A Hardy Holiday

Hello, thank you for dropping in.  Here in Shropshire the weather has been sweltering hot for the last five days and I am hiding indoors with all the windows open. The heat gave me less than five hours sleep last night and I am trying my best to be patient and cheerful but it's taking a great deal of effort.  I am grateful that we have not seen the torrential rain and floods which have devastated parts of Europe and I am thinking of those families who are grieving for their lost loved ones while we have been celebrating family birthdays.  (Cottontail is two, how the years have flown, three-quarters of her life spent under pandemic restrictions.)  I have also been remembering another sweltering July almost forty years ago.

In 2019 I bought some second-hand Thomas Hardy novels at the closing down sale of my favourite bookshop and reading them rekindled my interest in the man and his writing.  I read The Trumpet Major, The Woodlanders and The Return of the Native as well as Claire Tomalin's biography, "Thomas Hardy: the Time-torn Man", and realised that I don't own a copy of the first Hardy novel I ever read, The Mayor of Casterbridge, which I studied for A-Level English a long time ago.  One evening in April I went online shopping at Oxfam and found a very nice hardback copy and a few days later, it landed on my doorstep.  (Actually, that's not true, my very cheerful postman has designated a safe place in my backyard where he leaves parcels if nobody answers the door.  He has to pass through my neighbour's property to reach my backyard so it's just as well that we're all on very good terms with each other.)  Anyway, my very nice book arrived and was soon read for the first time since 1983.  

Goodness, I did love that book.  I must have had an English teacher who loved it too.  After all our exams were finished, my best friend and I packed up her tiny car, a Fiat 126, and set off to Dorset for a five-day Hardy holiday.  We camped in Charmouth, a lovely village by the sea in the west of the county.  I have delved into my wooden chest and brought out a disintegrating paper bag full of treasures gathered on that holiday so that I can share them with you.

We visited Higher Bockhampton, the hamlet where Thomas was born on 1st June 1840 in a cottage built by his grandfather.  We weren't allowed into the cottage so we stood outside and here's the photo my friend took, as pretty as the postcard and probably a lot prettier than it looked in 1840.

This postcard published by J. Salmon Ltd. of Sevenoaks.

I don't actually remember us visiting Dorchester but I think we must have done because Dorchester is the fictional Casterbridge in both The Mayor of Casterbridge and Far From the Madding Crowd, which I read while I was on this holiday, so it would have been an important place in our pilgrimage...and I have these leaflets (Barbara, I am thinking of you here).  The Dorset County Museum holds a significant number of Thomas' artefacts and papers, including his desk in a recreation of his study.

I do remember our visit to Maiden Castle, an expansive Iron Age hill fort a couple of miles outside Dorchester which features in The Mayor of Casterbridge and Far From the Madding Crowd.  If you have read the book or seen any of the film or television versions you might recall the handsome Sergeant Troy flashing his sword around?  That scene happened at Maiden Castle.   

This postcard published by Judges Limited of Hastings.

The fictional village of Kingsbere is mentioned in both Far From the Madding Crowd and Tess of the d'Urbervilles, which I had read before we took this trip, so a visit to Bere Regis, its real counterpart, was a must.  The Turberville family became wealthy and influential here in the fourteenth century and their vault is in the Church of St John the Baptist.  I'm sure you can see the similarity between Turberville and d'Urberville and the church features in this novel.  In Chapter 52, Tess and her family have nowhere to stay and set their bed in the churchyard, against the wall of the church.

"Tess listlessly lent a hand, and in a quarter of an hour the old four-post bedstead was dissociated from the heap of goods, and erected under the south wall of the church, the part of the building know as the d'Urberville Aisle, beneath which the huge vaults lay. Over the tester of the bedstead was a beautiful traceried window, of many lights, its date being the fifteenth century. It was called the d'Urberville Window, and in the upper part could be discerned heraldic emblems like those on Durbeyfield's old seal and spoon."

This postcard published by Judges Limited of Hastings.

Adjoining Bere Regis is the parish of Wool.  Tess and Angel Clare spent their wedding night at Woolbridge Manor, renamed Wellbridge House in the novel, the home of the Turbervilles, some of whom are buried at The Church of the Holy Rood.  

Thomas Hardy died at his home, Max Gate, near Dorchester, on 11th January 1928.  He wished to be buried in the churchyard at Stinsford where his grandparents, parents, sister and first wife, Emma, already lay but his friend and literary executor, Sydney Cockerell, felt that he should instead be buried in Westminster Abbey because he "belonged to the nation" and persuaded Thomas' family to agree.  The Abbey insisted that it could not inter Thomas beneath the floor but said that if he were cremated, they would be able to accommodate a small urn containing his ashes.  The vicar of Stinsford suggested to the family that Thomas' heart could be cut out and buried in his churchyard before the cremation and on 13th January a doctor, surgeon and nurse went to Max Gate and performed that operation.  The rest of Thomas Hardy was cremated the following day and both funeral ceremonies took place on 17th January, one in sunny Dorset and the other in rainy London.  So my pilgrimage ended at St Michael's Church in Stinsford, less than two miles from Higher Bockhampton.

This postcard published by J. Salmon Ltd. of Sevenoaks.

West Dorset really is lovely and we visited other places too, spending time on the beach and at Barney's Fossil and Country Life Experience in Charmouth and visiting Durdle Dor and Abbotsbury Subtropical Gardens.  I considered showing you some of those photographs but decided against it because the main focus of the holiday was our Hardy Pilgrimage.  We also went to Wyke Regis and paid a surprise call on my aunt and uncle who kept a pub there.  I returned to Charmouth for a holiday with my family twenty-six years later and I telephoned my aunt and suggested we meet up. She asked where I was staying and when I replied she said, "You've stayed there before."  I think it might be time for another visit, and perhaps another Hardy novel.

See you soon, and do take care.

Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x

Puss and Books

Hello!  Thank you for calling in, expecially as I have been so sporadic in posting.  I am happy that you are here.  Here we are on the last day of April, a month which, until the last few days, has been full of sunshine but very cold, with frosty mornings and even snow.  The other thing which has been abundant is blossom.  April has been white, pink, frothy and beautiful, although we haven't smiled all the way through as we lost both of our cats: Lyla was almost fifteen and rather frail, having suffered a dreadful poisoning when she was eighteen months old, and she went out one day and hasn't come home, while her daughter, Pippin, died peacefully in a basket in the kitchen one evening after a short illness. For the first time in thirty-two years there are neither cats nor children in the house and the atmosphere feels unnaturally still.  There is a new grave in the garden.

Pippin and Lyla

Before we bid farewell to April I thought that I really should show you the books I read in...March.  

I am still trying to make my way through the unread books which are already in the house but almost as soon as I had finished A Suitable Boy at the end of February my mother sent me The Children Act by Ian McEwan with her highest recommendation so I set to straight away.  The book is about a judge in the Family Division of the High Court who has to make a judgement in a case involving a teenager who requires a blood transfusion to save his life but is refusing it for religious reasons.  At the same time, the judge's marriage is in crisis.  I haven't seen the film but I can imagine that Emma Thompson was perfectly cast as Fiona, the judge.  I thought this book was brilliant and, at only 213 pages, I read it quickly.  I, too, give it my highest recommendation. 

The next book I read was The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho, and I'm aware that I'm arriving late to this party.  I was browsing a second-hand book stall a few years ago when the other browser, a stranger, picked this book out, showed it to me and asked if I had read it.  I was a little taken aback by his direct manner and answered that I had not.  "You should do," he said.  My face must have given my thoughts away as I hesitated because he then said, "Really, I mean it.  You should buy this book."  So I did, and it has sat on my To Be Read shelf waiting for its turn.  This book is even shorter than The Children Act at only 161 pages and if you are unfamiliar with it, it's an allegory about finding your destiny, I have even seen it described as "a self-help book", but that doesn't mean that it's to be dismissed.  I enjoyed it, it's given me food for thought and I am glad that I read it.  "Finding your destiny" is the kind of phrase which would usually put me off, and if I had known that this book was about that I might have put off reading it for even longer, but if I rephrase that as "working out what you really want to achieve" it feels more pragmatic.  The next time a stranger accosts me at a bookstall I shall be more trusting.

The third book I read last month was Life of Pi by Yann Martel.  This was another second-hand purchase which I bought because it had won the Man Booker Prize and I thought I ought to read it, but that was a long time ago and I just didn't really fancy it.  This is also another film I haven't seen (there are a lot of them!) and all I knew about it was that it's about a boy who is cast adrift on the sea in a boat with a tiger.  My conceptions about this novel were all wrong and in fact, I loved it.  I expected it to be a rather philosophical text but it isn't, it's simply a wonderful book and I am not going to spoil it for you by telling you why.  If I ever see it on a second-hand bookstall, I shall be pressing strangers to buy it. 

I shall save my April reading for another post.  Tomorrow is May Day.  When I was a child in the 1970s I skipped around a maypole on the school playground wearing bluebells in my hair but I shan't be doing that tomorrow.  However, I may get up early and wash my face with the dew - unless it's frosty! 

See you soon.  Stay safe and take care. 

Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x

So That Was February

Hello, thank you for dropping in here, you are very welcome, as ever.  I haven't been here for more than a month, for which I am sorry, but really, I didn't think I had anything interesting to share with you; I certainly haven't been anywhere interesting.  However, this week I suddenly have lots of things I want to write about so I thought I should start with February and when I looked back over the month it seems that some things did happen.

Birthday

I celebrated my birthday at home with the Best Beloved and a bit of a tear in my eye because the day marked a whole year since the last time I saw my younger daughter. The Best Beloved did his best to make sure that I had the best possible lockdown birthday: he gave me smoked salmon with a poached egg on toasted homemade bread for breakfast, we had croissants for elevenses and he went to Marks & Spencer's food hall to buy a treat for dinner. I made myself a birthday cake because he's really not up to that. During the afternoon we lit the fire and watched a film together, a rare occurrence because we don't like the same kind of films, but I was allowed to choose (gasp!) so we watched The Dig, a film about the discovery of the Anglo-Saxon treasure at Sutton Hoo. (Some of you may have read Simon Stone's novel on which the film is based, but I haven't.) We both enjoyed it, him more than he expected to. In the evening I really enjoyed a video meeting with my sisters and parents, during which I wore a tiara and drank champagne - after all, it was my birthday!  The following day was a babysitting day and I was able to celebrate all over again with The Teacher, Tom Kitten and Cottontail and even though I had to cook the dinner myself this time, it was super duper to be with them.  They had even made me a cake, which was a big deal because The Teacher doesn't enjoy baking and she had borrowed the equipment from a friend, which of course made it all the more special.  She's a good girl.

Valentine's Day

The Best Beloved really isn't interested in Valentine's Day so I gave up hoping and bothering several years ago.  However, I did receive a card - from somebody else.  The Mental Health Collective organises a card exchange several times a year and this is the third time I have participated - I was given a name and address and somebody different was given mine.  We are asked to send a card or letter with encouraging words to our recipient, that's all, and the theme this time was Love, goodwill rather than romance.  It's not terribly onerous but I really believe that it can make a big difference to the recipient.  I received my card a couple of days early, before the posting date, and I was bowled over because the sender had obviously spent some time and effort making it, even though I am a complete stranger to her.  I wanted to pass on that kindness in a similar way so I set aside the card I had bought and instead spent an afternoon making a card to send.  Here is the card I received.  It's still on my mantelpiece.

Shrove Tuesday

Well, I didn't go to be shriven of my sins but I did eat pancakes.  I had decided that this year's pancakes would be Scotch rather than traditional or American so I made up the batter before we ate dinner, ready to cook afterwards.  The Best Beloved then decided that he wanted to do the cooking - I don't know why, this task always falls to me and I'm not sure that he has ever cooked a pancake of any variety before, but he was quite sure.  He went into the kitchen, instructed me that I was to stay outside and closed the door firmly.  Well, obviously I couldn't help myself and I quietly crept in and snaffled this photo without him realising.  I couldn't stop laughing - it's the smallest pancake in the world!  He told me that it wasn't his fault, that my batter was too thick (how very dare he!) and would not accept any advice or information about the niceties of pancake batter.

I was shoved sent out of the kitchen, the door was firmly closed again and a little while later he presented me with these.  I was very polite and appreciative (and stifling laughter).

Vaccinations

My 'phone rang one afternoon and even though the call was from an unknown number, I answered it, which is unusual.  I am very glad I did because the call was from my GP surgery, offering me a covid vaccination two days later.  I was very surprised, accepted the invitation and asked if the Best Beloved could also be vaccinated at the same time as we fall into the same category.  We were given consecutive appointments and two days later, the deed was done.  I was very impressed with the whole set-up, we were given appointments in May for the second dose and neither of us suffered any side effects.  The Best Beloved was relieved because it meant that by the time he would return to the classroom, he would be almost three weeks post-vaccination, long enough for it to provide him with some protection.

Reading

I finished reading A Suitable Boy on 26th February, so it took just over seven weeks.  I smile when I think about this book and I miss it already because I enjoyed it very much, all 1,474 pages of it.  James Wood reviewed it in The Guardian as "vast and amiably peopled" and that's one of the things I liked about it, almost all the characters are likeable.  I also found it very visual - the clothes, jewellery and gardens are vividly described and painted beautiful pictures in my head.   This book isn't difficult to read, it's all storytelling and there's no need to read between the lines, it's just long, but hey, we're in lockdown, I had little else to do but read, and I am glad to have read this.

Knitting 

I am still slowly working on Tom Kitten's jumper but at the beginning of February I discovered that my cousin, a teacher, has to spend all day at work with the windows and doors open (to reduce the risk of covid infection) and that by the time she gets home she is frozen so I knitted her a pair of woollen socks to keep her feet warm.  She has very dainty feet so they didn't take as long as usual and I used some lovely Drops Fabel in Salt and Pepper (shade 905).  I was very pleased with them and so was she, it is lovely to be able to make people happy.

Now here we are, halfway through March and less than a week away from astronomical Spring. The Best Beloved returned to work when the schools reopened to all pupils a week ago and on the Sunday evening he had a shave, ironed a shirt, polished his shoes and put his face shield, mask and hand sanitiser into his briefcase. The following morning I wondered aloud if I should take a photograph of him on the doorstep, the way we used to do when our children returned to school on the first day of the new school year, because that's how I felt. I am now allowed to meet one friend in a public place for a chat so that's what I am planning to do on Thursday and I can't bloomin' wait. The world is still turning. 

Take care, stay safe and see you soon.

Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x

This Year's Books - 2020

Hello.  Here we are at the end of 2020.  These days at the end of the year are usually deliciously languid, relished after the hustle and bustle of Christmas and its preparations.  This year, however, I have found them too long, probably because there was so little hustle and bustle preceding them and because I haven't seen another human being apart from the Best Beloved since Christmas Day.  I haven't been unhappy, we have had two beautiful snowfalls this week and I have eaten mince pies and drunk wine, knitted and watched films, but I am ready to move on now and leave this horrible year behind.

It's time to show you the books I have read this year.  I'm not a fast reader so I was amazed that I read four books in January (although let's face it, the weather was horrible so I didn't really go out anywhere) and thought that I would have no problem hitting my target of twenty books by the end of November.  Four!!  The first was a Christmas gift, Grandmothers by Salley Vickers.  Nothing much happens in this book but it perfectly encapsulates how I feel about being a grandmother.  I read a disparaging review of it in The Guardian and it was obvious to me that the critic wasn't a grandmother because she just didn't understand the relationships in the book.  I enjoyed it, and I also enjoyed the physical presence of the book: it's a comfortable size in the hand, beautifully bound and has a ribbon bookmark.  What more could I want?

Having finished Grandmothers in four days, I was prompted to reread Miss Garnet's Angel by the same author.  I first read this novel when it was published in paperback in 2002 and considered it one of my favourite books.  Eighteen years later I still loved it and perhaps understood and appreciated it even more with the benefit of those eighteen years of life experience.  It's certainly staying in the house.

My next book was Burial Rites by Hannah Kent which fictionalizes the true story of the last woman to be executed in Iceland, in 1829.  I've been to Iceland and its landscape, architecture and way of life are intrinsic to the story.  I loved it and tried to pass it on to The Teacher but she pointed out to me that she had already read it and lent it to me so it was, in fact, her own book! 

January's final book was Agnes Grey by Anne Bronte.  I've read this before too, but that was more than thirty years ago and I couldn't remember it.  It's a wonderful novel, if you are put off by the idea of reading "the classics" I recommend this as the style is easy to read and it's only 180 pages long.  I polished it off in three days and was left outraged and saddened by the way young governesses were treated by their employers in the nineteenth century.  

So, I thought I should read Miss Bronte's other novel, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall.  To be quite honest, it's not as good as many people proclaim it to be and I spent weeks mired in it.  I think my biggest problem with it was that I didn't sympathise with the narrator, although there's also the fact that while The Tenant is supposed to be an independent woman, she's ultimately reliant on her family's financial and practical support and she makes an annoying marriage choice.  I'm trying not to spoil it for you in case you want to read it yourself but really, don't bother, read Jane Eyre instead.  This paperback book has now fallen apart, having been used for serious study twice and reading "enjoyment" twice more so out it will go.

After trudging through that one I moved on to The Scent of Water by Elizabeth Goudge. I picked this up from a free stall because I read The Herb of Grace by the same author three years ago and enjoyed it very much. This one started off well but I was a bit disappointed by the end. I thought it was a bit old-fashioned, but that doesn't usually put me off a book, I like old-fashioned, so it must have been something more. However, I'm glad I read it and it can leave now.

That one took me up to the middle of April and I read two more books that month - we were in lockdown and I still couldn't go out anywhere.  The first was The Music Shop by Rachel Joyce.  This is the second of her books which I have read and enjoyed.  It is about music but it's really about people and relationships and community, subjects in which I am very interested, and it's very well-written.

Next came Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel.  I really shouldn't have read this but it was so good that I couldn't help myself.  In the opening chapter, a virulent new strain of influenza appears and eventually wipes out 99% of the world's population.  Do you see why I shouldn't have read it?  It's a marvellous novel about memory, loss and the importance of art and if we weren't in the middle of a global pandemic I would be urging you all to read it but it's a bit too close to the bone for these times.

In May I read Holy Fools by Joanne Harris.  I have read a few of her books and enjoyed them and this one didn't disappoint.  However, after I finished it I decided that I needed to give myself a good talking to.  There's always something dark in her novels and, on top of Station Eleven, it really didn't do my mood any good.  There was enough darkness in the real world without escaping to it in books so I decided that my next book shouldn't be one of the serious novels lining my To Be Read shelf but instead it should be something light and comforting.  So when Martin Jarvis began reading Just William by Richmal Crompton every morning on Radio 4 I reached my dusty paperback down from the shelves which hold the books I have had since I was a child and, for the first time in more than forty years, opened the cover.  It was perfect.  Actually, Martin Jarvis was perfect, even the Best Beloved enjoyed listening with me and he actually allowed me to read chunks of my book aloud to him!  Amusing, light and comforting, it was just what I needed.

In June I continued in the same vein and read What Katy Did by Susan M. Coolidge.  Again, it is more than forty years since I read this, and it provided a good escape from reality.  This cheap copy was not mine, it must have come into the house for one of my daughters, and when I found the first spelling mistake I knew that it would have to go as soon as I finished it.  I cannot abide spelling mistakes.

I had really slowed up by this point.  I tried several grown-up novels and cast them aside before I had a brainwave and fished out The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry by Rachel Joyce.  I know that I'm a bit late to the party with this one but honestly, please read it if you haven't.  Again, it's about the healing powers of relationships and community and it's beautifully written.  Like The Music Shop, this one was passed on to me by my mother so Ma, if you're reading, please would you like to lend me The Love Song of Miss Queenie Hennessy, the companion novel?

I completed Harold's journey on 6th July and I didn't pick up a book for another two months.  My brain just wouldn't settle down and let me become absorbed in a novel.  However, in the middle of September we went away to the seaside for a long weekend and I wanted to take a book with me, just in case.  I scanned the shelf and spotted Coastliners by Joanne Harris, another novel which has been sitting waiting for more years than I care to remember, and I thought that as I would be by the coast, this book might be suitable as I do find that reading a book in some context enhances my enjoyment.  It was indeed suitable.  Ms Harris always crafts a fine story and I enjoyed it very much, sitting on the beach in the sunshine, until the denouement, which I thought was rushed and so lacked credibility.  However, I am glad that I read it.

Next came Ballet Shoes by Noel Streatfield, another of my childhood books, this one dating from the 1970s when a Puffin paperback cost 25p.  I love this story SO much, before I wanted to be Jo March I wanted to be Pauline Fossil.  Reading this book again was easy, calming, comforting and really quite delightful and I didn't choose anything else for a while afterwards, not because I didn't want to read but because I wanted to keep living in this one.

Book number fifteen was a properly grown-up book, The Other Side by Mary Gordon.  I didn't like it.  I stuck with it because I hoped that it would get better and because I always finish a book once I start it but it didn't get better and with one exception, the characters didn't become more likeable.  This book was passed on to me and I shall now be passing it out of the door.

Reading My Dream of You by Nuala O'Faolain brought me to the end of November.  This was passed on to me by my bookish aunt who was interested in our family's Irish heritage and it's about a middle-aged woman who returns to Ireland after living in London for all of her adult life to research a nineteenth century mystery.  I enjoyed it and I am glad that I read it.  

That brought me almost to the end of November.  There are only sixteen books here so I missed my target of twenty but I'm not really disappointed because I have read sixteen books, which is fourteen more than I read in 2017, and there was a point this year when I thought that I may only read eleven, and let's not forget that I slogged through The Tenant of Wildfell Hall and The Other Side, for which I deserve some sort of endurance award.

At the beginning of December I pulled out these books to dip into through the month.  Nigel Slater's The Christmas Chronicles was new last year and Jostein Gaarder's The Christmas Mystery  was new the year before.  Each of them is a bit like an Advent calender, with a short chapter to read each day.  They are relatively new friends but I intend them to become old friends.  New for this year was Yuletide, which is great if you are at all interested in British customs, traditions and folklore, and Dorothy Wordsworth's Christmas Birthday, which is a poem written by Carol Ann Duffy and beautifully illustrated by Tom Duxbury.  I like to read my battered old copy of The Tailor of Gloucester every Christmas as that is when it is set, and you already know that I like to read a book in context if it's possible.  Growing up I found this story quite creepy, all those mice scurrying about behind the skirting boards and being trapped under teacups by Simpkin, ready for his dinner, but I like it much more now and find it heartwarming. Beatrix Potter claimed that this was her favourite of the Tales.

Now, all this dipping was fine and festive BUT I found myself wanting to read something longer, a proper story.  I wasn't sure quite what because I didn't want anything completely immersive when there were Christmas preparations to be made, and I really wanted something seasonal, but what to choose?  Then I had a lightbulb moment: I remembered that my mother had told me about an article in The Telegraph at the beginning of December which stated, "A warm November with Christmas decorations up early has led to a reverse Narnia, where it is always Christmas and never winter."  Narnia!  I took out of its slipcase my precious copy of The Lion, The Witch & The Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis.  It made a perfect December read, particularly for this year - ice and snow, Father Christmas, spring emerging to bring hope and the triumph of good over evil.  I'm sure you can see the metaphor.

My last December read was a gift from Father Christmas (whose handwriting is identical to my mother's - isn't that funny?).  This is not my first copy of A Christmas Carol but it is the first one which is new to me and it is a beautiful edition, sitting well in the hand and with a good-sized font, which is increasingly important to me as the years pass.  I read it over a couple of days after Christmas.

So, that was my year in books.  It has been the strangest year of my life and I know that some people embraced the opportunity afforded them by lockdown and read dozens of books but I found myself unable to do that and at times when I felt that the ground was always shifting beneath my feet I found stability, comfort and relief in reading books I loved when I was a child and novels about the importance of caring human relationships.

Tonight we shall light fire and candles, eat, drink and be merry, just the two of us, as usual.    

 See you next year. 

Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x

The Books I Read in 2019 - Part Two



Hello, and Happy New Year to you.  Thank you for making a bit of time to pop in here.  We packed Christmas away on Twelfth Night and put a full stop after it on Monday when I marked Epiphany by drawing my little wise men close to the stable and chalking our door but I know that some of you keep a different calendar and celebrated Christmas a few days ago, so Happy Christmas to you. 

 

Like many other people, I have been making a few plans for this year and I can't do that without reviewing what I did last year so here are the rest of the books I read in 2019.  I set myself a target of reading twelve books of at least 450 pages and by 10th June, when I shared my progress with you here, I had read ten, plus three shorter books.  The pile for the second half of the year is much shorter.

Hanya Yanagihara's A Little Life is the longest book I read last year and I loved all 720 pages.  It follows the life of Jude for more than fifty years, through an horrendous childhood and adolescence to a successful professional adulthood, and it is incredibly moving, but it is also raw and you do have to be able to cope with the sexually and physically violent passages - none is gratuitous and the sex is handled modestly, although the reader knows exactly what's going on.  It's not a perfect book but I thought it was wonderful.

 

Following my visit to Wenlock Books on its final day of trading in June, I read The Trumpet-Major and fell in love with Thomas Hardy all over again, my first passion for him having flowered when I was in the sixth form at school.  Back then I read The Mayor of Casterbridge, Far From The Madding Crowd, Tess of the D'Urbervilles and The Trumpet-Major and when I went to place this "new" copy of The Trumpet-Major on my bookshelf, under H, I discovered these copies of The Woodlanders and The Return of the Native, neither of which I had read before.  What I particularly liked about The Woodlanders was the way Hardy wrote about trees, which I love and he obviously understood and loved.  I know that some people don't fancy reading "the classics" but honestly, Hardy isn't difficult to read and I think he's marvellous, although I did find The Return of the Native, which is often said to be his own favourite of his novels, a bit melodramatic and so a bit ridiculous.  I also recommend these Penguin Popular Classic editions which feel very comfortable in the hand, don't fall apart and are printed in a reasonable-sized font.  Frustratingly, The Woodlanders was 444 pages long, 6 pages short of my qualifying number, but The Return of the Native was 482 pages and when I finished it on 18th August, I reached my goal for 2019: twelve books of at least 450 pages.  Hooray!  (Actually, I'm not frustrated at all because it's not really about numbers and targets, it's about reading and I loved reading The Woodlanders.)

 

Hardy put me in the mood for nature so it felt quite natural to read How To See Nature after those novels.  Paul Evans is a Shropshire writer who contributes to the Country Diary column in The Guardian and describes himself as "a gardener, conservationist, writer, broadcaster and academic".  According to the blurb, this book is "for 21st century readers in the countryside and the city, seeking out the wildlife that can be found all around us" and I couldn't put it better.  The book told me how and where to look for wildlife and why it matters.

 

So, I was reading down the To Be Read pile at a merry old rate and then I began Claire Tomalin's biography Thomas Hardy The Time-Torn Man and was blown right off course.  It took me three months to read this book and I'm not sure why.  I was interested in the subject, obviously, and the book is well-written and illustrated by photographs.  While I was reading it I enjoyed it, but I left long gaps between putting it down and picking it up again.  Perhaps I should have devoted longer chunks of reading time to it?  I really don't know, but I recommend it to anyone who is interested in Hardy.  At 452 it took my total of "long" books to thirteen and exceeded my target.  Double Hooray!

 

Reaching December, as I mentioned in my last post, I sought out some seasonal reads.  I can't count Nigel Slater's The Christmas Chronicles in my list of books read in 2019 because I dipped in and out of it and didn't read every word, but it is a lovely book and I am glad that some of you recommended it.  Jostein Gaarder's The Christmas Mystery is an Advent calendar written for children which I will return to the shelf and take down again on 1st December, even though it's no longer a mystery. 

 

The last book on the list is another children's book, Barbara Willard's A Cold Wind Blowing.  This was first published in 1972, although my Puffin edition dates from 1977, so I was probably twelve years old when I last read it.  The book is set in the sixteenth century, Henry VIII is king and the religious houses are being dissolved and their inhabitants dispersed.  It was a violent time.  The story is centred around a landowning family whose head is a matriarchal grandmother and what surprised (and pleased) me is the feminist overtone.  For example, have you ever wondered what happened to the monks and nuns who were members of those dissolved abbeys, priories and convents?  Of those who were not killed, a few went to larger houses of their order, in this country or abroad, but most returned to secular life.  Before doing so, they were absolved of the vows they had taken on entering the house so that they would not have to live in breach of those vows.  However, while monks were absolved of their vows of poverty, chastity and obedience, nuns were absolved only of their vows of poverty and obedience and so still had to remain chaste.  This meant that they couldn't marry, and how on earth was a woman supposed to live if she couldn't gain financial support through marriage?  Grrr!  Those former nuns who did marry and were discovered by the authorities were carted off to gaol and divorced from their husbands. 

 

So that was my reading year:  8,788 pages in thirteen long books and eight shorter books read in 2019 - I have listed them all together on a separate page if you are interested.  Some will be rehomed and some will stay here.  Over the last two years I have made some very satisfying space in my To Be Read pile shelf bookcase, although there are still enough books there for another year.  This year I am going to reread some old favourites as well as some new books and as I now know that I can read more than I thought I could, my goal for 2020 is to read twenty-two books by 30th November.  I have already finished the first.

 

I am sorry if I have irked you by using the word "loved" too many times in this post but I love reading.  Have you been reading lately?

 

See you soon.

Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x

 

 

Support Your Local Independent Bookshop

Hello, thank you for calling in.  The rain has stopped and I've dried three loads of washing on the line this week as we've had perfect drying weather, sunny and windy.  I do love the smell of washing which has been dried on the line and I've put out another three loads today. 

I am working through my reading list and ruminating on books.  How do you buy books, if indeed you buy them at all?  I don't have an e-reader, I know that they are marvellous because you can store so many texts in very little space, which must be especially useful if you are travelling, and because you can increase adjust the font size to read more easily, but I like the physical presence of an old-fashioned book.  "Books do furnish a room," wrote the novelist Anthony Powell and I have bookcases in my sitting room, on the landing and in every upstairs room in my tiny house.  To be honest, I am a little out of control, which is why I am making a concerted effort to read down my To Be Read pile shelf bookcase and set some of my books free.  (I have a friend who is horrified by this and who has asked my why I would want to "get rid of" a single book.)  I never buy new books for myself, although having said that, I remember buying myself a book while I was doing my supermarket shop about seven or eight years ago, but that was an exception.  I buy them in second-hand shops, both bricks and mortar and online, and at fetes and stalls and any new ones I have are gifts.  However, I like to give books as gifts and I generally like those to be new.  There is something so special about the feel of a brand new book (although I really like the smell of an old book).

 

 

I don't buy books from Amazon now.  I used to but they didn't seem to know how to pack a hardback book properly and they often arrived with damaged corners so I stopped using them, especially once their staff exploitation and tax avoidance practices came to light (until I bought Nigel Slater's Christmas Chronicles earlier this year, but I am trying to convince myself that once in seven years isn't too bad.)  My favourite place to buy new books was a wonderful independent bookshop in Much Wenlock called Wenlock Books. I use the word "was" rather than "is" because the shop closed at the end of June.
 

This was a wonderful shop: new books downstairs, second-hand books upstairs and a jolly children's section with a place to sit and peruse a book with a small child.  If you weren't sure what to buy, the friendly and knowledgable staff would make recommendations and there were reading groups for children and adults, children's storytime and summer reading and writing activities, author events and book signings, knitting sessions with reading (and cake!) and a monthly poetry breakfast in a local tearoom.  The shop owner, Anna Dreda, organised a poetry festival for a few years which took over the town for a weekend every Spring and where I was captivated by Andrew Motion, Benjamin Zephaniah, David Whyte and Owen Shears among other poets.  It was a lovely, lovely place and operated for twenty-eight years before Anna announced that she would have to close because the business was no longer financially viable.  Isn't that sad?  I know that high street shops are closing everywhere because people are preferring to shop online but this shop was so much more than just a shop.  Apparently, some people would come into the shop, find a book that they wanted, often with the help of a member of staff, and then say something like, "Yes, that's exactly what I want!  I'll buy it from Amazon because it's cheaper than it is here."  I am appalled by such rudeness.  Much Wenlock has lost a great asset, I think - the shop was a destination but when I went there I often visited other shops in the town as well and spent money there.  I really don't know where I'll go to buy new books now.

 

I visited the shop on its last day of trading.  Anna had posted on social media that she was selling off her remaining stock and invited people to come and help her to clear her overdraft.  I bought one new book, signed by its author, and nine second-hand books.  At £1 for a hardback and 50p for a paperback I just couldn't resist.  This bagful amounted to £6.50; I told Anna that it didn't seem enough, and I told her that I was beyond sad that the shop was closing.

Now then, I know that I am trying to reduce the number of books in my house and I shouldn't be bringing in any more, but in my defence, some of these are gifts for other people.  Most of them, however, are for me and I don't feel in the least bit guilty about that because a book is a lovely thing.  Take this one, for instance - 
 

For the grand sum of £1, how could I resist it?  It's a little battered at the top but beautifully bound with gilt-edged pages and small, about the size of my hand, which is deliberate because it is a Macmillan Pocket book.  I think I've told you before do that I think a book is about so much more than the text and the way it feels in the hand can be very important.  This one feels very pleasing indeed.

  

When I opened the front cover I found this inscription, which reads,

"To Dorothy,

on her 21st Birthday

With love

From

Dorothy Stagg.

                          xxx"

 

I wonder who those Dorothys were and what became of them?  I know that we are not supposed to inscribe books because it reduces their resale value but I like an inscription inside a book because it tells me something about where the book has been before it has landed in my hands.  Also inside the front cover of this book is a little sticker which announces that the book was initially sold by

 

S. ASCOTT

Stationer and Bookseller

36 Rye Lane, Peckham S.E.

 

I like that, too.  I wonder how the book travelled almost 170 miles from London to Shropshire, and with whom?  Dorothy?  And was Dorothy the owner of the bookmark I found tucked between the pages,  advertising the British Dominions Fire Office?  (The back of the bookmark outlines the "All-In" policy which included cover for Accidents to Servants!)

 



Turning over the first page, I saw this and discovered the full title of the book which I have always called simply The Trumpet-Major, and that this edition was first published in 1923.  So perhaps the mysterious Dorothy was born in 1902?

 

Now I should confess my guilty secret:  I already own a copy of this book.  I whispered that.  I own a paperback copy which I bought new with some birthday money in 1984.  I read it and sadly, some of the pages came adrift so as the book was incomplete, I cut out some more and used them in a craft project a few years ago.  I don't regret it at all because that made a very neat gap on my bookshelf for this little treasure. 

 

Before I dash off, do you know about Hive, a British company which was set up in 2011 to sell new books online at warehouse prices?  If you buy something from them, you can nominate an independent bookshop and the company gives a percentage of the money you have spent to that bookshop.  If I bought something from them I nominated Wenlock Books and I would have my parcel delivered there, although you can now have your purchases delivered to your home, and when I collected my parcels I would buy something small in the shop, too.  The first time I did this I felt embarrassed and apologised to Anna Dreda but she was very gracious and insisted that it was absolutely fine and that there was no need for me to apologise because the shop would benefit from my business with Hive.  So, if you would like to support an independent bookshop in this way, and I hope you do, you can find Hive here.

 

I really must disappear now - I have a cake in the oven and I can smell that it's ready.  We are off on an adventure tomorrow so I wish you all a happy weekend, especially if you are able to make the most of our bank holiday on Monday, and I'll see you on the other side.

 

See you soon.

Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x 

  

...ing

Hello, thank you for calling in, it's lovely to see you here.  I didn't intend to be away for so long; I have had lots of ideas to share with you but somehow, I couldn't write about them coherently.  They all got jumbled up together in my brain and I couldn't untangle them and the longer it took, the worse it got.  I am a bit unsettled at the moment, there are changes afoot and the prospect is making me anxious so I think that's why my brain is fuddled.  I have decided that the solution is to show you some bits and pieces of what I have been doing over the last three weeks, inspired by the monthly "...ing" posts which Jo writes over at Three Stories High and which I love to read.

1.  Exploring - Last weekend, the Best Beloved and I spent several hours in the sunshine up Titterstone Clee Hill in South Shropshire and as I read my book and did some crochet while drinking in the glorious views, he went for a wander with his camera, right to the top of the hill. 

2. Reading - I have just finished reading A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara.  I realise that this book may not be for everyone as it includes some sexual exploitation, violence and self-harm but I found it deeply moving and very affecting.  I finished it last weekend and I can't stop thinking about it. 

3.  Crocheting - I have been making a blanket for myself.  I've never made anything as big as this before and I have learned a lot, but I have enjoyed every single stitch of this one.  I have crocheted on my sofa, in bed, on other people's sofas, in a cafe, in a National Trust property, in an hotel bar and out in the Shropshire Hills and all of those places are embedded into my blanket.  When it's finished, I shall give it a post of its own.

4.  Playing - I look after Tom Kitten one regular day a week, occasionally more, and he is a joy.  I am grateful that I can do something practical to help his parents and for the opportunity to forge a special relationship with my grandchild.  He is funny and smart and adorable and I am head-over-heels in love with him.  Playing is very tiring, for both of us!

5.  Stamping - I spent a day at a free event which combined history with an art workshop.  I don't have any drawing or painting skills but I was encouraged to have a go at stamping, which I haven't really done before.  I had to carve out my own stamp with A REAL LINO CUTTING TOOL and, having looked at a book for inspiration, I decided that I wanted to use Thomas Telford's mason's mark as the basis for my design.  Did you read that?  I'll type it again, slowly - My...Own...Design.  Oh my!  Can you tell that I got a bit excited about it?  I had a wonderful time and am thinking about how stamping could become part of my life.

I am the smallest blue bridesmaid

5.  Remembering - My aunt and uncle were married in July 1969 and I was a bridesmaid.  They celebrated this golden wedding anniversary in London with their daughter, her husband, some close friends and my parents and photos flew to the rest of the family across the internet, some new and some old, as we all sent them our love and shared our memories of a very happy day.

6.  Adjusting - I have new spectacles for both close and distance work.  My prescription has changed considerably since my last eye test and the optician warned me that for close work, I shall have to hold whatever I want to read closer to my face than I am used to.  The joys of aging!  My main difficulty is using a computer because I really can't hold it up to my face but at working distance, the screen is too far away for me to read it clearly but not far enough away for my distance specs to be useful.  I haven't worked out how I'm going to resolve this one.  I took a photo of myself wearing the new reading specs and sent it to my daughter - who replied that I look like a tortoise!!!!!!  That's why I can't show it to you.

So now, we are waiting.  My second grandchild is due any day now and Tom Kitten's travel cot and overnight bag are in my other bedroom in case he needs to come and stay here while his mummy is in hospital.  I have cleared the decks so that I can give whatever help his parents need during the first, exhausting weeks. I just need to dye my hair and then I'll be ready!

See you soon.

Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x