Minding his own business
Christopher Edwards
Coleridge wrote 'There have been three silent revolutions in England; — first, when the professions fell off from the Church; secondly, when literature fell off from the professions; and thirdly, when the press fell off from literature.' The present plight of Colin Haycraft has caused many civilised people to wonder whether a fourth depressing revolution is about to be completed; has publishing fallen off from literature into the hands of big business?
Anyone who knows about publishing knows about Duckworth. It was founded in 1898. Since 1971 until recently, Duckworth has been owned and run by Colin Haycraft. For many years it has been a one man band, run editorially according to the eclectic tastes of its owner. It is virtually the last of the private publishing houses, and represents the very antithesis of the pile 'em high, sell 'em cheap supermarket ethos that now prevails.
On Duckworth's list are academic works on the Classics and Ancient History, Theol- ogy and Religion, Philosophy and Linguis- tics, and Fiction. Recent publications include Alan Watkins' brilliant work on the fall of Mrs Thatcher, and Beryl Bain- bridge's The Birthday Boys. Alice Thomas Ellis — former Spectator columnist, novel- ist and wife of Colin Haycraft — edits the fiction list. Most of that list has been com- missioned in person by Haycraft. Much of it has been edited by him too. He knows all his authors personally. There is not a book on the Duckworth list that Haycraft does not believe is worthwhile. He loves good books. This, most people feel, is the way a publishing house ought to be run.
Haycraft is a remarkable man. He is a distinguished Classicist and a stimulating conversationalist. He knows everyone. In his youth he was a brilliant sportsman (he was public schools rackets champion, and played squash for England). After Oxford he was Cecil King's right hand man. He learned publishing with George Weidenfeld.
Haycraft is also very funny, and delights in ridiculing cant. Unlike many amusing people he laughs as loudly at other people's jokes as at his own. He has no side, and gives the impression that he does not really take himself entirely seriously. He also wears a bow tie. This sartorial touch is reassuring to philistine business- men, for it helps them pigeon-hole Colin Haycraft as an amateur eccentric who couldn't possibly run a successful business. The bow tie image may cost him dear.
In 1990 the firm was short of cash. The Joseph Rowntree Reform Trust Ltd (a charitable organisation set up by the suc- cessful Quaker confectionery dynasty, and based in Halifax) offered to invest funds, in return for a shareholding. The money was paid in but the profits were slow in appear- ing. A combination of the Gulf war and the recession hit the trade badly. Rowntree was displeased. Its investment seemed not to be paying off. Some, no doubt jaundiced, observers of the philanthropic Quaker scene formed the impression that Rown- tree had hoped to repeat the killing it had made a few years before when it bought up and sold off Gollancz at a huge profit. Colin Haycraft took the blame. He was sacked by the board and, briefly, locked out of his own office.
What did Rowntree think it was doing investing in Duckworth? Duckworth is Colin Haycraft. It was his skill, his reputa- tion, his taste that Rowntree was backing.
It was galling enough for Haycraft, after 20-odd years of independence, to have to submit a (modest) expenses claim for approval by a Halifax accountant. The indignant accountant's reply says quite a lot about Rowntree's familiarity with its new business milieu: 'But I haven't taken any- one out to lunch for two years.'
The Rowntree accountant has accused Haycraft of 'gross incompetence'. Haycraft is, allegedly, a tad businessman and can- not sell books'. But the facts speak for themselves. Duckworth is a profitable busi- ness (it will make about £50,000 profit in 1992, a remarkable sum in a recession). More importantly, Haycraft (in a moment of lesser incompetence) shrewdly retained a share option which might enable him to take back control of the firm he has single- handedly created and to send the Quaker accountants packing to Halifax. He needs £700,000 in the near future to pay for the option. Colin Haycraft certainly deserves to have a preservation order placed on him and his bow tie. More critically, he needs, very quickly, a patron of the arts to pre- serve his civilised and unique publishing house.
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