Author: Francis Clifford (aka Arthur Thompson)
First Published: 1966
Pages: 208pp
Publisher: Hodder and Staughton
Francis Clifford has an entry in the appendix of Mike Ripley's excellent study of British thrillers of the fifties, sixties and seventies, Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang (read the review here). In it, he is described as having the "dubious honour of being the most highly regarded, but totally forgotten author from the Golden Age of British thriller writing."
You won't find many Clifford novels in eBook format these days. A couple were published by Top Notch Thrillers in 2011; Time is an Ambush, and The Grosvenor Square Goodbye. The rest of his back catalogue, dating between 1953 and 1979, will need to be purchased from used booksellers.
I consider myself very lucky to have found a copy of the 1966 novel, The Naked Runner from one of my favourite second hand booksellers, Scarthin Books of Cromford, Derbyshire. It wasn't the edition pictured to the left, a movie tie-in to the 1967 film adaptation starring Frank Sinatra and directed by Sidney J. Furie (The Ipcress File).
Francis Clifford was born Arthur Leonard Bell Thompson in 1917 in Bristol, England. Before joining the British Army he worked in the commercial department of a company dealing in the rice trade. This lead him to travel abroad for a number of years ostensibly in Burma between 1938 and 1939. During the war he was recruited into the Special Operations Executive, serving in India and then back in London. After leaving, he was a journalist in the steel industry, and began writing in his spare time. He started writing full-time from 1959 following the success of his first four books, which drew heavily on his wartime experiences. He wrote eighteen novels under the pen-name of Francis Clifford, most of which were very well received by reviewers at the time. Considering this reception, it's surprising that he is so under represented in modern times.
The Naked Runner concerns the tale of Sam Laker, ex-intelligence officer in the Second World War, now living a civilian life as the senior executive of Gale and Watts, an office equipment company based in Weybridge, Surrey. Recently widowed, he now lives alone with his son, Patrick, and their housemaid. One day, he is the inadvertent hero in a near miss involving a wayward truck and a mother and baby. This earns him notice in the London Evening Standard newspaper, where his war record is revealed.
Soon afterwards, Laker is contacted by an old friend from S.O.E, Martin Slattery, who asks him for a favour. Laker is on his way to Leipzig, East Germany for a Trade Fair. He had planned to take Patrick along, and spend a week or so after the Fair on holiday with his 14 year old. Slattery asks him if he will take something to a contact in Rostock. Just a simple message delivery, a few hours out of his itinery, nothing too complicated that will put him or his son in danger. After Laker agrees, Slattery reveals that the contact in Germany is a woman who had accompanied Laker on one of his secret trips into occupied territory during the War, Karen Gisevius. He had thought her dead long ago. Intrigued and a little excited to see her after such a long time, Laker begins to worry about what she will think of him, and what they will talk about.
The message, it turns out, is hidden inside a watch-strap worn by Laker. He is to visit a shop run by Karen, and ask for a replacement. When they arrive in Leipzig, he leaves Patrick to fend for himself, while he catches a taxi to Rostock, eager to get the job done and spend some time catching up with Karen. The drop goes according to plan but Karen is quite upset when she sees Laker. They part company rather quickly and Laker races back to meet up with his son and complete the rest of thier holiday.
But when he gets back to his hotel, he is met by two men informing him there has been an accident involving Patrick. They say they can take Laker to the hospital where his son is recovering, so he jumps in a waiting car and is driven away. Soon, he realises the men are not who they claim to be, and that both his and Patrick's lives are in serious danger with the GDR State Security Service, the S.S.D.
What follows is a taut drama as Laker is compelled to act against his wishes in order to save the life of his innocent son. Clifford extracts a slow, tense atmosphere, that is almost cerebral in its examination of the psyche of his heroes and heroines - desperate people tested to the extremes of their physical and mental state. Laker swings from steadfast resolve to shear terror within the pages of the book. Clifford is a superb writer, his prose is fantastic, mixing locales description, emotional states and plot development with aplomb. You feel for Laker, you experience the conflict and tension he is enduring. The author certainly did deserve those glowing reviews.
All that being said. In the end, the book for me, wasn't entirely satisfying. Despite all of the drama that unfolds, despite all of the angst, The Naked Runner moves relatively slowly. Maybe the reason Clifford is now almost forgotten is that his books have a more sedate pace to that expected of by the modern reader? Perhaps tastes have changed to such an extent that novels that take their time to build are no longer deemed worth investing in with current publishers? This was a (very) good read, but in the end I was left with a feeling of "is that it?"
The book was adapted in to a movie of the same name and released in 1967. Frank Sinatra had asked his team to come up with a vehicle for his next project and they delivered Clifford's story. Apparently the reviews were not kind, slowed paced and plotting being the major criticisms. I can understand those comments, maybe the film stuck too closely to the plot of the book? It did well with Frank's fan though, and was relatively successful in cinemas. Sinatra himself likely contributed to it's failings with the critics though. He decided to bail out of filming whilst on location before the shoot had actually finished, demanding that the rest of the film be finished in studios in Hollywood. The crew refused, and used a stand-in for long-shots as well as extensive use of dubbing to finish it without him.
I'm a bit on the fence about whether or not to recommend The Naked Runner. On the one hand, it is written very well. But the pace is slow, and the final delivery is not quite up to the promise of the lead in. Maybe if you are a fan of his other books, you know what to expect. If not, but you are still interested in trying out a Francis Clifford story, possibly better to start with some of his earlier books?
Publisher: Hodder and Staughton
Francis Clifford has an entry in the appendix of Mike Ripley's excellent study of British thrillers of the fifties, sixties and seventies, Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang (read the review here). In it, he is described as having the "dubious honour of being the most highly regarded, but totally forgotten author from the Golden Age of British thriller writing."
You won't find many Clifford novels in eBook format these days. A couple were published by Top Notch Thrillers in 2011; Time is an Ambush, and The Grosvenor Square Goodbye. The rest of his back catalogue, dating between 1953 and 1979, will need to be purchased from used booksellers.
I consider myself very lucky to have found a copy of the 1966 novel, The Naked Runner from one of my favourite second hand booksellers, Scarthin Books of Cromford, Derbyshire. It wasn't the edition pictured to the left, a movie tie-in to the 1967 film adaptation starring Frank Sinatra and directed by Sidney J. Furie (The Ipcress File).
Francis Clifford was born Arthur Leonard Bell Thompson in 1917 in Bristol, England. Before joining the British Army he worked in the commercial department of a company dealing in the rice trade. This lead him to travel abroad for a number of years ostensibly in Burma between 1938 and 1939. During the war he was recruited into the Special Operations Executive, serving in India and then back in London. After leaving, he was a journalist in the steel industry, and began writing in his spare time. He started writing full-time from 1959 following the success of his first four books, which drew heavily on his wartime experiences. He wrote eighteen novels under the pen-name of Francis Clifford, most of which were very well received by reviewers at the time. Considering this reception, it's surprising that he is so under represented in modern times.
The Naked Runner concerns the tale of Sam Laker, ex-intelligence officer in the Second World War, now living a civilian life as the senior executive of Gale and Watts, an office equipment company based in Weybridge, Surrey. Recently widowed, he now lives alone with his son, Patrick, and their housemaid. One day, he is the inadvertent hero in a near miss involving a wayward truck and a mother and baby. This earns him notice in the London Evening Standard newspaper, where his war record is revealed.
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| Francis Clifford |
The message, it turns out, is hidden inside a watch-strap worn by Laker. He is to visit a shop run by Karen, and ask for a replacement. When they arrive in Leipzig, he leaves Patrick to fend for himself, while he catches a taxi to Rostock, eager to get the job done and spend some time catching up with Karen. The drop goes according to plan but Karen is quite upset when she sees Laker. They part company rather quickly and Laker races back to meet up with his son and complete the rest of thier holiday.
But when he gets back to his hotel, he is met by two men informing him there has been an accident involving Patrick. They say they can take Laker to the hospital where his son is recovering, so he jumps in a waiting car and is driven away. Soon, he realises the men are not who they claim to be, and that both his and Patrick's lives are in serious danger with the GDR State Security Service, the S.S.D.
What follows is a taut drama as Laker is compelled to act against his wishes in order to save the life of his innocent son. Clifford extracts a slow, tense atmosphere, that is almost cerebral in its examination of the psyche of his heroes and heroines - desperate people tested to the extremes of their physical and mental state. Laker swings from steadfast resolve to shear terror within the pages of the book. Clifford is a superb writer, his prose is fantastic, mixing locales description, emotional states and plot development with aplomb. You feel for Laker, you experience the conflict and tension he is enduring. The author certainly did deserve those glowing reviews.
All that being said. In the end, the book for me, wasn't entirely satisfying. Despite all of the drama that unfolds, despite all of the angst, The Naked Runner moves relatively slowly. Maybe the reason Clifford is now almost forgotten is that his books have a more sedate pace to that expected of by the modern reader? Perhaps tastes have changed to such an extent that novels that take their time to build are no longer deemed worth investing in with current publishers? This was a (very) good read, but in the end I was left with a feeling of "is that it?"
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| If I hide here, maybe the film crew won't see me? |
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