By way of a follow-up to the earlier letter, enclosed is subsequent correspondence written by John Hancock (later Shelton) to his friend Norman Cope in December 1943. Given the subsequent turn of events and the death of Norman Cope at the Christmas ball, John’s words: “I shall be looking forward to seeing you on the 16th. I wonder if Berry will be coming home too…” are particularly poignant.

98 Ashford Street
Shelton
Stoke-on-Trent
Dec 1st 1943

Dear Norman
Many thanks for your letter. Sorry to learn you have not been well. I was very interested to hear about Maxwell.
Your remark about “Painting and Knowing never go together” – the same thing has been bothering me for some time now. The more I get to know about the subject the less satisfied with my efforts I become and yet to stop would be madness. I have not done anything worthwhile since Berry and I saw you in Edinburgh. Like you I do not get enough time at weekends and can’t possibly leave a work one weekend to another. Thanks for your Van Gogh story – it did amuse me especially as Haggar had previously been talking to me about Corman.
I have just returned from the exhibition and I am sorry to say there have only been two sales (excluding yours and Berry’s sold to the school). Joy Withers has sold a — fancy doll and Ivy Jackson has sold a flower painting but that is all.
Your work is hung well. You have a batch on each wall and there has been some local critisism. To quote the Evening Sentinel, “Norman Cope goes out for modernism with a too persistent strain of ugliness. He has too much ability to disperse it so largely in this direction. His etching of Albert Cope is very good in technique and characterisation.“
Berry only entered six works. I will not try to criticise them but they are (perhaps you know them) – The Prodigal Son, Woman’s Head, Street Scene, Card Game, Boxing Match and one abstract. It is some of his older work. The only recent one I have seen of his is “The Blind leading the blind”. To quote the Evening Sentinel again it says – “Arthur Berry also is imaginative in a ‘modern’ manner. His ‘Blind leading the blind’ is rhythmic and symbolic – rather impressive.“
Yarwood has got a self portrait in oils on paper. Not very good.
Wendy Jackson has done a self portrait in oils but the trouble is she has not painted it. It’s just a tined canvas.
I will let you know if you do sell anything – there are only three more days to go.
I did remember you to La Goddard piece and she writhed like a snake. She still talks a lot about you, but she is silly. I have received no news from Hopkinson.
I shall be looking forward to seeing you on the 16th. I wonder if Berry will be coming home too.
I am very disappointed in the exhibition from a financial point of view. I could have done with some money. Will write you again if anything happens.
Yours sincerely,
John.
P.S. Please send your letters to private address not the school.

Letter kindly supplied by Michael Cope.

Enclosed is a letter written by John Hancock (later Shelton) to his friend Norman Cope in November 1943, the latter having won a scholarship and left for Edinburgh.

98 Ashford Street
Shelton
Stoke-on-Trent
8/11/1943

Dear Norman,
I arrived back safely in the mouth of Hell with the naked red horned Haggar to greet me, pitchfork in hand. After asking many questions about you he retired to the staff room regarding me with an air of doubt and suspicion from which moment onwards he looked on me very much like the touchable looks on the untouchable.
The Goddard piece was very concerned about your welfare so were the rest of the mob for that matter.
You will be pleased to know you have won four prizes (list enclosed). I have told Haggar your “Adam and Eve” is not for sale.
I left Berry at Carlisle on the way back from Edinburgh. He seemed rather dispondent; perhaps it was because we got up early that morning.
I must not finish this letter without thanking you very much indeed for the loan of two pounds which I duly return as promised.
I shall be looking forward to seeing you at Christmas and to seeing some of your work.
Sincerely yours,
John.

Prize List

Portrait Painting
1st A W Bowyer
2nd N Cope

Portrait Drawing
1st V Statham

Landscape Painting
1st A W Bowyer
1st J R Hancock
1st Matt Holmes

Fig Comps
1st A Berry & N Cope
2nd J R Hancock

Architecture
1st K Cottier

Abstract
1st N Cope
2nd J R Hancock

Craft
1st J Withers
2nd J R Hancock

Etching
1st N Cope
2nd A W Bowyer

Letter kindly supplied by Michael Cope.

2011 saw me bite off more than I could chew, in that I thought I could catalogue all of the works of John Shelton. John was a prolific sculptor and also produced many monotypes in addition to his oils paintings. The idea behind the BBC ‘Your Paintings’ project threw me a lifeline though: limit the scope of the catalogue to the oil paintings. What follows is a catalogue of the oils which I have come across to date, along with my own musings tempered with more qualified observations by Paine Proffitt…

Arthur Berry: “The environment of Stoke-on-Trent with its curious shapes and moods and overcast heavy light has deeply influenced John Shelton. Sometimes to love it and sometimes to deny it. Many of his subjects walk its streets, arrive at its pubs and billiard halls and appear on its waste ground. Sometimes this world has made him react against it and in these moods a more sophisticated kind of painting has occurred; a painting of rich luxurious textures and colours which show a controlled sensuality and feeling that is a deep rooted part of this artist’s nature.“

Untitled Potteries Scene (1950)

This is the earliest of John’s oil paintings which I have seen to date – I suspect that it is a scene of his hometown done from memory, as at the time John was still in London having recently completed his education at the Slade School of Art. The work is untitled; the stretcher holding the canvas merely has the single word “Green” written on it in John’s handwriting.

Woman with a book (1959)

Oil on board sold via Sotheby’s, London on 12 October 1988 [Lot 00173].

Cat on a table (1960)

This piece can be viewed at the Potteries Museum and Art Gallery and is also on the BBC Your Paintings website. The museum note that the work was purchased in 1989. Sold via Sotheby’s on 12 October 1988 [Lot 00172] – I am unsure whether the sale was to the museum or to another party who subsequently sold it to the museum.

Picasso and Braque were two of John’s influences; this work shows John experimenting with how the subjects occupy their own space on the canvas.

PP – Some of the stylistic influences of Picasso and Braque can be found in the painting, along with a slightly representational ‘cubist’ feel and the flattening of perspective.

Shelton Bar Steelworker with Bike (1960)

This is undoubtedly my favourite of all of John’s work. John and his wife were taken to Shelton Steelworks in 1960 by John’s uncle – the visit obviously making an impression. The painting is a large piece which is best appreciated from afar. With the right lighting, the orange glow of the steelworks can be made out, albeit more subtly nowadays due to the matt quality of the aging oils.

PP – This piece also reflects the working man, the working life and the working industry of the area (or the industrial north).  The painting has a loose stylistic connection of fellow-artist and friend Arther Berry, with whom John worked with and shared a house with at one time.  Both artists at times sought to capture the characters of the town and also a visual representation of the life, lifestyles, times, people and industry of where they lived.

Pigeon Flyer (1962)

The thick-set, heavy-handed subject is in stark contrast to the fragility of the dreams and the moment’s escapism which the pigeon offers the man.

PP – The painting again highlights local characters, interests and pastimes, capturing the unique character of the town and its people, but it also shows a dreamlike, symbolic romanticism and view of our interests, dreams and personal escapes.

Clown Resting (1962)

Clowns were a recurrent theme in John’s paintings and monotypes. This particular piece was donated to the Potteries Museum and Art Gallery in 1987 by Mrs. Lovatt and is also part of the BBC Your Paintings website. The Festival of Britain of 1951 – at which John worked during his time in London – seems to have stuck in John’s psyche: the Union Jack image to the bottom left of the picture crops up in several of his pieces. Clowns and violins were recurrent themes also.

PP – The painting strips away the idea of clown as ‘entertainer’ and shows the reality and the person behind the facade.  The piece does not just act as a “sad clown” painting, it shows the hard reality of the person under the makeup.  With the wringing of his hands, the vacant hollow eyes, shell-like face and leaning forward sitting posture, the figure leaves the viewer guessing as to the situation surrounding the character – is he nervous, troubled by something in his life, suffering from depression, just bored, waiting for his moment to perform or taking a moment to contemplate a performance just finished.  With the colours, character and body language Shelton seems to be suggesting much more than a simple scene and leaves the viewer to wonder about the story behind the performer.

Richard Loves Richard (1964)

Arguably the most reactionary of John’s paintings, this mixed media piece features Richard III on a Bakelite television. Most likely inspired by a television drama. John would have been drawn to Richard III as a subject matter out of empathy; John was crippled due to having polio as a child.

PP – There’s some interesting symbolism and imagery of the strong, powerful king that’s been left in a crippling, weak position, especially with the broken, skeletal body and haunted eyes.

Violin Woman (year unknown)

I suspect that the piece was created in the mid 1970s, given Shelton’s preceding and subsequent styles. The work was possibly inspired by Man Ray and his “Violon d’Ingres” – a fair assumption given that Shelton saved the Observer Magazine article “How Man Ray put magic into photography” (27 April 1975) in his scrapbook.

Cat and Table 2 with Theseus Head (year unknown)

A follow-up to the first piece in the series, this second piece features a red bust of Theseus, one of the ceramic pieces which Shelton produced. It is not known when this was painted, although I suspect that chronologically it is in the right position relative to the paintings before and after it in this article.

Goodbye Little Yellow Bird (1983)

Last whereabouts: bought in at Phillips Marylebone auction, 07 December 1990 [Lot 00089].

Night Out with Robert, my Father and Me in 1928 (1988)

1988 onwards saw a radical change in John’s style. His diaries suggest that he had a lot of ideas – many based in times past – which he wanted to get down on canvas “before the memory fades“. This work is set in 1928 and depicts John at the fair with his father. The year is significant – it is the year before John contracted polio – serving to reinforce my own belief that this is an idealised depiction of his childhood. It is set at the Hanley Wakes fairground albeit there is artistic licence in there with the inclusion of the Blackpool Tower in the background. There is a cryptic – possibly allegorical - message on the reverse of the canvas relating to the lion tamer’s treatment of those in his charge. The work will possibly be in a circus-themed exhibition at the Potteries Museum in 2012 along with Clown Resting and a tinted monotype (Dwarf Clown Resting).

Over the Trent and Mersey (1988)

John’s paintings continue to explore a more surrealist style. The Punch character is a reference to the Punch & Judy relationship of his parents and the male subject is his Uncle Reuben – supposedly “danced to the grave” by his bride. Paintings from this period hint at the old Shelton (district of Stoke-on-Trent) of which I had a fleeting glimpse as a child. The work is currently undergoing restoration; the strainer on which the canvas was hung has twisted making it necessary to mount the work on a new properly-tensioned stretcher.

PP - This piece, as many of John’s work from this period of his life, is mixed with strong personal emotions and memories, heavy symbolism and an autobiographical (or biographical) view.  The paintings from this period, and very strong in this piece, tell a story which John finds important (almost with a necessary need) to tell but also only hints at, leaving the viewer to pick apart the symbolic clues, fill in the gaps and put pieces of the puzzle together.  John wants the story to be told but can’t tell it in a clear, straightforward manner – there seems a need to tell a secret but a reluctance to actually say the words. He uses a surreal symbolism and imagery very similar and characteristic of  Chagall to tell his story. 

The Day the Circus Came To Town (late 1980s)

Makes reference to this in his diaries.

Burstow and Hewett auction, 2004 [Lot 53]

Mickey’s Fall (late 1980s)

John made the following entry about this work in his diary:

The falling figure, top right, with the ear ring and red cravat is Mickey in his fatal fall. Bottom left is the Cannonball Lady supporting the Ring Master in the guise of Groucho Marx raising his hat… Bottom right and left are a lion and a dwarf clown both with the same blank gaze: the show must go on.

Rosebery’s, 2001 [Lot 22]

Spectre (Homage to Felix Labisse – The Prodigal Daughter) (1988)

This is Shelton’s own version of the Felix Labisse painting The Prodigal Daughter. The work was done as a precursor to the subsequent piece which was Shelton’s own interpretation of the Labisse original.

Untitled – ?”Shelton’s Prodigal Daughter” (1993)

John was working on this piece at the time of his death, hence the work being unfinished. The black bird of Labisse’s work is replaced by the white gull and the recurrent image of the clown and violin are also present on Shelton’s version.

Dissatisfied with his job as an apprentice designer at Spode Copeland, Cope argued with his friend Berry over the latter’s admiration of Lowry, Cope believing Lowry’s work to be too naïve and provincial. He believed that the great masters of the twentieth century were Picasso, Kandinsky and surrealist painter de Chirico. He progressed from the Junior Art Department in 1940 after which he started to produce savage and expressionist oil paintings and drawings – his drawings of drunken soldiers reflected his revulsion to the violence of the war. His vicious anti-war drawings were included in a students’ exhibition at the Art School.

Cope progressed to Edinburgh College of Art. John Shelton noted that he himself had “won a place at Slade after failing to get in at Edinburgh (took Copey instead!)”. Berry and Shelton visited Cope in Edinburgh where he was lodging in Bread Street. His room had his latest pen and ink drawings – almost completely non-figurative – on display, in contrast to the more figurative works by Cope which are held in the National Collection. Cope had been impressed by a teacher in Edinburgh called Maxwell, and had started to venture into the realms of surrealism.

Norman Cope, Self Portrait

Cope had by now embraced his image as an artist, dressing in a dark suit and tie with his dark hair centre-parted. Berry noted that he looked like the self-portrait by de Chirico, a comment which inspired Cope to work on his own surrealist painting “The endless monotony of existence”. Berry admired Cope’s self-containment which allowed him to focus on his art. This was in stark contrast to Berry’s own pre-occupation with girlfriends which was much to Cope’s amusement.

A ferocious graffiti image of a man – the eye of whom was centred around a hole gouged into the door and with the accompanying words “I am Nobody” – caught the imagination of both Arthur Berry and Norman Cope after the former spotted it on a toilet door in Edinburgh Salvation Army Hostel. Cope copied it to his notebook to take back to Stoke to show Berry during the fateful Christmas of 1943. Berry later feared that the picture had somehow been a jinx.

In a letter dated 1st December, 1943, Shelton wrote to his friend “I shall be looking forward to seeing you on the 16th. I wonder if Berry will be coming home too.” The three men – Cope, Shelton and Berry – were to be reunited at the fateful Burslem School of Arts Ball. Norman lost his grip on the handrail and fell down the stairs. Shelton recollected that the only mark on Norman was a slight line on his temple. Norman Cope spent the night on the firewatching mattresses at the School of Art. The next morning, Berry awoke to find that his friend had died during the night.

Norman Cope’s work: Selected titles

• Self Portrait (oil)
• Suicide of Pascin
• Adam and Eve
• Jacob and the Angel
• Remember Now Thy Creator in the Days of Thy Youth

Two of Norman Cope’s works can be found in the recent BBC Your Paintings project. They are in the collection of the Potteries Museum and Art Gallery. The above article was collated from the pages of A Three and Sevenpence Halfpenny Man – Arthur Berry (Kermase Editions, 1986), from the diaries of John Shelton (1923-1993) and from information and images kindly supplied by Michael Cope.

1945: With Arthur Berry I meet Colquhoun and MacBryde and also Minton and Jankel Adler at 77 Bedford Gardens, Nottinghill… Berry and I frequent Fitzrovia in their company for the next few years. In their company meet Vaughan and Dylan Thomas, David Archer and others of the loose Soho Society. On the excuse (though it was true) we gate crash artists’ studios looking for help in finding a studio of our own. Meet Felix Topolski (Bayswater) this way and Graham Sutherland at Wimbledon.

Slade Index Card (1945-46, 1948-50)

We lived for a while, Arthur and me, in a hexagonal studio with large windows high up at the back of a dingy hotel. You had to go through the hotel entrance foyer and up the back stairs to get to it. Robert came to visit us one weekend. We were always glad to see him because it meant a night out up the West End drinking without any money problem. He was always glad to see us, thinking we always lived it up having a good time.

“You pair of rogues,” he used to say. “Crackin’ a good nut here aren’t you? Sod them poor buggers up North, you say!” Before he left he was looking through one of the large studio windows, seriously studying the view. We were very high up. The windows frames went almost down to the floor and if you let your eyes take in everything outside you got a feeling of suspension. There was a sheer drop down to the train track that lead to Gloucester Road Tube Station. It was like a canyon with terraces of tall buildings either side. I heard him mutter to himself, deep in thought, “this is bloody suicide row.”

The Beggar (1949), lithographic print; Potteries Museum, Stoke-on-Trent.

Some few days after I felt ill. I was spitting up yellow stuff and hallucinating. I remember lying on a camp bed one night. We had hardly any possessions – easles, painting tables, an old arm chair and a couple of camp beds was the lot. Arthur was out drinking late with the Soho Boys. I was too sick to go. As the night wore on I fitfully dozed in a feverish state. Looking across the railtracked canyon to the rectangular lit yellow windows, a girl was undressing in one of them. I didn’t know whether I was asleep or awake, it was a mingling of both. The door opened a few inches quietly and I felt someone was watching me. The feeling passed and then I got up to continue a monotype drawing on the second hand marble-topped table. I worked on it for a while and then felt again the awful presence of someone watching me from behind. The short hairs on the back of my neck became electric. Mustering up enough courage I turned my head to see and in the darkness of the room I saw this head as though illuminated and suspended in mid-air. The horror of it was shocking. It was either in a state of melting or wet with its own substance that seemed to be dripping away. I woke up in the early hours wringing wet and cold. Arthur had not returned. Early morning sounds were coming in from the waking city outside. I must go home I thought. Dry bread and the remainder of a jar of marmalade I forced down me followed by a long drink of aqua. I had 2/6d old money in my pocket and the half return ticket which was out of date. I packed my large suitcase with enough of the trash and spare clothes I had and made for Euston Station and points north.

Between Euston Square and the station the case got so heavy I thought I would have to drag it so I gave a luggage tout my last half crown to carry the case to the train. Handing him my last half crown I noticed the surprised delight in his eyes which he averted from me thinking no doubt I was a foreigner or a naïve nut of some sort because his was a big tip. It would be a packet of fags and a night’s drinking for him. “The kid must be daft” and I thought of my old Uncle Tom, who, when it was too late to get any more drink, when all the bars were closed; even those (known by those who make it their business to know) which stay open after hours – Tom would empty his pockets on to the pavement – the money being of no further use that night. A beautiful man Tom – no thought for tomorrow – to hell with it if it’s anything like today. He was his own man. His conscience lay easy. Mine never did. Even now I was thinking I’ve given in to the big city. I’m running back home ‘cause I’m poorly. Sense seemed like cowardice at that time. It’s beaten you lad. Reach for your Mummy’s apron strings again – it’s laughing at you. So the self-criticism goes on – a trick of self-abuse to stir up action learnt first-hand off Robert. I wished I could be like Uncle Tom.

The Dart Thrower (1949) - Potteries Museum, Stoke-on-Trent. Later monotyped as 'Keggy Dart Thrower' ("keggy" = left-handed).

John Shelton (born Hancock) came from an artistic background, albeit one suppressed through circumstance. His mother Agnes Simcock won a scholarship to art school at the age of thirteen, learning to draw and paint through her teacher, Bill Henshaw. She left to teach at eighteen although this was cut short as she went into service to support the large family. Her paint box and brushes were thrown into the bin.

Agnes met John’s father, Robert, at White and Poppe munitions factory in Coventry. John noted their “Punch and Judy” relationship in a conversation which Agnes recounted years later -

“YOU HAVE NOT CLEANED THE BEDROOMS, AGNES” HE SHOUTED.
“I HAVE” SHE SAID.
“YOU HAVE NOT – I PUT A TAPER UNDER THE BED AND IT’S STILL THERE” SAID ROB.
“I KNOW” SAID AGNES, “I PUT IT BACK IN THE VERY SAME PLACE” (I HADN’T!).

For my mother the worst was always yet to come. A minglement of fear and hopeful faith was embrionic in the grown of her personality. She stored every incident of fate like a prize throughout the years, Her memory was the family log book of endless trivialities and great occasions alike. Referred to by my father as the ledger of the tyranny of tears.

My father had the gift of hindsight even before the event and the nervous sensitivity of a trapped greyhound before the race. He was always looking to win. A winner whose genius was a most astute realisation of his own condition in the multi relationships of people and ideas past, present and future. He had a most astounding sense of proportion in loving nature. Man, God and Nature were seen clearly in his perspective mind. Cultivating the creative spark and really fearing the unnatural.

Apart from school and university my finest education was earlier – through – and later, in the hellish rows, between these two wonderful real people on anything from economics, law, marriage, religion. Domestic slight ups and great downs were a special continuous event.

At the age of six, John was stricken with polio:

Mrs Stevens and her bosom companion, my mother, used to watch me go to infant school from the back bedroom attic nursery of the vicarage. They were always watching me I felt. Mrs Stevens said one day “if you walk with one leg on the pavement and one leg in the gutter you will be lame one day”. I was. Witch! At that time I felt they were witches. Both of them.

When I got so fed up of leg irons on my polio leg (I was different from other kids in the gang – I couldn’t run – I was a sitting target) – I cried and cried in the back yard – kicked my dud foot (with an ugly two inch raised boot) against the coal house door until it hurt and hurt more and more. I was breaking myself in – like taming a wild horse – I was breaking myself in to the fact, the truth. I was a cripple. I was lame. I knew it. I didn’t like it. Like hell I didn’t like it. I would never never get used to it. It would never take me over. I would not have it. Physically it was a fact. Mentally, no no no. But I had it and as I kicked and kicked at the pain of it I noticed the back bedroom curtain move and it was my mother watching me. She never said a word. She knew and she let me make some sort of agreement with it without interference or showing sympathy for the rest of my life. I hate lace curtains. Witches, Gods and understanding mothers hide and watch from behind them.

My brother and I were playing with lead soldiers on the kitchen table. He sat facing the back of the kitchen by the old black-leaded grate getting what warmth was left on his back from a dying fire. I lay in a cane bathchair, full length up to my neck in plaster of Paris. I hadn’t walked for four years after contracting polio. Behind me was the pantry door that lead to the cellar. Time stood still while playing with the soldiers and except for an occasional glance at the clock or a look though the back bay window at the latch on the back gate we were engrossed in the war game on the table.

In the quietness I suddenly noticed my brother’s eyes open wide and stare past me and at the same time I felt a draught from the pantry door immediately behind me. I could not turn my head to see what he was staring at but whatever it was it was frightening. I felt it move with a rustle from behind me round the room and as it passed by the bay window I saw silhouetted a monk in a black habit. I did not see his face as quickly he went out through the back door.

We never spoke of this incident for many years until one night after the war. My brother had returned from Madras. He had been in the Navy and I was on a visit home from London and we were having a drink by way of celebration, talking and reminiscing late into the night. We asked each other if we remembered the black monk. Yes we both did. “What the devil was it I wonder?” I said. My brother replied – “It was Parson Stevens hiding in the cellar making sure Robert our father had gone out before he dare appear. He’d thrown his cassock over his head so’s us kids wouldn’t recognise him.”

John Shelton (1923-1993).

Born in Stoke-on-Trent on 29th April 1923, John Hancock was raised in Ashford Street, Shelton and attended the Burslem School of Art. Early works include his Self Portrait (1944) as well as prints made at the Burslem School of Art where he studied under Reginald Haggar.

A contemporary and friend of Arthur Berry, John Hancock was awarded a scholarship for the Slade School of Fine Art, London which he joined in 1945. He left in March 1946 only to return and complete his scholarship in the two years from 1948-50. It was this in-between period that saw John Hancock change his name to Shelton as the result of a row with his father. Shelton’s notes from 1945 chronicle his life in the London art scene of the time -

Painted out home scene

“With Arthur Berry I meet Colquhoun and MacBryde and also Minton and Jankel Adler at 77 Bedford Gardens, Nottinghill… Berry and [I] frequent Fitzrovia in their company for the next few years. In their company meet Vaughn and Dylan Thomas, David Archer and others of the loose Soho Society. On the excuse (though it was true) we gate crash artists’ studios looking for help in finding a studio of our own. Meet Felix Topolski (Bayswater) this way and Graham Sutherland at Wimbledon?“

Arthur Berry’s book A Three and Sevenpence Halfpenny Man documents in some detail his own London experiences – with his friend John from the Slade.

Shelton adopted a wide variety of styles during his career. Earlier works – monotypes such as ‘Keggy Dart Thrower’, ‘City Rosette Seller’ (1958) and ‘Humbug Seller & Child’ (1958) – show similarities in style with his contemporary and one-time housemate, Arthur Berry. These are dark and emotive pieces revelling in the gritty urban characters populating the streets of Stoke-on-Trent.

Shelton was also a prolific pottery-maker and the influence of Picasso can be seen through the many minotaurs he produced, as well as in drawings such as ‘Europa & Bull II’. Greek mythology was prevalent in many of Shelton’s ceramic pieces; Theseus, the Minotaur and the centaur were common subjects. This same theme is evident in a handful of Shelton’s paintings such as the Picasso-esque ‘Cat at a Table 2 with Theseus Head’.

Theseus Head

Title unknown, "Shelton's Prodigal Daughter" (unfinished)

Spectre - An Homage to Felix Labisse 'Prodigal Daughter'

When Shelton painted his “Night Out With Robert – My Father And Me in 1928″ in his later years, did he have feelings of reconciliation towards his father or is the message on the back of the canvas, seemingly about the lion tamer, alluding elsewhere?

 “MY FATHER TO TROJAN THE LION TAMER

RECKON IT’S ALL DONE BY KINDNESS?

TROJAN – YEAH – I GIVE ‘EM A DAMNED

GOOD HIDING EVERY THURSDAY”.

The painting is most likely an idealised memory of his childhood – it is set in 1928, the year before John contracted polio which left him crippled for the remainder of his life. The setting is most likely the Wakes Ground, Hanley, although artistic licence saw Shelton embellish the background with more prominent landmarks – namely the Blackpool Tower. His later works saw Shelton start to sign his pieces as “John”, moving away from the firmer assertion of Hancock or Shelton. I feel that these pieces are ones of reconciliation.

John Shelton died shortly after his 70th birthday in 1993. His work is in the National Collection (recently published online via the BBC Your Paintings project) and is in private collections including those of the actor Freddie Jones and the late Pat Phoenix. The Brampton gave a retrospective of around sixty of Shelton’s works in 1983. This forgotten son of Stoke-on-Trent “content to plough a lonely furrow in North Staffordshire“ still has a cutting on the wall of his studio referencing a Cyril Connolly quote from the last issue of Horizon (December 1949):

“…an artist will be judged only by the resonance of his solitude or the quality of his despair.“

My son’s football team was recently invited to the training facilities of a Premiership club. We both eagerly anticipated a tournament whereby matches were organised and refereed for local under-7s teams – a fair assumption based on a previous visit. That trip was a positive experience for my son and I measured that statement by his enthusiasm for the latest invite. I also hoped that the boys would perhaps benefit from some coaching from the club’s staff. That may have been a big ask, but it was possible – perhaps.

For now, we’ll call the club Melchester. By the end of the evening I felt that the local teams’ role was as cannon-fodder for Melchester’s own under-7s teams. So as not to appear green-eyed with envy, I’ll avoid making (m)any comments on Melchester’s player selection criteria and instead make my observations from the perspective of a mere parent of a seven-year-old boy.

The three non-Melchester teams were ready to play by 5.45pm and took to the pitches. Our boys waited for an hour before the first game due to the Melchester teams arriving much later and naturally bagging the first matches. Our guys sat out and waited then made up for this by playing three subsequent matches back-to-back. This was obviously not a tournament hence there being no need for any fixture planning.

Rather than bang on with a list of petty misdemeanors it’s fair to summarise by saying that the games were only of selective interest to the Melchester staff (who were definitely not there to referee). Was it that there were so many of them there that no single person assumed responsibility for any one game? On second thoughts, I will now harp on with a selective list of petty diatribe in the interests of personal self-therapy.

• When trying to do his goalkeeper’s kick, our goalie was jumped at twice, studs up by a Melchester player. Admittedly, this was more out of (over-)enthusiasm than malice. All referees (assuming they are present) miss things but to miss something so blatant twice raises questions.
• Another non-Melchester boy was blasted by the ball (a total accident and these things are not uncommon) but was left on the floor while play went on around him. His own coach eventually had to run on amid play and rescue him.

For the last match our team played a fellow non-Melchester team. Fortunately the lights were left on for us. The boys lined up in the centre-circle with repeated shouts of “can we start yet?” to try and attract the attention of the few remaining Melchester staff. As this year’s harvest of seven-year-olds had already occurred, the remaining boys were most likely deemed of little interest. However, if a club chooses to invite children to their facilities then there is at least a duty of care to their welfare – if not their aspirations – regardless of ability.

There have been some fantastic tournaments of late – the Penkridge Summer Cup 2011 being one such example. This Melchester trip was not one of them. There are some commendable community initiatives in the Midlands run by organisations which are far more cash-strapped. In spite of my total disdain for the current board, the community football which Port Vale offer is excellent (assuming John is there). I hypocritically break my vow of starving the current regime out of office and pay the four quid (and travel 70+ miles) as my son enjoys the session so much. John has a fantastic rapport with the kids and helps them to respect each other while not curbing their enthusiasm to compete. Four Oaks School of Soccer is also excellent. By the end of a week there and aged just five, my initially shy son had joined in with the snack-time joke-telling to a large group of new friends.

Oh… and on the subject of selection: a lad who in several previous encounters with our team had kicked, pushed and stamped on our boys (both on and off the ball) had made the cut. This boy has passion.