Random Jottings

A Glorious Goodbye

My daughter is still with me but will be returning to Australia and I am already dreading the goodbye.  I am grateful however, and so is she, that she was in this country when the day came to say goodbye to Queen Elizabeth and to be part of the nation's sorrow.

On the Saturday before the State funeral we were in London to see the musical Grease. It was my youngest granddaughter's birthday and it was her chosen treat.  A packed matinee performance, noisy and happy who all fell silent when we were asked for a minute of silence before the show. The silence was instant and absolute.

Later on that day, after a meal with the family, Kathryn and I went for a walk along the Embankment.  I love this part of London and seeing the river. The buildings were lit up at night, and all of them were the colour purple in honour of the Queen. The lights along the bridge were also purple and as we looked across the river we could see the queue for the lying in state at Westminster Hall.

We are very good, us Brits, at self deprecation and modesty, brushing off anything good said about us and our country.  It seems that the vast majority of us downplay anything we do, patriotism and pride in the UK is viewed as being jingoistic and out of fashion.  The general media and the BBC seem to look for the negative and delight in doing so. 

So it is with enormous pride that I have witnessed the reaction to Her Majesty's death, the way 'ordinary' people have come out in their hundreds of thousands to express their love and appreciation for this tiny, grandmotherly women who most of us have never met and yet who seems to part of our family.   People of all ages, races, creeds and colour and background formed the queue and showed camaraderie and humour as they waited, some for two days. When asked why they were there the overwhelming majority said they just felt they had to be there, to say goodbye and thank you.  Many expressed the view, as I did in my last post, that the Queen had been a constant in their lives, she had always been there and she made them feel safe and secure. In a changing and sometimes horrible world and time, this is so reassuring.

Having watched royal occasions and weddings, and the Platinum Jubilee just this summer, I knew that the State funeral would be a glorious occasion and it was. I am not sure where to start or how to describe its beauty and grace.  The procession to Westminster Abbey, packed with overseas heads of state and Royalty, the incredible stamina of the bearer party who carried the coffin into the Abbey with such marvellous precision, the music, the glory of it all. Then the procession through London to Wellington Arch with the bands, the pipers and the coffin on a gun carriage drawn by Navy ratings. A drum beat, solemn and majestic, and the sound of the footsteps in perfect unison.

The royal hearse then set off to Windsor and people lined the route all the way with flowers being showered on it from all sides.  Then up the Long Walk to Windsor flanked with  a wonderful carpet of all the flowers left by the public at the gates. The day before they had all been taken inside and laid to form a long line.  A simple but remarkable tribute.

I found myself in tears many times throughout the day at the sheer beauty and solemnity of it all, but in the end, it was the small things that touch the heart.  Half way down the long walk was the Queen's favourite pony standing to say goodbye to her mistress, and two corgis waiting for Her Majesty on the steps.  At that stage the tears really flowed.  And then the moment when it was made clear that she was gone. The Orb and Sceptre and Imperial Crown which had sat on the top of the coffin were removed an placed on the altar of St George's chapel and at that moment they now belonged to our new King. The King, who has along with all his family, had held back grief, now looked as if he was on the verge of tears at this symbolic moment.

And, finally, as the coffin was slowly lowered to be interred below with the Queen's husband, father, mother and sister, the realisation that she was finally gone, really hit home. A lone piper played a lament and walked slowly away with the sound fading into the distance.

It was all over.

It is not very often I say I am proud to be British but on this day, or indeed for the last week, my heart has swelled with pride at the unashamed outpouring of grief and love we have shown and have been proud to show.  The pageantry and beauty of it all was sublime and yet in the midst of all the grandeur there was a feeling that it was deeply personal to each one of us and the hundreds and thousands of people lining the route, who visited in Westminster hall, who left flowers and who expressed their love.

And now today, the quiet of it all, the knowledge that we have been part of a truly historical moment and the realisation of our loss is real and I feel bereft.

Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth - Random thoughts

As my regular readers know I have been absent from Random Jottings for most of the summer as my daughter Kathryn has been here on an extended visit from Australia.  She will be going home in the next few weeks and as it was September, that time of year when autumn sets in and the nights draw in, I felt that I would kick start the 'new term' by posting here.

Of course my intended post has gone out of the window in the light of the death of our beloved Queen this week. The glorious Platinum celebrations earlier this year were joyous and wonderful and I think most of us knew that perhaps this was the last hurrah and that the end was near. However, though we knew in our hearts this was the case, we always hope. We hoped it would go on a little longer.

My mother died twelve years ago at the age of 98. She was sharp and bright and funny right to the end with no lingering illness for which I am eternally grateful.  Whenever she went out, even if it was just to the local shop, or nipping in to see a friend, she was always smartly dressed and turned out.  Once she had to be admitted to hospital and while waiting for the ambulance made me get her best nightie ready and give her a lipstick so she could look good. There have been many times when friends have said to me 'your mum reminds me of the Queen'.

I miss my mum and always will.  When I heard that the Queen had died I cried and the first person I thought of was my mother. I felt as if I had lost her all over again and, from reading various articles in the press today, many others have had such a triggered response recallling the death of a loved one.

The Queen was always there. She has been there all my life. As has my mother. We were an army family and I remember we were stationed abroad at the time of the Coronation and I can recall being dressed in a gingham dress and my plaits being finished off with red, white and blue striped ribbons.  I can't say I was totally sure what was going on, I was just five years old, but I do remember those ribbons to this day.

It is difficult for the younger generation to view the Queen as anything but middle aged or old, but when she was young she was simply beautiful and she and Philip made the most incredibly glamorous couple.  They were idolised. The Duke of Edinburgh very wisely said, later in life, that 'the adulation was incredible"  but you had to not let it overwhelm you and take it personally or else you would be in trouble. Neither of them did.

People, young and old, have said they are bewildered by the grief they feel for someone we did not know. But we DID know her felt that she would always be there to support and comfort us.  I feel an enormous sense of loss and sadness and I have found myself on the verge of tears for most of the last two days.

I watched King Charles (how odd that sounds after all these years) address the nation this evening in a deeply moving and thoughtful speech paying tribute to his mother. He pledged, as his mother had done all those years ago, to serve us and work for us as long as God allowed.  He paid tribute to his family and announced that William and Kate are now the Prince an Princess of Wales.   He also expressed his love for Harry and Meghan in one simple sentence which will surely now go round the world and must bring to an end all the rancour and bitterness. If they ignore it, I fear their lives will be bleak.

I know he will be a good King.   After all, he has had the greatest example in front of him all his life.

The funeral next week will, I know, be a superbly organised and moving occasion and will give us all a chance for a final goodbye.

I shall miss her.

Still on hols - lake trip to Annecy

Random on Hols

I am currently with my lovely family in Taloires on the shores of Lake Annecy in France. The sun is shining, a lovely comfortable hotel, superb food and stunning scenery.  This summer is turning out to be a wonderful one for me.

some pics for you so you can understand my joy in being here.

Susan Scarlett aka Noel Streatfield

I am very busy the next couple of weeks and will also be in France but I have loved these books so much I am posting this so I can urge you to get your mitts on them ASAP.

Ballet Shoes by Noel Streatfield was published in 1936 and over fifty years later is still in print.  I doubt there were many children in the forties and fifties who did not read this book. I did and I loved it.   The three Fossil children Pauline, Petrova and Posy – who did not want to be one of them? I always viewed them as three of the Alcott Little Women. Pauline was Meg, not madly exciting but sensible and loving and nurturing, Petrova who loved mucking about with cars and engines and disliked the usual feminine hobbies was obviously Jo and the obnoxious Posy who I loathed and thought selfish and precocious, was Amy.

I read all of Streatfield’s output for children and it was not until Persephone books published Saplings that I realised she had written adult novels. It came as quite a shock to read about the possessive wife in this title who adored her husband and did not want her children getting in the way of their obviously passionate relationship.

Tracking down more of Noel’s adult titles proved somewhat tricky as second-hand copies were hard to come by and expensive. So for some years I rather put her to one side.

And now along comes Dean Street Press to whom I am devoted. I avoid looking at their website because every time I do I find that I wish to own every single title bar none and I have to keep reminding myself that life is expensive enough as it is and that I should not be spending money on books.

However, I soon forget…

By the time Susan Scarlett arrived Noel Streatfield has already published six novels for adults and three for children.  Under her own name she continued publishing for another forty years and she discarded the titles she wrote under this nom de plume.  She probably thought they were too slight and facile.  In the introduction to these books it seems they were regarded as ‘definitely unreal, delightful impossible’ and were rather snobbily categorised as perfect reading for ‘the lady of the house’. 

Well this lady of the house, or rather flat, has just read two of the twelve titles and my thanks to Dean Street Press for the review copies. These are Sally-Ann and Clothes Pegs.   I simply Loved Them. There are characters that are recognisably Streatfield, the thrifty and sensible mother, the ‘good’ daughter, the frivolous envious daughter and the cheeky younger brother.   The father in both is wary of anything that would take his girl away from them and is extremely irritating. My feeling is that these portraits are based on her own father who, as a vicar, made her life rather restrictive.

Ann Lake is an assistant cosmetician at an elegant upmarket establishment. She has to fill in for an ill colleague and asked to go to Sussex Castle to do the make up of a bride, Lady Mona. A bridesmaid falls ill and Ann is asked to impersonate Sally who is over on a visit from South Africa and who nobody knows.  It goes without saying that Ann just happens to be the right size…

Sally-Ann makes a considerable impression on the best man, Sir Timothy Munster, but as with Cinderella on the stroke of midnight, she disappears leaving him desperate to find her. Up pops the society beauty Cora Bolt, a scheming equivalent of an Ugly Sister, who wants Timothy for herself and she determines to find out just who Sally-Ann is.

Well you do not need me to tell you the outcome as I am sure you can guess the happy ending.

A similar case arises in Clothes Pegs. Annabel Brown works in the sewing room of a high end dressmaker and, when one of the mannequins quits, she is called in to take her place much to the chagrin of Freda and Elizabeth who are jealous and vindictive. She is, however, befriended by the third mannequin, Bernadette who, it transpires, is leading a mystery life and keeping a secret.

There is, of course, a charming upper class young man, Lord David de Brett and another scheming vamp, this time Octavia Glaye who is determined to marry him as she needs a wealthy husband.

And, once again, you can guess the ending.

I am a great lover of romantic novels and have read them all my life. Most of the time I kept this quiet as I used to receive sarky comments about my love of this genre. An ex one said to me he could not understand how I could read the Brontes or Jane Austen and then read tripe.  He became an ex very quickly.  I dislike snobbery in reading immensely and when I sit on a beach or a terrace on holiday and see what people are reading which they ostentatiously display, I always have a quiet smirk as I know full well that the Tolstoy or the Proust they are waving about is purely for show and they have a Dan Brown lurking.

It is clear from these books that Noel Streatfield had a great sense of style and loved clothes. She was an actress for some ten years and filled in time by being a mannequin herself. As she pointed out tall, thin actresses were much in demand in the 1920s.   The clothes sound wonderful

“there was a navy blue frock, coat and hat, the frock trimmed with buttons make like ladybirds. There was a leaf green evening dress. It had a little tight bodice held in with a great flaring bow. There was a tomato read wool frock which would go with the coat and hat of the navy outfit. There was a brocaded evening coat; almost military in cut with squared shoulders and a little tailored collar, very tailored at the waist where it went to flare out to the floor”

Susan Scarlett’s books were advertised by her publisher as ‘light, bright, brilliant present-day romances’

And they are.  I have the rest on order and urge you to read as many of these as you can get your hands on.  I loved them.

Dropping by

Just dropping in to say hello and thanks for all the kind messages. Kathryn arrived safely and we are having a lovely time with parties banquets and balls.  I am on my Freeman Wills Croft binge in between all the outings etc but the best thing is just to sit with my daughter and drink coffee and gossip and chat.  We went to the beach last week and here we are enjoying ourselves

I hope you are all having a wonderful summer too!

Summer Visit

Hello everyone

I just thought I would let you know that Random Jottings might be a bit spasmodic this summer. I try to write regularly but sometimes life gets in the way and I do feel guilty when I let it slide a bit.

However, this summer  Random might be neglected somewhat as my daughter, Kathryn, is arriving this weekfrom Australia for three months. She has long service leave which means we all have a chance to have the family together without having to pack visits in.

I have not seen her for three years so you can imagine how I feel at the moment and am so looking forward to greeting her at the airport this week. There will be shriekds. There will be tears. There will be joy.

And I will try and drop in as often as I can as I certainly do not intend to stop reading.

Elaine

 

Golden age of Crime - Freeman Wills Croft

A few years ago I discovered Freeman Wills Croft mainly through the auspices of the Classic Crime series published by the British LIbrary.  I read a huge amount of them and found them totally engrossing. One of the first titles I read was Mystery in the Channel.  The Chichester is making a routine journey across the English channel when the crew notice something amiss. A yacht, bobbing about in the water ahead of them, appears to have been abandoned and, on closer inspection, a dark red stain is spotted on the deck.......

Inspector French is called in to deal with the case and the two bodies discovered on board are soon identified as the Chairman and Vice Chairman of the firm of Moxon Securities, one of the largest financial houses in the country. It is suspected that the two men may be heading for France knowing full well that the firm is on the verge of collapse and they are trying to get away with as much money as possible before the final crash.

The part of the book that I enjoyed the most was the chapter in which French, in consultation with an Ancient Mariner, discusses the tides, the ebbs, the flows and the fact that another yacht was to rendezvous with the fatal vessel (the person on board claiming innocence of the whole affair) and testing his alibi by working out the timeline to test his story.  I do like this kind of detection, it is neat, it is tidy and it is fascinating to see how the author's mind works and I am always lost in admiration at the care taken in getting these details just right.

The same attention to detail is apparent in The 12.30 from Croydon.   Andrew Crowther, a wealthy retired manufacturer, is found dead in his seat on this plane when it arrives in Paris. He was old and in ill health and his death perhaps not unexpected, but it is soon discovered that foul play has taken place. He has been poisoned. But how? He had the same food as everyone else on the flight. Perhaps it is a poison which can be administered some time before it is effective, again how was it given to the victim?

Inspector French, of whom I am rather fond, is once more on the case. But in this book, instead of following his though processes we follow those of the murderer whose identity we know right from the start.  In a position when he, yes it is a he, needs money to save his firm and having applied to his uncle unsuccessfully, he begins to think how wonderful it would be if his uncle died as he knows he is a beneficiary of the Will.

At first dismissing the idea, it gradually gets hold of him and he starts to plan how to do it. And the reader follows him through his plans, how he carries them out and, though I should not say this, by the end I was almost hoping he would get away with it. Well he doesn't.

'One glance at the jury's faces told Charles the truth. He was lost.....they were going to hang him. Nothing he could say could matter...he heard the sentence. It was over. the warders were pointing to the staircase. they were supporting him. Half unconscious he was helped down'

I must admit I felt a chill run up my spine at this final paragraph.

The Hog's Back Mystery.  Dr James Earle and his wife live in comfortable seclusion near the Hog's Back, a ridge in the North Downs in the beautiful Surrey countryside.  Friends of Mrs Earle come to stay and it pretty clear to one of them that the marriage is not a happy one and that she is involved with another man.  A chance encounter espied by the same friend seems to point to the doctor also being involved with someone. Then the doctor, and his friend, who is a nurse, both vanish. The doctor went to sit in his library after dinner one night and is never seen again. He was only wearing his slippers, he has no money, his keys and wallet are not taken, so where has he gone?   Later on one of the house guests also disappears and it all begins to get rather tortuous.

Once again by Inspector French's meticulous approach to the mystery he gradually unravels the solution to the disappearance of these three victims and deduces where their bodies are to be found.  Half way through the story I guessed what was going on, why the doctor had gone to town to meet the nurse, and from then on did manage to work out who the likely murderer was. I felt very pleased with myself as it is seldom I do this.

Freeman Wills Croft wrote an essay on the Writing of a Detective Novel. His method was first to prepare a synopsis 'of the actual facts that are supposed to have happened' including a chronology, character biographies and sketch maps of the important localities, and then a summary of how these facts became revealed to the detective' He also provides maps of the area.

Now I love maps or illustrations in a detective story. Dame Agatha did it, Ngaio Marsh did it and I love looking at them and murmuring to myself Now the Library is there, the kitchen there, so just how did the murderer get hold of the carving knife and get upstairs without being spotted.....ditto maps. Gosh the murderer must have come round the back of the house by the lane, then cut through the wood and ....well you get my drift. Wonderful.

In the last week or so I have had a lot on my mind and feeling rather anxious so I have returned to this author and re-read some other titles that I have not looked at for a few years.  Though many of his books are available now there are still a few that need tracking down and I have been on second hand book sites to find the ones I am missing. Among these was Crime at Guildford, Inspector French's Greatest Case and the Book Office Murders. Others are on the way.

I have heard from other crime lovers that they find Freeman Wills Croft boring with his stressing of minutiae and intricate details and I can understand that, but I beg to difer. There is one title Death of a Train in which details of flanges, stops, gages, etc etc are vital to the solving of the crime and though I did not understand a word of it, I just found it all fascinating. 

I find them rather soothing to the mind as we know the mystery will be solved and Inspector French will save the day. He always does. 

Lorac, Castillo and Gerritsen - three goodies this week

A good week with three books published by three favourite authors.

The first was Crook O'Lune by E C R Lorac, one of the writers rediscovered and republished by the British Library Crime Classics. Not all of them, interesting thought they are, have been to my liking but this author I do like.  I read one recently These Names have Clues which I found rather tedious so approached this with a little trepidation.  It is set in Lancashire and Inspector MacDonald who has appeared in many previous titles is contemplating retirement and rather fancies buying some farmland. He is visiting his friends, the Hoggetts, who have featured in an earlier book and, needless to say, while he is there is drawn into investigate a case of sheep stealing.   An empty house is set on fire as a distraction while the sheep are stolen, but turns into a case of murder when it turns out the house was not empty after all.

I found this book slow moving, but in the right way. Lorac has obviously visited Lancashire and has a deep love of this country side and it is beautifully written with quite lyrical descriptions of the fields, trees, sky and sunshine.   I really enjoyed it.   Not a riveting smack you in the face kind of mystery, but very satisfying.

Next up Linda Castillo The Hidden One. All her books are set in Amish country and, as with Midsomer Murders in the UK, they seem a murderous lot and this amount of death and destruction might give one pause, but suspension of disbelief is all and I love these books.

It starts with an Amish bishop keeping a rendezvous which he is dreading after he received a letter "I know who you are. I know what you did. I know your secrets. All of them". He knows he is probably going to his death and indeed he is. Eighteen years later a field is being ploughed and his skeleton discovered and suspicion points towards Jonas Bowman who had threatened him when he was younger.   He is arrested and kate Burkholder is asked by elders of the church to come and help him as she knew him when she was a young Amish teenager.

He was her first love and so she returns aware that she might be risking her relationship with her lover Tomasetti.

As always, well written and compulsive reading. I have read all of these books by Castillo and though there is a certain formula to them now, I love them. Long may they continue.

And, finally, Listen to Me by Tess Gerritsen. It has been a couple of years since the last Rizzoli and Isles book, a series to which I am addicted and after I had spent a morning reading Castillo I then spent an afternoon reading this one.

The story is told from the viewpoint of several characters and you have to be patient as each strand will come together. Having read Gerritsen and know the way she leads you up the garden path I was happy to go along for the ride. The main strand that I really found interesting and amusing is the section from the eyes of Angela, Rizzoli's mother who is rather puzzled by the neighbours who have moved in across the street.   The curtains are drawn, the husband and wife stay inside all the time and the woman seems frightened and nervous and never goes out.  Angela gets a little too nosy and puts herself in danger and though I guessed who the neighbours were it did not spoil the story which bowls along beautifully. I could not put it down until I had finished it.

So a good week and up comes a reminder on my Amazon page that there is a new Michael Connelly coming out later this year so that is flagged up straight away,

I am still going through the Miss Silver books but coming to an end though she has written other non Silver books which will keep me going for months, but I may take a break. I have decided to re-read some Freeman Wills Croft and have just started on Fear Comes to Chalfont and am already hooked again.

Miss Silver - Patricia Wentworth

A quick glance down the left hand column of Random will illustrate most clearly that I have been reading the Miss Silver books of Patricia Wentworth.  I discovered these several years ago at a book sale when I found a couple of the new editions lurking in a corner and thought I would give them a go as I love detective novels, particularly those set in the 1930s and 1940s.  I also noted that there were 34 books featuring this character so that if I liked them I would be ok for a while.

I binged on them but then I took a break from reading all the Miss Silver books but I have now returned as I still have about 20 to go. She has also written some 34 other books so these will be logged for future reading.

The first book featuring this ex-governess turned private detective was published in 1928, The Grey Mask and the final story, The Girl in the Cellar in 1961, the year of Patricia Wentworth's death.  It is a shame that the last in the series was so poor and very loosely plotted and even when I read the last page I had no idea of what or why or how.   However, the author was 83 when she died and this should be borne in mind by me when judging and I well remember Agatha Christie's later books being incredibly rambling and disjointed.

Anyway, back to Miss Silver who really is a simply delightful character.  She is timeless and changeless. She has to be as the books are written over a 33 year period and as she is obviously in her 60s when the books start she must be close to 90 near the end.  I remember Agatha Christie and Ngaio Marsh being interviewed about their two detectives, Poirot and Alleyn and Dame A working out that Hercule P with his little grey cells must have been over 100 by the time she finished with him with Alleyn not far behind. Still suspension of disbelief is all.

There is always a description of Miss Silver in each book and it is always the same which is most reassuring to us, the reader, and to whomever consults her:

"With her neat curled fringe, her dated dress - olive green cashmere - the bog oak brooch in the shape of a rose with a pearl at its heart, the black thread stockings and the glace shoes, too small for the modern foot, she might have stepped out of any old fashioned photograph album"

She also manages to express displeasure or disapproval in the most subtle way:

"Mrs Smith said with energy 'I wouldn't want it to go about that I'd been seeing a detective'.  There seemed suddenly to be a considerable distance between herself and Miss Silver.  Without word or movement, this small governessy looking person seemed to have receded.....the astonishing thing is that Mrs Smith discovered that she didn't want her to go. Before she knew what she was going to do she found that she way saying 'Oh well of course, I know that anything I tell you would be in confidence and perfectly safe"

Miss Silver is hugely admired by Detective Inspector Frank Abbot who calls her his revered preceptress, also by Randall March, the Chief Constable of Ledbury, who she taught as a young boy and while Chief Inspector Lamb is not so keen, even he admits:

"The fact is people don't like talking to the police.  This is where Miss Silver comes in. The only thing that stops people talking is being afraid.  Well, no one's afraid of Miss Silver....sits there with her knitting and makes herself pleasant and mind you it isn't put on either... she likes people and takes an interest in them and they fairly tumble over themselves to tell her things"

These are hugely enjoyable detective stories.  They do fall into a pattern and the drawback of reading them all one after the other is that this is noticeable.  The young lovers are always totally innocent. If a couple fall in love you can knock them off the list of suspects straight away (mark you the same can be said of Ngaio Marsh - a handsome young man and a pretty young woman attracted to each other are incapable of murder it seems; Agatha Christie is much more hard hearted, I can think of a couple of books where the young lovers are nor exempt.

I have found in detective novels of this period that there is always a second murder and, again, it is usually the death of somebody who has witnessed the ghastly deed or who knows something about the first killing and tries a spot of blackmail instead of telling the police.  Inevitably, they end up as a corpse.  This ploy is used in nearly every single one of Patricia Wentworth's books and is the one aspect of them that I can criticise as it became pretty predictable after a while.  But, as I said this is probably because I did my usual binge read, if I had spaced them out a bit I would not have noticed it so much.

You cannot read these books without thinking of Miss Marple with whom of course Miss Silver has great similarity.  Both unmarried, elderly ladies, both very sharp and wise, both have a way with maids and what is designated as 'the lower classes' in the books featuring these two Misses, both with nieces and nephews and both happy to sit in a corner and knit, but between each plain and purl stitch they are watching and weighing evidence.  It is a pity that Miss Marple has rather cornered the market in the TV and film stakes; Miss Silver seems to be largely unheard of nowadays, I certainly knew nothing of her until my discovery at a book sale last year, and it is highly unlikely that any TV studio would make a series as the similarity to Miss Marple is too marked.

A shame as Miss Silver got there first.  The Grey Mask was published in 1928 and Miss Marple made her first appearance in The Murder at the Vicarage in 1930.  I wonder if Dame Agatha was influenced by a reading of a Patricia Wentworth story?  Makes you wonder.

A quick glance down the left hand column of Random will illustrate most clearly that I have been reading the Miss Silver books of Patricia Wentworth.  I discovered these several years ago at a book sale when I found a couple of the new editions lurking in a corner and thought I would give them a go as I love detective novels, particularly those set in the 1930s and 1940s.  I also noted that there were 34 books featuring this character so that if I liked them I would be ok for a while.

I binged on them but then I took a break from reading all the Miss Silver books but I have now returned as I still have about 20 to go. She has also written some 34 other books so these will be logged for future reading.

The first book featuring this ex-governess turned private detective was published in 1928, The Grey Mask and the final story, The Girl in the Cellar in 1961, the year of Patricia Wentworth's death.  It is a shame that the last in the series was so poor and very loosely plotted and even when I read the last page I had no idea of what or why or how.   However, the author was 83 when she died and this should be borne in mind by me when judging and I well remember Agatha Christie's later books being incredibly rambling and disjointed.

Anyway, back to Miss Silver who really is a simply delightful character.  She is timeless and changeless. She has to be as the books are written over a 33 year period and as she is obviously in her 60s when the books start she must be close to 90 near the end.  I remember Agatha Christie and Ngaio Marsh being interviewed about their two detectives, Poirot and Alleyn and Dame A working out that Hercule P with his little grey cells must have been over 100 by the time she finished with him with Alleyn not far behind. Still suspension of disbelief is all.

There is always a description of Miss Silver in each book and it is always the same which is most reassuring to us, the reader, and to whomever consults her:

"With her neat curled fringe, her dated dress - olive green cashmere - the bog oak brooch in the shape of a rose with a pearl at its heart, the black thread stockings and the glace shoes, too small for the modern foot, she might have stepped out of any old fashioned photograph album"

She also manages to express displeasure or disapproval in the most subtle way:

"Mrs Smith said with energy 'I wouldn't want it to go about that I'd been seeing a detective'.  There seemed suddenly to be a considerable distance between herself and Miss Silver.  Without word or movement, this small governessy looking person seemed to have receded.....the astonishing thing is that Mrs Smith discovered that she didn't want her to go. Before she knew what she was going to do she found that she way saying 'Oh well of course, I know that anything I tell you would be in confidence and perfectly safe"

Miss Silver is hugely admired by Detective Inspector Frank Abbot who calls her his revered preceptress, also by Randall March, the Chief Constable of Ledbury, who she taught as a young boy and while Chief Inspector Lamb is not so keen, even he admits:

"The fact is people don't like talking to the police.  This is where Miss Silver comes in. The only thing that stops people talking is being afraid.  Well, no one's afraid of Miss Silver....sits there with her knitting and makes herself pleasant and mind you it isn't put on either... she likes people and takes an interest in them and they fairly tumble over themselves to tell her things"

These are hugely enjoyable detective stories.  They do fall into a pattern and the drawback of reading them all one after the other is that this is noticeable.  The young lovers are always totally innocent. If a couple fall in love you can knock them off the list of suspects straight away (mark you the same can be said of Ngaio Marsh - a handsome young man and a pretty young woman attracted to each other are incapable of murder it seems; Agatha Christie is much more hard hearted, I can think of a couple of books where the young lovers are nor exempt.

I have found in detective novels of this period that there is always a second murder and, again, it is usually the death of somebody who has witnessed the ghastly deed or who knows something about the first killing and tries a spot of blackmail instead of telling the police.  Inevitably, they end up as a corpse.  This ploy is used in nearly every single one of Patricia Wentworth's books and is the one aspect of them that I can criticise as it became pretty predictable after a while.  But, as I said this is probably because I did my usual binge read, if I had spaced them out a bit I would not have noticed it so much.

You cannot read these books without thinking of Miss Marple with whom of course Miss Silver has great similarity.  Both unmarried, elderly ladies, both very sharp and wise, both have a way with maids and what is designated as 'the lower classes' in the books featuring these two Misses, both with nieces and nephews and both happy to sit in a corner and knit, but between each plain and purl stitch they are watching and weighing evidence.  It is a pity that Miss Marple has rather cornered the market in the TV and film stakes; Miss Silver seems to be largely unheard of nowadays, I certainly knew nothing of her until my discovery at a book sale last year, and it is highly unlikely that any TV studio would make a series as the similarity to Miss Marple is too marked.

A shame as Miss Silver got there first.  The Grey Mask was published in 1928 and Miss Marple made her first appearance in The Murder at the Vicarage in 1930.  I wonder if Dame Agatha was influenced by a reading of a Patricia Wentworth story?  Makes you wonder.

A quick glance down the left hand column of Random will illustrate most clearly that I have been reading the Miss Silver books of Patricia Wentworth.  I discovered these several years ago at a book sale when I found a couple of the new editions lurking in a corner and thought I would give them a go as I love detective novels, particularly those set in the 1930s and 1940s.  I also noted that there were 34 books featuring this character so that if I liked them I would be ok for a while.

I binged on them but then I took a break from reading all the Miss Silver books but I have now returned as I still have about 20 to go. She has also written some 34 other books so these will be logged for future reading.

The first book featuring this ex-governess turned private detective was published in 1928, The Grey Mask and the final story, The Girl in the Cellar in 1961, the year of Patricia Wentworth's death.  It is a shame that the last in the series was so poor and very loosely plotted and even when I read the last page I had no idea of what or why or how.   However, the author was 83 when she died and this should be borne in mind by me when judging and I well remember Agatha Christie's later books being incredibly rambling and disjointed.

Anyway, back to Miss Silver who really is a simply delightful character.  She is timeless and changeless. She has to be as the books are written over a 33 year period and as she is obviously in her 60s when the books start she must be close to 90 near the end.  I remember Agatha Christie and Ngaio Marsh being interviewed about their two detectives, Poirot and Alleyn and Dame A working out that Hercule P with his little grey cells must have been over 100 by the time she finished with him with Alleyn not far behind. Still suspension of disbelief is all.

There is always a description of Miss Silver in each book and it is always the same which is most reassuring to us, the reader, and to whomever consults her:

"With her neat curled fringe, her dated dress - olive green cashmere - the bog oak brooch in the shape of a rose with a pearl at its heart, the black thread stockings and the glace shoes, too small for the modern foot, she might have stepped out of any old fashioned photograph album"

She also manages to express displeasure or disapproval in the most subtle way:

"Mrs Smith said with energy 'I wouldn't want it to go about that I'd been seeing a detective'.  There seemed suddenly to be a considerable distance between herself and Miss Silver.  Without word or movement, this small governessy looking person seemed to have receded.....the astonishing thing is that Mrs Smith discovered that she didn't want her to go. Before she knew what she was going to do she found that she way saying 'Oh well of course, I know that anything I tell you would be in confidence and perfectly safe"

Miss Silver is hugely admired by Detective Inspector Frank Abbot who calls her his revered preceptress, also by Randall March, the Chief Constable of Ledbury, who she taught as a young boy and while Chief Inspector Lamb is not so keen, even he admits:

"The fact is people don't like talking to the police.  This is where Miss Silver comes in. The only thing that stops people talking is being afraid.  Well, no one's afraid of Miss Silver....sits there with her knitting and makes herself pleasant and mind you it isn't put on either... she likes people and takes an interest in them and they fairly tumble over themselves to tell her things"

These are hugely enjoyable detective stories.  They do fall into a pattern and the drawback of reading them all one after the other is that this is noticeable.  The young lovers are always totally innocent. If a couple fall in love you can knock them off the list of suspects straight away (mark you the same can be said of Ngaio Marsh - a handsome young man and a pretty young woman attracted to each other are incapable of murder it seems; Agatha Christie is much more hard hearted, I can think of a couple of books where the young lovers are nor exempt.

I have found in detective novels of this period that there is always a second murder and, again, it is usually the death of somebody who has witnessed the ghastly deed or who knows something about the first killing and tries a spot of blackmail instead of telling the police.  Inevitably, they end up as a corpse.  This ploy is used in nearly every single one of Patricia Wentworth's books and is the one aspect of them that I can criticise as it became pretty predictable after a while.  But, as I said this is probably because I did my usual binge read, if I had spaced them out a bit I would not have noticed it so much.

You cannot read these books without thinking of Miss Marple with whom of course Miss Silver has great similarity.  Both unmarried, elderly ladies, both very sharp and wise, both have a way with maids and what is designated as 'the lower classes' in the books featuring these two Misses, both with nieces and nephews and both happy to sit in a corner and knit, but between each plain and purl stitch they are watching and weighing evidence.  It is a pity that Miss Marple has rather cornered the market in the TV and film stakes; Miss Silver seems to be largely unheard of nowadays, I certainly knew nothing of her until my discovery at a book sale last year, and it is highly unlikely that any TV studio would make a series as the similarity to Miss Marple is too marked.

A shame as Miss Silver got there first.  The Grey Mask was published in 1928 and Miss Marple made her first appearance in The Murder at the Vicarage in 1930.  I wonder if Dame Agatha was influenced by a reading of a Patricia Wentworth story?  Makes you wonder.