1949 The ebullient South African poet Roy Campbell was a lifelong foe to the group of 1930s writers he regarded as ‘pink pansies’. They were, in his robust view, communist sympathisers in the Spanish Civil War (Campbell had fought for Franco); scrimshankers and draft-dodgers in the Second World War (Campbell, although over-age, had joined up and served as an NCO; Auden and Isherwood had taken off for America in 1939, Day-Lewis got a cushy berth in the Ministry of Information, Spender became a fireman-poet); and – worst of all – sexual inverts.
Campbell learned that Spender was going to give a reading of his poetry in the crypt of the Ethical Church in Bayswater on the evening of 14 April. He resolved to go along – fortifying himself with a heroic intake of beer before doing so. As his biographer, Peter Alexander, records, Campbell and his friends stood at the back of the hall
while a large soprano sang lieder to warm up the audience, until Spender was introduced. He stepped up to the podium and began to speak. At once Campbell lurched into action. ‘I wish to protest on behalf of the Sergeants’ Mess of the King’s African Rifles’, he bellowed, in his best parade-ground voice, stumping down the aisle with his knotty stick. The audience, dumb, swivelled its collective head to watch his progress. Yelling curses at Spender, Campbell threw open a door which he imagined led on to the stage and limped inside to find himself in a passage leading to the lavatory.
He finally made it on stage, and ‘leaning on his stick, swung a clumsy right-handed blow that connected lightly with Spender’s nose, which promptly began to bleed’. The hall exploded into uproar at what was, surely, the most exciting poetry reading for some time.
When it was suggested that the police be called, Spender declined, with the mild observation: ‘He is a great poet, he is a great poet. We must try to understand.’ Writing the next day to John Hayward (T.S. Eliot’s flatmate), Spender was wryly amused:
He came up to me and hit me in the face with an honest sergeant’s fist before he was dragged away. He went away shouting ‘What’s more, he’s a fucking lesbian’. After this I read my poems, which were well received.