Barry Hines was more than just a great writer. He allowed people to see the poetry in the way we speakWhen I was growing up in Darfield near Barnsley in the early 1960s,there weren’t many writers who wrote about people who talked like me and lived in the kinds of places I lived in.
Mrs Dove, the Darfield librarian, or did her best to enthuse me,but mostly to no avail. The celebrated Five had an uncle called Quentin who owned an island. Sherlock Holmes just seemed to sit in a room in his dressing gown and judge. And Biggles and his mates were the celebrated Five with stubble – they spoke in odd, strangled tones and used slang that sounded silly and frail-fashioned. I didn’t see people like that on the top deck of the bus to Wombwell, or even on a Sunday.
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Source: theguardian.com