The Pitmen Painters is the true story of the Ashington Group, coal miners who in 1934 started art classes organised by the British Workers Educational Association.

It could have been patronising, even insulting: see the sturdy pitmen with their comical Northern accents try to understand Art! That it is not is a triumph not only for the playwright but for director Patrick Davies and his splendid cast, who make real people of the group of miners with artistic aspirations. Yes, it is very funny, but it is also passionate, political and moving. 

It is satisfying to see the Fortune giving its actors the chance to get their teeth into a play of real substance, tackling issues that leave an audience stimulated, with something to ponder. Playwright and working class hero Lee Hall has covered this ground before: Billy Elliot is only the best-known of his many works that explore class, ambition, and the transformational power of art. Many of the words in this script were actually spoken by the originals, and Hall had access to Oliver’s diary. 

Davies meanwhile makes the most of the inherent contradiction between the popular image of coal miners as the epitome of brute male strength, and the equally dubious stereotype of the artist as an effete poseur. 

Robert Lyon, an art teacher from Newcastle-on-Tyne, is initially asked to run the pitmen’s extra-mural class in Art Appreciation, but after a hilarious scene in which he realises the irrelevance of lecturing on the Renaissance, he has the sense to get the men to become practitioners instead. Painting what they know, the gritty reality of mining and the humdrum life of Ashington (16 miles north of Newcastle), they produce work of a quality to earn them a successful exhibition.  

They are taken up by the intelligentsia, and become flavour of the month, the first non-professional artists to be exhibited seriously. A wealthy patroness pays for them to travel to London to see the sights, including the Tate, an opportunity for a great comic scene that is smoothly choreographed and also moving, as they cap each other’s lines in lovely flowing dialogue. “When we saw the Van Goghs we became a group… Art was about how you lived your life… something shared… a spirituality… This was the inspiration!” 

The first half does not yield much dramatic tension, but the issues, earthy humour and engaging characters keep us absorbed. And sexual shenanigans are evidently not a vital component of a successful play, except that it is amusing to witness the men’s consternation when a life model arrives. 

Initially I was disappointed we were not to see anything of underground mining life, but of course that’s revealed in their art work, with three huge screens showing actual paintings from the collection the Ashington Group amassed: their womenfolk and social life as well as the mines. 

The second half follows the personal journey of Oliver Kilbourn, the most talented, who must choose between his own interests and the good of the group. The question is posed: Can you be an artist and working class? The spirited discussions become more political, taking in such issues as the nationalisation of the mines.

And always there is the crippling awareness they are sandwiched between wars: one man ‘never got over the trenches’ while the unemployed boy, known only as Young Lad, leaves to fight in WW2. The group’s response to Picasso’s Guernica has a raw honesty that comes across as sincere and poignant. 

Davies gets the best from a fine cast who work beautifully as an ensemble; vital because the pitmen form such a solid group, with a strong sense of community, mutual understanding and shared humour. As they say, “Hardship brings out the best in people when all are struggling together.” Painting for them is a straightforward activity with the intention of understanding the struggles of ‘real painters’, of the Old Masters – no flummery.

The real group comprised around 20, here they are represented by five, varied and individual enough to seem more. The actors have fleshed out their characters most effectively and show us proud, independent thinkers. All, coached by Hilary Norris, manage the mesmerising Northern accents beautifully and are a pleasure to listen to.

Robert Tripe is splendid as Robert Lyon, with such gorgeous length of limbs and fingers that he seems a deliberately elongated drawing himself. On his first appearance he spins like a distracted praying mantis, but he is the right man for the job and quickly understands the needs of his pupils, telling them, “Don’t confuse technique with expression – anyone can learn draughtsmanship.”

John Glass impresses as Oliver Kilbourn, the miner with true artist’s soul and professional potential, who struggles over whether to accept a stipend; if he does he will no longer be himself: the pitman who paints what he knows. Glass depicts the inner conflict well, and creates a fascinating undercurrent of sexual tension in his scenes with both patron and tutor.

Versatile actor Ross Johnston radiates stubborn energy as the Marxist Harry Wilson, a dental worker (miner of teeth?) who is nevertheless an integral part of the Ashington Group. His tautly controlled yet explosive movement is a joy to watch.

Mark Neilson, who has the ability to make a blank face incredibly expressive, is also perfectly cast as the joker Jimmy Floyd. He is particularly funny when, in an effort to become more avant garde, he defends his ghastly abstract painting entitled ‘Blob’.

The tight group is convincingly rounded out by Craig Geenty as earnest WEA supporter George Brown, and Richard Dey, who plays the doomed Young Lad and also doubles as a somewhat sweetly decadent Ben Nicholson, the modernist artist.

Serena Cotton is assured as patroness Helen Sutherland, sophisticated and particularly interested in modern art. (“Well you’ve come to the right place,” they tell her. “Most of these were painted last week.”) In contrast, Louise Jakeway bounces cheerfully as Susan, the nonchalant life model. 

The spacious set by Peter King is flexible, mostly representing the army hut used for the classes, and well utilised by Davies’ cast, whether their puzzled faces are gleaming in the reflected light from Lyon’s lantern slides, or they are downstage eyeballing us in a ‘celebrity interview’. Costume designer Maryanne Wright-Smyth allows the men occasionally to splash out from their drab ‘best’ grey suits, into vivid knitted argyle vests.

After the first World War, high hopes for a better and more equitable society created many such educational and cultural groups. Throughout the Depression, socialism remained a powerful force, here as in Britain. Sadly, for most, the dream was never to be realised. It is inspirational to share the courage, the growing skill and the sheer joy in creativity, of those for whom it did come true. 

“For a time I have enjoyed a sense of mastery,” wrote Wilson in 1945, “of having made something real.” Davies and his cast are perfectly entitled to feel the same. 
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