-latton
Gallery. King’s College, Newcastle
l’airzrings by Vl"ia'limn Tozwzsend, Roland,
Browse and llellianco, London

Recent Pnirztirzgs by William ‘Tau-rrsend,
Leicester Galleries, London

W"illz'.-am Tozwzscmi, Jacox Gallery, liclmonmn,
and (lanadizin Art Gallery, Calgary

Recent paintings and drawings by Williizm
Tozvnsend, Leicester Galleries, London
Williciirz Tozmsemi, University of Sussex,
Brighton; Clare College, Cambridge
Willzlzm Townsend, Christchurch (Iollcge,
Czmterbury

WilZi.~m: Tozwz.semz', Demo-an l,ibra1',v, Retford
William 'I‘ozwz5end, Dalhousie University
Art Gallery, Halifax, Nova Scotia

lX~"illz'am Tnzwzserrd, Chilharn Gallery, Kent
A 'Tribute to Willi}-mz 'I‘ou-nsend 1909 to
,z9;~'3, Burnaby Art Gallery, Burnaby, British
Clolumhia 1_'touring cxhibirion,‘~

Willie»: 'Fou.'nsem3' 1 _909~1 973: plzintirzgs
and iz'r;m'irzgs, Tate Gallery. Limdon
Willi‘.-mz °1"<>wn'serzd 1909-1973:
Retraspembe Exlyillitirnz of Paintings and
l)rzzwir1gs, Royal West of England Academy,
Bristol, 1978, (retired to Towner Gallery,
Eascbourne, Kettle’s Yard, Cambridge, Rye
Art Gallery, Sexinsbury Centre, University of
East Anglia, Norwich, Crawford Arts
Centre, University of Sr. Aiidrews I9_78~8ol
William ’I?:x;'rzse2:d in Allzerta, Nickle Arts
Museum, University or’ (Ialgary (routed to
Prairie Gallery, (iranel Prairie, F.s;imonron
Art Gallery, Walter Phillips Gallery at Banff
(Ientre and Red Deer Museum, Red Deer}
W"z'lliam Tozmzseml, Virginia Christopher
Gallery, Calgary, Alberta

I989

199$

mo 5
2006

Williczrrz Tclzwrsmxd, Dallmnsie Art (iullcry,
Halifax, Nova Scotia

1947

I)m1¢«*irzg<>tz (}.z1z.zc1e1 — William Tawnsem1':
W’ord.< and Works on Paper 195 1  1973,
Strang Print Room, University (Iollegc
London

W’illz.m2 'I'own5end, Clare Hall, ilaiiilwidge
lll’z'I:'z'.mz Tozwzscnd; landscape paivztirzgs
1930-1950, James Hynmn Fine Art,
London

Group exhibitions

1930

1931

i936

1937

T939

I940

1941

1941”5

1946

British .~’l.vtisrs Iixlzilvitirxiz, Hull
C<mtc'nz;mr».zr_v Britisli Art, Leger Gallery,
London and Salisbury

1948

Tree Pictures, The Garden Club, London

East Kent Arznzml Plxlvibitirxrz, Cianterbtmj

Lorzdcm Group Ammal i~‘;c/aibitirm, London

Tuwrties Crimp }_7xbi12itio7z, Wcrtheini

(jallery, \ll’orthing

Shcrlsourne School for Girls

.~\hborsl1olmc School, Smffordshire

Exritibition of Clrmternpomry Art, Bradford

(City Art Gallery

1.rmdcm Group 193.; I-IxI2z'bizz'mz, London 1949
I£,‘:cl'Jil')iti(Jn of (Ir;nle>fi1p()ra2*_\‘ Art, 1949” W
Birmingham Art Gallery ’ ‘

Lmzdmz Group Annual l~Ixl.1t'!u'ziorz, London 1950
Tumziies Group Exlaibitirin, Wertlieim
Gallery, l.<mdon

1J‘l7tdvS‘ldz)€S by zotiu ()'e12tz:ry Pczinters,
llerraissance Gallery, London

Artists hztwvzatiomzl Assoczlztimx F7,~:bilJz'tz'm-2,
'W.l1iteclmpel Gallery, London

East Kent Art Society Ammai Hxliilziticm, 19‘ ‘
Sidney Cooper School of Art, Llzuiterhury '
Artis2‘s Intermzriomzl Association I:'xiJil7itz‘mz,,

R. B. A. (}21llerir:s, London

Artists Interrzatimml As5ac:Lztz'rm Exl2z'bitirm,

touring exhibition

Art for the People, (IEMA, touring

exhibition

Pairzters 'l"m1’ay, Pall Mall Galleries, London
(Irnzta-rr2g‘mm'2'3r ln‘ri!isI:r Art, Leicester

Szmzmer Ex/Jihitirm, Rcdlcm Galleries,

London

Artists ofhime and I’rmm’se'. l.eice.<;re:'
Cialleries, Lomlon

Mmxziiws ' 1'ixb:'l2it:‘(m, A. I. A. G~.1ller_v,
Lunalun

542}: .Ԥpring E3:/2i!:t'tim1, Braclford City

Art Gallery

St. I’am‘ms Civic Wee-I-: I*IxL'z'b:’!imz_, London
British Paintirzg oftlzcr Last Fif?)' Years,
Roland, Browse and DCll)d11L'O, Iorulnn
Nlodern British Pazirzrirzgs, Arts (Iouucil

of Great Britain and British Institute of
Adult ECll)Ciltl0n

The Eusrryrz Rrmd School and ()t.r'?ers,
Walcefield City Art Galiery (toured to

Art Gallery, llarrogate, Graves Art Gallery,
Sheffield, Brighrori Arr (lallery, 194,8)
Ihzldington rl7'i‘i5‘c‘5, Porchester Hall, Lomzlon
Artists of Fame amt’ 1’rrmzise_. Leice:;ter
Galleries, I..0i1don

Letchworth Art Society, Lctchwortli

_;4tl.w Exiflvitirrn of the East Kent A rt
Society, College of Art, (Ianrerbury
Nanws to Rer:»zeml2er, Roland, Browse and
Delbanco, {nndon

Autzmm £xl2z'bitz'mz 1949,

Brighton Art Gallery

jubilee Iixlxibirimz ciifiliizgiislz, French and
US P.-zinting, Toronto, (Jamada

Artists Interrmtimzizl A:;so<‘zlm'rm Members
.Exi.via'2i:ir;rz, &\,i.A. Gallery, London

Slade Dinner Exliihition, Slade School
Artists of 14.27319 and Prmnise, leicester
(2-gilleries, London

Nanzes ru Renzember, Roland, Browse and
Dellaanco, London

Banff School of Fine Am; Gallery, Alherta
The lingIi,~*l.> Srerzc —- lhzizzrirzgs ofsoo Years.
Roland, Browse and Dellvanuso, London
Lmzdml Group: (‘,’m:ternp<)ri1r_1' 1’¢zirztz‘1zg,
IJmu'ings Jud Smlpture, New Burlington
(ialleries, London

Tire Engiis/2 Scene -- gm; l/ears of I".1intirzg,
Roland Browsrz and Delbgmco, lnndon
zlrtists of Iiinw and I’rur7zisL>, Leicester
(iallerles, London


l952

1953

1954

1956

Banfl Sclmcal of Flm: Arts Gallery, Alberta (957
D0n'|ln.i0u C}all::r_v, Mantra;-al, Quebec

Britislv Pm"/ztirzg 1913'-1950: 8:2cmza'

Anllmfngy, Arts Cuuncil of Great Britain

East lx'c=r:I Art Sor.‘:'m‘y Amzzml E:ri:ii7izirm,

Canserlwury

Artists of Fcmw anti Pnmtise, Leicester

Galleries, Lcmdoxi

Bladon Galleiry, Hampshire

Names :0 Remember, Roland Browse and

Dclbzmco, London

East Ken! Art Society Arznmzi F.'.xI'1ITb:‘!imr, 1958
Canterbury

Roland, Browse and Delbzntco, Landon

Artists ofliznze and Prrmzise, Leicester

Galleries, London

Lcmdmz Gnmp 195.; E2:bii1itirm, New

Burlington Gallery, Lcmdon

Russell Cotes G-allery, Bnurnenmurh

Selections from Ixmdrm Groz:;z 1954, I959
Portsmouth

Arts {Iomzcii Collection. A Selectimz

,*fmm the 01'! P.z:Tm'i1:gs 1!, Arts Council

of Great Britain 1950
Slade Dinner Exhibition, Slade School,

Lcmdim

A rtists o,FF.zme mm’ Pnmzz'sn, Leicester

Galleries, London

Lomirm Grrmp I955 Exlzibirirm, , 9 5 I
Whireclrapel Art Gallery, I..0ndon

Animal Exl7."l7irt'mz, Royal West of Englzand

Academy, Bristol

New Yelrr Hvchzbitirm, Leicester Galleries,

London

The Smsmts, organi.-‘ml by the (imirenipurary

Art Sotlety, Tate Gallery, Londun

A rtists afFame and Promise, lriccster 195’;
Galleries, London

I.zmdo11 Group 1936 lixl2iI7iti(m, R.P:.A.

Galleries, I.<mol<.m

Brighton Art Gallery

Armzml Iixbilritizln, Royal West of Englemd V
Academy, Brisml I 953

NM’ Years klxlaillitiotx, I.eices:er Galleries, r964
Lmidnn

Join-z M.r2ures E.1:#'z£biti<;rz, Walker Art

Gallery, liverpuul

Group Iixhibitiorz <:;“I\’€rzt Artists, P-uulogmr

Roland, Browse arid Delbzmco, London

Artiszs (sf Fdfllfi lmd Promise T 1’, Leicester

Art Galleries, Londmr I964,
Midland Artists Group Gallery, Nottinghmn
Armual Ex£ub:'tz'nn, Royal West of F,ngl:md “SW5

Academy, Bristol
New Years Exlailritimz, Ileicester (ialleries,

London
Artists afF:1me and l’r<'>mz'se Part I, ‘.966
Leicester Galleries, lxzndcxn l9_T’O

London Grzmp 1958 Exhibition, R. B. A.

Galleries, Lomlon 1971
1596:}; Annual Exlaiiiitimz, Royal Wesrt of
Englaml Academy, Bristol

Sprirzg Iixbibition, (Sit): Art Gallery, Bradford
Caarlislc City Art Ga}llL’1'}'

Inmim: Group /lmmlrl Ex/Jibitizm, R.B.A.
Galleries, I.O1‘lCl()fl

Artists at Work, Mirlland Group Gallery
Lecchworrh Museum and Art Gallery

1972

Cmztem:7omr;v British I..mz:i$c¢zpe,

Arts Council of Great Britain, (Ihelrenham
(tauring exhibition)

(florzternjmrary B1-iris}: I.lz;zdscape. Arts
Council of Great Britain, (murecl to
Chcltenham Festival, Wallwr Art Gallery,
I.iverpoc)l, Laing Art Gallery, Newcastle on
Tynrs, Arts (Iouncll Gallery, Cambridge and
Whirworrli Art Gallery, Manchester";

St. Pancras Arts Festival, St. Pancras Trswn
Hall, lmldorl

19377’

I978
B1‘izisI2 Pairzring 193o~—1‘94o, Arts Council
of Great Britain, Cardiff 1003
Artists cl,-*’f~1:nze and Promise Part I,

Ixlcester Galleries, London

2006

Artists of Fame and Prcmzise Part II,
Leicester Galleries, London

F.-,1sr Kent Art Society, (.‘anterlwury

Open Paimirzg z'€s:l2ib.4tion, Belfast

British C().nte'mf)11rJr'y Artfsfs, New
Merropole Arts Centre, Foll<esc<mr:
Lrmdém (}nm‘_() 196;, Art lfiéderation
Galleries

l,om1<m Grc)to'12 191.;-—r9(i4]uf2i1ec<
Exbilzitimz, Tate Gallery

(3179:: Painting Exlribiticm. Arts Council
of Northem Ireland

I’ic!zm*s for Sc*.b<>o»Is 1965', Smith Landau
Art Gallery, Czunlrcrwell

FIJCHS rm I)r.mrmgs: (Llmqda/(§rcat
Britlzinfltlzlyilgmin, Art Gallery of Tortmtcr
Bradford City‘ Art Gallery

'I‘wentierl.: (Zenrmjv Amsts of Sussex l-ma’
Kym‘, Rye Art Gallery

Landscapes: A Persorzazl Choice by Ian
Tregartherz jmicirz, Upper (srosvcnor
Galleries, London

Ifixlaébition oflflxitttings and i)muaings by
21 Kent Artists, Maidstzme Arts Festival,
Maidsmne Museum

Kemp Town Gallery, Brighton

l-lnnztai Exlzibitiun, Royal West of Ellglalld
Acarlemy, Bristol

Pszinting. Sculpture and l)mwirzg in Britain
I94a—49, Arts Council of Great Britain,
Wliitecliapel Art Gallery, L0l1(lK)!‘l (routed
to City Art Gallery, Southampton, Public
Library, Museum and Art Gallery, Carlislrs,
D.I,.l. Museum anal Am; Centre, Durham,
City Art Gzillery, Mancliester, City Art
Gallery“, Bradford, Museum and Art
Gallery, Aberdeeiil

Painting In Britairl r9y2—;';',

Royal Academy of Arts, London
l~'I1.ver~_vt.52i:zg £7141‘ the Kircbere Sink. Campbell
and Fraiiks Gallery, London

A Pirtme offirimirz, Tate Britain, London
I)mm'rzgs ,-‘l?’t)H't tlzr’ Shade, slmwn at the
Watercoloiirs Ex: I)r:xwing.~; Fair 2006,
Royal ACi‘iLl(;‘n1)’ uf Arts, lrmdon


I2
‘Widled ( };1rdens at Bridge
Signcd lnwcr rig:,ht

Oii on canvas

1'. I934

11 635 cm (2.5 in)
w 75.; cm (30 in:

Literature

Wilhurn ’I‘¢m-nsend 1 909- I 9'13:
Retrospevtimv I-Ixbibitimz of Paintings and
l)r.1zvings. Royal West of England
Academy. BI'ist0L I978, cat. 6

Exhibitions

William Townsend I90'_9- 1 91;:
Retmspectizve I-Ixbibition of l’.n'nt1'ngs and
Drawings, Royal West of Fngland
Academy, Bristol. 1978-~8::


I3
I,.mdsmpc Beyurzd (by Garden Walls,
Bridge

Signed lower right
Oil on canvas

3936

I.

.5 I\ ~rr\ la». in\

1/D><2Ar

Literature

William Townsend 1 909- 1 973:
Retrospective Exhibition of Paintings and
Dmwings, Royal West of Fngland
Academy, Bristol, I9-78, cat.12

Exhibitions

William Townsend 19o9~~ I9_"3.’
Retrospec‘t1'm.' l~jxbibitim1 uf Iflzirztings and
Dr.zu-ings, Rqval West of England
Academy, Bristol, 1978-81)


15

The Nailbozmze
Signed lower centre
Oil on canvas

1936

h 5c>.9cm{zoin} X ,7

.. . . ..... 1.-1...\

Exhibitionis
I..:m1sc'Jpes by zotb ( Tantra)‘ Iflzinm-5,
Renaissmxcc (iallcry, Lundnn, 193"’


20

Bifrons Plantation, In the Wood
Signed lower right

Oil on canvas

1956

h 6L1 cm (2.4 in)
w 50.9 cm (20 in)


Hop Gazrderz, Spring
Signed lower right
Oil on canvas

1  5 1

h 61' cm (24 in)
w 50.9 cm (20 in)

Literature

Andrew Forge, (introduction and editor),
The Touvrzserzd Jourmzls: An Artist’:
Record of His Times I928-51, Tate
Gallery, London, 1976, illustrated p.91
(entitled ‘Hop Alleys’)

William T(}H«'MSt’fld 1909 -1973:
Retrospective Iixiwilfition of Paintirzgs and
Dmwings, Royal West of England
Acadc-m_v, Bristol, 1978, cat. 37

Exhibitions

The English Sce71e~— Paintings of 300 Years,
Roland, Browse and Delhancn, London,
1951

Lmzdmz Group: (lhntemporary Paivztirzg,
Dmwings and Sculpture, New Burlington
Galleries, I9 51

Banff School of Fine Arts Gallery,

Alberta, 1 95:.

Dmninion Gallery, Montreal, Quebec, 1952.
William Townsend 1 909-1 9_:'3:
Retrospective I-Ixlaibitinn of Paintings and
Drawings, Royal West of England
Academy, Bristol, 1978-80


Ekzm/nfzfwm 3

 

Edited by Andrew Forge

§-.7;
g..

 'r1u«: 'l‘0WNSENl) JOURNALS

An artist’s record of his times I928-5 I

Tate Gallery 1976



William Townsend I909-I973

Wiiliam Townsend died suddenly in Canada in the summer of 1973.
Besides a considerable body of painting, he left behind him a vast quantity
of ttoriting, most ofwhich had never been seen by anyone hut hiinseif.

An entry in one of his journals from the early fifties records how, while
helping his parents move house, he had discovered boxes and boxes of old
papers and notebooks from his childhood. Even he is astonished at their
quantity and variety: illustrated descriptions of parish churches, notes on
the geology of East Kent, notes on place names, on comparative philology,
on Russian Grammar, on bird songs, peinting—by—painting reviews of the
Royal Academy Summer Show. “What a diligent boy I was E’ he exclainis.
This diligent and omnivorous interest persisted i.‘€H1£lI‘l.<iibly, for the journal
in which the discovery is recorded was part of a daily record that he‘kept
with few interruptions from his school days until the end of his life. One
can only wonder at the selfidiscipline and the inner pressure which took
him to his desk night after night, whatever the exertions of the day, whether
in the studio, or teaching or in a full social life. Some years ago he had
realised that this journal was beginning to assume an historic character. He
deposited the existing volumes in the Library of University College, London
with instructions that it was not to be made generally available until twenty
years after his death. At the same time he asked the present writer to be
responsible for a first reading and to make recommendations to Charlotte
Townsend, his daughter and heir, about publication from it. This was
made possible by a generous grant from the Leverhulme Foundation.

In total the journal runs to nearly fifty volumes of manuscript, mostly in
hard-covered notebooks of 8 X 5 in. There must be well over two—and-a-
half million words. The earliest entries tend to be a combination of boyish
accounts of school life and achievement with highly detailed descriptions of
things seen. His two passions are nature and architecture and in these he is
evidently much encouraged by his father Lewis Townsend, a dentist and 3
man of letters nzcmqzié, a poet and the author of a successful biography of
Oliver Wendell Holmes. In much of the early writing one has the sense ofa
task undertaken to gratify certain stringent parental demands.

Father and eldest son, with or without the rest of the family, were
inveterate walkers, birdwatehers, antiquarians, botanists, tireless at the
highest reaches of sight—seeing. There were long weekend walks through
the countryside. of East Kent in which not a nest goes unidentified nor a
cottage undated. There were also meticulously planned holidays in Nor~

l8l


 

left

Lewis W. Townsend,  193 1
right

‘X~’iil.iam Townserxd, c. I 93 3

WILLIAM 'l'0‘WNSEND

melody, Wales, Ireland, Brighton, Bath, during which, it seems, every
quarter of an hour is accounted for. The first ‘volumes are almost entirely
given to descriptions of places seen. The discipline of this liincl of writing
must have helped to shagze hie formidable visual memory. It is as though he
can play the day over to himself like a film. The paintefs immediacy of
apprehension combines with the antiquariazfs sense of a layered past. Ami
at his best his descriptive writing £5 distinguished not only in its clarity and
intelligence but by a certain dry vividness from which marvellous images
suddenly flash out, as when he recalls his first impression of Milan Cathe-
dral as ‘a hillside of dead pines’, or tells himself that provincial England is
‘like a sleepy pear’. _

He went to the Slade in the autumn of 1926, his time there coinciding
with the last years of Professor Tonks’ regime. It was here that he made the
essential friendships of his life; with Claude Rogers, ‘W’lll:'an1 Coldstrearn,
Geoffrey Tibble, Edgar Hubert, Elinor Bellingham—Smith, Anthony
Devas, Rodrigo Moynihan, Gabriel Lopez and many others. Two experi~
enees occur during this time which were to have a lasting effect on him.
One was nearly nine months of travel abroad, first in Egypt where he was
the guest of a fellow Slade student called Yousei, and almost immediately
afterwards in France, Italy and Tunieia in the company of a retired naval
commander who was an amateur painter. His record of these travels stands
as 21 whole and there seemed to be no point in breaking into it in ranking the
present selection. The second crucial experience was the death by suicide
of one of his closest friends, the Colombian Gabriel Lopez. Townsend pro-
foundly admired his painting and his poetry, diametrically dififerent from
his own. He had been with him a great deal during the last months of his

{9}


Group at the Slade, Summer 1929. Left
to right: Devas, Clough, Kitchener,
Boxall, Sliephard, Lopez, —-, Scroggie, —,
Hunt, Townsend, -

Fancy dress dance at the Yorkshire Grey
February 1932. Back row: Nancy Sharp:
William Coldstream, Rodrigo Mo).-'nih:m.~
far right; Claude Rogers. From: left
side; Edgar Hubert, George Charlton,
Caitlin Nlacnarnara, right side; Vivien
John, Geoffrey Tibble

WILLIAM TOWNSEND

life and his death afiected him deeply. The diaries come to an abrupt stop
a few days after Lopez’s death. When they start again two years later, we
find him back in Canterbury, helping his father keep the accounts for his
practice.

Through literary friends of his father’s, particularly Eleanor Farjeon,
Townsend had built up several connections with publishers and he had
begun to find work illustrating books and designing jackets. He had hoped


 

lefl
William '1‘ownsend_, ‘Canterbury’
1945"?

right
William Townsend, ‘Hop Alleys’
1951-2. Tate (}cz1Icr_\-

WlI.LIAM TOWNSEND

to be able to survive on this in London but it was never a regular living.
His life in Canterbury has the qualities of an exile, broken only by oc~
casional visits to London to chase publishers, see exhibitions and keep up
with his friends. These are melancholy years. He sees himself being slowly
brought down by provincial life, losing Contact with the people that mean
most to him, unable to free himself from the demands of his father, on
whom he is, in any case, dependent. He develops a passion for the ballet,
blowing his savings and paying a balletomane’s court to Danilova and
Toumanova in their prime. And as the decade advances, he becomes in-
creasingly drawn into left wing politics, the local Labour Party, the League
of Nations Union, the W.E.A., Arms For Spain. Both the Abyssinian
conflict and the Spanish Civil War are recorded almost daily, as are the
Munich Crisis and the events leading to September 1939. He watches his
friends somewhat at a distance, recording with intense feeling each visit and
each nuance of aesthetic and political opinion. He is a witness from the
wings of their first successes: Devas’ rise as a fashionable portrait painter,
the short-lived and daring experiments in informal abstraction of Tibble
and Moynihan, the founding of the Euston Road School by Rogers and
Coldstream and their swift recldme along with Pasmore and Graham Bell in

{II}


W/'illiarn Townsend, ‘Hedley Mountain’
I963 Hazel Szrours

WILLIAM TOWNSEND

the years immediately before the war.

He joins the army in 1941 and is demobilised five years later, having
become a staff captain with the Army School of Education. This period is
not recorded in the journals. When he picks up civilian life and returns to
writing, he is married, Charlotte is born and he is a teacher at Camberwell
School of Art, where William Johnstone was reassembling the people who
had been connected with the Euston Road School before the war. From
this point on his life is centred on art schools, at Camberwell and then at
the Slade where he goes with Coldstream in the autumn of 1949. From
195 I onwards he makes regular visits to Canada where he also teaches.

Read as a whole the journals yield an extraordinary picture of a life in
both its private and its public dimensions. It is not possible yet to do com-
plete justice to this picture in publication, for to do this would mean to
observe a balance between the inner and the outer chronicle. Scores of
people are mentioned in these pages and although I do not think that he
would have minded the publication of his professional acidities, I know
that he would not have wanted confidences abused nor feelings needlessly
hurt. So any selection now can only give a partial impression of the scope
of the journals and of their final importance —- that importance stemming, as
I have suggested, from their inclusiveness. The document as a whole is
many things: a profoundly honest confession; an acute and sophisticated
account of a professional career, with all the gossip and inside talk that
implies; it is a succession of passionately detailed and feeling accounts of
places and above all buildings seen; it is the critique of an intelligent and

[I2]


WILLIAM TOWNSEND

humane man upon his times. In selecting these extracts, which amount to
the merest tip of an iceberg, I have concentrated on three periods which
seem to me to be of the greatest historical interest: his student years, the
late thirties and the first year of the war, and the years 1946 to 19st. I have
not included anything after these for a variety of reasons. Later entries tend
increasingly to be about day—to—day matters at the Slade ~— conversations
with students, college politics, the somewhat repetitive appointments of
academic life. All this is fascinating to anyone involved in this world but of
limited general interest. These are also the years of his Canadian Visits.

He was first invited there to teach at the summer session of the Banfi”
School of Fine Art. It was the first time that he had crossed the Atlantic
and all his skills as an observer are brought out to the full. He is learning a
new landscape with its own fauna and flora, all of which have to be worked
up and recorded. He is learning a new culture, new kinds of cities, new
styles of reference. And of course, he is meeting scores of new people and
looking at a lot of unfamiliar art. As visit follows visit he begins to under-
stand Canadian life in greater depth and finally even to become a part of it.
All his life he had been fascinated by the special problems posed. by the
relationship of English art to the Continent. Now in Canada he was to en-
counter similar problems in new terms. He became something of a spokes-
man for Canadian art and culture and as the journals go on from the first
visit to the end, a remarkably rounded ‘picture emerges of a crucial period.
But the effect stands as a whole. There seemed to be no point in extracting
sections whose real interest lies in their contribution to an organic account,
separate to a large extent, from his preoccupations at home.

Finally, during the last few years there is a change in the nature of the
entries themselves. The style becomes more elliptical, less reflective, and
private and public matters are more sharply intercut. Vllfhen the time is
right for more inclusive publication, such changes of style will fall meaning-
fully into place. I cannot see that they would here.

One strand which is never dropped in the entire text is his commentary
upon his own painting. Whatever else he was involved in, however multi-
farious his interests, the central concern was always his studio. And. yet,
like so many artists in this country, there is something tentative in his
relationship to it. Perhaps in the end, too much time was spent thinking
about it at a distance from a productive niiliezt, his time broken by insecurity,
war, too much teaching, his hold on it weakened by lack of recognition. He
had committed himself early to a quiet position. Any form of extremism
was foreign to his judicious observer’s temperament, and he was not an
innovator. However, the best of his painting reflects those qualities of
balance, sensitivity, and acute economical observation which were essential
to him, and in some of the Kentish hop garden series and the cityscapes
of Edmonton, these qualities are refined to a pitch which approaches
perfection.

{I3}

 

 

 

 


THE WAR

me that Roland is the only one of us who has joined up —- anti aircraft.
Camouflage he says is hopeless. He himself is finding it very difiicult
to do nothing and impossible to paint . . .

Then I rang up Stephen Bone. He confirmed my general idea of the
chances of artists at the moment. He also is in the know about the M. of
Information and gave me the address; but that scheme is still only in
embryo.

9 September 1939 Most of the morning went in tracking down the Ministry of Information;
from one government building I was sent to another, no one was sure where
it was, or even knew sometimes that there was such a Ministry. However I
did find it, after calling at the Home Office and learning that its location
had changed overnight. It is now at the Senate House of the University,
but they were no longer giving out posts, nor even considering appli-
cations . . .

Down to Canterbury in the afternoon. The train crowded, and the plat-
forms at Tonbridge and other stations packed with hop—picl<ers starting the
season. Two young soldiers opposite me 5 they were perfectly happy but
had no idea of what was happening to them; for the last few days they had
been moved about from place to place doing nothing, now on their way to
Shorncliffe to guard the hospital; possibly going to Egypt. There was a
pleasant friendly feeling among the people in the compartment 3 we chatted
away without any violence of feeling or opinion. Concern for the Poles and
HOp_pickerS on their way to Kent’ hope that something will be done quickly to relieve the pressure on them is
Radio Times Hulmn Picrzdre Library the general sentiment at the moment. People are troubled or bewildered by

the slow start on the Western Front . . . even here papers that had no sym—
pathy for Madrid’s defenders are recalling the glorious memory of that
city and spiashing its slogan ‘they shall not pass’. The slogans of the Spanish
war are no doubt appropriate enough in Poland but it is curious to find
them now so approved by the enemies of the Republic, just as it is curious
to think of Ward Price leading the Daib; Mail against German fascism
when a few days ago his books were boosted by the B.U.F. in their book~
shops, and the Mail and Express had no use for a peace front against
aggression.

 

734
11 September 1939 A telegram from Anthony asking me to meet him for lunch. Up to town by

the morning train which was very crowded - the service is very reduced
from to-day and the trains stop all over the place and are slower so I did
not reach London until after twelve. Walked round Bedford St. and that
quarter to see what publishers looked like staying in town and which had
shut up. Most of them still there so far, but Gollancz closed down except
for enquiries; the communist bookshop next door, displaying the Daily

}_)‘)c \/fig / /,-H 7‘-7;/* l55l


William Townsend, A. R. P. drawings

of Canterbury Cathedral

THE WAR

Worker in separate sheets, and various photographs and pronouncements,
was the only window lively enough to attract a group of people. Verve and
the lovely reproductions in Zwemn1er’s windows still spread out for us
behind the gummed lattice. . . still plenty of people to hang round the second~
hand shelves in Charing X road, and books ought to sell better than ever
with no competition or distractions. Nothing else worth while is open in
London — no theatres, cinemas, exhibitions, galleries, museums, no child-
ten and no friends left.

Met Anthony in Charlotte St, and went with him to Bertorelli’s.
Nicolette of course was there. Igor and his sister and two other girls and
Leigh Ashton who is high up in the Ministry of Information and from
whom Anthony was hoping much. But his hopes were drowned in a
moment, for he told us there are hundreds of applicants at the Ministry; all
are being turned away and that the personnel sufficient for present needs
was carefully picked months ago. Leigh Ashton said he was certain the war
was coming three months ago, never had any doubt afterwards, he is con-
vinced that the ratification of the Russo-German pact — not the signing —
precipitated the war, but I was astonished to hear him say that he thought
Russia would come in against us in the end, against Poland at least, and
take part of the Polish territory. I don’t know where any evidence exists for
such an expectation . . . But how pleasant it was to be there at lunch with
old friends and others, people I liked and women charming to look at, talk-
ing calmly. One of the most depressing things to me is the de-centralisa-
tion from London, which will no longer be the place where it was always
easy to meet many friends and pick up one’s interests and news. Now
scattered all over England and without the means of travelling easily from
one to the other — with no art centre anywhere. Now co-operation is so
badly needed to help anything of the arts to survive; in peace time such
de-centralisation would be very welcome.

Anthony and Nicolette are very shattered 5 still suffering from the first
horror and hating the world they live in; and people too, particularly those
who have been stimulated by the excitement to feel alive almost for the
first time.

Anthony is going to register as a (3.0. when called up if he is not able to
get into a job before then. We both agreed in any case that it was a mistake
to think of tying ourselves up in the army before we had to. At the moment
all schemes for artists are only sketched out and there seems no place for us
in the war system but I don’t think this will last for ever. I think we should
wait and really try to fit in instead of allowing the difficulties to pull us
down and force us where we might not be doing the best job even from the
military point of View . . .

I came. home by the 5.15 train — there are only two evening trains to
Canterbury now; from to-day half the service, and late journeys will be in
the dark with only the most miserable mockery of a light from the ceiling of

156]


12 September 1939

 

Canterbury Cathedral

 

Dean of Canterbury, photograph by
Fisk-Moore Studios

26 October I939

THE WAR

each compartment. No children who survive this war should ever be afraid
of the dark again; but that is poor compensation for no bright streets and
toy shops, citcuses or fireworks or trains blazing by.

The cathedral nave is full of earth, lorries are rumbling in and shooting
cartloads down on the floor and now there is a wilderness four or five feet
deep between the pillars from the west door to the choir steps. Services are
going to be held in the crypt which is also to serve as an air—raid shelter and
the earth is destined to form a blanket in the choir above the crypt vaults.
Down below the crypt is being strengthened with props and beams like a
mine and between the columns there there are set in position huge earth
filled crates forming it into separate compartments darkly and solidly
closed in. Back to the catacombs. The old glass has gone and the windows
are boarded up, the Black Prince is hidden behind a barricade of sandbags;
workmen are everywhere filling bags and carrying them, hammering beams
and shifting earth. I heard a good many critics of the Dean for this prepara-
tion; from the old verger who thought it was witness to a lack of faith in
God who could protect his own house if though he thoroughly approved the
removal of the glass, which had happened also in the last war when popular
old Dean Wace had ordered it), to the ladies of Canterbury shrieking ‘why
on earth don’t they get rid of the Dean’, glad of another opportunity of
attacking him. I think he is quite right to do all he can to protect people,
once he has decided and others have agreed that the crypt shall be an
official shelter; and then God may protect his house of course, but the
house belongs too to those without faith as well as those with faith; to those
who remember Rheims and the German air force in the Spanish war which
did not trouble to spare cathedrals if they were in the way.

Met John Austen at Beazley’s. He is quite knocked off his feet, ready he
says to sign a separate peace on any terms at any moment. Beazley is braver
and I strongly supported the idea of holding a mixed exhibition in his
gallery as soon as possible as a gesture of belief in the things we have always
held to be important and which are certainly a part of what we are meaning
to fight for, and so should go on as long as possible. Not much point in
growing as spiritually dark as a fascist country in order to defeat one.

Started making some drawings of the goings-on in the Cathedral. It is
going to be a long time before any of us get jobs where we shall be paid to
do what we want to do and could do well.

. . . At five I was in Piccadilly, and from there I walked to Mecklenburgh
Square. It is the changes to notice, not the sights anyone would come to
London to see, which are the interest to—day; the prostitutes in the turnings
off Bond St. standing at the corners so much earlier, the usual pairs, now in

[57]


THE WAR

arrived at the house and who drove off the colonel and his men with in-
dignity. However in the meantime the L.D.V. had rurnmaged through the
house, had come across the transcription of Goya etchings with anti-fascist

and Spanish slogans on them which Rodrigo had done for the Spanish war
campaigns and made off with them, and they are now being summoned to
apologize and return the pictures. If they will not do this Elinor says they

may sue them for housebreaking and stealing pictures! Elinor says she has

black looks from the villagers, baulked of their prey, which will not be
lightened by the knowledge that the proposed victim has been entrusted by ‘
the air ministry with a confidential commission. ‘,3 /;.Z,,;. .241,‘ Irué, 1,, - 4 ,-he 7“

21 September I940 A raid warning was given just as we left Tunbridge ‘Wells, and we had
reached Ashford before the all-clear. In the car we could hear nothing of
the planes, not see them but we could calculate very well their course from
the direction of the upturned faces of the little groups of men and women
standing in the village streets, by the roadside, or in knots about cottage
gates. It was odd driving through this countryside which I know so well
and having the impression that it had suddenly become more thickly
peopled. I have never seen so many folk about on these roads, nobody can
have taken shelter; but all had stepped outside to watch the planes. Mothers
were holding up their babies even at the garden fences to point out the
planes in the sky; we seemed to be the only ones indifferent to what was
above. Goudhurst Street was a wonderful sight. The hill was crowded with
folk, clusters of hop-pickers and groups of soldiers, and on the terrace out~
side the pub at the top the benches were black with rows of drinkers, and
the pub at the bottom seemed even fuller, the drinkers iammed in the
doorway and overflowing into the paved triangle in front of the house. It
was a perfect Rowlandson village for the day: more packed with flirting
girls and topers than you could imagine anywhere but in his drawings: and
for a mile of two beyond the village in both directions girls, in twos and
threes, dressed in their smartest, were making their way in.

up
II October 1940 Father had promised to come home this afternoon for me to begin a portrait
and I had just finished stretching the canvas and was at lunch when he
suddenly appeared to tell us that there had been a bomb in Bur-gate St. half
an hour before. He had been attending a patient and all his windows had
blown in; the patient was still waiting there and he rushed across the road
to catch the next bus to Canterbury. There was something very touching
in the thought of this conscientiousness and energy kept up after a bad
shock; I thought so as I watched him — a frail little man — running across
the road to the bus. I said to Mother as we sat down again, ‘It is hard luck
to be worried all the time, with half his practice gone, and then to be nearly

it ED)’/£‘fiif“€' £631


 

Bombed Canterbury, photograph by
Fisk-.Maare Studios

 

Udcn, ‘Canterbury High Street the
morning after the Blitz’

THE VVAR

bombed out twice in a few weeks’ and she burst into tears; and I found it
diflicult not to do so myself in the curious emotion and relief of survival.
One feels saved oneself as well as the possible victim. I went into Canter-
bury. There was a rope across the street and beyond it a crowd of men in
tin helmets busy over a pile of wreckage in the roadway, grey dusty beams
and rubble; on one side, the side of father’s surgery a huge gap where
Williams the furriers proud new shop had stood and Carver and Stani-
forths’ bookshop; both now heaps of spiky rubbish with men clambering
over, prising up shards and timber, tossing them into the street with a clatter
and a puff of plaster dust. Beyond the scarred side wall of Stephensons, the
tailors, and the stripped front and the jagged hole of the shop below; this
side the gap a torn upper floor hanging into the street and a comb of rafters
from the roof cocked above it, in that pile disappeared the bookshop which
I never failed to visit when I was in the town, where I was the first cus-
tomer, where I had bought my books and browsed over many unread,
where only yesterday I went in to mention Edmond’s poems, to get
‘Horizon’; and in that pile Miss Carver had been killed, Miss Staniforth
gravely injured, and there was not even a book to be seen. The furrier and
his customers were dead too; a woman who had been stepping from her car
on the opposite side of the street was killed too; old Mr Dukes the watch-
maker dragged covered with rubbish but only bruised from the ruin of his
shop; all people our familiars for years, their business our daily interest and
this group of buildings our centre in Canterbury. On the other side of the
road was the tea shop where we lunched and took our friends to coffee, the
Beazley’s Gallery where I held my water colour shows, where three of my
drawings for Jane were this day in the window; the second—hand book
shop; the pub at the corner of the lane where Beazley slipped in for his
drinks, and I sometimes too with Tim Jordan - all now with the fronts
blown in and knocked awry, with scars and cuts all over and clumps of tiles
jolted loose on the roofs. I was allowed past the rope when I had told my
name and business; all Father’s windows had been blown in, the glass had
scattered everywhere about the rooms, on floors and furniture, followed by
dust and plaster chips, so that it looked like a house left by its owners and
abandoned for ten years to wind and weather. Father was restless and could
think of nothing to do, so I started on to clearing up, sweeping first every
thing on to the floor, shaking the glass off the carpets and taking them out
to the garden at the back to be swept, collecting the loose panes that might
still fall from the windows; then men appeared to nail muslin and boards
across the windows, we had a cup of tea sent in and looked a little more
calmly about. Father had to go to see an old patient, and as we walked up
to the garage to get into a taxi I saw Mr Beazley, of the gallery, across the
road, being helped along by a young man. His clothes were indescribably
creased and covered with white dust and pieces of wood and plaster, his
face was flaccid, pale, like suet, and his eyes looked tiny, so pitifully weak

{'64}


 

Bombeti Canterbury, photograph by
Fis}a—Moore Studios

THE WAR

and watery. He used to be the very type of prosperous looking, stout,
confident and comfortable bourgeois, pleased with his appearance, the
worid and his place in it. He had just been to take Miss Carver’s body to the
mortuary. ‘I wish it had been me. I wish it had been me’, he said in a
strange, whimpering little voice as though it was ali he had left in the
world, a hopeless wish, and he was noticing nothing else. Then he shufiied
on, leaning on his companiorfs arm. Miss C. had been his secretary in Paris,
his companion for thirty years; once his mistress I always supposed.

It was a wonderful night; the moon almost full again, quite clear and
still ; the siren came clearly to us from Canterbury. After supper Father and
I walked a little way up Bridge Hill as we usually do 3 and suddenly heard
two clattering reports of bombs between us and Canterbury. Father started
to run home and I with him, a thing neither of would have done yesterday —~
not for so distant a report, hard though it came through the stillness of the
night . . .