First steps on sacred ground
This is the December morning sun on the wee Kelsey platen press that sits in my studio under the roof of the CrazyStable. Locked up in the chase is my name, in 14 pt. Baskerville; now I just have to get up the nerve to pull a proof. Printing wonderful words via letterpress is one of the dreams I have for Tenth Leper Press, my long-gestating graphic arts enterprise; next year, God willing, you'll be able to click through to its brand-new website (domain name bought and paid for).
It was only after I was bitten by the letterpress bug that I realized a mystical connection to my aunt, Beatrice Warde, a doyenne of 20th-Century type design. I met Beatrice only once when I was a toddler; she lived in London, and since she was my father's half-sister by a much earlier marriage, their relationship, while warmly cordial, was never close. But I have inherited a trove of her magnificent wartime letters (all in crisp calligraphy) and later missives, on Catholicism (she was quite the Oxford Movement type) and other matters, and have come to realize that she is undoubtedly delighted at my choice of midlife avocation. 
I think she would also have been pleased that I made it to the Small Press Book Fair last weekend, selling some of Tenth Leper's first (digitally typeset) offerings. I also had the opportunity to pay homage to Malachi McCormick of the Stone Street Press, my inspiration for the craft of hand book-making as a way to resurrect and glorify forgotten texts of spirit and beauty.
Did I mention that the Kelsey press was a gift from cousin Derek and his wife Rena, and that my grandfather--and Derek's great-grandfather--was Beatrice Warde's father? (I don't know what name to give that shared branch of family tree, but it just proves that the whole thing is beyond serendipitous.)
So it was that I finally felt (just barely) within my rights to nail to my studio door my Aunt Beatrice's most famous words, an invocation much beloved by printshops for many decades:
THIS IS
A PRINTING OFFICE
CROSSROADS OF CIVILISATION
REFUGE OF ALL THE ARTS
AGAINST THE RAVAGES OF TIME
ARMOURY OF FEARLESS TRUTH
AGAINST WHISPERING RUMOUR
INCESSANT TRUMPET OF TRADE
FROM THIS PLACE WORDS MAY FLY ABROAD
NOT TO PERISH ON WAVES OF SOUND
NOT TO VARY WITH THE WRITER'S HAND
BUT FIXED IN TIME HAVING BEEN VERIFIED IN PROOF
FRIEND YOU STAND ON SACRED GROUND
THIS IS A PRINTING OFFICE
Brenda from Brooklyn
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Reader Comments (2)
Thank you for your very kind comment which I just came across, quite serendipitously.
Perhaps even more serendipitous is your mention of (your aunt) the famous Beatrice Warde --familiar name from distant past-- and her letters on the Oxford Movement, inter al. My latest book project concerns my mother and some friends involvement back in 1939-40 in managing to get admitted to Ireland a Jewish refugee, one Herman Gebler, who was about to be sent back to Germany because he had no papers. (He said later he wd. have killed himself rather than return.)
The reason I mention this is that his nemesis, the Irish ambassador to Berlin, one Charles Bewley --rabidly pro-Hitler and anti-semitic-- had a background that I am involved in uncovering. Born 1888 in Dublin to a wellknown and highly regarded Quaker family, Charles is educated in Winchester and New College, Oxford. (in 1910 he wins the Newdigate Poetry Prize) Along the way he converts to Catholicism --apparently under the influence of Fr. Martindale SJ and Mons. Kennard. Later on Bewley wd. become an ambassador to Rome (1929-1933) after which he got the posting that he really wanted --to Berlin in 1933 (until 1939)!
As ambassador it was his job to interview all applicants for visas, and would have sat across a desk from Herman Gebler and stamped his application "Not Admitted". In desperation HG got on a ship to Ireland where, though refused entry, he found help to get off the ship in Cobh (my hometown).
I know a little about the Oxford Movement and Cardinal Newman, and apparently it was still quite a force when Bewley was there in 1910. But I am currently casting about for sources and references --ideally to Bewley's own conversion-- that might shed light on his personal evolution from Quaker to Catholic to Nazi.
In situations like this, in the past I have been very well served by serendipity and "happened-to-mention"-ness, And that is why I am mentioning here to you.(One never knows. Until one knows...)
By the way, if I can return the favor of helping in your own plans, I wd. be happy to do so.
With very best regards,
Malachi McCormick