The Town in Bloom

It was near the top of The Times personal column:

Calling Moll Byblow, the Mouse and the Gazelle. Madame Lily de Luxe reminds you of a long-standing luncheon engagement, at one p.m. Next Thursday. The window table is reserved. Do not fail. This may be the last reunion.

The opening of Dodie Smith’s Town in Bloom is set in the 1962, when Molly, Mouse and Lilian keep their date, just as they have done every five years for the last four decades, but they haven’t seen or heard from Zelle since the long-ago summer that shaped their lives. This time around, however, Mouse follows an old lady who might be their missing friend... So the stage is set for the past to unfold, revealing the anguish of first love, the nature of friendship, and the betrayal of trust.

Following the death of the aunt who brought her up, Mouse moves to London armed with a letter of introduction to theatrical legend Rex Crossway, and an all-consuming ambition to be an actress. Her efforts are hampered by a total lack of talent, and she fails to gain a stage part with Rex’s theatre company – but the secretary takes her on as a junior assistant.

Mouse, who is tiny but not timid, lives in a club, a kind of hostel, similar to the May of Teck Club in Muriel Spark’s ‘The Girls of Slender Means’, but this one provides accommodation for actresses, singers and the like. There Mouse (we never know her real name) is befriended by Molly and Lilian, who are both in musical comedy. I loved the descriptions of life in the hostel and the camaraderie as the girls discuss men, love, work and clothes. They share secrets and late-night feasts, tucking into toasted Veda bread (a type of malt loaf) when they return from their theatres, and enjoying breakfasts in bed the following morning.

The three girls meet Zelle when they break into a house to shelter from a storm. Beautiful and mysterious, with unlimited reserves of cash, and no discernible way of earning it, she tells them little about her past, but she is as entranced with the trio as they are with her, and rents a room in the club.

But life gets complicated as Mouse falls in love with Rex.  Lilian  also falls for the actor-manager in a big way – although personally I’m convinced she covets his house rather than his body. Molly worries that the love of her life may think she’s a gold digger, and Zelle remains an enigma until she falls in love with Rex’s vicar brother and it turns out that she is a woman with a secret life...

I’ve glossed over the details because I don’t want to give away the various strands of the plot, but the events of that summer determine the futures of the four friends, and it was interesting to see what happened to them as they grew old, and whether they got what they wanted – and whether they were happy if they did.

The theatrical setting deserves a mention because it’s much a part of the novel as the characters. Dodie Smith gives such a detailed description of the building that you would have no problem finding your way around should you ever find yourself inside – OK, I know, it only exists within the pages of this book, but it seems so real. And the workings of the theatre – the auditions, rehearsals, performances, reviews, costumes, scenery and so on – seemed very true, which is hardly surprising since Smith was an actress and playwright, and presumably she brought some of her own experiences to bear on this book.

‘The Town in Bloom’ is not as enchanting as ‘I Capture the Castle’ but I thoroughly enjoyed it, and I’m looking forward to reading more of Smith’s work, including the four volumes of her autobiography. I shall see what the library has in stock, and hassle them if they don’t have anything.

Sidney Chambers and the Shadow of Death

Sidney Chambers and the Shadow of Death, by James Runcie, is one of those books that I thought I would like, but it left me cold, and I can’t pinpoint why. It may sound stupid, but I do like to work out my reasons for not enjoying a book: sometimes it’s easy, when I hate the subject matter, or can’t relate to the characters, or can’t get along with the style it’s written in. Whatever the reason, I tend to feel quite strongly about books I dislike, (just as I do about the ones I love), so it puzzles me when I come across a book like this that doesn’t evoke any particular emotion. I didn’t really like it, but I didn’t hate it either:  somehow it didn’t quite gel, and I doubt if I’ll be able to muster up enough enthusiasm to read any of the proposed follow-ups.

This is 1953, and Canon Sidney Chambers is the 32-year-old Vicar of Grantchester, who finds himself, somewhat unexpectedly, solving crimes aided, by his friend Inspector Geordie Keating (who would claim that the vicar is helping him). Sidney is a gentle soul, who cares for his flock as best he can, has a dog called Dickens, and enjoys beer, jazz, cricket, Shakespeare and Tolstoy. He’s intelligent, kind and a bit of a hunk – tall, with dark-brown hair and hazelnut eyes.

He doesn’t have a great deal of faith in his abilities, as a clergyman, or as an amateur detective, frequently wishing that he was a better priest, and worrying that he neglects his true calling while he is engaged in sleuthing. However, other people have faith in him and they trust him, revealing secrets which they would never tell the police. Like all good amateur sleuths, Sidney has an excellent understanding of human nature. However, I found it difficult to understand his motivation for solving crimes – he’s saddened by evil and wrong-doing, but he doesn’t seek retribution, and doesn’t seem to be concerned about souls in the way that Father Brown is. Actually, I’ve never managed to connect with Chesterton’s crime-fighting priest either. I revisited him after watching some of the TV programmes (which were not a bit as I remembered them) and didn’t get along any better than I did first time around.

Anyway, back to Canon Sidney Chambers. He doesn’t judge people, and is surprisingly tolerant for a 1950s clergyman, recognising that everyone is a mix of good and bad, and that people make decisions and take actions for all kinds of reasons. I think he approaches his investigations as one might approach a crossword – it’s an intellectual challenge, and he wants to know the answers. So he pieces together scraps of information, looking at the clues again and again as fresh details come to light, and considering the facts as dispassionately and rationally as he can.

At this point I should add that while Sidney is set on a life of celibacy, he obviously enjoys the company of women, and there is a love interest of sorts provided by clever, wealthy Amanda, who his sister’s best friend, and quiet Hildegard, the German widow of a murder victim.

We learn a lot about Sidney during the short stories in this book, as he investigates murders, a stolen ring, and an art forgery, and he ought to be a thoroughly engaging character, but as far as I was concerned he didn’t quite come to life, and nor did any of the other characters, which was a shame, because they are carefully created, the plots are well thought out, and the period detail is good. Another bonus, from my point of view, is that all the stories in ‘Sidney Chambers and The Shadow of Death’  are what I would describe as ‘cosy’ crime, which I normally enjoy – I don’t want to read gory descriptions of murders or people being beaten up.

Anyway, as I said to start with, I had a problem with this book because in theory it ticked all the right boxes, but it remained kind of flat. James Runcie, son of the former Archbishop of Canterbury, is planning a series of six Grantchester Mysteries following Sidney’s adventures over a 30-year period, and part of me wonders if I might warm to him as the series progresses. But on the whole I really don’t care enough about him to want to read any more. 

A Blooming Wonderful Flower Market

The weather is still thoroughly depressing, although we’ve had a bit of  blue sky and sunshine today. It rained last night, and has been slightly warmer, so much of the ice and snow has melted. Snow is sliding off roofs with a sort of whooshing noise; water is dripping, splishing and splashing from trees, bridges and guttering, and the pavements are awash with puddles and pools and rivulets of water spreading between lumps of dirty, rock hard ice which are still adhering to the ground, seemingly no smaller or softer than they were yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. There is water, water everywhere, and if the temperature drops overnight then roads and paths will be like a skating rink tomorrow morning.  

  I have lots of pictures of the snow, which looks very pretty, but I am so fed up with it, I thought that for this week’s Saturday Snapshot I would cheer myself up by posting some photos I took in Paris last May, on a lovely, hot, sunny day when it was so nice we wandered around without coats or jackets.

These were all taken in Le Marché aux Fleurs (the Flower Market), at Place Louis-Lépine, near Notre Dame and La Conciergerie, on the Île de la Cité. It’s one of my favourite places in Paris, and is absolutely fabulous, a riot of colour and perfume, guaranteed to lift your spirits if you’re feeling down (though I’m sure I don’t  know how anyone could ever feel down on a trip to Paris). 

It really is heavenly. You can smell the flowers before you see them – the fragrance hits you as you step out of the metro at Cité. Flowers, trees and shrubs are banked up high inside and outside the metal pavilions that have been there since 1808, and you find yourself walking through long, narrow alleys of flowers which overwhelm your senses. Along the Quai de la Corse, on the bank of the Seine, there are more stalls housed in metal huts which are surrounded by pots of flowers stacked up the walls and spilling out onto the pavement.

I suppose it's like a garden centre really, because these are living plants for gardens and homes, rather than cut flowers, and there are all kinds of beautiful garden ornaments hanging from walls, hanging from the glass roof, and displayed on shelves. If I had a fortune I could happily spend a large part of it here, but I don’t, so every time I visit I buy a packet of herbes de Provence, and when I cook with them it’s like having a little bit of French sunshine in my kitchen, and I can close my eyes, breathe in the aroma, and imagine the sights, sounds and smells of the Flower Market.

The market is open every day, and on Sundays the Marché aux Oiseaux, or Bird Market, takes place alongside it, with all kinds of birds, from tiny finches to large parrots, all squawking and cheeping and twittering and singing, and as you walk from the Metro taking great gulps of flowery air you hear all this birdsong. And, despite the name, you’ll see many other small creatures here - fish, rabbits, gerbils, rats and so on. I don’t know about you, but I always have problems with the idea of animals in cages. However, I would have to say that whenever I’ve walked round the market the creatures all looked happy and well cared for.

One of the things I love about both these markets is people watching. There are smartly dressed, elegant women, workmen in their overalls, scruffy teenagers, and pensioners leaning on sticks, peering around and walking very carefully, so they don’t trip over the plants. There are experts who know about plants and birds, and novices who know nothing but are willing to learn. There are people buying and people like me, just looking. And everywhere are people shouting, waving their arms about, shrugging their shoulders very theatrically, and pulling faces in that expressive way the French have, so I like to think customers are haggling with proprietors in a bid to talk the price down and get a better deal.

Anyway, if you’re planning a holiday in Paris, and you’ve never been to the Flower Market, do go, because it will make you happy - it makes me happy just thinking about it. And when you’ve finished looking round it’s only a short walk to the Left Bank, and the Île Saint-Louis. Iconic book shop Shakespeare and Company is just down the road, and there are masses of cafes in the area where you can sit outside and watch the world go by as you eat your lunch.

Saturday Snapshot is hosted by Alyce at http://athomewithbooks.net/ where you can see photos from other participants all over the world.

Ducks on the Ice

Well, here we are, talking about the weather again! It's only a few weeks since normal life was halted by floods. Now everything is disrupted by snow, which may be no great shakes to those of you living in colder climes, but is the main talking point here in the UK, where we never seem to be prepared for anything - the weather always seems to take us by surprise - whether it's wind, rain, snow or sunshine! So really, my Saturday Snapshot photos this week could only be weather pictures.

In fact, weatherwise it's been a bit of an odd week. On Monday I woke to find everything covered in a fine layer of snow, not very deep, but definitely more than a sprinkling. We had snow, sleet, rain and more snow, but it was that wet kind of snow, which doesn't settle.

I went for a walk across the Castle/Pleasure Grounds, round by the side of the Snow Dome (who needs it in weather like this!), across the grass to the lake to look at the swans, back under the roadbridge, and then over this nice green and yellow bridge to the out-of-town shopping area. Thanks to the boots, my feet were warm and dry, but the rest of me was so cold and wet I bought new gloves and a woollen snood to try and get warm, then walked into town and caught a bus home!

On Tuesday, as you can see in the picture above, the sky was blue, and the sun shone, even if it didn't give out much warmth, and there wasn't a trace of snow or ice.

But on Wednesday the temperature dropped, and a heavy frost turned the landscape into a sparkling winter wonderland. This holly looked a variegated species, but the white around the edges is frost, and the little speckles on the surface (which look like hairs)  are little spikes of frost.

And I love way the berries and leaves on the plant pictured above were covered in frost as well, looking like a picture on a Christmas card.

Thursday was cold and dull, but on Friday winter set in with a vengeance - it was a white-out! It snowed... and snowed... and snowed... kids were sent home from school, buses and trains were cancelled, roads were impassable... so I braved the elements and walked as far as the canal, where I peered over the snow-covered bridge to take this picture because I was so intrigued by the winding shape of snow on the centre of the frozen water. I wish I knew why it had settled like that!

 Today it's not quite as cold, and it hasn't snowed, but there's no sign of a thaw and, according to the forecast, there's more snow on the way. But we were determined to get some fresh air and enjoy the wintry scene, so we went for a short walk along the towpath. The canal was frozen, except for the areas around the bridges, and the path was very snowy, but not icy or or slippery, so it wasn't too bad underfoot. I couldn't resist taking pictures of ducks in the snow and on the ice.

More Saturday Snapshot pictures are hosted by Alyce at http://athomewithbooks.net/

Walking Boots and Pink Laces

I have walking boots! Proper walking boots! With pink laces! The Man of the House is very dismissive about those laces – I think he feels pink is far too frivolous for sensible footwear for a woman who wants to be taken seriously. But I don’t care. They are so beautiful and so comfortable that I love them to bits. I tell you people, until you have worn shoes designed to for walking, you have no idea how uncomfortable fashion flatties and spindly heels actually are. So here the boots are,  for my Saturday Snapshot, with a map, and the new pedometer.

Monday: I'm ready for action with walking boots, map and pedometer.

The old pedometer which was indescribably unreliable, went back to the shop less than a week after I bought it, and I invested in a better one, which is dead easy to set up (even for a technophobe like me), very simple to use and, most important of all, very accurate. So this week I feel as if I’ve really got into my stride with this daily walking business, and I’ve been boring everyone silly telling them where I’ve been, and how much ground I’ve covered and how wonderful it is. Anyway, here are the walking boots on their first outing... they looked so nice I was worried about spoiling them and nearly left them at home!

Tuesday: Our first outing together... the new boots and me
in action down on the towpath.

Walking is good exercise for people who don’t like exercise – and I don’t. I hate games, and gym, and athletics, and exercises, and jogging, and anything else like that. My family wasn’t really sports-minded, but on the whole I blame school, where I was forced to do this stuff, despite the fact that I hated it all, and was too fat, too short-sighted and too uncoordinated to do anything. I was always in trouble with the PE staff, who offered no encouragement or help and refused to believe there were people like me who couldn’t do these things, and the girls laughed and never wanted me in their team. I used to hide in the loo, standing on the toilet seat so no-one would see my feet, but I was always discovered and marched off (generally in tears I’m ashamed to say) for hockey or gymnastics, or whatever else was the order of the day.  

Tuesday: I spotted this milestone alongside the
Coventry Canal at Tamworth, between Glascote
 and Amingon. Five miles to where I wonder?

I haven’t really changed my stance since then. I’ve remained a confirmed sports-free zone, with little or no interest in watching or taking part in physical activities. So you can see from this that for me to take up any form of exercise after a lifetime of slothfulness is a really big thing, and I can’t quite believe that I’m walking every day – and enjoying it. Hopefully, combined with sensible eating (no snacking between meals!) the regime will make me a little fitter, and I may even lose some weight.

Wednesday: Moss on a wall outside a house - close to it looked
like a forest of trees and bushes.

 I’m aiming to walk for at least 20 minutes every day, even if I only walk into town rather than using the car or hopping on a bus, with a couple of longer expeditions each week where I can drive out to one of the villages or somewhere a little more rural than Tamworth. And, silly though it sounds, I’m trying to create a record of my efforts by keeping track of how far I walk, and taking photos each day to show where I’ve been, and if I put them in some kind of album or journal, with suitable poems or extracts from books, it might encourage me to keep going.

Thursday: Looking across Minster Pool to the Cathedral on
a cold, misty morning. I was going to take bread to feed ducks
but I left it behind.

So far, 12 days into the New Year, I’m really enjoying it. I like being in the fresh air, and listening to birdsong, and looking at plants, insects and birds, and I think it’s lovely that other people stop and chat. I get back home feeling all refreshed and enthusiastic about Life, the Universe and Everything, and seem to have more energy, which I think is odd.

Friday: Trying to be arty here with a view of boats on the canal
at Kettlebrook, which is part of Tamworth.

At the moment I reckon I’m averaging about 4km a walk at the moment, which isn’t a lot really, but it’s a start, and I’m hoping to increase that in the months ahead. Over the last few days I’ve been along the canal in two different directions; across part of the Castle Grounds to footpaths through a housing estate and back along the main road to home, and around Lichfield, so I’ve included a picture from each place in this post. More Saturday Snapshot pictures are hosted by Alyce at http://athomewithbooks.net/