june 2023 books…

The Provincial Lady Goes Further (EM Delafield): Delafield’s novel ‘The Diary Of A Provincial Lady’ is in four parts (this is number two, published in 1932; I read the first one last October). Again, I thoroughly enjoyed this book – it’s beautifully-written, satirical diary of a social climber living in rural Devonshire. Once again, the provincial lady faces the problems of never having enough money, an unruly house and garden, problems recruiting staff, never well-read enough, never attractive enough etc. In this account, she becomes a published author and, as a result, feels she needs to find herself a London ‘flat’ where she can focus on her writing. Needless to say, not much actual writing gets done – as her city social life rather ‘gets in the way’ (and, of course, she’s always fretting that she hasn’t got the appropriate clothes, compared with her friends, or money to compete with them). Her wonderful, boring, mono-syllabic husband, Robert, is again a star. As before, an absolute joy to read.
The Hollow (Agatha Christie): First published in 1946 (our copy 1961, priced 2s6d)… another of the extensive batch of Christie novels on our bookshelves! In some ways, opting to read Agatha Christie feels like a ‘cop out’ but, in the complex and often depressing world, knowing you can rely on her to come up with an intriguing, entertaining plot feels sufficient! Yes, this mystery has all the usual clichés – the titled upper class family, the country house, the servants, a murder… oh, and, of course, Hercule Poirot! Cleverly plotted (with lots of pointers towards different individuals as being the ‘guilty party’) - occasionally a little too contrived perhaps – but satisfying nevertheless.
Rogue Male (Geoffrey Household): First published in 1939. I bought this book for Moira initially, but she decided that it wasn’t quite her ‘thing’ as far as ‘classic thrillers’ were concerned. It’s considered to be “one of the classic thrillers of the 20^th century”. An Englishman plans to assassinate the dictator of a European country, but is foiled at the last minute and captured by ruthless torturers and then thrown over a cliff. But he falls into a marsh whose softness saves his life. He takes refuge in a tree, and then begins, desperately wounded, to make his way towards the coast. The hunter has become the hunted. That’s as much as I’ll explain… All that I’ll add is that it’s a brilliant, intricate plot – carefully compiled and entirely convincing in all its details. A real escape and pursue adventure.
Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Dog (Dylan Thomas): This is our next Storysmith bookgroup selection: ten, wonderfully evocative short stories by the exceptional Dylan Thomas (first published in 1940). The stories – written in his 20s - are a wonderful mix… autobiographical, with boyhood recollections of family life (and his relatives); dreams of fame and fortune as a budding poet; poverty and unemployment; searching for love (and all the frustrations). Some are just very funny; some are pure nostalgia; some are achingly poignant. As you would expect, the prose and the descriptions are rather brilliant… and made me attempt to read long passages/meandering sentences to myself out loud(!). Think it’s time I re-read ‘Under Milk Wood’!
H Is For Hawk (Helen Macdonald): This is our Blokes’ latest book. As a child, the author was determined to become a falconer(?)… and read all the classic books on the subject. Years later, when her father died and she was deeply affected by grief, she became obsessed with the idea of training her own goshawk… and ended up purchasing ‘Mabel’ (the author’s choice of name) and taking her home to Cambridge and beginning the long, strange business of trying to train this ‘wildest of creatures’. It’s a rather beautiful book (she’s an excellent writer). It’s not just about the long process of training a goshawk, it’s also a book about memory and grieving. Part of the book is taken up with her fascination of TH White’s book ‘The Goshawk’ (first published in 1951), telling his own story of trying to train a wild goshawk. Although I could understand how White’s experience had been the trigger for Macdonald’s own determination to train a goshawk, I felt that it took up too much of her ‘story’. On the other hand, I thought her description of the twin challenges of trying to deal with the death of her father and training Mabel were both heartfelt and quite profound. Macdonald is a writer, naturalist, and an Affiliated Research Scholar at the University of Cambridge Department of History and Philosophy of Science (she had studied English at Cambridge) – but one of the things that struck me most in reading the book was that she was, essentially, quite a lonely person and that her love of her goshawk made up for needing relationships with people… but, hey, what do I know? I’m probably wrong. As someone who loves to watch birds in flight, but absolutely hates the very idea of actually touching one (having a bird trapped in our house in Thame – it fell down the chimney – was an absolute nightmare!!), reading a book about birds was a mixed blessing… BUT Macdonald is a very good writer and I enjoyed her story (and learnt a lot about hawks!).

asteroid city...

I went along to the Watershed this afternoon to watch Wes Anderson’s latest film “Asteroid City”. I’m afraid I’m a bit of a Wes Anderson film geek, so you’ll just have to take what I have to say about the film with a huge pinch of salt!
The film is set in a South-western American desert in 1955. There is a tiny town, Asteroid City, which simply comprises a motel, a garage, and rows of small white cabins. A meteorite landed there 3,000 years ago, and the resulting bright orange crater is the site of a government observatory. This town is regularly used to host a ‘Junior Stargazers and Space Cadets Convention’ (to which scientifically brilliant high-school students are invited to show off their inventions).
It’s an amusing and bizarrely wonderful film – beautifully designed (pedantically so some might say) in Anderson’s tell-tale style… with his ‘usual’ emphasis on flat two-dimensional backdrops/formal symmetry but with, in this film, an intense pastel-coloured, iridescent Kodak colour palette. 
Many of the actors are Anderson ‘regulars’: Jason Schwartzman, Tilda Swinton, Adrien Brody and Jake Ryan (and others)… but the film also features Tom Hanks, Scarlett Johansson, Margot Robbie and Maya Hawke (who I thought made an excellent prim school teacher).
The storyline is a little too complicated for my taste. I felt that telling it through the eyes of its fictional author was unnecessary (there were enough other stories interwoven as it was… but hey!).
I really enjoyed the film, but know that - as with all Anderson films – I will need to watch it again in order to catch more of the carefully-crafted ‘incidentals’ squeezed into several of the scenes (including ‘Road Runner’).

student days…

It’s exam time of year again (or was) - one of our granddaughters has just finished her GCSEs – it has reminded me of those uncertain, but exciting, days when pupils were coming to the end of their time at school and looking ahead to going off to university or pursuing career options.
A time of reflection and ‘what might have been?’ if we’d decided to follow other paths.

I was the first person in our family to go to university and, coming from a working-class background, I suppose that was quite significant. My decision to study architecture was based on a rather tentative suggestion from my Maths teacher, Mr Jones. Although I made general enquiries about what such a course would involve I frankly had very little idea of what an architect actually did (apart from ‘designing buildings’… whatever that meant!).
In 1966, I applied to study architecture at Aston and De Montfort universities and Oxford School of Architecture (then still part of the College of Technology, now within Oxford Brookes University); my parents were desperately keen that I continued to live at home (ie. studying at Aston), so were not impressed when I opted for Oxford!
My interview at the Oxford School with its wonderful, charismatic Principal, Reggie Cave, was quite an experience. This was at a time when places weren’t awarded on the basis of gaining three A* A-Levels or whatever… the interview was THE crucial part of the process. I completed some IQ tests before being called into the Principal’s office… and then he and I sat and discussed life, art, design, architecture and a whole realm of topics for well over an hour! At the end of our time together, Mr Cave offered me a place… but not for September 1966, but for 1967 (I had been part of the ‘Remove’ stream at school and had therefore completed my O-Levels in a year less than ‘normal’; Mr Cave felt I needed another 12 months’ maturity… and, of course, he was right!). So, ridiculously (this was before the time of ‘Gap Years’!), I stayed on at school for a third year in the Sixth Form – frankly just happy to play football and cricket!
Looking back, I realise how naïve and selfish I was in assuming that my parents would be happy for me to a) spend another year at school and b) embark on a six-year university course (I can assure you, money was tight!)!

I managed to gain a full grant (£360 a year - £120 per term!) and there were no tuition fees; there should have been a parental contribution on top of this, but I was able to manage without it (although Mom+Dad did pay for the odd train fare when I made my various visits home – although I frequently relied on hitch-hiking).
I think there were 80(?) architectural students in my first year, but numbers were considerably reduced over successive years (I think there were just 30 of us by year 6). I think times and attitudes have changed significantly over the past 50+ years (‘bums on seats’ seems to be the key for university funding, so perhaps now being dropped from courses on a year-by-year basis is relatively rare by comparison?).

The architecture course was something of a revelation. It was a mixture of public school-educated students and ‘ordinary’ people like me (I think there were 8 females). We were set a mixture of design projects each term – including perhaps half a dozen ‘one-day-sketch-schemes’. At the end of each project, critiques (‘crits’) were held in which each student had to present his/her scheme to a ‘jury’ of tutors. This was a hugely important part of the course – being able to ‘sell’ your design proposals; to explain/justify the way you had interpreted the project brief; and to defend your design decisions. I was initially struck by how confident the ex-public school students were by comparison with the rest of us… but we gradually developed more confidence and know-how as the course progressed.There are far too many experiences for me to recall in any great numbers (and an awful lot that I have forgotten!), but here are a few:

• On my very first day at college, I got trapped in a lift (together with three other students)!
• After registration on Day 1, one of the other architectural students (RobP – posh and public school-educated) and I decided to walk into Oxford together to do a little ‘exploring’. I was somewhat taken aback that he insisted on walking into town bare-footed (oh, those old hippie days!!).
• One of the other first year students (again public school-educated) introduced himself as ‘Mephistopheles’ and insisted that everyone should refer to him by that name… but I don’t think anyone ever did. He became something of a laughing stock and I don’t think he survived the first year of the course.
• There were no computers, of course! Just ‘Imperial’ and ‘Double-Elephant’ drawing boards, set-squares, T-squares, pens and pencils!
• There was no ‘College Bar’ until perhaps my third year – and, even then, it was only in a small, converted store (current students would no doubt find this unbelievable!). 
• Lots of societies/clubs within the college: FADS (Food+Drink Set) – which for a very modest joining fee ensured that ‘free’ access to food and drink samples at their monthly gatherings; Film Club – excellent, current, weekly films (again for an incredibly modest joining fee).
• We had a 24-hour Blues Festival in March 1969. Excellent artists including: Fairport Convention, The Crazy World of Arthur Brown, Roy Harper, Taste, Pete Brown and his Battered Ornaments, Free, Jo-Ann Kelly, Stefan Grossman, John Peel and others). 
• In my first year, I had ‘digs’ in Headington (Mrs Brown’s B+B for £7/week); 2nd Year: Arlington Drive, Marston (with Steve, Age and JohnT); 3rd Year: Norreys Avenue (with Age, JohnT and JohnTom); 4th Year: ‘Year Out’ at home in Brum; 5th Year: Lodge Hill, Abingdon (with Age+JohnTom?); 6th Year: bedsit in Littlemore until Christmas, then Oakthorpe Road, Summertown (having married Moira).
• Principal Reggie Cave’s infamous ‘Teapot Lecture’ given to first year students; this is a link to one he did in 1990 (we never had to fill in forms in ‘our day’!).
• Second Year students used to be sent on a European Study Trip. In 1968 (as it happens, the time of the Riots!), students went to Paris… but were so badly behaved that they cancelled the ‘European’ bit of the Study Trip the following year (ie. in MY second year!) and, instead, sent us to Pontins at Southport on a holiday accommodation project. The good news (for some, but not us!) was that we were so well behaved that they reinstated the European trip the following year (students went to Athens)! 
• The Architects’ Punt Race: these happened every summer – between King’s Mill and the Vicky Arms pub. Rules were fairly ‘basic’: Le Mons start; punt and six crew had to start and finish the race (as the race became more established boatyards would hide away their punts, poles and paddles the night before – equipment used to mysteriously disappear for race purposes!). The course highlights included negotiating the ‘Rollers’ (punts had to be pushed up ‘rollers’ at a change in water level) and paddling past ‘Parsons’ Pleasure’ (nudist bathing place)! On one occasion, I ended up in the water… I think we were in either first or second place entering the ‘rollers’ and anxious to re-enter the water as speedily as possible. Unfortunately, our heaviest crew member jumped back into the punt right at the bow end and the rest of us jumped in before the punt reached the water… with the predictable result that our punt (and us) disappeared under the water!
• We were required to attend lectures (but there were only perhaps 2-3/week) but, over the course of our time at college, architectural students did most of their work at their respective ‘homes/digs’. Looking back, I feel sure that we worked harder (and longer) than all the rest of the students at the college!! LOTS of all-night sessions, followed by a couple of days of ‘relaxing’ (ie. drinking!) before it all started again.
• One of key things for me (in the first year) was Tom Porter’s art ‘syllabus’. He became a brilliant influence for lots of us (definitely for me)… encouraged us to take risks; experimenting with different presentation techniques; colour; took us on a trip to London and pointed us towards Habitat, Carnaby Street/Biba; the film ‘2001: Space Odyssey’ etc. I won Tom’s poster competition for an exhibition at the Ashmolean in 1968.
• Mrs Barber’s brilliant ‘Art Materials’ shop on the ground floor of the architecture block (she was something of a ‘mother figure’ for lots of us and kept us all smiling!). 
• I won the ‘most improved student’ award (or whatever it was called) at the end of my second year (sponsored by the Oxford Architects Partnership – who subsequently offered me my first job). A huge boost to my self-confidence.

I know I was very fortunate to have ‘survived the course’ (over 60% of my fellow first year students didn’t)… but, hey, I did work very hard! Studying architecture is a long, long process (3 years at college; followed by a year-out in an office; followed by 2 years back at college; followed by a year in an office before being allowed to take ‘professional practice exams’ and become qualified. Because of the system in place in those days (as I’ve explained above), students would be kicked off the course at the end of each year (not because they hadn’t worked hard, just because they hadn’t achieved the required standards in the eyes of the tutors). Two of my closest friends met this fate and, as a result, never qualified.

Today, for those who choose or are able to go to university, the world is very different. There are no (or very few) grants available and, of course, there are also course fees to be paid… student loans are virtually the only way (the consequences of which seem to hang over individuals for the rest of their lives)… unless, of course, you have rich parents! Such matters have seriously curtailed opportunities to study away from home for many (due to lack of money) - a massive shame in my view. Having said all that, I do regret that there now seems to be an assumption/expectation that everyone will end up going to university. I feel quite strongly that this would be the wrong choice for SO many people… apprenticeships and/or specific job-related training would be the better option for huge numbers.

However, looking back on my own experiences, approaching 60 years later(!), I feel incredibly fortunate to have been given a chance to go to university.

It was an amazing, life-changing time for me personally – a time of independence; making decisions (and mistakes!) off my own bat… and seeing them through; meeting new people/making new friendships; adapting to new educational challenges (and growing in confidence in putting over my ideas); growing up(!); and, of course, being fortunate enough to study in a beautiful place like Oxford.

Bon voyage to all those about to leave school and/or continue their studies… dream your dreams!

Photograph: Oxford city from ChristChurch Meadow.

sketching in the cathedral garden…

I’ve really been enjoying the summer weather of recent days/weeks and one of the activities I’ve particularly been appreciating is sketching in the wonderful Bristol Cathedral garden.
It’s located on the south side of the Chapter House and accessed through the cloisters. It’s not particularly big, but it’s the kind of space in which you can just hunker down on a comfortable bench (I haven’t counted them, but there must be perhaps two dozen?), amid the flowers, the shrubs and the greenery and enjoy the stillness and the beauty.
This magical space seems to be something of a secret garden – despite all the summer sunshine. With the cathedral café currently closed, people seem reluctant to venture through the cloisters (which suits me fine!).
I’ve sketched in the cathedral and garden several times over the years (I’ve probably got perhaps 30 drawings?) but, this year (and with us living less than 200m from the cathedral), I’ve been dropping into the garden on a regular basis. My scribbles aren’t particularly good or technically proficient - and, clearly, there are only a limited number of sketches you can do of the cathedral’s southern façade(!)… but the major benefit is simply being ‘in the garden’ and enjoying all that it offers.
The bonus, of course (and my brother will acknowledge this!), is that someone else manages the space and I simply turn up to enjoy it!
Image: a mishmash of my cathedral garden scribbles (all but one, done over the past 2 or 3 weeks).

ros...

Our lovely friend has died…
It all happened so quickly.
No time to tell her how much we loved her
And how important she was in our lives.
How wonderful it was that our families bonded
During those formative years for our daughters and for hers.
Their impromptu musical concerts
All the dramatic plays they wrote and performed
(Not to mention the elaborate programmes they drew!).
She was a second mother to all our girls.
The care, the grace, the wisdom that came natural to Ros.
Her love and consideration for others
Her teaching, her citizen’s advice volunteering
Her passion for a more equal society
Her love of nature and her garden
Her glorious art and creativity
Her gentle humour and encouragement of others.
Our wonderful New Year’s Day Walks
Followed by the leftover grub from the pooled holiday fare.
The shared meals and effortless hospitality.
Our daughters have already decided that we need to properly celebrate her life…
With pasta bakes and quilting sessions…
And a concert with all the percussion instruments!
Laughter, joy and smiles.
So many memories… even in this time of grief.
A very special lady who we were all privileged to call a dear, dear friend.
xx 

Photo: from New Year's Day Walk, 1988(?)

may-june 2023 books...

Anything Is Possible (Elizabeth Strout): I’ve only fairly recently ‘discovered’ Elizabeth Strout… this is the third of her ‘Lucy Barton’ novels I’ve read (and, somewhat typically, I’ve read them out of order – this is number 2!). This one tells the story of the inhabitants of a rural, rundown town in Illinois (the hometown of Lucy Barton – successful New York writer – who finally returns after 17 years of absence to visit siblings she left behind). Each of the book’s chapters effectively represents a short story… about relationships, class, memories, feelings and emotions. Many of the chapters make reference to characters who appear elsewhere in the book (I frequently found quite difficult to recall who was related to who etc – but that’s me!). I love Strout’s writing – intimate, wise and managing to capture empathy without sentimentality… there are some similarities between her and author Kent Haruf methinks.
Lady Sings The Blues (Billie Holiday): This is next Storysmith bookclub book (music theme), published in 1956 (3 years before her death, aged 44). It’s an unflinching, disturbing account of her life (somewhat disappointingly “written with William Dufty”, but hey!) – about all the racist incidents; about being raped as a 10-year-old; about her upbringing in poverty (she grew up scrubbing floors and running errands in a brothel before she began singing); about how she was often directed to the ‘Black’ entrance when she performed; about the constant use of the N-word in public; about her mother (who was just 13 when she was born and died aged 38); about her struggles with drugs; about her time in prison; about her ‘adventures in love’; about her frequent lack of money when she performed; about her clothes… but, crucially, it’s also about the age of jazz and, in particular, her own music and style. Somewhat bizarrely, I found myself contrasting Holiday’s talented and creative life with that of Frida Kahlo (who died in 1954, aged 47). The book feels like an honest and raw account of her life (it’s also full of humour) - but, also at times, it felt as if some facts might have been ‘massaged’ for effect. I felt that there were also occasions when her struggles/relapses with drugs was glossed over (perhaps unsurprisingly?) – everything going swimmingly well, then suddenly turning sour when it became clear she had also become drug-dependent. However, the genuine passion for her music comes through clearly in the book and I found it a fascinating and absorbing read.
Mothercare (Lynne Tillman): Tillman is an American novelist (although I’d not read any of her books), but this book (published in 2023) is her account of how she and her two sisters looked after their mother (who died aged 98) for 11 years. Her mother actually died in 2006 and the author ended up converting an essay she’d written at the time into the final book… as something of a cautionary tale/sympathetic guidance for anyone who becomes a caregiver. In fact, although the sisters were ‘in charge’ of the caregiving (they seemed to take it in turns to be with their mother most weekends), the bulk of the actual caring was undertaken by a series of live-in staff (and how, invariably – shockingly in my view – these were ‘black women on low pay’… and sometimes ‘undocumented workers’). The book deals with the author’s life-long difficult relationship with her mother, but also focusses on the battles the sisters had a) in getting their mother’s condition properly recognised and b) employing/changing/criticising (and occasionally endorsing!) the various consultations they used… “why did no one tell us we should use a geriatric psychiatrist before now?”… “why did no one tell us about hospice care?” etc etc. There were lots of things in the book that I found somewhat questionable (eg. they spent LOTS of money each year arranging extravagant birthday parties for their mother – whether she wanted them or not… and also a sense that they perhaps seemed focussed on keeping their mother alive beyond a time when it was reasonable to do so? Obviously, caring for a loved one in their final days is a pretty grim prospect but, at times, I found myself feeling angered by the somewhat selfish attitude of the writer (it all seemed so time-consuming and inconvenient for her etc)… but that’s probably a little unfair. Before I’d read the book, I went to hear Tillman talk about her book/experiences at one of Storysmith’s writer evenings and I have to say that she came across as a warm and engaging individual. A fascinating, challenging book.
Slow Horses (Mick Herron): This is the first of Herron’s books I’ve read. It’s a complex, clever, spy-thriller (in the Le Carré style) based in London; the title refers to those individuals within the Intelligence Service who were once high-fliers, but who made a “noisy mess of their careers” and ended up as ‘slow horses’ in Slough House. All these individuals share the common desire to be ‘back in the action’. As is often the case with ‘clever’ books, I spent much of the time trying (and failing) to remember the names, key details and relationships of the ‘slow horses’… and, ultimately (of course!), the complicated plot itself. It all felt chillingly plausible, wonderfully cynical and with lots of dark humour. I was very impressed by the book… and look forward to reading more from Herron in future.
Cards On The Table (Agatha Christie): First published in 1936, our 1962 copy priced at 2s6d!). I find Christie’s books (and I’ve read a LOT of them) very appealing and, despite their sometimes complicated plots, quite easy, relaxing(?!) reading. This novel tells the story of four people playing bridge; meanwhile, their host (who is in the same room, but is ‘sitting out’) is murdered. One of the four players must have committed the murder… AND, it transpires, each player has previously committed at least one murder. The only clues are the people themselves. Fortunately, Hercule Poirot is on hand! Clever, intriguing and, of course, the finger of suspicion is pointed to each of the players in turn.