129: A book lover's book

I’d known it was a mistake the moment I’d agreed to it months earlier. I only had myself to blame. I’d allowed myself to be persuaded by Kenneth. He’d said how difficult he now found reading and perhaps I’d like to take over leading the Boxing Day book club. Then I’d found myself under pressure to choose a book so as to give the others time to read it. Of course, I’d just snatched an old favourite from the shelves. Now I only had a few days left to work out the case for possibly the unlikeliest bestseller of all time when it was first published over fifty years ago. I comforted myself with the thought that it was short. I’d read the author’s other works, knew a lot of biographical detail, but all the same. The only thing clear, was that the title needed explanation, I decided to start with that.

‘I suppose you’ll be expecting another Aunt Elisabeth tea?’ Said Charlie, breaking in on my thoughts.

‘It’s not me, it’s the others.’

‘Yeah, yeah. You just don’t have the will to refuse them.’

Melisa was kind enough to deliver Kenneth, and surprised me by accepting his invitation to sit in. He began by introducing me; ‘Tony’s choice today is, blessedly, a very short book and unusually for us biographical in nature, a book of selected correspondence. But I know it’s a book lover’s book, I read it first, oh, longer ago than I care to remember. Tony.’

‘Thank you, Kenneth. I think what caused me to reach for this volume was the sense that the author would have felt entirely at home in the modern world of the Internet and social media. She’d undoubtedly have been an influencer. Her lack of formality, her brevity, despite being a professional writer, is of course in sharp contrast to the recipient of her letters. Even her choice of typefaces is redolent of today. I think I can best be of service by saying something of the historic context of the book. 84, Charing Cross Road was just a small bookshop in a sea of bookshops, large and small, in nineteen forty-nine. Even more than twenty years later, when Helene Hanff finally got her wish to visit London, the Charing Cross Road was where everyone went, when in search of books that could not be found on a WH Smith bookstall. If a book was still in print then the giant Foyles had it, or at least they could get it for you. If out of print, then you could trawl the street for a good, clean copy. I regret to report that today, 84, Charing Cross Road is a McDonalds. Although it rates a blue plaque on the wall. The average time spent in that fast-food chain was once calculated as seven minutes! I imagine all of us have spent longer browsing in a bookshop. Now, who’d like to start the discussion?’

‘She implies she was more or less starving in her New York garret, is that true?’

‘Yes, but there was an element of choice to it, her first love was Broadway. She was for decades determined to be a playwright. And was singularly unsuccessful. 84, was her second book. The first was Underfoot In Showbusiness, an autobiographical account of her struggles.’

‘It’s often portrayed as a love story. Do you think she was in love with Frank Doel, despite them never meeting?’

‘No, I think they were pen pals, her love was for the England of English literature, he facilitated that. I think you need to understand how much of an autodidact Helene was. As a result of educating herself via the public libraries of Philadelphia and New York, she stumbled on the work of Arthur Quiller-Couch and allowed herself to be led by him.’

‘Quiller-Couch was a professor of English Literature at Cambridge.’ Said the lady who used to work at the library. ‘He was a Cornishman of course, but partly educated in our county. Everyone called him Q.’

‘He was keen that everyone should approach literature through the language used, how it was grounded in the real world around them, so great emphasis on biography and historical context.’ I commented.

At this point the ex-librarian opened her copy of 84 at a page she’d marked and said; ‘February 9th 1952, she’s talking of Walton’s Lives, I quote; “Q quoted enough of it so I know I’ll like it. Anything he liked I’ll like, except if it’s fiction. I never can get interested in things that didn’t happen to people who never lived.” End quote. Bit of a challenge to our little group, don’t you think Tony?’

‘Indeed. There’s another letter somewhere, in which she confides she feels she ought to know about Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales and asks for a modern English version. Later she comments something like, if he’d written about what it was like to be a lowly clerk at the court of Richard III, she’d have learnt old English for that!’

‘Nobody writes letters anymore.’ Someone said. ‘I mean a letter is private, and you hardly know what you think until you start writing, its personal, you know the person you’re writing to.’

‘I guess that’s what really dates my choice. If most of you have read the edition which includes The Duchess of Bloomsbury Street, the diary of her first visit to London after the publication of 84, you’ll know that Joyce Grenfell, one of the great letter writers of the twentieth century, rapidly contacts Andre Deutsch in the hope of contriving an introduction to Helene. My bookshelves heave with Joyce, one volume contains almost daily letters, from childhood onwards, written to her mother, younger sister of Nancy Astor, another volume of lifelong letters to her childhood friend Virginia Graham.’

‘Nobody even writes emails, if they can help it. Instant opinions offered online, where do our reflections go? Sorry, I must be sounding like a terrible old bore.’ Offered Kenneth.

‘Did you approve of the play and the film, Tony?’ Said another.

‘Well, by the standards of the modern theatre and Hollywood, absolutely! Both faithfully reproduced in the script as many of the letters as they could. Just a two-hander really. A split stage and a split screen. Bookshop, interior. Small New York apartment, interior. Rather jolly and intimate.’

Then suddenly my reverie was interrupted by the sound of an approaching tea trolley. Melisa jumped up to help Charlie serve all us oldies. Aunt Elisabeth’s best china tea service, decorated Christmas paper napkins, side plates for sandwiches, followed by a fork for the consumption of gateau. Later a desert bowl and spoon for trifle. Conversation switched to the decline of letter writing in general, whilst I thought of all that washing up. Someone spoke of postcards and airmail letters from afar. Soon we were on to the decline of the Royal Mail. Four deliveries a day in London once upon a time someone claimed. Had anyone preserved a travelling post office I was asked. I had to concede I wasn’t that much of an expert on railways.

After a while I thought to myself, this room is beginning to take on the atmosphere of a Victorian tea, in a very upmarket care home, contrived with the sole purpose of facilitating reminiscence therapy. Was I becoming fascinated by just the past now, back with the History I'd started with as an undergraduate? Enough, no more dying from a severe attack of nostalgia. Get me out of here, no get these people out of here.

128: Christmas club

‘Soon be Christmas again.’ Said Charlie one morning, as we were going about our ablutions. Thankfully there were just a few days left to endure before events kicked off. Those who mention Christmas at the earliest opportunity every year have always annoyed me. There’ll be someone, in the days following the summer solstice, who will remark; ‘The nights are drawing in, soon be Christmas.’ By August it becomes difficult not to notice the mince pies appearing on supermarket shelves.

‘So, what have you planned for our Christmas?’ she asked.

‘The club lunch on Christmas Eve, followed by Checkley Manor, but back here in time for the Book Club on Boxing Day.’

‘But it’s the same every year!’

‘Exactly, that’s the point.’

On our drive out to the club on Christmas Eve, Charlie asked who the guest speaker would be? I was able to reply; ‘Our noble Lord Coates.’

‘You know, I’ve never asked; is Frimley married?’

‘Oh yes.’

‘He never brings her to the club!’

‘Well, not in recent times. One imagines she’s fully occupied with the children.’

‘How many?’

‘Four.’

‘Crickey! You'd have thought they'd have sorted out other forms of satisfaction long ago.'

‘They hung-on for a boy, and managed it at the fourth attempt.’

‘Serve him right, three girls.’

‘That’s why his priority has always been making money, with the politics left as just a hobby.’

‘Is he a good speaker?’

‘Excellent, odd but excellent.’

Upon entering the lounge, we began to mingle. The first person I encountered was Walpole; ‘What ho, what ho! What, no Helene?’

‘She’s deep in the making of mince pies, she only attended last year when she thought me the star attraction.’

‘Reflected glory.’

‘Now I’m permanently in the doghouse for giving too much time to the railway.’

‘How are things going, I haven’t had a situation report in a while.’

‘That is because I remain deeply embroiled with the county council. I think they were upset to be so excluded in the beginning, thinking we were trying to go over their heads.’

‘Well, we were, sort of.’

‘Well now they seem determined to get their own back and summon as much outrage as they can about the apparent loss of footpaths and cycle ways.’

‘But you had a good wheeze about that.’

‘Indeed, I spelt it out for them, but now they are causing more delay by brooding over old maps, etc. In essence, I told them they were wrong to have run rough shod in the past over old pathways and bridleways. No pun intended. By correctly reinstating level crossings, fences and paths to stations, we are showing them where the public have always had a right of way and still can have. The railways in the nineteenth century had to fall in line with ancient tracks as much as the landowners whose land they were crossing did!’

‘Don’t forget I got Jack involved in the old bicycle emporium to show good intentions all round.’

‘I suppose at the end of the day we may have to actually suggest where walkers and cyclists should go, I’m not sure councillors actually know the landscape they’re supposedly protecting.’

‘Try not to, they need to believe they’ve come up with solutions themselves or otherwise they lose their reason for being.’

‘My lords, ladies, ladies and gentlemen, pray silence for the man without whom the Park would not be the Park, the club wouldn’t be the club, and we’d all be out of a job, wandering the streets; our friend and benefactor, the man himself, Anthony Arlington.’

‘Thank you, Mr Secretary, eloquent and flattering as always. I’m obliged to you for giving me a couple of minutes to address you all, before introducing our guest speaker. As many of you are aware we are approaching the end of our various schemes to upgrade the Park, but must now face the final challenge - the water pipe and pumping station replacement. I wish to reassure you all, that although this task was anticipated in the original financial plans, the Trust stands ready to provide extra funding should the unexpected occur, or more leaks than anticipated be discovered. Now, from the walled garden southwards, through the stables and the bungalows to all parts of the house now in use new piping has been fitted. We now face the long haul to the edge of the parkland where we take water from the river. Survey work will start shortly, and disruption will begin in the spring, hopefully cuts in supply will only occur on a couple of occasions and for a few hours only, notices will be posted to you all in plenty of time. Now then, today’s speaker is known to you all and in a unique position to comment on the political disruption we’ve all faced this year, indeed over the last five years. He is, alas, now our only political insider, able to at least report if not influence events from his lofty perch in the House of Lords. And so, with no more to-do, I give our noble lord, Frimley Coates.’

‘Thank you, Anthony. I should perhaps point out that it is customary only to use the expression “noble lord” when one peer is addressing another. However, if my nobility amuses you, then who am I... You may think it odd that I should address you at this pagan festival, my faith gives emphasis to Easter as a time, following an appropriate period of fasting, to indulge and celebrate. But I fear with the ascendancy of the worker’s party we are all in for an extended period of puritan, rule-governed restraint and self-abasement. You may protest that we only have ourselves to blame, and it does seem that so many in the once great party have spent years running around like headless chickens, having little or no effect upon the fortunes of the nation. Buffy Trumpton, to whom I owe my own political good fortune, seemed to blow a fuse, almost at the point of achieving that which he had coveted for so long. Others were perhaps never up to the job. I too have been accused of, if not incompetence, then of being irrelevant. Some elderly wit was overheard complaining to some other even more elderly person that my style was “out of date before you were born”. Well, I take comfort that the best of the past is never out of date here at the club and amongst all you fellows. I find solace too, of course, in my faith and the inspiration offered by the holy father. His holiness was gracious enough to offer my wife and I a brief audience this year. His life-long determination to avoid the trappings of office and to remain at heart a simple parish priest is surely an example to us all. We are all sinners, no matter how we spend our lives, we cannot transcend human nature, the assumption of so many political idealists, we can only attempt to emulate something of the life of Christ though we know we are bound to fail at the last, such is the human condition. And so, I offer a toast to, God the father, God the son and God the holy spirit!’

‘Amen!’ Cried someone.

‘I’m sorry, I got a little carried away there, must be the wine. I have of course sworn an oath to the crown. I give you, the King!’

127: The vision thing

‘How was your bonding jolly at Bilberry?’ Said Jack as Charlie and I walked into his office.

‘You remain as well connected, and as cynical, as ever.’ I replied.

‘Melisa gives me a direct line to quite a lot these days, not to mention Fiona.’

‘Mel hanging around today, is she?’

‘Come on through to the back of the workshop.’

A moment or two later I was abruptly stopped in my tracks; ‘Is that Northcott Electrics?’ I exclaimed.

‘Repainted, relabelled, and re-distressed. We’ve remade the outside for suburban respectability.’ Said Jack.

Melisa, dressed in well distressed overalls, then drew back the sliding door. ‘Good lord! Still carrying Cat’s assorted house breaking implements I see. But from all outward appearances, it looks like one of our garden centre delivery vans!’

‘Got in one, old son. Only now it is “Pemberton’s” friendly deliveries, just the right touch for your part of town.’

‘Could be a flower shop.’

‘Or ready meals.’ Suggested Charlie.

A few weeks later, Melisa plonked a package, a large brown envelope about an inch thick, down in front of me on our kitchen table as we were all sat waiting for Charlie to pour tea. A few hours earlier Mel had successfully delivered Kenneth to us for the first time and in the preceding weeks got her parents to accept the van. She was now splitting her time between Royal Oak, Jack’s garage and the college one evening a week. ‘Do I spy the handiwork of Merriweather and Stollard?’ I asked.

‘I can’t get my head around it; will you look at it for me Tony?’

‘Sure, talk amongst yourselves for five minutes.’

And they did, whilst I shuffled paper, checking for no surprises, and collecting my thoughts. ‘Right then. First off, this is your parents sharing their plans, there is nothing you need to do, other than bit by bit familiarise yourself with the contents. I think I have two bits of advice. At some point you will be asked to become a trustee, you accept, in exchange for some sort of allowance and expenses. You attend meetings, observe, keep yourself informed but at arm’s length from the day-to-day business, as likely as not you’ll find it convenient to go along with your parent’s wishes most of the time. However, in general conversation, at home, or indeed anywhere else, you make it known that in the fullness of time, when you have the power to do so, you intend to break the historic connection between your family and the arms, ordinance, intelligence, security industries etc. You won’t throw assets away, but simply turn shares into cash and use those assets for more down to earth, broadly conservation type, local projects and good works in general. This might happen next year or in thirty years’ time, but you just make your intentions generally known.’

There was a pause, then with a look of wonderment and turning towards Charlie, she asked; ‘How does he do that?’

‘Oh, don’t ask!’ Was her reply.

‘Do what?’ I asked.

‘Someone one once called it, “the vision thing’’, never had it myself.’ Added Kenneth.

‘It sounds simple, and in fact it actually is!’ I asserted.

‘The full English please.’ I spoke.

‘Standard, Between Stations or Gut Buster?’ Said the lady behind the counter.

‘Oh! Standard thank you, extra standard.’

‘Beans or grilled tomatoes?’

‘Tomatoes.’

‘Toast or fried bread?’

‘Fried bread, naturally.’

‘Hash brown or potatoes?’

‘Potatoes?’

‘Chopped and lightly fried.’

‘Yes, why not.’ Once we were sat down at the new greasy spoon cafe, just up from the bicycle workshop and down from the Railway Arms at the Abbey station, I turned to my companion and asked; ‘Why are we here Charlie?’

‘Feeling outside your comfort zone?’

‘A little.’

‘It’s all Trust property, and you are a director of the railway.’

‘It’s not easy keeping up with developments these days, one seems to have so many fingers in pies.’

‘We are here to admire the pic-tures, as you might say.’

‘Oh yes, the internal decoration is rather pleasing.’

‘The once travelling exhibition, has been divided up between here and the pub, we’ll take a look later, after doing the bike centre. Mind you, you are a little over dressed. I should have given greater thought to our schedule this morning.’

‘Ah! Now I remember. This cafe has a specific purpose, it will be a favourite amongst travellers, railway workers and train spotters alike. It will serve food that the refined refreshment rooms at the station will not, and be cheaper. In the act of restoring authentic refreshment rooms, we create somewhere everyone will want to look at, perhaps even have a cup of tea at, but will come here to stuff their faces!’

Our ‘all day breakfasts’ arrived, we got stuck in. Then Charlie asked; ‘Why on earth are you bringing back platform tickets?’

‘The train spotters and railway photographers aren’t rich, but the Abbey station is where all the action will be, yet they are the ones upon whom we depend to spread the word far and wide that we are where it’s at!’

‘And you’ll be forcing everyone over the footbridge, if you reinstate platform four!’

‘Once everyone has experienced the full experience, everyone will be in favour, including the disabled.’

‘How?’

‘First and foremost, everyone must go through the restored booking hall, then choose the stairs or the lift. Naturally, a porter will be on hand to assist. Once on the over bridge, freshly restored so as to be open to the elements on both sides, it becomes the ideal viewing platform for the whole station, and the experience of passing steam!’

‘Blimey!’

‘Any more questions, on the “vision thing”?’

‘No, no, I’ll keep my mouth shut.’

We wondered up the street to the bike emporium. The first person we saw was young Melisa; ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

‘As Jack’s general dogsbody I go where I’m sent. I’m here for the week. When he’s decided what I’m good for, he’s promised a proper apprenticeship.’

‘You’ve sold this place to Jack!’ Exclaimed Charlie turning towards me.

‘A cheap lease, putting him in my debt, just a little.’

‘You two looking for bikes? Very competitive prices.’

‘Good god, no! I’d rather keep jogging. Bikes would only lead to instant road rage. Besides we can’t just chuck them in the back of a van like you.’

‘We could get a foldaway each.’ Offered Charlie.

‘Have you seen the price?’

‘Says the richest man in a ten-mile radius.’

I looked at my watch; ‘Oh look, just turning eleven. Time to take a look at the Railway Arms I think.’

I ordered bitter, Charlie a bottle of German larger. Which rather summed up the age divide, she just turned forty, me in my middle fifties. Short of sawdust on the floor, I thought they’d made an excellent job of the pub. ‘You know, most people as they get older start getting nostalgic about their youth, but what preoccupies me is something older.’

‘You’re nostalgic for a time you never experienced.’

‘Quite!’

‘But if it’s a time before your time, then it’s a world divided by class, with you at the top of the tree.’

‘Well I wouldn’t go that far. It’s just some things were done better in the past.’

‘You are outside your comfort zone. You have all the right ideas, dreamt-up in front of the fire at the gentleman’s club. You’re always dressed like a man at his club, a man out of his time. Worse, maybe a man out of time?’

Looking again towards the pictures, I replied; ‘Alas yes, it seems I was born too late for the age of elegance!’

126: Evil under the sun

I had retreated to the media room, on account of Charlie having a private client. I hadn’t noticed the doorbell ring, but perhaps she’d seen whoever, arriving. After an hour or so of worrying those at the old bank about post-election strategy, I stretched my legs by wandering into the bedroom and looking down on the garden. I was shocked to see Charlie ferrying, it was the only word for it, a crouching Tuffy along the path to the back gate.

‘How was your client, responsive to the Sparkwell touch?’ I asked over our lunchtime rations.

‘Not really. I ended-up introducing some yoga for him to practice.’

‘Good God! Well, that explains it I suppose.’

‘Explains what?’

‘Why your so-called client was bent double leaving by the back gate.’

‘You saw?’

‘I did indeed.’

‘It wasn’t my idea!’

‘I imagine not.’

‘He insists everything should be shrouded in secrecy, not just from Victoria, but from you too, in case you were tempted to blab. He said; “You know Tony, he has tentacles everywhere.” He's overwhelmed.’

‘What’s happened to the poor fellow?’

‘I'm not even sure about that. He spent quite a time muttering about the railway.’

‘Our railway?’

‘No, the model set in the attic. He thinks he could create something more authentic than your lot.’

‘Good lord! Well, yes if it’s a model then it’s always simpler.’

‘I just wish he'd give some thought to who he’s talking to, I mean his twin obsessions are you and Victoria, how can I be expected to observe client confidentiality when there’s such a conflict of interest?’

‘They do say, that having chosen someone as your confessor it’s often difficult to break the habit.’

‘I say! There’s no packed lunch, damn it.’

‘Calm yourself Tuffy.’ I asserted. We were all aboard the old charabanc, heading out from the club on our annual Awayday. This year we were off to Bilberry-on-Sea, with a promise of lunch at the posh hotel on the island that sat across the causeway.

‘They’ll be takeaway coffees at the beach, whilst we wait for the sea tractor to ferry us across.’ Said Cat, taking on his usual role of tour guide.

Walpole and Helene were sat behind us, enjoying a tour again. ‘Well, this is very pleasant. You realise we hardly go anywhere together these days Walpole.’

‘Alas, pressure of work.’

‘That’s what you used to say in the old days, you’re meant to be retired!’

‘Well, I say work, but more like a hobby really, something one can be enthusiastic about.’

‘I hope there’ll be no arguments about detectives today.’

‘Strange, I wasn’t aware today’s misery tour took us to local locations from The Hound of the Baskervilles or the disappearance of Silver Blasé.’

‘Really Walpole! You know perfectly well to whom I refer. The island was an inspiration to Agatha Christie, there’s even a summer chalet in the hotel grounds where she used to write.’

‘Oh really? Would I recognise any of her titles?’

‘Evil Under The Sun, was one!’

‘Were there any art-deco buildings that didn’t have flat roofs?’ I said to Walpole as we stood looking at the only feature in the landscape of note, whilst consuming our coffees.

‘I can’t think of any, and they all leaked.’

‘Your Sherlock comment has set me thinking about next year, I’m looking for an alternative to stave off a small cabal determined we should do Christie’s home Greenway next.’

‘Oh lord!’ Then a moment later; ‘Oh, now what? Helene is gesturing with a beckoning digit. See you later.’

Melisa separated herself from the family Gruber and came over for a chat. ‘How was the bank?’ I enquired.

‘Great, Charlie helped me out.’

‘Getting a handle on financial affairs now will save countless hours in the future. Has Jack found you wheels yet?’

‘Yes, Mr Mackintosh’s old van has turned up and he’s fixing it, says it needs a lot of work though. Mother says you’d reassured her I wouldn’t turn up in some fancy sports. You’re involved with all this somehow, you seem to have leverage with practically everyone I meet!’

‘Okay, I confess, I found the van. Cat will transfer ownership to me because I’m doing him a favour in another matter. Jack is under instruction to do it all up to suit your needs, I’ll pay him whatever he sees fit to charge me, depending on how much he feels I owe him. We, have a sort of informal business partnership going. You meanwhile, need to work out how much it will cost you to run, cash you’ll have to pay, wherever it actually comes from, such as insurance, road tax, MOT, petrol per mile etc. When all that’s sorted, I simply transfer ownership to you.’

‘What? Free, gratis and for nothing.’

‘Well, there’s really no need for cash to exchange hands. I owe you an eighteenth birthday present anyway and there are occasional favours you could do for me.’

‘I’m beginning to think mother isn’t right about you!’

‘She’s biased. No, right now, there’s only one thing I can think of that would make a real difference. Would you be willing to chauffer Kenneth back and forth to our place twice a week so he can stay involved with the garden?’

‘Of course, no worries.’

‘Young Timothy not with you today?’

‘I don’t allow him to come just anywhere!’

‘Glad to hear it.’

It was whilst eating our luxurious lunch that I realised that what obsessed modernist architects were the interiors they created, and if that meant an horrendous outside, so be it. We lounged awhile after eating, then the heartier folk set off for a walk around the island. I looked for Charlie, but she was nowhere to be seen, so I just followed the group in front. Later, as we were gathering for the return ferry, I was chatting to Victoria, a few steps apart from all the others. Cat approached looking hassled and declared; ‘We’re missing two!’

‘So much so obvious.’ I replied.

‘What?’

‘I am without Charlie, Victoria is minus Tuffy, thus we deduce they are together.’

‘Good lord! I say, sorry about that and all.’

‘Oh!’ Exclaimed the Lady Vic; ‘I think we’re fairly safe in assuming Charlotte is doing her best to therapize Tuffy! And I don’t think either Tony nor I, would fully claim to know the mind of Tuffy.’

‘Absolutely. Anyway Cat, I suggest Vic and I take ten minutes to walk around the top of the island again, that’ll give us the best view.’

Five minutes later, as we were walking a path above an almost amphitheatre like cove, two figures could be seen on the beach below. I recognised Charlie by the only too familiar pose, that of the assertive fitness instructor. The figure attempting to rise out of Cobra must be Tuffy.

‘He’s only just wolfed down a large lunch!’ Said the Lady Vic.

‘Being on sand won't help. Hush a second, we might be able to hear something...’

‘Now gently rising into Warrior, try not to stretch or strain.’ Charlie could be heard to caution. But Tuffy had other ideas, he pushed on into full Victory pose. Arms out stretched forming a V and fingers spread.

‘Oh, my God!’ Said Vic, then added; ‘She’s changed into her kit.’

‘Yes, Charlie is notoriously high bound in the matter of yoga and fitness apparel.’

It was then, and I can't honestly say what made me do it, that I cupped my hands to my mouth and sent a ‘koo-ee' echoing around the cliff face. Tuffy collapsed instantly in a heap.

‘That was, brutal but effective Tony.’

‘Sometimes you need an utter bastard to stop an idiot.’ I replied.