‘Dear Miss Littlewood,
Along with this letter comes a play, the first I have written. I wondered if you would read it through and send it back to me because no matter what sort of theatrical atrocity it might be, it isn’t valueless as far as I’m concerned.'

So began a letter sent in April 1958 by 19-year old Shelagh Delaney to radical theatre director Joan Littlewood. Delaney, the daughter of a bus inspector, was living on a Salford council estate. She had left school at 17 and worked in a number of low-paid jobs: a clerk at a milk depot, a shop assistant, an usherette and a photographer's assistant. The play that came with her letter was ‘A Taste of Honey’.

'A fortnight ago I didn’t know the theatre existed, but a young man, anxious to improve my mind, took me along to the Opera House in Manchester and I came away after the performance having suddenly realised that at last, after nineteen years of life, I had discovered something that means more to me than myself.'

Legend has it that Delaney was spurred to write ‘A Taste of Honey’ after seeing a production of Terence Rattigan’s ‘Variation on a Theme.’ This polite middle-class drawing-room drama was typical of British theatre at the time. To Delaney it seemed completely irrelevant and she believed she could do better. In a subsequent interview she observed:

'I had strong ideas about what I wanted to see in the theatre. We used to object to plays where the factory workers came cap in hand and call the boss 'sir'. Usually North Country people are shown as gormless, whereas in actual fact, they are very alive and cynical.’

‘A Taste of Honey’ is set in crumbling, neglected post-war Salford. It’s a world of industrial pollution and grinding poverty; of uninspiring schools and unfulfilling jobs; of a cold shabby flat with a shared bathroom and a gas cooker on the blink; of make do and mend, worrying about the rent, and keeping your cups in the sink. It’s a world of awkward truths and pernicious lies.

‘We’re all at the steering wheel of our own destiny. Careering along like drunken drivers.’

The play relates the story of working-class teenager Jo, who has grown up following her bibulous mother from one tatty bedsit and unreliable boyfriend to the next.

‘When you start earning you can start moaning.’

Jo falls in love with a black sailor, but he returns to sea and leaves her alone and pregnant. She strikes up a friendship with gay art student Geof, who moves into her flat and looks after her.

'You need someone to love you while you are looking for someone to love.’

A mixed race relationship, single motherhood, homosexuality - these were themes that had not hitherto had a place on the British stage. Above all ‘A Taste of Honey’ was ground breaking in its frank and affectionate depiction of working-class Northern life.

‘In this country the more you know the less you earn.’

Despite all the daily injustices and inequities, Delaney’s Lancastrian characters are resilient, cheerful, sarcastic and funny. They move freely from bitter rancour to light-hearted teasing. They take life’s challenges in their stride.

'I’m not afraid of the darkness outside. It’s the darkness inside houses I don’t like.’

At the heart of the play is an extraordinary portrayal of the relationship between a mother and her daughter. We see resentment and affection, rivalry and companionship. And we get a strong sense that they have more in common than they’d like to admit.

‘Why don’t you learn from my mistakes? It takes half your life to learn from your own.’

In May 1958, just a few weeks after Littlewood received the teenager’s letter, ‘A Taste of Honey’ opened at the Theatre Royal Stratford East. It was a runaway success, winning awards and a West End transfer. Delaney worked with film director Tony Richardson to translate it into the splendid 1961 movie of the same name, starring Rita Tushingham, Dora Bryan and Murray Melvin.

'The only consolation I can find in your immediate presence is your ultimate absence.’

I found the story of Shelagh Delaney’s first play both thrilling and troubling. On the one hand, it’s marvellous to encounter such talent in someone so young: so bold and original; so determined and confident.

‘I just applied my imagination to my observation.’

On the other hand, one can’t help wondering: How lucky was Delaney to find the supportive Littlewood? Would similar talent be recognised and rewarded today? How many words go unspoken? How many voices go unheard? How many perspectives go unexpressed? How many ideas go unrealised?

‘My usual self is a very unusual self.’

Nowadays we spend a good deal of time in the world of communications obsessing about transformation and reinvention. We tend to imagine that all the answers are to be found in new models, new platforms and new processes.

But the greatest opportunity facing this, and so many other industries, may reside in untapped talent – in young people from classes, regions and ethnicities that are currently overlooked. You find unusual people in unusual places.

‘People of my age – a bit younger than me – want to go somewhere and they know what they want to do, and they’re all like tethered… jerking about waiting for someone to cut the tether. Let me off. Let me go!’

Delaney’s letter to Littlewood concluded with a simple plea for help:

‘I want to write for the theatre, but I know so very little about it. I know nothing, have nothing – except a willingness to learn – and intelligence.’

Isn’t that all you can ask for?

You can see a fine production of ‘A Taste of Honey’ at the Trafalgar Studios in London until 29 February.

'I dreamt about you last night
And I fell out of bed twice.
You can pin and mount me like a butterfly.
But 'take me to the haven of your bed'
Was something that you never said.’

The Smiths, ‘Reel Around the Fountain’ (S Morrissey / J Marr)

No. 265