Thomas Bell
It was thanks to Derrick Bell
contacting our History Society that the
story of his father the late Thomas
Bell, artist, poet, sculptor and
musician evolved. Derrick is pictured
above displaying one of his father’s
paintings, depicting Lang Jack English
displaying his legendary strength and
bad temper. The painting has been
donated to Whickham Library where it is
on permanent display. Derricks wife
Norma is pictured with her father-in-
law Thomas in 1997, the year of his
death.
Thomas Bell
Thomas was born at Chapel Avenue
Dunston in 1915, one of four children,
brother’s George, Dick and sister
Hilda, he was educated at Dunston
Church School. He discovered at an
early age that he had artistic talent,
unfortunately the family couldn’t
afford to buy him the necessary
materials to pursue his artistic
aspirations seriously. In keeping with
most families in those days they were
rather impoverished. His mother made
ginger beer in a small outhouse and
sold it to neighbours to help support
the family, she also displayed an
artistic talent, painting beautiful
flowers on the floor because they
couldn’t afford new lino.
Fortunately Tom didn’t abandon his
undoubted talent, probably inherited
from his mother, he continued to sketch
and paint using whatever materials at
hand. He married Florence Thornton on
Boxing Day, the 26th December 1935 and
they had two sons Derrick and Carlos.
Tom was eventually employed by Raines &
Company Delta Steel Works, he remained
there for 33 years. He then worked as a
Turbine Attendant at Dunston B Power
Station and remained there until
failing eyesight necessitated his early
retirement. Unfortunately he had
suffered from the disease glaucoma for
several years, the disease robbed him
of the sight in his left eye and his
sight gradually deteriorated in the
other eye during the 1960’s. Tragically
by the 1980’s Tom had lost his sight
altogether.
Throughout his life Tom loved to paint
and write, even though in later years
he would have to use a magnifying glass
to continue his hobby. His choice of
subjects were diverse, he used his
imagination and painted portraits of
fishermen, horsemen and hounds,
tropical scenes, Spanish courtyards and
a middle class family at leisure,
depicting their more opulent life
style. He even painted the famous ‘Last
Supper’ on a hard boiled egg as an
Easter gift. He sketched a range of
Dunston buildings and scenes, among
them Christ Church (where he had
married Florence), the Collingwood
Hotel, the Wooden Barbers shop, Bute
Hall, the Store buildings, Cement
Buildings, Chancellor Club, Old Albert
Cinema and the one man ferry on the
Tyne. In later years his sketches would
be the only existing image of some of
those buildings.
His talent knew no bounds, in 1968 one
of his sons bet him that he wouldn’t be
able to paint a masterpiece like Da
Vinci’s ‘Mona Lisa’. Tom bought a
canvas for 30/- (£1 50p) he normally
painted on a piece of hardboard. In
just 4 weeks he produced an excellent
full size portrait even though he had
used oil paints for just a short period
of time. The portrait now hangs in the
home of Derrick and Norma’s son Leo.
Tom also contributed greatly to our
local history by producing an oil
painting almost three feet square
featuring a local folk lore character,
Lang Jack (John English). Jack had a
ferocious temper and when a horse and
cart full of stones killed his dog he
tipped them over into a ditch. Tom
captured the event perfectly even
featuring Jacks cottage in the
background at Woodhouse Lane Fellside.
The portrait hung for some years in a
local hotel and thanks to Tom’s son’s
Derrick and Carlos it will now find a
final resting place in Whickham Library
to be enjoyed by the community. Carlos
managed to retrieve other oil paintings
of his father’s, which had hung on
display in the Royal Hotel at Dunston.
Tom’s mother was very pretty and was of
a dark complexion, he often joked that
she was of Maori descent and painted
her portrait depicting her as just
that, a Maori maiden .
Tom was a committed Christian and also
a talented sculptor, his sculpture of
Madonna and Child was very much admired
and was donated to St Mary’s Catholic
Church at Whickham. His sculpture of
Christ was presented to the Vicar at
Swalwell. His portrait of the face of
Christ was donated to the Chapel at
Dunston Hill Hospital.
Although known locally as an artist,
Tom also loved poetry and displayed a
great talent for writing. He wrote a
range of poems, Farewell the Old
Dunston B, The Old Swalwellers, The
Vagabond, The Wind at Night, The
Atheist, Powder Puff Sally, The Things
God Gave Us, The Toy Soldier, The
Swallows, The Sweetest Lie One
Christmas, Summer Morning and
Remembering Old Whickham. He became a
V.I.P. member of the International
Poets Society.
The poems were published by Readers
Digest in the United States of America
and by a company named Starladen. They
were so taken with Toms poems that they
sent his son Derrick and daughter in
law Norma a complimentary copy of the
book and two of the poems, The Wind At
Night and The Toy Soldier mounted on
beautiful oak bases.
Incredibly Tom never received a
painting or drawing lesson in his life,
his was a natural God given talent. His
portraits were displayed in several
local exhibitions including the Art
Centre at the D.L.I. Museum in Durham
city. He was also a very talented
musician, he could play any musical
instrument within minutes of picking it
up.
Sadly his wife Florence died in 1982
and Tom spent his final years living
with his son Derrick and his wife
Norma. Thomas reached the age of 82
years, he died in September 1997.
Thomas Bell produced some exceptionally
fine works of art and also displayed a
talent for writing poetry. His work
compared favourably with many other
artists of note yet he never achieved
fame outside of the Northern Region.
Through this website the story of
Thomas Bell and examples of his work
will at last be carried across the
world, bringing albeit belated, a
measure of the fame which he so richly
deserved.
The Wind At Night
By Thomas Bell
As I lie in bed at night under blanket
and sheet,
I listen to the wind as it
sweeps the street.
It brushes my window as it passes by,
leaving behind its weary sigh.
Somewhere a dog barks the night is
late,
because the wind has rattled a
garden gate.
Like the voices of loved ones long
since gone, it whispers there memories
and travels on.
It travels on like a thief in the
night, sweeping waste paper and leaves
in flight.
It sweeps the fields and stirs the
trees, the lonely wind that no one sees.
It sweeps the roof tops, leaves fences
torn and fades away at the break of
dawn.
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