A spot of summer comfort

At long last we have the promise of warm weather. The English summer can be a fleeting and momentary burst of warmth, sparkling light and soft breezes that need to be embraced before the wind changes and torrents of rain set in. Despite this, when I think of childhood summers spent meandering the shores of the Cornish coast it always seems that summer was endless, boiling and a period of complete freedom. Months spent without shoes, eating outside and splashing around in any water I could find rolled on and on until September dawned and those halcyon days drifted off on another path that I wasn't on anymore.

To get me through the endless months of waiting for the summer holiday I would bury myself in the Redwall books by Brian Jacques. Redwall is the name of an Abbey which is at the heart of each book in the series and its inhabitants are woodland creatures. There are now 20 books in the series and I am only one behind as I do still read them. I admit, I no longer read them with the complete absorption of my 10,11,12 year old self but they are comforting and it's a bit of my childhood from which I can't quite let go.

Each book in the series is a heady tale of adventure, quests, battles and feasts. And it was always the feasts which particularly gripped me. My mouth watered as I read about crumble and meadowcream, strawberry fizz, deeper'n'ever pie (favoured by the moles), shrimp and hotroot soup (loved by otters), October Ale and candied chestnuts. I would lazily dream about feasts in the Abbey orchard whilst I was in maths lessons, wishing myself there with all my heart.

Books we read as children are perfect to re-visit when we need some comfort reading. I haven't gone back to the start of the series for a long time so I am looking forward to spending balmy summer evenings in the garden with a glass of Pimm's whilst revisiting my old friends at the Abbey.

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.

The Volcano, the Big Apple and Me

I am back after an American adventure. As I was flying over Iceland a fortnight ago I had no idea that the volcano was stirring and that I was on one of the last flights to leave the UK. So I merrily watched the in-flight films and tried to digest the, frankly frightening, plane food.

I arrived in Denver for a conference and had a fabulous time visiting the Tattered Cover bookstore which is reason alone to go to Denver. Floors of books and delightfully the secondhand books are mixed in with new books. Comfy armchairs and sofas are provided for people to spend time relaxing in. I wanted to go to Molly Brown's house but, I did have to get on with some work whilst I was there! Denver is a huge city but only has a population of half a million so it feels strangely empty. Coming from a crowded little island I felt overwhelmed by all the space.

I then flew to New York where I was supposed to meet my mum for a holiday. Her flight was cancelled and she couldn't make it out in time so I ended up spending a week in NYC on my own. If you spend anywhere alone it should be New York. I had never been before and it was fantastic. I spent so much time wandering the streets, going to museums and galleries and generally soaking in the city. I also spent a lot of time comparing Manhattan to central London.

I have lived in London for eight years now and I love the city as it has so much to offer. But, I just felt that New Yorkers were 'perkier' somehow. Manhattan felt upbeat and hopeful whereas recently I have been feeling that London has become more cynical and ground down. For example, I actually witnessed people in public places leaving their belongings as they went to collect drinks - this would never happen in London or if it did, your bag would not be there when you returned.

This could be a one off of course but I did feel safer from petty crime - and the major difference was just walking down the street. Fifth Avenue is as busy as Regent Street but walking down the latter renders you bashed and bruised. Not once did someone barge me out of the way, or refuse to move for an entire week! I was flabbergasted. And I think it boils down to this, manners.

I don't think us Brits have the same level of good manners. Our customer service is practically non-existent and if you dare ask a sales person for help in a shop then you almost get openly accused of being unreasonably demanding. If there is a way for us to have no human contact in a store then we will try it, just look at the rise in self-service checkouts.

I was alone in a big city and the number of people who offered help, advice and just conversation was staggering. I have never been anywhere so friendly. In London people are wary of starting a conversation with strangers and I cannot think that so many Londoners would have offered me their spare room if I had been stranded here. I don't think I would. But I had complete strangers offering me a place to stay if I found myself in need of it. I was even offered a place to stay in Tennessee - and I admit, I quite fancied the idea of running away and becoming a country and western singer in a honky tonk bar!

So, my holiday taught me something about human nature and also about myself. How charitable am I? How many people do I barge out of the way when I am pounding the streets of London?

The only criticism I have of New York is the number of toy dogs. I have to declare that I am a cat person so am destined to think this way but I saw a ridiculous number of teeny tiny dogs and some of them were in outfits! I actually saw a dog with sunglasses on - sheer madness.

I have promised my mum that we will go there together as soon as possible. Volcano permitting of course.

There have always been Starkadders...

A Sussex farm

Sussex in the springtime is utterly delightful. Primroses skirt the hedgerows and Daffodils nod their regal heads in the blustery spring air that drives the tail of winter into hiding. The South Downs become peppered with colour as delicate flowers unfurl their jewelled heads and the trees start to bud. This year's leaves are all in waiting whilst the weather calms and softens. Once the clocks change the new found evening light promises months of frivolity and summery abandon.

My Granny was brought up on a farm in deep, deep Sussex. As a child I would listen, enthralled by both the tales of her father and their animals, and by her knowledge of the countryside. I spent the best part of my childhood walking with her around the lanes and fields surrounding her village learning what each plant, tree and bird were called. Every season would bring fresh excitement and every spring we would go and stand on the fence of the big house, to look over at the sprawling mass of daffodils and primroses that they had in their grounds.

The past few weeks have been full with all sorts of different things so I found myself in a reading rut. I would get part way through a book and listlessly place it back on the shelf as I was just unable to settle with anything. After the fifth attempt at getting through a novel I rang my mother to seek advice. And, of course, she suggested the book that really I should have turned to first. The very book which is perfect for this time of year but also for getting out of a reading rut.

As I opened Cold Comfort Farm for what must be the millionth time (I may exaggerate slightly) I was immediately gripped as Flora Poste rolled up her sleeves and got to work. Stella Gibbons wrote Cold Comfort Farm in 1932. The British countryside changed dramatically in the first half of the twentieth century and Cold Comfort Farm documents the altering state of the countryside through a wry and very English humour.

The peculiarity and sheer backwardness of the Starkadder's who have 'always been at Cold Comfort' is perfectly offset by Flora Poste's very modern, progressive and urban ways. Flora, recently orphaned, goes to stay at Cold Comfort Farm as she has been left with little money so wants to try her hand as a novelist. She realises that she can stay for free with relatives whilst acquiring 'material' for her great work of fiction.

This quickly goes awry as she realises that she is simply better at being interfering and sorting out the lives of the tumultuous Starkadder's than she is at writing. The Starkadder's (who have always been at Cold Comfort) are a family that is easy to mock. Whether it is Amos and his calling to lead the 'Quivering Brethren' or Elfine with her 'poetry' and longing for local gentry-pin-up Dick Hawk-Monitor, the Starkadders are splayed open for ridicule. Adam Lambsbreath with his 'liddle mop' and Seth seething with sexual urges in the corner, Reuben clinging on to his birth right which no one else wants anyway and Judith with her forboding and near incestuous love for Seth. They are all stark mad.

But none more so than Aunt Ada Doom - who as a young child 'saw something narsty in the woodshed' - she holds the entire family in her psychological stranglehold due to the 'narsty woodshed' incident. No Starkadder is to leave Cold Comfort as there have 'always been Starkadders at Cold Comfort'. Her fear of change and modernisation present the perfect challenge for Flora who, through Gibbons' ironic wit, realises that Aunt Ada Doom 'was the Dominant Grandmother Theme, which was found in all typical novels of agricultural life (and sometimes in novels of urban life, too). It was, of course, right and proper that Aunt Ada should be in possession at Cold Comfort; Flora should have suspected her existence from the beginning.'

Flora is an advocate of a 'tidy life'. Her mission is to 'tidy' the Starkadder's which she accomplishes - whilst inadvertantly tidying her own life too, of course.

Some of the first 'tidying' that Flora accomplishes is teaching Meriam about family planning -having had four unplanned pregnancies out of wedlock Meriam, Flora decides, is in need of some tidy advice. But as Meriam says 'who's to know what will happen to me when the sukebind is out in the hedges again and I feel so strange on the long summer evenings?' Flora realises the size of the task ahead of her. Particularly when, during the third week in March, 'Fecund dreams stirred the yearlings. The sukebind was in bud [...] this meant that Micah, Urk, Amos, Caraway, Harkaway, Mizpah, Luke, Mark and four farm-hands who were not related to the family had a good deal of time on their hands in one way and another. Seth, of course, was always busiest in the spring.'

This book is in my top five of all time favourites. It is eye-wateringly hilarious as Gibbons captures English eccentricity and foibles with masterly precision and she also executes the humour through that subtle, dry and nuanced English wit. All the characters are stereotypes - taken from literature, history and I daresay real people. Stella Gibbons pokes fun at our long tradition of rural family sagas in literature and presents us with a perfectly formed romp through an ironic anti-melodrama.

Spring is upon us and if you look carefully in the hedgerows you may just see the sukebind in bud - the long, careless summer evenings will be upon us before we know it. Once the sukebind is in flower, of course.

Beware the sukebind