Tribune, 21 JUNE 1940
Tribune was founded in 1937 by two Labour Party MPs, Sir Stafford Cripps (1889–1952) and George Strauss (1901–93). It is nominally independent but in the main supports the Labour Party from a left-wing perspective. It was edited by Raymond Postgate (1896–1971) from 1940–42. He was best known at this time for the book he wrote with G.D.H Cole, The Common People, 1746–1938 (1938). Postgate was removed as editor in 1941 by the Welsh Labour MP, Aneurin Bevan (1897–1960; now chiefly remembered for his work in the setting up of the National Health Service). Much of the day-to-day work was done by Jon Kimche (1909–94) who had worked with Orwell at Booklovers’ Corner, 1934–35. Orwell was appointed literary editor in 1943 and worked as such until 1945 though he continued to contribute until 1947. Sir Bernard Crick believed he was paid less than when at the BBC, perhaps about £500 a year. However, he was also paid from 10 shillings to £2 for reviews and articles. It would be fair to say that Orwell’s contributions have become a touchstone for the best in political journalism without rancour.
More emphatically ‘escape literature’ is Priest Island,1 which is that evergreen favourite, a desert-island story. All desert-island stories are good, but some are better than others, and I am afraid that Priest Island must be put rather low in the list, because it concentrates too much on the psychological side of the story and not enough on the all-absorbing physical side. For that is the real interest of a desert-island story—the concrete details of the struggle to keep alive. One doesn’t particularly want to know what the hero felt; what one wants to know is whether he possessed a pen-knife or any fish-hooks and how he managed about lighting a fire.
Priest Island rather fails in these respects, because the hero has things made too easy for him. He is a young Scotsman exiled for sheep-stealing (the date is not given, but it is presumably about a hundred years ago) to a small island in the Hebrides. Later a woman who has heard of his fate voluntarily comes and joins him, bringing goats, hens, and other stock for a small farm. But long before her arrival the hero has made himself a lot more comfortable than would in practice have been possible. Arriving late in the season, with only a spade with which to tackle rocky virgin ground, he has been able to grow enough potatoes to feed him through the winter. I flatly refuse to believe this.
I also refuse to believe that the following year he would have been able to break in enough ground to grow a crop of oats, using a home-made wooden plough which he draws himself, his wife guiding the handles. Mr. Wilson also speaks glibly of ‘trapping’ wild ducks, without explaining how this difficult feat was done. Such criticism seems rather petty, perhaps, but the whole interest of a desert-island story is on the physical side, and the details ought to be accurate. But as a love-story, with a certain ‘dark earth’ element, the book is rather good, and the ghost who haunts the island (whence its name) is more credible than most.