Random Jottings

A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens

It is that time of year again. The time when I trot over to my bookshelves, check the letter D and take down a copy of A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens.  Please note I say A Copy not My copy. This is because I have multiple copies of this book and today have just added to them with yet another edition.

I love Dickens. Always have but I do know those who cannot get on with him at all - I freely admit I find this difficult to understand but hey ho.  Over the years I have read an awful lot about the man himself and, quite frankly, he sounds a tortured individual and not very nice, in particular in his treatment of his wife which I thought was appalling.  I really should not like him at all but somehow I find it hard to dislike someone who has created Mr Pickwick, the Fezziwigs, David Copperfield, Uriah Heep et al.  I feel that underneath all that non stop frenetic genius, there was a troubled individual. 

And this afternoon when reading A Christmas Carol for the umpteenth time I discovered passages that struck me anew as being simply wondrous, conjuring up wonderful pictures:

"The poulterers shops were still half open and the fruiterers were radiant in their glory; there were great round pot bellied baskets of chestnuts, shaped like the waistcoats of jolly old gentlemen, lolling at the doors and tumbling out into the street in their apoplectic opulence. There were ruddy brown faced, broad girthed Spanish Onions, shining in the greatness of their growth like Spanish Friars, and winking from their shelves in wanton slyness at the girls as they went by and glanced demurely at the hung up mistletoe. There were pears and apples clustered high in blooming pyramids; there were bunches of grapes made in the shopkeepers benevolence to dangle from conspicuous hooks, that people's mouths might water gratis as they passed; there were piles of filberts, mossy and brown, recalling in their fragrance, ancient walks among the woods and pleasant shufflings ankle deep through withered leaves..."

Glorious.

Which edition to read today?

There is the one illustrated by Quentin Blake which I could not resist.

A superb edition of A Christmas Carol and other Stories by OUP, a wonderful hardback with the original illustrations.

A Christmas Carol, the Graphic Novel which reminds me of when, as a child, I had this kind of illustrated version of Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights and other classics.

Then an edition I came across at a jumble sale and which I paid about 50p.  Inside it is inscribed, written in ink "for our dear Gloria with loving Christmas wishes from the Aunties at Ealing Village" It does not have the date of the particular Christmas which is a shame but this particular copy, which has no ISBN number or publication date to give me a clue, is published by Raphael Tuck & Sons "publishers to their Majesties the King and Queen & to her Majesty Queen Alexandra" which means it is Edwardian. This link https://tuckdbpostcards.org/history makes fascinating reading.  There is also a Wikipedia page about this company which was founded in 1866 and was granted the Royal Warrant by Queen Victoria. This copy has lovely illustrations and the title page is protected by a sheet of tissue paper, intact which is a miracle after all this time. I would love to know who once owned this and to reassure them that I am looking after it very carefully.

And finally, another edition which arrived just an hour ago from the Folio Society. I could not resist. I simply could not.  A glorious edition with illustrations by Michael Foreman which fit beautifully.  It was a pleasure to hold and read. They also sent me a free Folio diary which I thought was rather kind.....

Well you know how I am going to close this post don't you? Of course you do....

"...he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us and all of us. And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless Us, Every One!

Current Books - Part two

OK here is a round up of my current reading having got through a shedload of slightly disappointing reads.

After the Romanovs - Helen Rappaport. I am a great fan of Helen's books, I have most of them on my shelves and as well as being impeccably researched, they are also immensely readable and she has the knack of making you want to keep turning the pages. Not all historians manage this. I can think of a few whose books have been a chore but never here.

This is the story of Russian Exiles in Paris between the Wars. I have just started it so cannot give a full review yet, but my goodness it is interesting.  As the blurb says "former princes could be found driving taxi cabs................talented intellectuals, artists, poets ....eked out a living at menial jobs while others found success"

A simply gorgeous cover as well which I always find adds to the pleasure of owning and reading and this book is top of my pile at the moment.

I have long been a fan of Jane Casey the creator of the Maeve Kerrigan series of crime novels and she has a new one out next year, The Close. I was lucky enough to be able to read it ahead of publication and thoroughly enjoyed it.   It is available for pre-order.

The first in this series, The Burning, was written in 2016 and so if you decide to try them you will have a lot to look forward to.   They can be read on their own but the relationship between Maeve and Josh Derwent, her colleague and boss, is fascinating and it is interesting to watch it grow.   I have now decided to re-read them all from the beginning as I freely admit that I have forgotten details so this week I read The Burning and was hooked in once more.   I know what I will be doing over the next few weeks.

As it is near Christmas time I have hauled out my copy of A Christmas Carol by Dickens and have it waiting as I always re-read it at this time of year. I never tire of it. I have about six editions and each year I read a different one. I have yet to choose for for 2022.    Also to hand is the Pickwick Papers. For years I put off reading this, I am not quite sure why, but it did not appeal. And then one day I decided to try it when a lovely new paperback edition was sent to me by Oxford University Press, and I simply loved it. There are the odd passages that I do find not as amusing as I would wish, but there are also moments of sheer laugh out loud fun and I did laugh.   We always think of Dickens at Christmas (well at least I do) and the chapter of Christmas at Dingley Dell is simply wonderful.

I am finding these days that I am reading less and less of what is called 'literary fiction' in some quarters, ie modern novels. This is not something that has crept up on me over the advancing years. I have always found current writing of little interest to me. Why I know not and yes, I will agree with any argument you may put forward that I am missing out, but I am really not bothered now.  I tried so many times to read the Booker list and other lauded books and, while I admired Attwood hugely, and some of A S Byatt and other luminaries, I found their oeuvre challenging and admirable, but I cannot say I have ever felt any desire to re-read any of them. So I have now come to terms with my lack of intellect and happily read books from Dean Street Press, Persephone, and similar publishing houses, and also gobble up as much crime as I can. The British Library Crime Classics series is wonderful as I have mentioned so many times and keep me going.

I have been having a sort out of books recently and have got rid of a shedload. Before you throw up your hands in horror I was very strict and asked myself honestly was I going to read this again and if the answer was no, then out it went. I have sold a lot and the local hospice shop which has a wonderful book section has benefited from several bags full. I still have several shelves to do and the interesting thing is finding stuff I had forgotten I owned and duplicates too and realise that I have plenty to keep me going.

In 2023 I have decided to take a book off my shelves, whether it be in print or not, and write about it. I shall make a resolution, early I know but never mind, to do this each month and I ask you all to keep me up to the mark.

So that is something planned for next year but I must not get ahead of myself....

Current books - Part One

I have had a few disappointing reads recently so am pleased that I seem to have struck lucky now and have been enjoying catching up.  Nothing too eclectic or academic, just good enjoyable books.

No Plan B - Lee Child with Andrew Child. I gather Lee is retiring from the fray but his brother is taking over the Reacher books. I always find this rather odd. I remember when Dick Francis died his son, Felix, took over the franchise and I cannot tell the difference in the writing. Makes you wonder.

Lee Child was interviewed recently and said he thoroughly enoys his success and his life, he and his family spend money and have a great time, though he gives a lot away.  Says you cannot take it with you.  He said that his books are generally looked down on and not taken too seriously but he is not too worried about that. When a new Reacher book comes out and immediately swlls in hundreds of thousands, he knows that for the next day or two all those readers would have a good time enjoying the story and that was good enough for him. I agree.

It is the usual tale. Reacher arrives in town, stumbles upon a wrong and sorts it out. Nothing new but, as always, punchy and well written and I am enjoying the latest in which it appears that a state of the art detention centre run on progressive lines may not be what it appears. Who would have thought?

Linwood Barclay - Take your breath away. Just spotted this in paperback at Waterstones the other day so I had obviously missed the original publication. I usually read the Barclay books because, as with the Reacher stories, they are great fun, well written and terrific entertainment.

Andy is married to Brie and one night he comes home and she has vanished and no sign of what happened to her. It goes without saying that the police have him down as the suspect in his wife's murder but no case can be proved. Eventually he moves away, changes his name, starts a new life until one day a woman drives up to the old address, where a new house has been built, and screams "what has happened to my house?"  It looks remarkably like Brie. But is it and where has she been all this time.  I am half way through and have no idea of how it ends. Good stuff.

An arrival from the British LIbrary. I am so lucky that they send me shed loads of stuff to
review. Some of it I love, others not so much, but there is always somewthing interesting there. This is for the festive marked as it is called Stories for Christmas and the Festive Season and includes authors Muriel Spark, Stella Gibbons, E M Delafield and others. This is currently on my bedside table and from the start of December I shall read a story a night.

Another book to read, but as with short stories and diaries, a little at a time is best is The Oxford Book of Theatrical Anecdotes.  The editor is Giles Brandreth so you know it will be witty and amusing and so it is.  There are anecdotes about every actor you can possibly think of in the British theatre and they are all, without exception, delightful and rather touching too. If I started quoting those I loved this blog would be neve rending so I suggest you get your mitts on it. It would make a wonderful Christmas present for a lover of theatre.

John Osborne has an anecdote about Richard Burton and it was suggested that Burton be invited to lead a National Welsh theatre.  A leader of the principality asked what were Burton's qualifications.

It was explained that he had played Henry V at Stratford and a Hamlet at the Old Vic which was applauded by Churchill. "the reply which evoked no surprise was 'yes I can see that, but what he done in Wales'"

Wonderful.  Loads more so do buy.

Enough for today. More later.

 

 

Recent reading

I have had problems with the blog the last week or so as my host, Typepad, who I have been with for years, had a new update etc etc and like all updates it caused mayhem and the blog was unavailable. An irritant for me, but checking on Twitter I could see how upset so many users were who were running businesses and were losing customers and orders.

Well they finally got it sorted and my post on Magpie Murders finally was able to be logged on.  SInce posting I have finished Moonlight Murders, a follow up to Magpie, and enjoyed its complexity and fun very much.  I am not sure if there will be another in this series, I do hope so.

I have also re-read the Karen Pirie books by Val Macdermid. I have read all her output and this particular series is my favourite.  I revisited them as I knew there was a tv adaptation coming up of A Distant Echo and I wanted to refresh my memory.  The TV dramatisation was a huge hit with large ratings and I gather another is in the pipeline.  I did not care for the actress who played the title role very much and I thought she was totally unlike the Karen of the books, but I put that to one side a she was very good indeed.   There were minor irritants with the characters, gender changed for one main protagonist for no reasont that I could understand, and the ethnicity of others was changed, presumably to tick diversity boxes as it made no difference to the story at all. I do find this virtue signalling that casting directors go in for rather boring and wish they would not do it but hey ho.   By the last episode it did not really matter as the tension was racheted up and it really had me gripped.   Do catch it if you can. Also if you read the books then please do read them in order.

I then turned to Marple: twelve new stories featuring the famous Christie creation. Twelve writers producing "new" Miss Marple tales.  This really irritates me as it is totally unneccessary and the main reason for this exercise is Money using the Christie name. 

I found most of them heavy going and nearly all lacking the  gentle wit and Marple touch. Oddly enough the only one which rang true in any way was the story penned by Val Macdermid. She got it right. The rest did not.  But it is out in time for Christmas and that is the obvious reason.

I have already written about the Alan Rickman diaries which I found disappointing and revealed a tormented, self absorbed persona in one of my favourite actors. Why they were ever published is beyond me. They were clearly personal and not written with publication in mind. I presume the reason is, once again, money.

As an antidote to this I turned to Patricia Wentworth. I have read all the Miss Silver cases and loved them but the author wrote many other crime stories and Dean Street Press (one of my very favourite publishers) have reprinted many more of these. I read three in one day (well it was raining and my arthritis was playing up so it was a day on the bed with hot water bottles) and they were huge fun. Madly dramatic and a bit over the top but thoroughly enjoyable. I read The Amazing Chance, Dead or Alive and the Red Lacquer Case and gave myself over to sheer in fun.

Left you Dead by Peter James.  I read this mainly because I have waded through all the Inspector Grace books but they really had become rather tedious and on at least a couple of occasions when it seems to me he had no idea what to do with a character he just killed them off. He did it again in this book.  I really enjoyed them when I started and I do wonder why authors carry on when they are clearly tired of churning them out. There was an interview with Lee Child in the paper today and he said that is why he stopped writing the Reacher books. 

Sadly though there will be no more Grace books because when I was writing this post I discovered that the author had died.  He was hugely successful and enjoyed by many including me though, as I said, I had rather lost interest in them.

Another of my favourite authors, Andrea Camilleri, died last year and he left several books behind for publication after his death. He was in his late eighties when he passed and the last few books showed a lack of focus which is understandable.   The final Montalbano book, Riccardino, was, I am sorry to say, really poor.   I have loved the Montalbano books with Catarella and Fabrizio and they have given me hours of enjoyment and many laugh out moments.

I mentioned in an earlier post the novels of Susan Scarlett AKA Noel Streatfield which I simply wallowed in, no other word, and they come once more from the Wonderful Dean Street Press. Well I read a couple more and have one left and am saving it up for a treat. Does that make sense?   Do check them out.

And finally, after a rather disappointing run, I turned to Agatha Christie.  I have recently rewatched the superb Miss Marple series on the TV and I re-read Murder at the Vicarage, Moving Finger, a Pocketful of Rye and A Murder is Announced and loved them all over again. I think Christie was a superb writer with a deftness of touch as well as steel and also she was funny,

There is one line in the TV version of A Murder is Announced which is pure Christie but I cannot find it in the book, so assume the script writer came up with this gem.  Miss Marple is having tea with Dora, and they are discussing a young man on the list of suspects.

"you know he is a communist don't you Miss Marple?"

"Oh dear, he must be very lonely in Chipping Cleghorn"

Priceless.

Magpie Murders - Anthony Horowitz

“There was going to be a funeral. The two gravediggers, old Jeff Weaver and his son,  Adam, had been out at first light and everything was ready”.

The funeral is taking place in the church of St Botolphs in Saxby-on-Avon. Mary Elizabeth Blakiston of the Parish, housekeeper to Sir Magnus Pye, had met with a nasty accident while hoovering the stairs of the manor.  Rushing to answer the phone, she gets her foot caught in the flex and tumbles head first down a flight of stairs until her head meets the hard tiles at their foot.

So that is that, but all aficionados of a good crime story know full well it is not as simple as it seems. A few weeks later the world famous detective Atticus Pünd has a visitor, the fiancé of the dead woman’s son. It seems he was on bad terms with his mother and the day before her death he had been heard shouting at her and wishing she was dead. Now the village suspect him of murdering her.

It is clear from the outset that we are in St Mary Mead country (devotees of Miss Marple will

have no hesitation in realising this) but the detective is a German refugee who survived the camps of the second world war and is now living in England.  Hercule Poirot immediately comes to mind.  As the reader reaches further into the story we realise that there are many references to Dame Agatha Christie and her works – at one stage a character takes the 2.20 to Paddington.  We all know full well that the 3.50 from Paddington was a famous Christie title.   Then we note that Atticus Pünd has a well meaning but slightly dim associate, in the Magpie Murders he is called Fraser and, once again, Christie aficionados will immediately realise the reason for this name as Captain Hastings, the companion of Poirot, is played by the actor Hugh Fraser in the television series.

By now the reader will realise we are being led up the garden path and all this is deliberate but to what end?   The story progresses and Pünd becomes involved when Sir Magnus, the housekeeper’s employer, also dies but this time there is no wondering if it was an accident as he was killed in a particularly gruesome way.

So Pünd comes to investigate and it is all intriguing and fun and then suddenly, bang, we leap from the 1950s to the modern day, and find that Susan Crosland an editor for a publishing firm is reading the Atticus Pünd for publication and horror of horrors the last chapter of the manuscript is missing.

It is slightly discombobulating to be wrenched from the mystery into Susan’s life and her attempts to track down the missing pages.   The author of the Atticus Pünd books is a deeply unpleasant man who does not hesitate to grill people with a smile and then create a version of them, usually derogatory, in his books and is disliked by many.   So when his body is found at this country house at the foot of a tower there are many who would be glad to see him dead.

Susan sets out to find out what happened to the missing pages and why he was murdered. The rest of the book is her story, in the first person which I rather liked, and we become so immersed in that story that when it comes to an end, we then have to read the final chapter of the Atticus Pünd manuscript to give us the solution of the earlier murder.

It is clever, it is witty and it is intriguing and Magpie Murders abounds in various Christie hints and names that are a joy if you are a fan of hers as I am.

There is a second, Moonlight Murders, which I am half way through and once again it is split into two time slots. 

A Murder has taken place at the Moonlight hotel, an arrest is made and the case is closed. Several years later the daughter of the hotel’s owners reads Alan Conway’s book in which he has used the location and hotel staff in an Atticus Pünd book.   Celia reads the book and realises that there is a clue in it which proves that the police arrested the wrong person.  She decides to investigate and then she disappears……………..

I am only half way through and am enjoying it immensely.   I do hope Anthony Horowitz writes another.

PS there is a tv series of the Magpie Murders, available on Britbox if you have it, and it is very good indeed.

Madly, Deeply - the Diaries of Alan Rickman

When Alan Rickman died a few years ago I was so upset. One of my favourite actors, seemingly able to act effortlessly, full of charisma and charm and humour. So I was looking forward to reading his diaries which have just been published. 

Well, it has been said that one should never meet one's heroes. I now feel that one should never read the diaries of one's heroes.   I found myself totally discombobulated by the character which emerged from these writings. I have said it many times, and will no doubt again, that when you read a diary the true personality and the author permeates the page. There is no hiding place.  Years ago I read the musings of Sir Laurence Olivier, widely regarded (not by me incidentally) as one of the world's greatest actors. The conceit and vanity that emanated from his writing was palpable.   Noel Coward - now his diaries are witty and amusing and astringent, but above all, kind.   The Richard Burton diaries were an outpouring of an emotional man who held nothing back and who owned up to his faults, warts and all and they were simply wonderful.

After Alan Rickman died the number of assorted thesps and colleagues who rushed to say what a great person he was, how kind, how he had helped them with their career, how thoughtful he had been, were legion.  So it comes as a shock to read Madly, Deeply and discover his real thoughts on the aforesaid friends and fellow actors.  

Alexander Larman, who writes for the Spectator, has recently reviewed these diaries and writes that "the abiding impression is that it is miserable to be an actor in demand. There is endless complaining about long plane journeys, interminable times spent in make up or waiting to go on set, meetings with ignorant financiers and rapacious agents and co-stars who did not meet Rickman's exacting professional standards"

Dismissive, caustic and rarely a good word to say for anybody and deeply obsessed with his own thoughts and pain these pages make for very uncomfortable reading. And, yes, irritating too as I felt myself snorting Of for goodness sake stop moaning, you have a life and a career that others would kill for and you are unhappy and miserable. 

There were times when his anguish, such as it was, was expressed in terms that I found, for want of a better description, pure luvvie.

On starting a film "I have a feeling that the need is there throughout the unit, but there is a shyness at the top which coagulates unhappily with the arrogance factor and makes visible vulnerability impossible"

I struggled with this book, I freely admit it and also labour under a sense that I may be doing Rickman a disservice with this review. I so wanted to read it and love it and find out about the inner man.

Alexander Larman put his finger on it when he said "he seems a deeply unhappy stressed man, forever busy and exhausted by a punitive work scheule.........a craft seemed to bring him enormous professional respect but little personal joy"

There is one entry that seemed to sum up my feelings after ploughing through the diaries.  A director comes to see him on set. "for some reason he was on the attack. 'Would it hurt you to show some fucking charm?' I was stunned, asked him not to speak to me like that, he nearly stormed out......as I write this I'm still bewildered. Had people been nagging him?"

Rickman seems to have a total lack of understanding of how others might see him. Self obsessed to a startling degree but he must have hidden it well for the fulsome tributes following his death.  

If I am being honest I wish I had not read this book.

Courtiers - Valentine Low

The sub title of Courtiers is the Hidden Power behind the Throne and the author takes us into the byways and and the backrooms of Royal life. All totally fascinating.

The first question to ask is what is a courtier?  According to dictionaries I have checked it seems there are two definitions:

• A person who is often in attendance at the court of a King or other royal personage
• A person who seeks favour by flattery, charm etc

It is made clear in this book is that in certain cases both definitions can apply, but what struck me in reading this admirable book, is that most of the courtiers or advisers attending the Royal Family over the last fifty years seem remarkably free of self-aggrandisement and are intensely loyal to whom they serve.  

Courtiers has been extensively trailed and serialised in the press and, naturally, the papers involved wish to give it as much publicity as possible, hence the impression given that this book is mainly about the Tiresome Two, the Duke and Duchess of Sussex.  Good click bait but thankfully, they only form a small part of the narrative.

A story, which may be apocryphal, sets the scene. A senior member of the Queen’s household, who had originally come from Buckingham Palace on secondment from his job working for the Australian government, was on his way back home when he was stopped at immigration control at Sydney airport.  The man at the desk leafed through his passport until he came to the page where the adviser had entered his profession.   He looked at it, gave the passport back with the comment “Mate there is no T in courier”

To the contemporary reader the use of the word courtier is an anachronism.   If we look back in history we could imagine fawning characters in knee breeches and intriguing in whispers and lurking in corridors.   I think the correct word to be used today is Advisors.  Heaven knows it is clear there are many of them around, secretaries, press secretaries, permanent secretaries, valets etc etc all of which have a clearly defined role and, in the main, fill them admirably. 

If you have watched The Crown on Netflix at all, you may be familiar with the portrayal of Alan Lascelles (know as Tommy). He began his royal service under Edward VIII when Prince of Wales and went on to become the epitome of the old fashioned Palace insider. “I have a very deep admiration for the Prince and I am convinced that the future of England is as much in his hands as in those of any individual”  His views changed on closer acquaintance.  “the cold fact remains that it would be a real disaster if, by any ill chance, he was called on to accede the throne now and that none of us see any prospect of his fitting himself any better as time goes on”

They say no man is a hero to his valet. It is clear that this also applies to those in his service.

Courtiers seem to have a rough time of it on the whole.  Always on call and not particularly well remunerated but as they are mostly recruited from a small pool of relations, friends and recommendations, intensely loyal.   It is natural that they are chosen from certain circles as they know how things work, how to behave round their Boss and are not intimidated by them. This does lead to criticism of a lack of diversity and broader thinking in the Palace and among the family but this has changed considerably over the last thirty years.   Princess Diana chose more informal and interesting advisors, many of whom she discarded as her marriage disintegrated and she regarded them as “men in grey suits” who were betraying her.  Patrick Jephson was a case in point and fell foul of her mistrust much to his deep distress. It was only in the last year or so when the Bashir interview had been dissected and found to have been a betrayal and deception of the Princess, did he realise why he had lost his job.  

The Queen Mother sounded fun to work for.  Her extravagance and love of a gin and tonic or two is well known and it seems she understood her courtiers need to have a bit of fun now and again. Jamie Lowther-Pinkerton, who later worked for William and Harry, had invited friends back to the Equerry’s rooms at Clarence House for a few drinks. The next morning after a heavy night and after leaving the room in disarray he managed to crawl into his uniform just in time to attend the Queen Mother as she mounted the carriage to take her to Horse Guards.

“did you have a party her last night Jamie?” she asked

“Ma’am I am sorry, I hope we did not disturb you” knowing full well they had

She replied “I’m so glad to see the place is being properly used”

I found Courtiers a very well written and informative book and, despite the publicity giving it the air of a gossipy trivial publication, it is anything but. It is clear there was jockeying for position and intrigue, inevitable in such a position, but as I have already said and it bears repetition, courtiers have an unenviable task, a short shelf life, and a very difficult role to play.

“You might be getting signals that your royal boss expects something quite informal, or is in a jolly mood, or the whole world is their friend. You are not their friend. So you bow and say ‘Good Morning Your Royal Highness’. These were reminders to her and to me and to anybody else who was listening that we are jolly matey today, but this is a formal relationship……the courtier’s job with a royal person is to remind them that they are different. You cross those lines at your peril. They are there for mutual protection. There is an understandable but very dangerous temptation to drop formality and encourage a kind of intimacy which never lasts”

Patrick Jephson, advisor to Princess Diana.

Lord Stamfordham, who served both Queen Victoria and George V would remind colleagues “we are ALL servants here, although some are more important than others”

Valentine Low has provided us with an exceptionally well researched and well written book.  I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Diplomatic Baggage - Brigid Keenan

I remember reading Bridget Keenan years ago and finding her journalistic style deft and with a light touch. She worked as an editor on Nova magazine, and the newspapers Observer and The Sunday Times.  She married a diplomat and from then had to choose between her own career or that of 'a trailing spouse' as she followed her husband around the world to the various places he was posted.

Six weeks after the wedding he was posted to Ethiopia and "it dawned on me that I would have to give up my wonderful job and follow him around the world or spend my life pining for rare glimpses of my beloved"

It was thirty five years before they returned to live in England permanently.

She admits she spent a lot of time weeping and wailing and though the author with great insight, honesty and humor takes us on a journey of her life there were times when I felt she must have been a bit of a trial to her husband who struck me as being a rock of certainty and self control. Traits that I assume are essential in the diplomatic service.

However, it seems she had reason to weep and wail as there was very little support or understanding for the wives of the diplomats who had to organise a life, social and otherwise, not understanding the language or having the faintest idea what to do. 

"Oh God I don't know if I can bear it. This is my first morning in Kazakhstan and it is only eleven o'clock and I've already run out of things to do and I have another four years to go until this posting comes to an end. How on earth am I going to get through it?"

Bridget Keenan decided to write this book when she met an unhappy young woman at a diplomatic party in Kazakhstan. She had just arrived, was a doctor but had just found out she could not practic and was desperately homesick.  By then the author was in her sixties and was asked 'you have been diong this for many years. It it worth it or should I leave my husband and go home and back to my job immediately?'

And that is the dilemma.  Bridget Keenan was a writer and a journalist so she was in a position to be able to do freelance work and carry on with her career, albeit at a distance, but this young woman was in a different position entirely. The author realised she could not give an honest answer but it made her decide to write Diplomatic Baggage to see if this would help her do so.

I am in two minds about this book. Yes, it is engaging and witty and written in a marvellously humurous study but I am not sure that it really give a clear view of life in the diplomatic service regarding The Wife.   This book is a re-issue, the first publication was in 2015 and one hopes that there are more support services now and more understanding of the sacrifices facing women in diplomatic circles.

My own daughter, Helen McCarthy, has written a book about diplomatic wives, Women of the World, and the Keenan book was in her bibliography which is when I first heard of it.  I know I am blowing my daughter's trumpet here, but it is well worth reading and is a history of women in the diplomatic service, not just as wives but as diplomats in their own right.

Bridget Keenan observes that friends and acquaintances seemed to think that diplomatic wives drank a lot of gin, had a great time and probably had affairs. She also points out that nobody wants to her about her life when she comes home.

"None of your friends are remotely interested.............I remember telling someone how worried we were in Syria about the collapse of peace talks with Israel and she interrrupted to say 'well I can't get worried about that I have a book to finish before Christmas'.

Once I stupidly blurted out to some close women friends at lunch that I didnt know what to do because my butler was leaving....I don't know how I ever lived that down"

And somehow that little anecdote summed up my feelings about this book.  No matter how funny the writing, the amusing anecdotes about dealing with inefficient servants and eccentric cooks, there is a patronising feeling, very slight I admit, in the narrative that makes me feel a bit uncomfortable.

But I leave it up to you to see how you feel because it IS very funny, very well written and did make me laugh.

A Random thank you

I am just dropping by to say hello to all my readers and followers and thank you for your patience during the summer when I have been largely absent.

As you know, my daughter was over from Australia on long service leave and was here for three wonderful months. We had not been together for three years because of Covid and so I decided I would just concentrate on being with her and book reviewing went out of the window. I have, natch, been reading but not as much as I usually do.

Of course, it has also been a sad summer as following the glorious Jubilee when I think most of us knew that the Queen would not be with us much longer, we had the sad news of her death. Almost impossible to imagine her not being there. Kathryn told me she was glad she was in the UK when it happened as she felt part of the sorrow and she spent the day with me when we watched the glory and the pageantry of her funeral.

It was simply marvellous to have my two together with my grandchildren and all be together.  We had a glorious holiday in France at Lake Annecy, Kathryn also went to Norfolk, visited friends all over the UK, and we had a spa day and other days when we just sat and nattered all day and reconnecting.  Wonderful.
Now Kathryn has returned to Australia, she left on Friday, and I am feeling bereft.  She messaged me last night to say she had arrived safely and now I am trying to get back on track. It is difficult but the saying Keep Calm and Carry On, though penned in far more horrendous circumstances, is my mantra.

We are having lovely mild, sunny Autumn days right now and I love this time of year when the leaves are changing colour and we have misty mornings. It is my favourite season and I do relish being inside nice and warm with the curtains drawn (as they are right now) and hunkering down.

I have various domestic bits and pieces to sort out which I gaily abandoned in July when Kathryn arrived and I am now quite looking forward to a grand sort out and with Christmas on the horizon there is a lot to do.

I am visiting a friend for a few days this week before I get back to my usual life style and it will be good to see her and catch up.

Then I will be back with a catch up of my reading and all things bookish.

So, once again, a big thank you to you all.

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.