The Scolar Experience
1965-1973
Beginnings - Success - Endings

I have often been asked why Scolar Press came to such an ambiguous and abrupt end. For many years I felt unable to offer an explanation; but now that I am retired and the personalities involved with the company have mostly disappeared without trace I feel less uneasy about explaining the rise and fall of one of the more remarkable small publishing companies in the second half of the twentieth century.

Beginnings

I took up my post as Lecturer in English Language and Medieval Literature at the University of Leeds in the Spring of 1964. Within a few months of arriving at the School of English I became intensely involved with a project to compile a Dictionary of Tudor English [DTE], largely at the request of Professor Bror Danielsson of Stockholm University. Bror had followed my research for a doctoral dissertation on the early English spelling reformers, and was anxious to involve me in a project with major implications for the historical study of English. He also followed closely my discoveries in connection with my Bibliography of the English Language, a project I had started at the University of New Brunswick in 1958. Having established the principles upon which the DTE would be based I determined to carry out a pilot project to confirm my belief that the materials collected for the OED could be supplemented by excerpting quotations from xerographic facsimiles of the works published between ca. 1500 and 1660 that had not been read for the OED. About a hundred academics, drawn from departments of English and history in North America and Britain, agreed to carry out a reading programme. The results began to arrive late in 1964, and were sufficiently encouraging to embolden me to approach the Delegates of the Clarendon Press with a view to gaining their permission to amalgamate findings based on my methodology with the slips for the early modern period which had been culled from the OED files and sent to the University of Michigan, where Charles Fries had at one time hoped to compile a dictionary of early modern English on much the same lines as mine, but without the use of facsimiles of the original texts in order to be certain that spellings were accurate. [Many texts read for OED were, as far as spelling was concerned, somewhat inaccurate.] The Head of the School of English was Norman (Derry) Jeffares, and I asked him for permission to approach Oxford. He agreed, but insisted that the proper procedure would be to involve the incoming Professor of English Language, Arthur Cawley. This I did, and he seemd enthusiastic. A meeting between myself and the Delegates took place in November, and it was agreed that proposals for the DTE should be prepared and circulated to various interested parties. One of these was Jack Aitken, Editor of the Dictionary of the Oldert Scottish Tongue  then being compiled at the University of Edinburgh. Jack was enthusiastic and agreed to participate by training editorial staff at Edinburgh. All the elements seemed in place: except, of course, for access to the OED slips at the University of Michigan. Cawley and I visited Ann Arbor early in 1965 and discussed the project with members of the English Department. It quickly became clear that the University of Michigan had no intention of releasing the slips. We returned to Leeds empty-handed: and a possibly great project died on the vine. But a seed had been sown: and I began wondering about the facsimile process which I had explored as part of the DTE project. If accuracy of text was important for lexicography, was it not also important for students of literature to read the landmark texts as they had originally appeared? Thus it was that failure led to success, and although students of early modern English literature still do not have access to a dictionary for the period comparable with the Middle English Dictionary (compiled at Ann Arbor), they do have access to many of the important texts in the period in exact facsimile.

Success

I had never started a company before, but if the motivation is strong enough then it is surprising how quickly one learns what has to be learned! Scolar Press - originally called Grenville Press after the intrepid explorer - came into being in 1966, one year after the publication of Volume I of my Bibliography. The timing was crucial, because an important element in the Scolar project was my determination to publish in facsimile the major texts for the study of English printed between 1500 and 1800. The appearance of Volume I provided a necessary anchor for such an ambitious scheme. In a dismal and almost derelict building on Hunslet Road - directly opposite the large printing works of Alf Cook - Scolar began, with a staff of three. One of these was a student of mine at Leeds University, John Turner. John later had a successful career teaching historical bibliography (the elements of which he had learned at Scolar) at Aberystwyth. The first facsimile we published was Thomas Kyd's Spanish Tragedy (1592) in1966. I remember taking a proof copy to America in April that year to show the doyen of bibliography, Fredson Bowers, the first fruits of my ridiculously ambitious intention to reprint in exact facsimile all the major texts for the study of English language, literature and history. Bowers looked at the Kyd and assured me that the scheme was both wild and unlikely to prove commercially viable. "Collotype", he muttered. "That's what scholars and students want and will pay for." Somewhat dispirited I left Charlottesville and went to Philadelphia to see my good friend and supporter Edwin Wolf II, Librarian of the Library Company of Philadelphia. I also contacted Albert Baugh, whose history of the English language was known to all students of English. I explained the Scolar project in outline, but sought his view on the series English Linguistics 1500-1800 which I was planning. While he was encouraging about the literary texts, he was very enthusiastic about the linguistics series; particularly so given the fact that diachronic studies were giving way everywhere to synchronic linguistics. Within three years it became clear that Bowers was wrong, and Baugh right.

Within a year of getting Scolar started the orders for the first 30 texts and the 365 volume English Linguistics 1500-1800(completed in 1972) were so encouraging that it became necessary to look for new premises. These were found in the small village of Menston, between Leeds and Otley. The air was clean, the premises modern, and it was no longer necessary to cope with Leeds traffic. I was unhappy with the quality of the earliest facsimiles which had been produced on a Multilith machine using paper plates. The Menston operation benefitted from new Heidelberg printing machines; a new process camera with computerised exposure; and automatic negative development. Once this equipment was installed the earliest texts were re-photographed and published in considerably improved editions.

The Scolar vision was, happily, well understood by librarians everywhere, and I was extremely fortunate to be able, after 1967, to photograph originals lent to me by research libraries on the Prismascope: a device I invented to enable an early printed book to be photographed without opening it more than 45 degrees. I had several duplicates of this equipment made at the request of research libraries that were increasingly worried about the damage being done to fragile originals by microfilming. One element in keeping academic libraries and teachers interested in Scolar activities was the Scolar Newsletter, which I designed in the format of an early eighteenth century newspaper (the Jacobite's Journal in fact). It was printed eleven times starting   with No. 1 on January 31, 1972. The only complete run in any academic library seems to be the set of elevn numbers in the New York Public Library: which is entirely appropriate since it was at that library that the modus operandi for ESTC (yet another chapter ... ) was tested in 1978. NYPL has always been one of my favourite hunting places for the rare and extraordinary: a great free public library in the heart of a great city. One of the nicest compliments paid me in those Scolar years was by the great German calligrapher and type designed Jan Tschichold who wrote to me and said that he wished he had designed the Scolar Newsletter! It was printed on Fourdrinier paper by Amatruda, the last maker of such paper in Amalfi. He made the paper for a book I produced on the ancient paper mills of the Amalfi valley, and I used about ten reams of what was left for the newsletter. I still have a few sheets in my now much-diminished collection of papers from private mills from as far away as Japan, South East Asia, China, India, as well as mills in Italy, France, Spain and Britain.

By 1970 the demand for Scolar facsimiles (there were now over 1000 title in print including several major series) was such that the Menston premises (the original building and a small Methodist Chapel which I acquired for typesetting and page-makeup) could no longer cope: a new factory was built in Ilkley that could accomodate seven printing machines; a fully equipped binding line with folding machines; Martini sewing machines; a case-maker; and all the necessary binding machinery; and a warehouse for the growing stock. The reputation gained by Scolar for quality and reasonable costing led to requests from numerous facsimile publishers to undertake their photography, printing and binding. This contract work was to prove an essential element in mantaining the reasonable prices charged for our facsimiles. But this, alas, was to prove my downfall.

Endings

Between 1968 and 1972 I was approached by several large publishing firms to sell Scolar. But as long as I could carry my bank with me I determined to remain independent. By 1972 that was becoming difficult: costs were rising; interest rates were rising; and my debtor's list was becoming far too extended. Though my overdraft was comfortably covered twice by what I was owed, cold winds were blowing throughout industry, and I was warned by my bank that in order to continue with my current overdarft it would be necessary for the bank to secure a second mortgage on our house on Beamsley Beacon. This I was not prepared to do. So, I encouraged John Commander of Bemrose Corporation to consider acquiring Scolar on what I was assured would be near-ideal terms. With this in view I travelled with Commander to Harvard, where I was anxious to obtain rights to publish some of the treasures in the Houghton Library. Bill Bond, whom I had known for some years, seemed enthusiastic, and I well remember a morning on which he had produced a Trimalchian feast of wonderful annotated printed books and manuscripts which might be made available for photography under the right circumstances. Commander could scarcely believe what he was looking at. That evening we discussed the terms on which Scolar might become part of the Bemrose empire. They seemed reasonable enough. But I was beginning to realise that I did not have many choices available to me. Compared with some of the characters who had expressed an interest in acquiring Scolar Commander seemed acceptable. As I look back on the decision taken that evening I realise that it was entirely wrong. But hindsight is not a useful determinant in human affairs.

1973, as some will recall, was a dreadful year for companies, the stockmarket, and financial affairs in general. Inflation was rampant, and many companies I had to deal with had abandoned publishing price lists since they varied from day to day. So, in a strange way, I felt relieved that the deed had been done, and "celebrated" the hand-over of Scolar by taking my family to Kenya for a month. During that holiday I chartered a small plane for a week and we flew around Kenya and Tanzania looking at wildlife. I met Leakey at Olduvai; the children rejoiced at the wildlife in the Ngorangoro Crater; and I became very friendly with our pilot. So much so that we decided - if things did not go well with the new owners of Scolar - that I would learn to fly, and we would acquite a Catalina flying-boat and fly it around the world. I found the plane: beautifully maintained by the French Navy and sitting in Marseille harbour. The cost was a modest £5000. Martin agreed the price was right, and we were on the verge of buying the Catalina when inflation really hit hard. It quickly became obvious that we would never be able to afford the petrol to fly her around the world. I did not, however, totally abandon hope.

After my return from Kenya it soon became clear that the Bemrose bean-counters were being moved in to make "adjustments" to Scolar's costings not only for its books, but also its contract work for other publishers. The honesty system under which Scolar had functioned happily and prosperously soon gave way to security procedures which, at a stroke, added five clerical personnel to the staff, and procedures which signalled clearly to my loyal staff that they were no longer trusted. I lasted exactly six weeks under the new regime.

I left to get my pilot's licence (just in case the Catalina scheme were revived). It was at 5,000 feet pullling the Cessna out of a controlled spin that I realised where my next mission lay. I landed the plane; said farewell to my amiable instructor; and went to Bradford to acquire a proofing press. What I had achieved in Scolar for books and manuscripts I could also achieve for art. What I had done for Shakespeare I could surely do for Yorkshire artists. Thus was Janus born. That is another story ...

In the months after the sale of Scolar I watched with dismay as the company was dismembered; the million-odd negatives burned; the machinery sold; the stock remaindered; the factory disposed of. The imprint was acquired by Gower in Aldershot; Gower was then swallowed by Ashgate; and as far as I can tell the Scolar imprint has completely disappeared.

So ended a chapter; though its seems that every chapter in my life has a seed that will flourish in time. While the facsimiles are the obvious pieces of evidence in the Scolar Experience, they are not by any means the whole story. Before embarking on starting a company I looked carefully at the way most companies were being run in the 1960s. Management was aloof from its staff; enjoyed expensive corporate lunches; drove expensive cars; left work at 3 pm to get in a round of golf; &c. &c. If I was to achieve the goal of producing a facsimile of Shakespeare's Sonnets for six shillings then costs would have to be kept to a minimum. In any company this can quite easily be achieved by disposing of time-wasting bureaucratic procedures; trusting your staff; rewarding their efforts and loyalty by giving them a share of the company's annual profits; providing them with a decent home-cooked lunch; providing them and their families with medical insurance; and sharing openly with them exactly what the company's financial state is at all times. It is a matter of considerable pride that Scolar never lost a day's work through industrial action; retained  its staff through many financial crises (of which the postal strike in 1970 was the worst); and became a company that attracted the best staff in the printing and binding trades in West Yorkshire. Some of that history lives on in a company created by some of my staff in the wake of the Bemrose take-over: Smith Settle in Otley, where Ken Smith, former manager of the Scolar bindery, runs a wonderful company that produces fine books and facsimiles for many well-known publishing firms. Smith Settle has been printing and binding the volumes of my Bibliography since 1976.

Might the story have had a different ending? Possibly so. But it must not be forgotten that the world changed dramatically in 1973, and I doubt that the philosophy underlying the Scolar Experience could have lasted much longer in the wintry financial climate that has prevailed since the Middle East took control of its oil resources and has effectively held the world in its thrall ever since. I am often asked if I would try Scolar again. The answer is emphatically not. Revisits are almost always a disappointment. Tomorrow to fresh woods ...

Updated: 04-01-08

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