A Wurld gone wrong
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| All photographs are by Jimmy Forsyth and his alone |
Politics! What’s that yer ask?
A shovel, now that has a use
Boot wurds, joost rabbitin’ on
Like what difference durst it make
A man, or woman who promises owt
Boot delivers nowt, yet promises oos
Tha future were nivvor brighter
With thems at helm
What future ever turned oot brighter?
Tell oss tha canny lad, canny lass
Aah were a communist
When we were promised a revolution
Labour, when it would feed, clothe and educate our bairns
Take care of the sick, the owld and all thems
Tha canna care fer themselves
Boot now?
A spuggy’s fart
Has more taste
Than them words spilled
Like clatter, blether and yatter
If theres nowt ter sustain them
Boot dreams tha niver deliver
Nae, I have not turned on me own
Just the blethering
The fear ter say what is reight
And what is wrong in this world
Ter call oot thems that is destroying
The real future, the one we should
Wurk ter create
For our bairns, their bairns
An’ all life as we know it
That sustains this wurld
And makes it a better place
Aye, politics! Tread lightly marra
Thas blurd, thas sinew and byen
Beneath yer feet
The dreams of working men and women
Calling oot fer yer ter listen
They fought for joostice, jobs, dignity
We owe them respect
We owe them wot we have now
We are in the future they claimed
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| The Willows? Blurry stupid name fer a high-rise |
Aye, politician, them too
Yer promised a future
Then took it away, bit by bit
And what yer gave them
Were nowt boot sorrow
Were lies built on lies
Driftin’ like caustic snow
Burying our hopes
Aye, politician
Yer call me, an owld commie,
A dinosaur living in the past
Yet, here I am
Shoulder still ter barricade
I still brae
Reivin’
Fighting
In this world gone wrong
Poem written Christchurch, New Zealand, November 2019
Review of Scotswood Road:
Jimmy Forsyth photographer, born in Wales 13 August 1913; died in Newcastle 11 July 2009. A mariner, fitter and joiner he arrived in Newcastle looking for wurk in 1943. And although blind in one eye from an industrial accident and unable to find wurk most of his adult life, he turned to photography - as much as anything to capture the dying breaths of his community around the Scotswood Road in the late 1950's - early sixties - my urban Newcastle. He niver went back ter Barry in Wales. And he niver married. And he said he never had ter go far from Scotswood Road ter find images an' folk ter have a good crack with.
In 1986 Bloodaxe published a collection of Jimmy Forsyth's photographs of which these images were taken. Although Jimmy believed as a socialist, his photographs should be free, if yer use them acknowledge his work. Copyright is Mr Forsyth's estate so treat this with respect - for if any man deserves Geordie respect it is Jimmy Forsyth. He caught an recorded an era of the working class community destroyed by T Dan Smith and the developers greedy for money, disguising what they did as improving the living conditions of working folk. Did it bollocks. One form of poverty was replaced by another where community was the loser. A price still being paid oot terday. These were days of big extended families that looked out fer one another.
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| Mr Forsyth frying an egg circa 1957 |
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| Man and dog and benedict peas 1957 |
Towards the end of his life, a life well lived, he had over 40,000 images of which these are but a small fraction. An archive of an era. Nowt romantic about what he saw. Poverty boot also pride and a sense of being. Characters, yer could read their lives in a picture. Although he claimed to be an amateur photographer, he was more than that. He had heart and a love of folk, common folk. Aye, he were recognised before he died, but mostly his was a labour of love and a passion for socialism and the community in Scotswood, that had adopted him as one of their own. He was a son of Scotswood and its pictorial historian and social commentator. That he were. Aye, a taff who found it hard to understand the locals when he first came to Toon. Who would have thought! Boot he saw the link between working communities, how people grafted quoting his father working on railways in Barry "If you can't work, starve...if a man can't earn his salt he shouldn't bloody have it!" Aye, when there were jobs and Jimmy had a lifetime struggle following industrial injuries and losing the sight of one eye. Not a level playing field. His were not an easy life.He said he sometimes sold a picture fer half a crown. Get away! It bought him another roll of film. Boot he did not expect sympathy or charity. Jimmy Forsyth left school at 14. Did an apprenticeship in the depression and there was no work, so went to sea as a lot of working lads did.
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| The four just Geordie men - see the same pose, the pride aya and two flat caps, a fat dog but no whippet and waiting fer pub ter open |
Aye boot, what he chronicled were the demolition of old Newcastle. The streets of narrow terraced houses and the coming of the high rise tenements - lonely acres in the sky where folk lived in isolation and went quietly mad or scared to venture out when lifts stopped working. Ironically from 1993 he lived out his life in one such block 'The Cedars'. Oxymoron of a name! Like The Willows captured in one of the photos above. Boot he survived because every day he were out in streets taking photographs chin-wagging with folk. In his Guardian obituary (Aye Jimmy lad you were recognised as a national treasure in the pointy heads newspaper the Grauniad). " The planners actually believed that they could build communities but instead the community was scattered to the four winds, people were sent to far-flung estates, and a community was lost forever." Aye, and he might of added to cheap, poorly built estates that were inadequately maintained. The terraces were bad, don't get me wrong, slums in many cases boot also house maintained and scrubbed ter within an inch of their lives. Boot modern, high rises with flats the size of shoe boxes, where if folk in number ten farted, it were heard by all those in nearby flats through thin walls/ceilings. Thems were not an answer and sold working folk short. An' T Dan had the gall ter call Jimmy Forsyth "a philosopher of great significance." Blurry Nora Mr Smith, yer were not worthy ter address the great man. Jimmy Forsyth were humble boot he were an inspiration. Yew were a turncoat ter yer community- rippin' oos of blind. See the documentary on this from Amber Collective. The dirty dealing of Labour at the expense of their communities while trying ter claim they were bettering the lives of folk who voted them in. A shameful history of local politics.
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| 1959 Pine Street - this were not unlike the North Shields terraces my mum's family grew up in |
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| What Christmas used her look like in 1958, blurry mog looks hopeful for a bit of tinsel |
Jimmy records when this photo were taken most houses still relied on gas lighting- no electricity that we take fer granted now. Aye, I still remember threadbare, stiff linen sheets like gun metal in winta, freezing me little man bollocks off- nae wonder they dinna wan ter drop like! I slept curled like a foetus around me hottie. An' I remember Christmas's joost like this. Small tree, artificial from Woolworths hung with a few baubles that broke if yer were careless (I was), paper chain decorations made at school with paint and glue, tinsel and one present each. The old man got old spice talc fer his smelly feet. By God his feet were smelly - particularly when he removed his imitation leather shoes and toasted his feet in front of coal fire with his woollen socks smoulderin'. Aye, oos bairns would run oot inta icy wind joost ter breathe an dry retch.
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| Laurel Street 1956 - these were hard times - pub on right boarded up |
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| This girl (Mrs Joan Curry) on left could be my mum a Geordie belter and look at those slippers- sexier than ugg boots |
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| Put on yer best frock fer a picture, Park Road 1959 |
Aye, I have sum photo's of the girls in ma's extended family dressing posh joost like this. Boot the smiles said they would put yer in yer place if yer were daft enough ter be forward. And they would get a beltin' from their ma if they got mud on their frocks, socks and shoes. I got me lugs pulled, me head whacked fer being cheeky...and a boy from likes of these booter would nae melt like! Tell me ma. of course they did and she would side with them even over the biggest fibs.
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| Aye, an old fashioned Geordie - and old salt |
Aye, I remember being told off by likes of a Geordie dressed like this. Nowt outta of place and so stiff they creaked as they moved boot with a fist like iron if yer spoke oot of turn. And fast. A whippet crossed with an Armstrong piston. Yer didn't give sooch a man cheek if yer dinna wan' ter see stars.
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| Launching a ship, the North Star, a passenger ship on the Tyne, Wallsend 1961- looks like an allotment |
Aye the boats have all but gone. Blurry royalty would cum oop north ter launch ships Geordies built. Still, they took the jobs away and didn't leave oos a better wurld.
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| Capstan, definitely stunted yer growth girls |
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| Mr Forsyth on the skyline amongst the demolition |
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| Jimmy's most recognised photograph says it all Newcastle when all was black and white and the snow in 1958- aye I remember the winter of 1963 |
These are grand memories from Mr Forsyth. I wait the publication of a book with all 40,000 photographs. Hint, hint Bloodaxe. I keep Jimmy's spirit alive in me own photography. Following the political changes in me community of inner west Sydney and across the regions of New South Wales. Pictures of activists, the old commies still turning out fer May Day. Looking through Mr Forsyth's pictures remind me where I come from. And I, fer one am proud of Jimmy Forsyth. Aye, there is only one Jimmy Forsyth and his memory and legacy lives on. I dedicate the above poem ter a great man!
https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2009/jul/16/obituary-jimmy-forsyth
