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The author would like to thank the Media History reviewer and editors for their comments on this paper. For further discussion, see, for example, Sorlin Sorlin , Pierre.

The Film in History Oxford : Blackwell , For further reading on the nationalization of the coal mines in Britain, see, for example, Chester Chester , Norman. Craigie died in London on 13 Dec. See Carl Rollyson's detailed biography of Craigie which has uncovered several untruths about Craigie's background, some of which were perpetuated by Craigie herself. Craigie did not hide the fact that she was not a devotee of John Grierson or his style of documentary filmmaking.

Hard Coal: Last of the Bootleg Miners (screener copy)

She claimed that she had been ignored and ostracized by the Grierson documentary school not only because of her independent nature, but also because she was a woman Rollyson Rollyson , Carl. This last claim is open to question since Grierson provided opportunities as directors of documentaries for his sisters Marion and Ruby Grierson, and also to Evelyn Spice. Craigie first found work in the film industry as a documentary scriptwriter for the British Council before she co-wrote the feature The Flemish Farm with her then husband Jeffrey Dell.

In many ways, her beauty, in addition to her attractive personality, was a curse as well as a blessing for Craigie. She suffered unwanted attention from several men, mainly those she considered friends, in particular Aneurin Bevan, and the author and humanist Arthur Koestler, whom Craigie accused of rape, see Brooks Brooks , Libby. Foot appears in the film addressing the people of Plymouth as Labour's electoral candidate for Devonport — a seat which he won a few months later. See Jones Jones , Mervyn.


The Way We Live received the honour of being the first documentary to be shown at the Cannes film festival in Sept. Craigie harboured a keen interest in feminist history and delighted in her collection of feminist writing and memorabilia which is arguably the largest collection in Britain. Prior to her death she had been working for years on a volume documenting the history of the suffragette movement before , Daughters of Dissent , and although she did not complete or publish the work she was considered an expert in the field.

Jones Guardian 22; for more on Daughters of Dissent , see Rollyson chapters 24 and These scars would never heal or disappear and were considered the collier's badge of honour. Blue Scar Publicity Material. Manchester-born Emrys Jones starred in several British film and television productions until the mids. Vaughan's performance suffered not only by her melodramatic gestures but also by poor dubbing.

Among the other main characters were Madoline Thomas as the grandmother and Phillip H. Burton as the colliery manager. A Life to Remember London : Quartet , Film and the Working Class London : Routledge , Over previous years, due to poor labour relations, miners had resisted the implementation of new machinery and methods as one of the few weapons available to them in the fight for better working conditions Harlow — Beside us on the beach lie [descriptive] the white Javex containers filled with alcohol.

It is the purest of moonshine made by our relatives back in the hills and is impossible to buy [general]. It comes to us [habit] only as a gift or in exchange for long past favours … It is as clear as water [descriptive], and a teaspoonful of it when touched by a match will burn with the low blue flame of a votive candle until it is completely consumed, leaving the teaspoon hot and totally dry.

In fact, it is sustained - apart from the section in the preterite - and together with the present perfect, shapes the structure of the story. The story does not have a singulative value: it is meant to convey a sense of the usual, to depict the daily life of these miners on holiday. No singular event occurs to disturb the regular order of things. The plural, often used, also contributes to the evocation of recurrent activities seen in their multiple and iterative aspects. Besides, taking showers under a fall displaces the domestic into outside natural surroundings. Even though the singular has an importance, it essentially illustrates the plural: what concerns the narrator - the loss of his brother, memories about his father, remarks about his wife - is typical, usual.

Obviously his function is essentially collective. Singularity has been lost to the collective being of the community, which further enhances the importance of routines. The everyday defines the community. It is the mining work that holds the community of men together in its daily round. Bodies that when free of mud and grime and the singed-hair smell of blasting powder are white almost to the colour of milk or ivory. Perhaps of leprosy. And we have arms that we cannot raise above our heads and touches of arthritis in our backs and in our shoulders, magnified by the water that chills and falls upon us in our work.

Few of us have all our fingers and some have lost either eyes or ears from falling tools or discharged blasting caps or flying stone or splintering timbers. Her kitchen and her laundry room and her entire house gleam with porcelain and enamel and an ordered cleanliness that I can no longer comprehend. Our bunks are made of two-by-fours … Such rooms are like hospital wards …. I have always wished that my children could see me at work. And that they might see how articulate we are in the accomplishment of what we do.

Their sons will live completely differently from them. The title of the short story evokes an end suggesting the closing down of a shop, a factory, a club or the termination of an activity. The present moment is felt as protracted and precarious. The present tense can also intimate the provisional character of the everyday:. The sun no longer shines with the fierceness of the earlier day … Evening is approaching.

The sand is whipped by the wind … We flinch and shake ourselves and reach for our protective shirts … In the sand we trace erratic designs and patterns with impatient toes. So hot that the gardens have died and the hay has not grown and the surface wells have dried to dampened mud. The brooks that flow to the sea have dried to trickles. Surprised at the endurance and consistency of the heat.

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Waiting for it to break and perhaps to change the spell. The slight changes in the weather signal the end of the holidays. There is indeed a time for everything, a time for work and a time for idleness - which is coming to an end. All summer we have watched our bodies change their colour and seen our hair grow bleached and ever lighter. They seem to stand out even more vividly now, long running pink welts that course down our inner forearms or jagged saw-tooth ridges on the taut calves of our legs. Remembrances are conjured up in the form of analepses, either singulative - i.

They bring the quotidian past of work into the present. But what awaits them in the near future is anticipated.

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Behind the small white wooden churches and beneath the monuments of polished black granite they take their silent rest. There was always a feeling of mild panic on hearing whole dance floors of people singing aloud songs that had come and flourished since my departure and which I had never heard. As if I had been on a journey to the land of the dead.

The narrator cannot help facing death in his risky work - and in the narrative itself:. I must not think too much of death and loss, I tell myself repeatedly.


I must always be careful of sloppiness and self-indulgence lest they cost me dearly in the end. Perhaps this is the end and the beginning?

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Almost like distant wind in far-off trees. The waves are higher now and are breaking and cresting and rolling farther in. They have obliterated the outlines of our bodies in the sand and our footprints of brief moments before already have been washed away. There remains no evidence of what we have ever been. It is as if we have never lain, nor ever walked nor ever thought what thoughts we had. We leave no art or mark behind.

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The sea has washed its sand slate clean. I wend to death, knight stith in stour; Through fight in field I won the flower; No fights me taught the death to quell- I wend to death, sooth I you tell. Death is to man the final way- I wende to be clad in clay. Work is indeed magnified. The isotopy of perfection is here connected with that of beauty:.