CHARLES WELLS. Painter and Humanist.

This is a memory of the Painter and Humanist, Charles Wells, written by his long-time friend and former colleague, Trevor Lawrence.

 

 

Charles Wells (1910-1990)

 

I first met Charles (or Charley) in 1965 when I came to teach art and crafts at Eastwood Secondary school in Keighley, where he was the metalwork teacher. We soon became friends and fellow artists. He had bought, very cheaply, a tiny back-to-back stone house in elevated Hainworth Village on the edge of Keighley.

 

 

It was up a very steep, winding, cobbled hill which was lethal in winter. There was a bus service once or twice a week but otherwise one had to negotiate the, often slippery, hill. He had three cats which he loved dearly, especially a feisty ginger tom called Oliver; usually Olly. They were, I think, all strays and often appeared in his paintings.

He was always friendly with the neighbours and after a couple of years heard of another house, no. 23, for sale in the village which he purchased, again for a very modest price, subsequently selling his back-to-back.  The stone built house was tiny but detached – a one up and one down plus a lean-to kitchen and an outside toilet. Although spartan and quite rundown it suited him very well and he stayed there until the end of his life although he always found it difficult to cope with the cold in that exposed place.

 

Charles Wells outside his Hainworth home.

 

He was quite accustomed to simple living from having difficult circumstances during his young life. His father was a railway worker who was tragically killed by a train whilst working, Charles being four years old at the time. His mother died in childbirth not long after. Charles was the youngest of four children: George, the eldest, then Frances, then Will. I believe his sister was adopted but Charles and his older brothers were sent to a Railway Orphanage where life was very hard. They were always hungry and whenever allowed out for walks on their own would go to a local wood and dig up pignuts to eat raw{Conopodium majus}.

He eventually followed his father, working on the railway, to become a clerk in the accounts department which he endured, in spite of the boredom, for thirty years. He married and had one son, Adrian. The marriage lasted ten years. After the divorce his ex-wife refused any access to Adrian and in spite of attempts to contact him he never saw him again; this was a source of great sadness to Charles.

Charles told me that his wife was a freelance dressmaker with very wealthy clients and quite a ruthless businesswoman. To retain only the most wealthy and prompt payers they were always on the move. Charles would return from work to be told that they were moving that very evening and that he’d to ‘look sharp’. She would often send Charles on errands and he would relate that he would be sent across London, on the bus, with two or three fur coats over his arm to deliver, each of which was worth £1000. This was during the war when that was an unbelievable sum.

It was about this time Charles became a Conscientious Objector, being the committed pacifist that he was. This involved a court hearing and a friend advised him to visit a hearing to better understand the tricky questioning techniques that were often used. This he did and was successful.

 

 

Declining a non-combatative role in the army he was sent to a mobile ditch-digging unit which moved from farm to farm around the home counties. They lived in old caravans, one of which was the ‘chuck waggon’ and some of the time he helped with that.

He loved the life and the camaraderie among the diggers. He would describe the colourful and intellectual discussions with artists, writers and intellectuals from all walks of life. Solicitors, actors – even the director of the BBC Light Programme. One such, an actor I think, was often obsessed with his digestive problems and was frequently constipated. One morning he came into the Chuck Waggon and said,” Oh Charles, I’ve just had the most wonderful motion, it fell away like ripe plums!” His accent was rather plummy too and Charles could take him off to a tee.  For Charles this great diversity of often well educated people and ideas was an eye-opener which I feel greatly influenced his later life.

He possibly returned to the railway for a short time after the war but then contracted polio and almost died. At first he was paralysed on his left side but after a determined two years of exercise, such as climbing Box Hill, Surrey every day he regained his health. After his convalescence and his brush with the Grim Reaper he decided to train as a teacher which one could do then, taking a very short, six months course. He couldn’t face another 30 years as a booking clerk and Britain was desperate for teachers, as many had been lost in the war.

What he really wanted to do though was to become an artist having been inspired by such books as Joyce Carey’s The Horses Mouth (A wonderful, anarchic story also made into a film in the 1950’s  starring Alec Guinness amongst others). Another favourite book was Voltaire’s Candide.

 

 

Living in digs in London he mostly taught in boys’ remand schools, which gave a better rate of pay than normal supply teaching – but did have its risks. In one school he was shown to his class by a rather nervous headmaster who then made a hasty retreat. On enquiring about their previous teacher who he presumed was away through illness, one of the students pointed to a lad at the back and said, “ ‘e killed ‘im, sir!” Apparently, in the playground, he had head-butted the teacher in the stomach and he’d haemorrhaged and  died before he could be taken to hospital. Charles said he was lucky to leave with only his jacket, which he’d hung on his chair, cut from collar to hem!

When he had gathered a little savings, in order to fulfil his dream, he went first to Guildford Art school, then to Brighton. When he tried to enrol at Brighton Art school he was told that he was a little too old to be enrolled officially but that he was welcome to come when he wanted and ‘just sit in’.  He was about 45 then I believe. Those were the true art school days.

The main fine art teacher was Leonard Stoppani, who later became Principal of Guildford Art College and with whom Charles got on very well. He was always welcomed by him and the students whenever he could come.

 

 

Always non judgemental, Charles easily established a rapport with young people and felt inspired by their company. When funds ran low he would return to London for another few months of teaching – and stories of his landladies and the ‘diggings’ were somewhat reminiscent of Orwell’s Down and Out in London and Paris. Some of the landladies feature in his paintings.

Charley often bought art books or magazines; sometimes on special offer or second-hand. Because he moved about between digs and London and Brighton he would dismember the books saving only his favourite pictures and articles and pasting them into wonderful scrapbooks which were easier to transport. He was very impressed by Cecil Collins, even painting a very good copy of his, ‘The Sleeping Fool’ (see below).

 

 

He was also interested by the work of some of the other Naive painters, such as le Douanier Rousseau, Alfred Wallis and Stanley Spencer.  In the painting below, we see a self portrait of Charley with an angel who is blowing, or about to blow the trumpet. She has her hand in the bell of the trumpet so the sound is muted. Charley told me this refers to when he nearly died from polio. The muting indicates that it was a near thing but not the final call!

 

 

 

At some time in the early 60’s Charles came to Keighley and a permanent position at Eastwood School as the metalwork teacher and this is where, as I explained, I met him in 1965. He may have taken a permanent post in order to put down roots for his retirement. I also think he had grown tired with constantly moving about.

At least he could now buy art books and not have to cut them up. He loved Hockney and I sometimes took him to Salt’s Mill in Saltaire which is now the Hockney 1853 Gallery.  Eastwood County Secondary School, somewhat of a ‘blackboard jungle’, became Swire Smith Middle School in 1967, but by this time Charles had retired and I had moved to Hartington Middle School.

 

When commenting on the latest national or local dire news or unfrocked politician Charley’s preferred phrase was  ‘it’s all pretty bloody’.  In Keighley particularly,  there was often a bit of juicy gossip to receive this accolade, sometimes involving staff or pupils.

I left Keighley in 1970 to live in Cornwall but visits to my wife’s family near Wakefield enabled me to go across to Hainworth for a visit. He was also a great letter writer so I got to hear the latest gossip from the village and stories of ex-pupils. He liked to take a daily walk on the nearby moor and was always meeting interesting characters and hearing their life stories. He was amused and flattered that we named our youngest son after him.

 

 

At some point in the 1980’s, whilst visiting Charley, I photographed most of the paintings he had in his possession, which was the bulk of his oeuvre. It took a long time, dragging them down from his bedroom to an easel we’d set up outside. He was delighted to have a set of these. Also his friend and neighbour, Mrs Bruce, photographed quite a number and the album she made Charley he had with him when he passed away.

 

 

He had exhibitions of his work at Cliffe Castle and elsewhere but was never very keen to part with his paintings regarding them a bit like his ‘children.’ There were articles about these in the Keighley News and the Bradford Herald.  After he died on December 19^th 1990 his estate was inherited by his niece, Christine Price.

Part way through his funeral service, which was rather sombre, as funerals often are, the door of the Chapel crashed open and a dishevelled figure staggered in. “God forgive me, I’m late,” he said in a loud voice and explained to a surprised congregation that he was Clive Holden, poet and friend, and would be glad to read one or two of his poems, which he was then invited to do. He ended up donating a full file of his poems to the relatives. Clive was another of the interesting people Charles had met on his moorland excursions; I think he would have been delighted!

 

 

Charley was a good friend and I treasure the memories we shared and the visits to the bleak little village of Hainworth, where there was always a warm welcome and an interesting discussion. I am very pleased to be able to put down these thoughts and hope they will provide inspiration to future generations.

Trevor Lawrence.  Cornwall.   Spring 2021.

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With thanks to Trevor Lawrence for this memory of Charles Wells and for the images provided by him for this article.

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See also the Not Just Hockney profile of the artist at Charles Wells

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The life and work of Charles Wells also features in the book, The Highs – The Lows. Past Artists of the Bradford District.  For more information click here.