Monday, 22 June 2026

Namesake Novel

There cannot be many people who unexpectedly discover a forgotten novel bearing their own name. Yet that is precisely what happened to me recently.

Quite by accident, I learned of a little-known novel published in 1931 by His Honour Judge Ruegg KC entitled David Betterton. Given the rarity of the surname Betterton, I was astonished that I had never heard of it before. The discovery immediately raised a number of questions. Who was David Betterton? Why had Ruegg chosen the name? And what sort of story lay behind this curious literary namesake?

My Copy of Judge Ruegg's Novel

The novel has long been out of print and appears to have escaped the attention of modern literary historians. Contemporary references describe it simply as "A Novel of Staffordshire," and one rather dismissive review in The Spectator [ Link here in new tab ] referred to blackmail, socialist villains, and dreams involving Queen Mab. The description sounded eccentric enough to provoke curiosity but gave little indication of the novel's deeper concerns. But of course, I hunted it down and bought a copy.

As I read through the novel, however, a more interesting picture emerged.

The story begins not with David Betterton at all, but with a young man named Fred Dominey. Leaving home in search of a future, he falls in with a drifter named Jim Owlton. Penniless and desperate, the two decide to rob a house. Owlton persuades Fred to carry out the burglary while he remains at a safer distance.

Fred is caught.

At this point the novel takes an unexpected turn. The owners of the house do not summon the police. Instead, they take pity on the young man and allow him to go free. Legally, the matter ends there. Morally, however, it has only begun.

Although forgiven, Fred cannot forgive himself. The guilt of the attempted burglary follows him as he travels to London, where he hopes to pursue a career on the stage. Through a series of fortunate connections, he finds lodgings with a sympathetic couple whose theatrical contacts help him gain a foothold in the profession. His talent is recognised, a manager takes him under his wing, and he is given a new stage name: David Betterton.

Fred becomes David Betterton [ Click /Tap to enlarge ]

The transformation appears complete. Fred Dominey disappears and David Betterton rises to fame.

Yet the past has not vanished.

As Fred’s life as David Betterton flourishes,  Jim Owlton reappears, impoverished but armed with knowledge of the long-forgotten burglary. He begins a campaign of blackmail that grows more demanding as David's success increases. The higher the actor rises, the more vulnerable he becomes. Alongside this central conflict run a love story and later experiences of military service during the First World War.

The  plot is a melodrama. Yet beneath its surface lies a surprisingly coherent exploration of guilt, identity and redemption.

The burglary itself is not really the subject of the novel. It functions as the original moral wound from which everything else proceeds. Fred's crime is serious, but Ruegg presents him less as a villain than as a weak and impressionable young man led astray by a stronger and more unscrupulous character. Jim Owlton, by contrast, becomes the embodiment of corruption, feeding parasitically upon another man's success.

More significantly, the novel turns upon an act of mercy. The household Fred attempts to rob chooses not to prosecute him. In conventional crime fiction, punishment would provide the story's resolution. Here, punishment never arrives. Instead, the burden passes inward. Fred's real struggle is not with the law but with his conscience.

This perspective helps explain one of the novel's strangest features: the recurring dreams of Queen Mab. At first glance these seem whimsical, even eccentric. Yet they may serve a serious literary purpose. Rather than functioning as fantasy for its own sake, the dreams appear to externalise Fred's inner life, charting feelings of guilt, fear and self-reproach that he cannot easily articulate in waking life.

The change of name is equally significant. Fred Dominey and David Betterton are not merely two names for the same person. They represent two identities. Fred is the private self, burdened by memory; David is the public self,  admired by audiences. The tension between these identities becomes the novel's driving force. The more successful David Betterton becomes, the greater the threat posed by Jim Owlton's knowledge.

In this respect, the novel belongs to a familiar literary tradition. Like many stories of hidden pasts and divided identities, it asks whether a person can ever truly escape what he has done. One thinks of Great Expectations, where Pip cannot escape the origins he wishes to conceal, or even The Picture of Dorian Gray, where a secret history lurks behind a public persona. Can a new life erase an old failure? Can forgiveness received become forgiveness accepted?

The First World War is also interesting.  David – and  Jim – serve in the war, Ruegg uses military service as a kind of moral testing ground. The war becomes a crucible in which earlier social distinctions and personal failings are exposed or transformed.

These questions become all the more interesting when one remembers that the author was a judge. Ruegg understood legal guilt professionally. What seems to interest him here, however, is something beyond the reach of courts. The law settles Fred's offence early in the novel. The deeper consequences continue for hundreds of pages.

As for the name itself, Betterton is an uncommon surname with historical associations in both Gloucestershire and Staffordshire. That second possibility caught my attention because David Betterton as I mentioned earlier, is explicitly described as a "Novel of Staffordshire." If Judge Ruegg was writing about the Potteries and the surrounding district, then choosing the surname Betterton may not have been accidental at all. He may have regarded it as a recognisably local Staffordshire name. 

It is also, of course,  the surname of the celebrated Restoration actor Thomas Betterton. Given that David Betterton is a stage name adopted by an aspiring actor, one wonders whether Ruegg deliberately chose it for its theatrical resonance. Whether that is true or not, the choice seems unlikely to have been accidental. And it is clear that the name 'David' references the renowned 18th century actor David Garrick, as is made clear through the words of theatre manager Mr Abraham, who chooses the name in the story.

Portrait of Thomas Betterton

Whatever the explanation, there was something delightful for me about encountering my own name unexpectedly in a obscure  work of fiction. What began as a moment of curiosity became an exercise in literary archaeology. The result was not merely the discovery of a namesake, but of a novel – though melodramatic in tone and scope – nevertheless is more thoughtful and morally ambitious than its obscurity might suggest.


Saturday, 20 June 2026

Except Ye Lord Keep Ye Cittie…

I was wandering in the town square in Ripon in the summer of 1973. I remember walking without any particular aim. I had time to spare. I was light and free.

I looked up and saw the verse carved into the frieze at the top of the Town Hall — an adaptation of the verse in the Psalm:

“Except Ye Lord Keep Ye Cittie Ye Wakeman Waketh in Vain.”

I knew the verse well enough, but the substitution caught my eye. The Town Hall had replaced watchman with wakeman. The word looked both familiar and out of place, like something that had slipped through a crack in time.

I later discovered that Ripon’s historic Hornblower — the Wakeman — would blow a horn at 9 p.m. each night to signal the start of the security patrol. But I didn’t know that then.

I stood for a while, looking at the inscription, taking in its message. Then I moved on. Without me, the square went on being a square. The day went on being a day.

But the detail stayed.


Ripon 1973

Summer light on the square. Stone warm underfoot. A bus purred at the kerb.

I walked without aim — air moving easily, the day loose about me.

High on the Town Hall frieze: Ye Wakeman waketh… letters cut like dry reeds.

Wakeman.

I stood a moment. The square held its shape. The day went on.

The word remained.

Wednesday, 17 June 2026

Sound in Movies: A Different Kind of Seeing

 

I saw the movie "Tuner" today, and one of the features of the film was the use of sound at certain times when the drama focussed around the Leo Woodall character in  his safe-cracking, and in other action moments.  We were hearing the action from the sounds in his head. This was interesting, and I recalled the role of sound in 'Rose of Nevada', which I reflected on recently. In that film,  oddly distant dialogue, the slightly unreal soundscape placed  a layer of distance between the viewer and the action. Use of sound in ‘Tuner’ was different.

In ‘Tuner’ the sound design functions as a form of subjective immersion. When the drama centres on Niki White’s ( Leo Woodall ) safe-cracking, or on moments of heightened concentration and danger, we are drawn into his  sensory world. External reality recedes and we hear what he hears and what his mind attends to. Small sounds become magnified, irrelevant sounds disappear; rhythms and mechanical noises acquire an almost musical significance.  

Rose of Nevada had the reverse effect.  I guess one way of putting this is that ‘Tuner’ uses sound to move us closer to experience, while Rose of Nevada uses sound to move us further away from it.

But in  both cases at least, we are reminded that sound is as important to any film, and  cinema is more than  a visual art. The eye tells us what is happening, but the ear helps us  to inhabit what is happening.

In Rose of Nevada, the unusual soundscape contributes to the feeling that the events are being recollected, half-remembered, or viewed through a veil of memory and myth. The distant dialogue and unreal acoustic space make us feel that we are  never entirely "there."

In ‘Tuner’, by contrast, sound compresses the distance between audience and character. Every click, scrape, and metallic resonance becomes charged with significance because we are experiencing events from within Niki White’s concentration.

So, in  both movies, sound is controlling our psychological distance. We should look out for the next award season: both movies will surely be listed for Best Sound?