To Bed With Grand Music - Book Review

It has taken me five cups of tea to ponder this book and reach any sort of conclusion as to what I think of it. I was left totally bemused and one of my first thoughts was 'this isn't the wartime that my granny remembers so fondly'. You know the sort of thing, dashing young officers asking girls to dance whilst only expecting a peck on the cheek goodbye at the end of the night. This novel suggests very different wartime behaviour.

The novel opens with Deborah Robertson in bed with her husband, Graham; a portent of what is to come. Deborah promises Graham that she will remain faithful to him as he is being posted to Cairo. Graham, however is a little more hesitant as he knows he cannot do without sex for three or four years. Instead, he promises not to fall in love with anyone else. Deborah is horrified that he cannot commit to her and eventually gets him to concede to be faithful.

As soon as Graham has left, Deborah tries to turn her attention to their baby son, Timmy. However, it soon transpires that Deborah is not interested in being a housewife and even less interested in being a mother. The weeks go on and Deborah leaves Timmy more and more in the care of her housekeeper, Mrs Chalmers. When Deborah's mother arrives for a visit, she can see that Deborah is bored and upsetting Timmy as a result. She suggests that Deborah try to find a job. In fact, Deborah's mother is well aware that her daughter is not suited to the roles of wife and mother so she actively encourages Deborah to go to London in search of something to occupy her time whilst Graham is away.

When Deborah visits her friend, Madeleine, in London she is swept away by the freedom and glamour of Madeleine's life. Instead of search for a job Deborah goes for dinner with Madeleine and two male friends, and she ends up in bed with one of the men. Deborah's fall into infidelity is swift and seemingly without a thought for Graham or Timmy. Until the morning after when she skulks home and promises herself that she will stay in the country and look after Timmy until Graham's return.

As you can probably predict, Deborah does not stay in the country and await her husbands' return. Instead she moves in with Madeleine and embarks upon a wartime career of working her way around the male members of the armed forces in return for gifts, expensive nights out and, ultimately, excitement.

There are moments during which Deborah has doubts and wonders about her behaviour, but these are swiftly cast aside with self-justification and a total failure to realise the fact that she has become, in essence, a prostitute. Her male friends pass her around each other; she obviously gains a reputation as being available. She acquires jewels, stockings, make up, expensive dinners at fancy restaurants, perfume and a myriad of other gifts which are her payment.

Deborah is a character that I totally despised. It wasn't so much her behaviour as her refusal to think realistically about her actions and their consequences. She is a weak personality, easily led astray by Madeleine and seemingly incapable of refusing temptation. Towards the end of her novel her relationship with her son is redundant as he clings on to Mrs Chalmers for love and attention. And instead of thinking proactively about Graham's impending return she just turns away and pursues her current course, which in the light of peace takes her into the arms of businessmen as the armed forces are all returning home.

I disliked Deborah immensely - the very fact that at the end of the novel she showed no remorse, just resentment that her life would inevitably return to its pre-war state, only made me dislike her even more. Deborah's desire for Madeleine's life is farcical as we clearly realise that Madeleine is envious of Deborah's husband and baby. Instead of realising this and appreciating her life, Deborah pursues a life of glamour and hedonism with an underlying streak of bitterness about her marriage and child.

To Bed With Grand Music is a great read as it strips all sense of nostalgia from your thoughts of the second world war. Instead you realise that human nature was, of course, the same and people took advantage of the unique circumstances to please themselves.

In direct contrast to the portrayal of war by Marghanita Laski, I watched a documentary on Channel 4 called Time Warp Wives. Now, this was a piece of trash tv that I slumped in front of last week but it was quite an interesting programme as some modern women are retreating into the past to escape modern life. The majority of women featured in this programme had decided to live in the 1940s and 1950s; before women's liberation one might add. Anyway, they are under the impression that manners were impeccable, there were no social problems and every woman was faithful and dutiful to her husband. Perhaps they should all read To Bed With Grand Music to cure their ailment of acute nostalgia.

These women are totally delusional but it is interesting that they all revert to fantasy to avoid the pressures of modern life. What they don't seem to realise though is that throughout history 'modern life' has always been stressful, uncertain and, crucially, perceived to be worse than any period that has gone before. Deborah escaped her life into a fantasy that cannot be sustained - as have the women on the tv programme. I think I would rather face up to the grit of everyday life - even if that means I have to forget about sepia wartime dances leading to a mere peck on the cheek.

A week of enchantment

This week has been stuffed with a myriad of experiences. Last weekend I took up arms and decided to paint the bathroom - which I had no idea would take me two days! Such a small room but so much work. Anyway, my friend who is currently writing a children's book wanted to go to Kensington Palace as it has turned itself into the Enchanted Palace - perfect for inspiration. The exhibition sounded right up my street (as what girl does not like fairytales?) so I downed tools and met her in the Orangery Cafe for tea and cake before entering the magical palace.

The exhibition focuses on a quest to find seven princesses, all of whom were former residents of the palace. You are given a map to guide you through the rooms and a pencil to write down the names. The rooms all take on an individual theme relating to the life of a royal princess. Not all are happy, for instance one room focused on the danger of childbirth to both mother and child. My favourite room was the room of 'Dancing Princesses' which was lit with blue light and had life size trees dotted around so it was like entering a moonlit enchanted wood. In a glass case was a beautiful dress with red ballet shoes and a tiara which was worn by Princess Margaret, the Queen's sister.

The room obviously referenced Hans Christian Anderson's The Red Shoes which is a favourite fairytale of mine. In addition I adore the 1948 film starring Moira Shearer. My sister bought it for me for my birthday this year and watching it is a regular Sunday afternoon ritual. So the room of 'Dancing Princesses' was like walking into my dream bedroom - I am not sure I will be able to convince Mr Bell that we should turn our bedroom into a homage to The Red Shoes; but it's worth trying?

On Tuesday it was our monthly V&A Women's Institute meeting which is always enjoyable but was made especially so by the guest speaker who is the blogger and author Jane Brocket. Jane gave a wonderful talk about how she has managed to turn her creativity and domestic skilfulness into a full time occupation. She brought in some of her quilts to show us and I am now totally inspired. For the past few months I have been doing patchwork by hand. I am not a natural at sewing so, inspired by Jane, I am going to throw caution to the wind and buy a sewing machine so that I can have fun instead of fiddling about with papers and tacking and all that malarky.

I also acquired some new books this week which is a pretty normal occurrence, however this transaction did involve me having to lay my pride to one side as I have purchased a book with the worst cover ever. It is truly horrendous and, frankly, it's embarassing that I own such a book when I am such a snob about my volumes. Still, it was only 50p in a charity shop and I will be secreting it away in a dark corner of a very dark room as soon as I have read it.

The offending article is After the War by Frederic Raphael who wrote The Glittering Prizes, a book which I really enjoyed so hopefully After the War will be just as good despite sporting the cheesiest of covers.



I also bought some other 50p books: The Way Through The Woods by Colin Dexter, an Inspector Morse novel so pure indulgence as I love Morse, The Girls of Slender Means by Muriel Spark as I really enjoyed both The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie and A Far Cry From Kensington and another copy of the children's book Redwall by Brian Jacques. I now have three copies but it was only 50p and I couldn't bear to leave it alone on the shelf with no guarantee of a good, appreciative home. I will do a full post on Redwall as I have loved the Redwall books since I was about ten years old and they are partially responsible for my obsession with bells - along with, The Bell by Iris Murdoch, the actual sound of church bells and various other bell-related experiences.

As for Persephone Books Reading Week, I have really enjoyed reading everyone's Persephone Books related posts. I am part of the way through House-bound which is, true to Persephone form, a great read. Fingers crossed Claire and Verity will host another reading week later this year as I don't think I can wait until 2011 for another excuse to buy more Persephones!

The enchantment continues today as I am about to go for afternoon tea at Beas of Bloomsbury with Rachel (Book Snob) and we are meeting Claire, Verity and a whole (insert collective noun) of book bloggers in, my favourite part of London, Bloomsbury. Actually, what is the collective noun for book bloggers?

Miss Buncle's Book saves the day

Endpapers taken from a design by Vanessa Bell used in Miss Buncle's Book published by Persephone Books

Hotels can be isolating, bizarre and frankly surreal. Whilst I was alone in New York I was staying in a pokey little hotel with dark corridors and a really terrifying lift. The shaft had no roof so you could look up through the gap and see the sky. I don't think that an engineer had been near it since the 1920s and it clanked its way jerkily to my floor at the top of the building. Negotiating the metal sliding door and external heavy door was a real test of strength and skill. If I managed to escape the clutches of one door I could just as easily get squished by the other. I wasn't very good at it and a cleaner had to (very kindly) show me the trick. Which involved speed and agility - neither of which I have.

My room was clean and had a clear view of the Empire State Building which was really exciting. I was out and about all day so it was a relief to get back to my room and rest my weary legs - the unfamiliar noises of the city and hotel were soon forgotten about as every night I would open Miss Buncle's Book and lose myself in the little piece of England that I had brought with me.

Miss Barbara Buncle has run out of money so as an enterprising woman she sits down and writes a bestseller - Disturber of the Peace. Barbara Buncle's book is about a village and it's inhabitants and is a gripping portrayal of life in Middle England. However, it is not strictly a work of fiction.

Barbara Buncle has spent her whole life in Silverstream, she is considered odd, pitiful and a 'typical' spinster. But Barbara Buncle has a gift - she is an astute and insightful observer and has the ability to pierce to the core of the human soul. Her work of 'fiction' is more of an account of the people of Silverstream; renamed Copperfield in Disturber of the Peace.

Miss Buncle's Book portrays English village life at its best. When the peace is disturbed and the mirror has been turned around on to its inhabitants. The characters in Disturber of the Peace are easily recognisable to the inhabitants of Silverstream as they are the characters. For some, this makes for uncomfortable reading as Miss Buncle portrays them warts and all.

I thoroughly enjoyed reading this truly English novel as DE Stevenson flays the village open and presents all the stereotypes for us to gawp over and laugh at. But overriding this was the wonderful message that the most overlooked amongst us can achieve the most unexpected of things. Through hard work, perseverance and an iron will Barbara Buncle transformed her life. She strode out and took a risk, in taking that risk she disturbed the peace and found happiness.

The gentle pace and lightheartedness were exactly what I needed to end my days tramping the streets of New York sightseeing. There is no greater comfort than a book to sink into and lose yourself in - especially when it is a book that has been published by Persephone Books.

This week is Persephone Book Reading Week, hosted by Claire at Paperback Reader and Verity at The B Files. The next Persephone I have on my list is House-bound by Winifred Peck which I am really looking forward to and hopefully I will have time to finally read Family Roundabout by Richmal Crompton which has been on my pile of books for an absolute age.

A very bookish birthday

I am undecided about my feelings towards my birthday. Shedding the years seems a sad activity and the celebration of another year passed can seem odd when, like me, you had a 'to do when I am (fill in age)' list as long as your arm. Last year I was supposed to go and see a musical (I have never seen one), take a ride in a hot air balloon, go to a theme park (I have never been to one), learn calligraphy and learn Latin. The list does go on and it is safe to say that I did NOTHING that was on the list.

What happened? Where did the year go? Time seems to get much faster as I get older - and I often wonder what happened to those long, endless summers? I would spend hours drifting around my mother's garden - the mossy lawn would spring between my toes as I would go down to the vegetable patch to pick whatever my mother needed for our supper. Balmy evenings would be spent watching the swallows whilst lying on my bed with the windows wide open - the warm breeze nudging me further towards a sleep which seemed a thousand sleeps from the morning in September when I would wake to a stiff collar, crisp pleated skirt and a new pair of sturdy, awful shoes that I would 'grow into'. I now have an irrevocable aversion to ever being 'sensibly' shod - much to my mother's annoyance.

Time seems different now and in acknowledgment of this I have not written a list for this year. The only thing I would like to do is ride in a hot air balloon at the end of a hot summer's day, (with a bottle of cold champagne, of course) to listen to the silence of the air as I look down on a patchwork burnt by the sun. This, I think I will do.

I had a very lovely birthday weekend spent wandering the streets of Oxford in the early spring sunshine and a day spent at my parent's in the company of my family including my lovely eight week old niece who stole the show entirely - understandably. My mother baked me a fantastic cake bedecked with glitter and I have just scoffed the last piece with a cup of tea.

I was very spoilt and have been given a truck load of books - I received two Persephone Books vouchers (cannot wait to spend on Saturday) along with the following stack.

The secondhand copy of Hardy's Under the Greenwood Tree and Sylvia Townsend Warner's Summer will Show were bought in the Oxfam bookshop in Oxford with some birthday money from my Granny. The Lovely Bones and The Other Queen were given to my by my Sister - here is where I confess my dirty secret that I read Philippa Gregory, still everyone needs a bit of mental chewing gum now and again; surely? The snob in me is screaming to deny my ever having heard of her - the shame. My lovely friend bought me Elizabeth Goudge's The Bird in the Tree and Coco Before Chanel which I have wanted to watch for ages as I adore Chanel and my mum gave me Meals in Heels (I did mention my aversion to sensible shoes - it pervades every aspect of my life) which has me salivating already. The still wrapped Persephone is House-Bound by Winifred Peck which I am sure will render me house-bound for a while. And finally, Rachel (Book Snob) gave me Elizabeth Goudge's Green Dolphin Country which I have wanted to read for ages.

The long, endless summers may have become short but this hardship is counter-balanced by the realisation that I would rather a shorter summer with no starched school term looming ever closer - now I can decide my own reading list and while away my Sundays with books that I enjoy rather than a maths textbook or my MA thesis to write (of which I still have nightmares) - and that is absolutely worth getting older for.

Team Whipple

Endpaper for High Wages by Dorothy Whipple, 'Farm Scene', a 1930 dress fabric by Crysede Ltd. Copyright V&A Images

To use Darlene from Roses Over a Cottage Door's phrase, I am a fully-fledged member of Team Whipple. For the one person on Svalbard who does not know to whom I am referring, I will explain. Team Whipple refers to the author Dorothy Whipple who Persephone Books has resurrected and republished after she shockingly fell from favour somewhere between young men who got angry and modernism going postal.

On Christmas Day I jumped out of bed to see if Father Christmas had brought me the one thing, the only thing that I really wanted; the latest Whipple offering from Persephone Books - High Wages. As I rumpaged through my stocking so lovingly put together by my mother, I was after one thing. My fingers reached something smooth and book-like. I pulled out a delightful, grey book with shining endpapers.

The thing is, I couldn't read it straightaway. I had to save it for the perfect moment so I read a couple of other books before settling down on a snowy day with the tabby cat on my lap, a slice of my mum's delicious Christmas cake and, of course, a pot of steaming tea.

Jane Carter is ambitious, resourceful and intelligent. She loves to read, she loves clothes and she loves success. When she enters Mr Chadwick's draper's shop to ask for the job of assistant she sees the chance to escape her stepmother and make a better life for herself. Mr Chadwick hires Jane and very quickly she becomes his best worker. Jane soon befriends Maggie, who also works in the shop, and Maggie's young man Wilfred who works in the library. Wilfred falls in love with Jane as she is interesting and reads, unlike Maggie, and he quietly yearns for her as he knows she does not love him.

Mr Chadwick's business improves with Jane's expertise, he is a wealthy man yet the high society in Tidsley do not accept him into their social circle. He is after all, a shopkeeper. So, when Jane befriends Mrs Briggs the honest wife of a partner in the local cotton business she secures tickets for herself and Mr and Mrs Chadwick to attend the Hospital Ball. The social event of the year oganised by the social queen of Tidsley, Mrs Greenwood.

Mrs Greenwood makes it clear that she disapproves of their attendance and when Jane is assaulted by a young and wealthy man, Mrs Greenwood purposefully implies that Jane is of 'loose' virtue and threatens that she and her daughter, the beautiful Sylvia, will not take their custom to Mr Chadwick's any longer.

Mr Chadwick is beside himself as he respects the social strata and regrets ever trying to ignore it. When Jane tries to defend herself his position is very clear,

""What happened at the ball was no fault of mine, placed as I was. Mrs.
Greenwood has no right to speak like that; she oughtn't to be in a position to
speak like that...'
'Now, Miss Carter said Mr Chadwick, wriggling. 'No
socialistic notions here, please.'"

Despite this incident Jane manages to keep her job and continues to bring good business to Mr Chadwick's. Jane frequently looks outside of her position and sees things that people like Mr Chadwick will never allow themselves. She sees the local eligible bachelor, Noel Yarde and daydreams about him. She watches as he courts Sylvia Greenwood and thinks about what it would be like to move in those social circles. But, after all, she is just a shopgirl.

When Maggie finds out that Jane and Wilfred shared a quick, meaningless kiss she forces Jane to leave Mr Chadwick's. This turns out to be a triumph of fate as she receives a loan from Mrs Briggs to set up her own shop. Jane becomes incredibly successful but more importantly she is an independent businesswoman and Noel Yarde, now married to Sylvia, finally notices her.

As the First World War comes and goes Whipple manages to capture the slow but pervading change that took place in small towns like Tidsley. She examines a moment in British history when social boundaries were shifting, women were emerging from the shadows and shopping would become a whole new experience with the introduction of 'ready to wear'. Clothes are still, to some extent, an indication as to your wealth or social standing. In the early twentieth century they were even more so - they were clear social signifiers. With the introduction of ready made clothing, these clear signals started to wane and the image of the regal, corseted Mrs Greenwood would disappear.

High Wages absolutely lived up to my expectations - Whipple has once again captured the minutiae of everyday life, of the conditions for women and the fact that life does not always go to plan. I like Jane, I easily sympathised with her even when she was so obviously getting it wrong (as we all do). Jane is inspirational - she receives knocks, she is caught in a changing world which is as hard for men as it is for women and she is, to some extent, a slave to fortune. But, through hard work, effort and internal struggle she develops into a competant and liberated young woman.

So - another win for Team Whipple. For the person on Svalbard, Persephone Books deliver. For Whipple-lovers, you won't be disappointed.

On being published

The Persephone Books endpaper design for High Wages by Dorothy Whipple

I have finally received my copy of The Persephone Biannually through the post which is not only exciting because I love reading the Biannually but because in this edition of the Biannually I have been quoted in the 'Our Bloggers Write' section! I found out last week from Rachel at Book Snob and was immediately bursting with excitement as it was completely unexpected and made my week. But I had to wait for days and days before my copy came through the letterbox. At long last it arrived and I frantically ripped open the plactic wrapper like a mad woman and there it was - in print. My quote is happily next to lots of other quotes from familiar bloggers such as Simon at StuckinaBook, Claire at Paperback Reader, Claire of KissaCloud and Rachel at Book Snob.

Once the excitement of seeing my little quote in print faded I was able to settle down and read the Biannually. I am now completely over excited by the publication of Dorothy Whipple's High Wages. I cannot wait to find out what happens to Jane who works in the Draper's shop. Whipple, is fantastic at characterisation and bringing the ordinary, everyday, monotonous and tedious aspects of humanity to life with a view to dissection. She is highly moral in tone and a tad all-knowing but you can sink in to one of her books and look over her characters shoulders as they battle with ordinary aspects of life during the early twentieth century. History books leave out the 'small things' so it is to writers like Whipple that we turn to gain a sense of what went on in the domestic world; what went on in everyday life. I cannot wait to get my hands on the latest Whipple offering from Persephone Books.

Book Review - Someone at a Distance by Dorothy Whipple

Autumn is my favourite time of year for many reasons. I love the crack and sparkle of bonfires, the smell of woodsmoke, the crunch of leaves underfoot, frosty mornings and conkers. I love walking through London and looking in at the activity through the warm, lit windows. Autumn is the season of red, gold, brown, green and orange; my favourite pallette. But, ultimately, autumn is the perfect season for reading as I can huddle on my sofa under jumpers and blankets with a big mug of tea, the lamp on and the cold outside. It is the season for cosy reading and there are no better books for hours of cosy reading than those written by Dorothy Whipple.

One of my favourite novels by Whipple is Someone at a Distance; beautifully published by the wonderful Persephone Books. Someone at a Distance follows the North family as their world is spun by the arrival of Mademoiselle Louise Lanier, a young and beautiful French woman who has been employed by Ellen North's Mother in Law as a companion.

Ellen North is married to Avery, they have two children, Hugh and Anne. They live in a beautiful house in a quaint English village. Ellen manages the household and raises the children, Avery goes and works hard to earn the money to maintain the North's happy home. Ellen is that rare and unfashioable woman, a very happy housewife. Her love for Avery is shining and constant, her children are well mannered, happy and joyful. Ellen is grateful for her home and family and then Avery's head is turned.

The girl was so beautifully finished: the cool suit, the white Juliet cap on the smooth dark hair, the white lawn blouse - all exactly right.

Louise is youthful and vain, she takes endless care of her appearance and she hasn't had two children and doesn't know the tiredness resulting from managing a family. Ultimately, she is sexy and flirtatious. Avery is bored and Louise is there to entertain him when Ellen is busy in the kitchen or garden or at the shops. Louise plays a skilful game and Ellen finds herself out of her depth.

As Avery succumbs to the charms of Louise, the family is torn apart. Ellen is steadfast and resolutely believes that her husband will do the right thing and put his family first. Avery is weak, indecisive and selfish. He finds himself carried along by the excitement that Louise promises before thinking through any consequences. Before long his actions are irrevocable and he has to face up to the choices he has made. It is a stark realisation indeed for him to consider what he has lost. As Ellen slowly builds a new life her love for Avery remains constant.

Dorothy Whipple's final novel was published in 1952 and is a gripping account of a middle-aged man's folly and the repurcussions that occur. Whipple's novel is a searing examination of human frailty and there is a distinct moral message as Avery North and Louise Lanier get their come-uppance. But overriding this, is a sense of hope. Hope for Ellen, a genuinely good woman whose tale has been told so many times by so many people throughout time. But it is Dorothy Whipple who recounts this tale with insight, honesty and clarity which combine to create a unique portrayal of a deceived wife and foolish husband.

The endpapers, pictured above, borrow from the autumnal pallette and this is absolutely a book to read when the rain is pattering on the window, the fire is glowing, the cat is asleep and the hot cup of tea warms your heart as Ellen learns that,

Life is like the sea, sometimes you are in the trough of the wave, sometimes on the crest. When you are in the trough, you wait for the crest, and always, trough or crest, a mysterious tide bears you forward to an unseen, but certain shore.

Persephone Books Reading Week

I am really enjoying Paperback Reader's posts that bring together all the activity taking place for the Persephone Books reading week. I don't have much time to read many this week but I am already picking up lots of ideas for future reading.

Book Review - Princes in the Land by Joanna Cannan

A Day in the Life - taken by Dom Cram

Yesterday I spent the day in Oxford. Perched on my rug next to the Thames I idly watched the rowing boats, motor boats, canal boats, punts and river birds parade past. I tried to catch up on some reading but the sound of the bells, river life and picnic chatter was far too distracting and my mind turned to, and agreed with, Hugh Lindsay's romantic desire to,

hear the bells, hear the footsteps, see the shadows move across the cobbles and the red leaves drift and the wind in the scholars' gowns. He wanted to know all day and all night that he was in Oxford.

Hugh Lindsay is married to Patricia Lindsay, a Baron's granddaughter who grew up riding ponies at her stately home of Hulver. She meets Hugh, a poor student and aspiring academic, on a train and they fall into a marriage together - but Patricia had not been trained to sew, cook, clean and manage a household, she knew how to break horses and hunt a provincial pack.

Over time she 'forgets' her old life and sinks into the domestic routine; three children arrive and she,

remained at home, mending, making, ordering her household; and sometimes she went to tea with other such dim disciplined creatures and talked about education and ailments.

Patricia found herself placing all her time and energy into the raising of her children. She made the correct self-sacrifices and nutured her children, providing everything they needed. One dark, cold evening as she was feeling 'older, uglier, feebler' she made her way home to find all three of them waiting for her 'August and Giles and Nicola, her princes in the land'. But as they grow up they surprise Patricia as they move away from her perception of them as children. August, she is sure will go into the army - he gets a girl pregnant, marries her and becomes a refrigerator salesman in suburbia. Giles becomes a member of The Oxford Group, an evangelical movement and he moves to America. Nicola, who 'loves riding' announces she has always hated riding and wants to be a mechanic. Patricia reflects on the people she has raised and sent out into the world, 'And they'd not gone as princes. The Kingdoms she had won for them, they had rejected.' She goes further,

these weren't the children for whom she'd given up fun and friendship,worked, suffered, worried, taken thought, taken care, done without, suppressed,surrendered and seen her young self die.

Princes in the Land, published by the wonderful Persephone Books, is a searing examination of family life, motherhood and coming to terms with children becoming adults. Joanna Cannan poignantly probes the place of an early twentieth century woman within both the home and society. The realisation that a woman's 'job is done' when her children leave the nest is dealt with and conquered as the protagonist goes full circle and rediscovers her youth's passion and adapts herself once more to meet the needs of her grown-up children.

I will be reading this again during the Persephone Books reading week, hopefully whilst perched on my rug, watching the shadows pass across the cobbles, listening to the bells and watching some river life in Oxford.