Hull On Earth

I have in the past been a vociferous supporter of Radio 4 in the face of criticism that it was dumbing down, but tonight’s feature on Philip Larkin really got my goat. Yes I admit, it was little snack of a programme, a short piece on Front Row which is in itself a lite bite. I know that’s not a full in-depth exploration of anything. And yet...

To mark the 25th anniversary of Larkin’s death, there is a major series of events, centred in Hull and also taking place around the country. The initiatives are interesting, imaginative, inspiring (find out more here, I can’t wait to go). But you wouldn’t know any of this from the radio. This focused principally on one small element of Larkin25, an exhibition of his personal effects.

They talked about his suits, and noted that he was a very tall man. He also had very big feet (as tall men do, to stop them falling over) and therefore very big shoes. You can see these too. They mentioned in passing a couple of poems (one they were certain was about M&S, the one about the Station Hotel), and that he never actually refers to Hull. They did not link this to the poetry, the fact that perhaps the places they were so desperate to identify stood for an English Smallville, any man, everyman. There is a box of Larkin’s hearing aids, and a lawnmower (perhaps the actual one!) with a hedgehog wedged in its blades. A toy hedgehog of course, as was pointed out carefully, to appease anyone concerned about animal rights and thus deter them from jamming the switchboard. His misogyny and interest in porn was discussed at more length than his 1000 record jazz collection.

A significant portion of the slot was devoted to a discussion of his and his family’s sympathy for the Nazis. Many families of course, and more prominent than his, had leanings in this direction in the Thirties. There was mention of a statue of Hitler that had originally belonged to Larkin’s father, and which he himself had kept. No, it was not in the exhibition. But let’s talk about it anyway, let’s put on gloves and take it out of its special box and have a look. Is it a life-like rendition of the head, complete with neat bristle moustache? Or an over-sized monster like a Red Square Lenin? No, it’s a tiny figurine, “Subutteo sized” apparently, with a moving arm. I reckon a lot of people would keep their father’s quirky, funny, Sieg-Heil-ing Bakelite Fuhrer, perhaps to entertain friends in a knowing, post-Modern ironic way. Who knows.

Who cares? But it sure as hell didn’t have anything to do with his poetry, or the rest of the fascinating Larkin25 programme. Neither did his clothes, his hearing aids. Ooh I wonder, did they have his little round glasses? Good heavens, what is happening here? Are we incapable now of having a sensible discussion of his work, which is surely a more meaningful legacy than his old shoes? I might like to see Sherpa Tensing’s shoes, or Captain Scott’s, perhaps. But a poet’s? Why?

I was drilled rigorously in practical criticism. Has this been discredited somehow without me noticing? Or was that only ever a rarefied Cambridge approach, with every other reader watching the biography channel and gobbling up lurid dramatisations, poking through hearing aids and lawnmowers as if that made a difference?

Or is Radio 4 treating me like a moron?