Ringing in the Changes

Gently, faintly, I hear the bells chiming again and Bloomsbury Bell is awoken.

I have been spending my time in Oxford coffee shops, pubs and libraries reading and writing and when I have not been doing that I have been in the garden attempting to get to grips with a large, overgrown and rambling cottage garden. In between I have been going back to London for a dose of home.

They say that change is as good as a rest, but maybe sometimes rest is as good as a change. Having had several changes over the last couple of years I have taken time to be restful, be slow and be observant. This hasn't been without its challenges, I struggled to feel content with being slow in a world which encourages speed and change. I struggled to keep myself from a natural fast pace and to believe that it was really fine to take time out of things for a while. Being busy was something I couldn't do without so I found a balance of being busy with 'quiet' things such as gardening, walking, reading and exploring Oxford.

It's time now to walk from the bank and slide back into the stream.

Life in Cold Comfort Farm

The road into our village in winter.

One of my favourite books is Cold Comfort Farm by Stella Gibbons and having recently moved to the countryside I can certainly see where her inspiration came from! There is a tumbledown farmyard along our lane and as I pass it every morning I sometimes expect Adam Lambsbreath to come around the corner with Feckless or Aimless in tow.

Our village is owned by Oxford University which acquired it in the 1940s after the death of the landowner who lived in the 'big house'. This means that there has been no building or housing development for around 100 years - I think the village hall was one of the last buildings that was built in the 1920s. As I walk to the shop (little more than a front room in a cottage) or to the pub, I feel as though I am being transported back in time. It is completely feudal as we all pay rent to the university as none of the houses are ever sold.

There are only around 50 households in the village but, despite the small population, there is a thriving community and lots of village parties and events. Moving to a village after living in London for almost a decade was a daunting prospect but we have struck lucky in that we are only 3 miles from Oxford and the village community is made up of a strong and friendly bunch of people.

When I read articles about the decline of rural communities, I look around at ours and think how lucky we are that we didn't move somewhere that is home to commuters and second homeowners. Having said that, I can see how easily things would change for us if the shop ever disappeared as it really is the hub - all information is gathered via the shop. And believe me when I say that nothing is sacred. Everyone really does know everything!

There are some things that I am still struggling to get used to but life in the country is actually never quiet! If it isn't the wildlife, it's people knocking on your door for a chat. And the other day I opened our front door to find an array of fresh vegetables and salad leaves that a neighbour had grown in their garden. It's moments like that when I wonder if I have landed in the middle of a Miss Marple novel!

And yes, there are definitely moments when I have been in the midst of Cold Comfort Farm - a whole different breed of eccentricity resides in the country. So imagine my delight when I discovered that Vintage Classics are publishing a batch of novels by Stella Gibbons. I am really looking forward to getting my hands on Christmas at Cold Comfort Farm and also Conference at Cold Comfort Farm. The others that look really interesting are Starlight and Westwood - I 'may as well' bung those into the order as well. Oh dear, well at least I have that free veg to eat!

A Right Royal Knees Up!

Well, the day of the Royal Wedding is upon us. Will she be wearing 'cream' or 'ivory'? Satin, lace or silk? Without meaning to sound too 'bah humbug' about the whole thing I have been bored to tears by the media incessantly reporting pointless gossip regarding the 'fairytale romance'. Isn't that what they said about Charles and Diana? If that's a fairytale then Disney has a whole load of script edits to make. Of course I wish them well, but it would be wonderful if the media could actually report on more pressing issues such as the major referendum that is about to take place.

Despite my miserable old git attitude I still appreciate a bit of pomp so I will be watching the ceremony and in the true style of a seasoned hypocrite I will probably be gossiping with my friends about the various outfits of the guests. Our village is having a party at the Village Hall and we all have to take a dish to contribute to the supper. I'm ready-armed with my shop bought quiche - well, you can take the girl out of London....

Spring Awakening

Blossom in our garden

Well, the inadvertant blog break is now over! Lots has been going on but first I will update you on the World Book Night shenanigans. I decided to give my books out at the John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford. I roped my friend in and we floated through the corridors of the hospital giving books out to doctors, nurses, patients and visitors. It was surprising how many people said no and were immediately suspicious of what we were up to, expecting a catch. However, one woman in particular was so pleased to have received a free book that she said I had 'made her night'. Meeting her alone made the whole experience worth it as she explained that she never bought books and didn't really know how to use the library. I gave her a copy for her nephew as well as she said that he liked history and so she thought he might like Dissolution. I will definitely take part next year. In the meantime, schemes likes bookcrossing and bookmooch are a great way to pass on the literary love!

Since World Book Night I have been dipping in and out of various books and waiting for spring to arrive in the village. Moving to the country has unleashed an obsession with seasons and the weather as I never noticed them so much in London.

I am revisiting Iris Murdoch at the moment as I went to a talk about her at the local library in Woodstock. I am also in the grip of reading Karen Armstrong's Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life which I bought after hearing her talk at the Southbank Centre. More on all this soon!

So a hotchpotch couple of months drifting along watching the leaves unfurl and the sun gaining strength. Below is a picture of our cottage surrounded by new green.

Window Haunting

One of my favourite things to do is to scurry and lurk, scurry and lurk past people's windows. I walk fast down a chosen street and then, invariably the glimpse of an interior induces me to dawdle as I peek into the lives of the inhabitants.

It's partly the reason why I love the autumn so much, as for months my prying will have been hindered by the fact that I was in plain view. The onset of early darkness aids my hobby as I am covered by its velvet complicity.

Virginia Woolf writes wonderfully about windows in Street Haunting;

"high among the bare trees are hung oblong frames of reddish-yellow light - windows; there are points of brilliance burning steadily like low stars - lamps; this empty ground, which holds the country in it and its peace."

But , Woolf reminds us that we must be careful not to dig 'deeper than the eye approves' and I remember this when I am walking past people's houses, watching them sit down to supper or slumped in front of the TV or admiring their bookshelves. A glimpse is all I need to imagine their lives. As I was walking home the other evening I approached my own house and glimpsed how it might look from a fellow street haunters perspective. So I took a photo - which is above. I wonder what Woolf would have made of it?

And All Shall Be Well

Where have I been? It has been over a month since I last wrote a post on poor, neglected Bloomsbury Bell. I have been having a small dose of respite from all sorts of things and now I am ready to emerge from my shell and crack it from me as I stretch my limbs forward through their slow creak of waking.

Winter Blues is a funny term I always think - the winter has never been blue exactly. It is sparkling, glittering even and the winter sun is gold and pink as it dips down past the Equator and slips out of sight. I enjoyed reading this article about the wonder of winter. Winter is indeed a wonderland at the moment - through the window I can see a white world as a permanent frost seems to have set in.

In two weeks time the world will turn again for me as I'm moving to a cottage just outside Oxford. The trees pictured above will be my neighbours. It is a fairly big adventure for two citydwellers but it is exciting as I have never lived anywhere so rural before. I have had to order my first pair of adult sized wellies (having long ago outgrown my pink pair) and we have even bought a torch to light our way back from the local pub!

I packed my books last night (leaving out a few to keep me going) and really wished that I had stuck to my resolve to only borrow from the library. My arm muscles are wincing in anticipation.

A new blogging adventure!

To my dear Bloomsbury Bell readers, some of you may already know that I have landed a new blogging gig for The Lady magazine's website. I am hoping that it will give me a more structured approach to my writing as I now have a copy deadline once a fortnight! Essentially, it will be more about my move to Oxford and the challenge and adventure that living here is turning out to be after being in London for eight years. You can read it here and all feedback is welcome so let me know what you think!

But, Bloomsbury Bell will very much remain alive and will retain its focus on books and general literary bits and bobs. The last few weeks have been an absolute whirlwind - I went home to Chichester at the weekend for my mother's mouthwatering roast dinner (and to see friends and family of course!) which was lovely. It's funny that even though I haven't lived there for a decade I still feel a sense of homecoming when we arrive in the city. I know every tree, every road, every building and the familiarity is so strong that it induces a sense of ownership. I see it as mine somehow and I feel comforted every time I return. It's a similar feeling to revisiting a book that had a massive impact upon you when you read it for the first time. In my head I connect the feeling with reading Howards End. Perhaps because the feeling that Mrs Wilcox has for the house is exactly my feeling towards Chichester. Are there any places or books that inspire these feelings within you?

As the nights are drawing in I have been stockpiling books and I bought a new hotwater bottle as I am planning to stay in and spend the winter reading. I have fallen behind my reading target for this year as moving and all sorts of things have got in the way. But, wintry evenings are the perfect motivation for cosying up and hiding away from the world with a good book.

Thou hast thy music too

The Thames at Iffley Lock

Yesterday I walked along the Thames towards Iffley Lock. The golden autumn light lit the trees and church tower and rowers gently slid past as I trundled along. I felt a world away from my life of a few months ago and then I suddenly realised that I live as close to the Thames now as I did in London. So, I haven't moved away I have merely moved upriver!

Autumn always feels like a good time of year for being busy. Winter is still curled up, waiting to unfurl and swathe its darkness over the land. So, there is time to quickly busy ourselves and get things done before the long months of waiting for spring. As I write this, I can see a squirrel dashing about in our garden, no doubt planning where to hide his food before hibernation starts. In the last of the sun people come out and bask as they stroll along - the river yesterday was a hive of activity as families were making the most of the weakening rays. I stopped for a drink in the Isis Farmhouse and sat in their orchard watching the people around me. Families chattered, students were alight with finding out all the summer activities of their peers and apples plopped from the over-laden boughs. Autumn is full of smells and sounds - it has its music too.

The day brought the following poem by Keats into my mind. I love autumn and I also love Keats so the two combined is a perfect marriage.

To Autumn

John Keats (1820)

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

Acquisitions for the weekend

Chichester Cathedral

I am going home to Chichester for the weekend to stay at my mother's house. As soon as I walk in the door I will be met with the warm fug of cooking smells and my mum will greet me in her apron. The familiarity of my childhood home is something that I cherish and I love curling up on my mum's sofa with the family cat, Oscar, a cup of tea in hand and a huge slice of homemade cake with a good book.

In preparation for a weekend of reading, and due to the fact that I was escaping a rain shower, I bought three books in the Oxfam bookshop on St Giles; William Golding's The Spire, Thomas Hardy's The Return of the Native and a rather amazing looking Virago which I am particularly excited about.

Before I start these however, I must finish Ann Bridge's Ilyrian Spring which is one of my favourtie reads of 2010 so far. Simply perfect. A review will follow!

The Pre-Raphaelites and Italy

Edward Burne-Jones, Music, 1877, copyright The Ashmolean

Last night we went to the private view for The Pre-Raphaelites and Italy at the Ashmolean. The exhibition is a fantastic opportunity to see lesser known works by well known Pre-Raphaelites; Rossetti, Burne-Jones, Hunt and Ruskin are all on show. What was particularly interesting is that a lot of landscapes of Italy are on display which was great as I haven't seen many Pre-Raphaelite landscapes before. Looking at all the paintings of beautiful Italian landscapes was a perfect way to whet my appetite as I only have a week and a half before I will be in Italy basking in the autumnal sun and scoffing as many olives as I can find!

I love Burne-Jones and one of the real treats of this exhibition is that Andrew Lloyd-Webber has lent The Fall of Lucifer from his private collection. The painting is haunting and at 2.5 metres high is quite over-powering. The gilded edge contrasts beautifully with the gloomy, lowly colours of the painting as Lucifer and his reprobate angels fall from heaven.

Cycling home through the quiet streets of Oxford is such a delight at this time of year. Our way home was lit by the stars and we were accompanied by the peal of bells as bell-ringers were practising for Sunday. September is one of my favourite months as the smell of woodsmoke starts to creep in and the gentle chill reminds me that cosy evenings are on their way.

I am going to plan the books that I will take with me to Italy. Thank you for all your Italy inspired reading suggestions. I now have to narrow it down so that I leave some room for my toothbrush.

A holiday to cure my 'consumption'

This is just a quick post to explain the unintentional blogging break. The last two weeks have simply flown by into nowhere it seems and I haven't been very well so have been holed up in my bed feeling very sorry for myself and watching rubbish telly and reading easy crime novels. I am still peaky and currently have no voice at all, well I have a croaky, squeaky sound that is just ridiculous.

Anyway, that is the reason I haven't been writing (or reading much). The end is in sight though and I am cheering myself up with the fact that I have booked a week in Italy at the end of September; for a much needed rest. We are going to Bologna and the Cinque Terre (see above) and I cannot wait. Apart from A Room With A View what other books are set in Italy and constitute a 'must read'?

In the meantime - normal blogging will resume.

But at my back I always hear Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near

The view from my study window

To His Coy Mistress by Andrew Marvell is one of my favourite poems as I understand that sense of urgency about life. Obviously, his goal is quite different from mine! But, I am finding myself more and more with a feeling that there are just not enough hours in the day. Had I but world enough indeed as I make endless plans to get things done and find that the week has flown by once more. So, I am turning more and more to the beautiful sky that I have found over Oxford - it is amazing how little sky I saw in London. Why wasn't I looking? Now I just can't seem to escape the overwhelming beauty of it as it catches my eye everyday.

But, as Marvell's poem encourages, I just need to crack on and wade through my Nile-length to do list - it has been almost a week since I went along to a book group in Oxford that Simon (Stuck in Book) was kind enough to take me to, as he is a regular at two book groups. I had a lovely time and the book was Frankenstein which Simon posted about here. I had great fun disagreeing with Simon and some other members of the group about who we should sympathise with, Frankenstein or his creation. I am a member of 'Team Creation' myself as I find Dr Frankenstein a completely unlikeable character not least because he never takes responsibility for his actions. I could go on at length here as I did last Wednesday but I will spare you my rant. I think I actually started to foam at the mouth at one point so perhaps they won't let me go back!

The next book on the list is Villette, I sometimes wonder if I am in the Truman Show as someone somewhere must have rigged it so that the books for the next couple of months are nineteenth century. Still, I have vowed to read more nineteenth century so I shall give it a go. Although, I am making poor headway with Jane Eyre. Which is another thing that I must finish.

Recently, I have been reading novels set in Oxford, The Lessons by Naomi Alderman was really interesting but I will do a post on that soon. I am now reading a crime novel by Veronica Stallwood, Death and the Oxford Box - to be honest it isn't blowing me away but then nothing compares to a Colin Dexter or Dorothy L. Sayers. Which, reminds me I had planned to read Gaudy Night again which I love. Harriet Vane, with her backbone of steel, is such a great character. More on that anon.

So, lots of reading plans. And now I have booked to go to the Iris Murdoch conference in September which I am really looking forward to but I need to swot up before I go! I nipped into the Oxfam Bookshop on St Giles today and found a copy of Bruno's Dream which I snapped up. Perhaps I should stop looking at the sky so much - and that way, I might yet make the sun run!

A trip to Hay on Wye

Booth Books

As soon as we bought our very own car I was determined to go to Hay on Wye to indulge myself with abandon in book browsing and book buying. So, at the weekend we packed our bags and drove to Hay via Hereford where we gazed at the Mappa Mundi. It rained the entire time that we were in Hay but that merely added to the cosiness of the trip and meant that I didn't feel at all guilty for not marching up the Brecon Beacons (something which does not appeal to me in the slightest but Mr Bell was quite keen to break in his new walking boots - I have never been more grateful for the rain).

There are approximately thirty secondhand bookshops in Hay and I traipsed around most of them. I have to say that the majority are blatantly over-pricing books; ripping off unsuspecting tourists. For example, one shop was selling secondhand Colin Dexter books for £2.50 - these are ten a penny in any secondhand bookshop and I wouldn't pay more than 50p for an indulgent Inspector Morse session. In another bookshop I saw a very battered copy of The Group by Mary McCarthy for £4.50 - absolutely ridiculous.

So be warned - Hay on Wye is every booklovers' fantasy BUT shop around. I then went into another shop and saw The Group for £1.95 - much more reasonable. But, I still didn't buy it as I am desperately trying to use the library and keep book acquisition to a minimum. I bought five books in Booth Books which I recommend to anyone planning to go to Hay. Not only is it a total emporium but books are reasonably priced and they have delightful reading areas. I stumbled upon this very happy cat, fast asleep on the sofa.

I feel that I was really boring in my purchases as I stuck to what I know, here is the list:
Mrs Palfrey at the Claremont by Elizabeth Taylor (Virago)
The Ballad and the Source by Rosamond Lehmann (Virago)
Rumour of Heaven by Beatrix Lehmann (Virago)
No More Than Human by Maura Laverty (Virago)
To The North by Elizabeth Bowen (Penguin)

I just can't help myself when it comes to early twentieth century literature written by women.

We left Hay in brilliant sunshine and stopped off in Tewkesbury for a look around the Abbey which not only boasts the largest Norman tower in Europe but also a rather delicious Mulberry tree in its grounds.

As we were on the road to Oxford I saw the sign to Swinbrook so I immediately made Mr Bell do a handbrake turn into the single track road which leads to the churchyard where Nancy Mitford is buried. She has been an idol of mine for years so I was so pleased to have the chance to visit her grave. Her sisters Diana, Unity and Pamela are also buried in the churchyard. Unfortunately, Unity and Nancy's graves are covered in lichen which, whilst being very pretty, means that it is really difficult to read them. Unity has a longer epitaph and I have googled to find out that it says "Say not the struggle naught availeth" - which, when you think about it, is both touching and defensive. When it comes to sisterhood I am a teeny bit soppy so I was pleased to see their graves in a row - yes, they bickered and didn't always understand each other but the bonds held fast. Having said that, I doubt my sister would forgive me if I shopped her to MI5 thereby causing her imprisonment!

...that bearing boughs may live

And so autumn is slowly ripening the fruit of summer's labour. I found this bounteous tree in the grounds of The National Trust's Chastleton House. A moment in between drenching rain showers took me off into the wilds of Oxfordshire with my oldest friend. We have known each other since we were seven years old and have been aspiring, in our tastes, to be middle aged ever since we met. We are long used to being the youngest people wherever we go. So, on Saturday we went for a hearty pub lunch and gentle stroll at Great Tew and then on to Chastleton House for an idyllic afternoon spent wandering the grounds and eating the mulberries.

Chastleton House

A chocolate box cottage in Great Tew

If only wild music did 'burthen every bough' as Shakespeare declared in Sonnet 102. For if it did then the fruit trees at Chastleton House would be truly raucous. Mulberries, plums, apples, quinces and even peaches are scattered throughout the grounds making me wonder why we import fruit at all. I look forward to late summer every year for so many different reasons but to hear my mother (as I did today) say she is going out for damsons is absolutely one of them; as I know that on a cold winter's night I will go home to a jar of her damson jam. Spreading it thickly on toast, I will think of the late summer sun and my mother's jam making magic combining to produce the best comfort food that you could wish for when the boughs are bare and the bounty of summer seems a lifetime away.

For the rain it raineth every day

Well, this is the view from my (newly finished) study window this morning which immediately brought dear old Feste to mind. Summer seems to have scurried off and left us between seasons. While I wait for the burnished bronze of autumn to sweep in and save us from limbo I am reading three books, fuelled by copious amounts of warming tea and rather too much cake. The trouble is that I need to focus on one as I keep flitting between them.

I have started and am really enjoying The Lessons by Naomi Alderman, not least because it is set in Oxford so it is helping me get my bearings in this new city. I am still reading Jane Eyre, which is perfect to read on a grey day as it is steeped in grey. Grey people, grey places, grey plot, grey, grey, grey. And finally I am reading An Instance of the Fingerpost by Iain Pears, which is also set in Oxford and is great bed time reading.

I am off in search of a hearty pub lunch and, hopefully, a fire to sit beside!