Oft seen in the bars and hostelries of parliament and the Westminster Village, Paul Routledge fits the mould of the political journalists of old to a tee. Hard drinking, well connected, loathed, loved, admired and feared in equal measure, the author is a notorious political writer for the Daily Mirror and has a wealth of personal experience on which to draw in a book that has very clearly been a labour of love.
Written with humour and a clear warmth for (most of) the 200 or so figures featured in the book, it is perfect as an introduction to some of the more interesting, yet less well known, characters of the left from the past couple of hundred years.
Reading through the profiles of politicians, comics, writers, civil servants, trade unionists and a host of others, you get the distinct impression that not only does the author know the subject matter well, but that he has been acquainted with most of the subjects (with the possible exception of Annie Bessant, Ned Ludd and a handful of others) over a pint or two at some time or other.
And the book is full of tit-bits of information to surprise even the most knowledgeable politico. On the same page you can read about Edith Nesbit, author of The Railway Children and founding member of the Fabian Society, and Melita Norwood, the octogenarian granny, who was unmasked in 1999 as a communist spy. But we are not spared facts about more contemporary figures such as Bob Crow, Tam Dalyell, Diane Abbott, Bob Wareing, Dennis Skinner, Tariq Ali and Ken Loach.
In an age when our politicians are increasingly similar – from the cut of their suits to their political style – this reminder of sex scandals, class warriors, real warriors and assorted other personalities brings to mind a time before Folleting. The times when bushy hair, a donkey jacket, a pipe and a beard were the badges of a political player – and that was just the women!
A great admirer of the late Barbara Castle, I was pleased to read Routledge conclude her pen portrait with a memorable quote. ‘Political careers don’t end in tears. They end in fury,’ she said just before she died last year. And so long as these people and their achievements are remembered by us, that fury can be channeled to make a difference.
In its own words this book is ‘…a bumper celebration of Leftiousness in all it’s commitment, glory and folly’. Who am I to argue?