Christmas Pudding by Nancy Mitford

It was during a trip to London last February that my husband very kindly chose a copy of Nancy Mitford's Christmas Pudding for me from Hatchards.  There has been enough mention of that last name in our house over the past few years for him to know it was probably a safe bet.  It was tucked away on my shelves to enjoy during the next holiday season and what with decorations being pulled out and carols being played in the midst of November, I decided to get stuck in.

It turns out that Christmas Pudding really isn't all that Christmass-y and would be perfectly well-suited to read during any time of year.  The story centres around Amabelle Fortescu's short-term rental, Mulberrie Farm in the Cotswolds, and an extended group friends who drop by for one reason or another.  One couple, Sally and Walter, have recently become parents to a baby girl and in stereotypical upper-crust fashion, reserve the right to not become too attached lest it all go pear-shaped.  In contemplating the cost of engraving a sterling silver cup with the baby's name...

'I say, I do hope she lives all right, Sally.'
'So do I, you know.  After all the trouble I've had, one way and another, it would be extraordinarily souring if she didn't.  However, nanny and the charlady between them are battling for her life, as they say in the papers, like mad, so I expect she will.  The charlady knows all about it, too, she has lost six herself.'

Paul Fotheringay desperately wants to be recognized as a serious author but his latest book Crazy Caper has the masses in fits of laughter, not at all the response he was hoping for considering its tragic tone.  After some advice to try his hand at a biography he decides to research volumes of work by the Victorian poetess, Lady Maria Bobbin.  How convenient that the volumes now reside at Compton Bobbin, a country estate close to Mulberrie Farm, occupied by the formidable Lady Bobbin and her two young adult children, Roderick 'Bobby' and Philidelphia.

If you have never had any exposure to what life was like for the Mitford girls whilst growing up in their own country pile you might find the characters in this book completely mad.  But if you've read The Mitfords: Letters Between Six Sisters there are many instances when you can easily imagine certain incidents may very well have happened....

"'...Where's Mabel, then?'
'She's just looking for still-borns in The Times,' said Christopher Robin.  'I'll fetch her - oh, here she comes through.'" 

Funny stuff indeed but I realized something part way through the book.  While I adore a farcical play or television show for the two hours it takes to feature on stage or screen I can't take it for days on end during the time it takes me to get through a book.  It's probably why I just could not get on with Benson's Mapp & Lucia either.  The baby talk in that book was simply too irksome and there was a form of secret language in Christmas Pudding that made me groan when it would pop up.  All the over the top twittering, hand-wringing and arm-flapping belied the cool or smoldering glances I have come to expect in my aristocratic reading adventures.  I wanted to smack the simpering Philadelphia for her waffling back and forth about which man to marry every other minute.  Why does a woman barely past the training bra stage have to marry anyone?! 

Christmas Pudding was Mitford's second book and written when she was only 28.  Supposedly she would laugh herself silly while writing it, masking real-life events and friends in her fictional tales.  I, on the other hand, felt like someone on the outside looking in and didn't quite feel in on the joke.  Given just the right mood combined with the time to read such a book in one or two sittings all would be fine but otherwise I'm afraid not.  But all is not lost because The Pursuit of Love written years later was definitely worth waiting for.

An Almost End of Year Book Meme

Oh I do find these entertaining...


I began the day by A Very Great Profession

before breakfasting on Christmas Pudding

and admiring A View of the Harbour.

On my way to work I saw War Damage

and walked by Three Men in a Boat

to avoid The Shooting Party

but I made sure to stop at New Grub Street.

In the office, my boss said, Call the Midwife

and sent me to research The Hireling.

At lunch with My American

I noticed The Wedding Group

in The Heat of the Day

greatly enjoying Brightness.

Then on the journey home, I contemplated If Walls Could Talk

because I have Mrs Palfrey at the Claremont

and am drawn to The British Character.

Settling down for the evening in A Far Cry from Kensington

I studied Between the Acts

by Manservant and Maidservant

before saying good-night to Millions Like Us.

Sunday at Springridge Farm

After a very busy Spring, Summer and Fall, Springridge Farm closes for the Winter season as of Christmas Eve.  I wish it didn't though as it's the perfect destination if you need a change of scenery but don't have a whole day for frivolity as it's only a ten minute car journey away.  Once the groceries were all put away, The Heiress, my husband and I piled into the car and drove along one of the country roads out to the farm.  Lazy snowflakes fell in the morning but for the most part it was simply a plain old crisp day with grey skies.  Pulling into the driveway though was like entering a Winter wonderland with evergreen boughs decorating the rail fence and an open fire filled the air with woodsmoke.  Stepping into the warm shop we were welcomed with the delicious aromas of Christmas spice and baking.

The gift shop is one of the nicest places to do some Christmas shopping.  Forget circling mall parking lots looking for a spot you hope nobody else will beat you to and grouchy customers lumbering under the weight of winter coats and too many bags.  There are all sorts of gorgeous things to buy for the home, a best friend, to surprise your hostess with or best of all, to eat.  We chose some homemade fruitcake baked by a local resident, granola and I can't wait to try a bottle of the Mulled Winter Punch from Belvoir that we spied.  To add wine or not...hmmm, some experimentation is called for I think.

Poor Morris.  His head has been mounted at the farm for as long as I can remember.  When The Heiress was small she, along with the rest of the children from near and far, begged to be grasped under her arms and raised high enough to pat the once fuzzy muzzle.  It's rather smooth now thanks to all the stroking.

After a delicious soup and sandwich lunch, and a bag of three cinnamon swirls for later, we weaved our way past the displays and groups of children admiring some toys.  Just as we reached the door we noticed Santa was visiting and we tried our best to stifle belly laughs as a poor little boy sidestepped away from the man in red.  The look of terror and bewilderment on his face...well, you have to be a grown-up to see the humour don't you.  Anyway, it was a lovely outing and if we're lucky we can squeeze it all in again once more before Springridge closes for the season.

War Damage by Elizabeth Wilson

Ah yes, the book souvenir from London.  Scanning the shelves, tables and displays at Hatchards for something to tempt me a very nice woman pointed me in the direction of just the sort of books I adore.  The trouble was that most of them already sat on my bookshelves at home.  A light bulb turned on and she led me towards a crime display and with a very happy, satisfied look on her face she told me that all sorts of people had popped in asking for a copy of War Damage over the past year or so.  Considering this book was first published in 2009 that indicates a 'word of mouth' read, just the sort to tempt me despite the fact I don't go in for crime novels.  Flipping through the pages the words 'Downshire Hill' caught my eye and remembering that I had wandered the very street just a day or two before my mind was made up.

Set just after World War II, Regine Milner hosts Sunday get-togethers at the charming home she shares with her husband, Neville.  With alabaster skin and red hair she attracts the attention of every man who crosses her path, gay or straight.  Her circle of friends consist of people from the arts, politics and the war office so confidentiality and loyalty go without saying.  When a dear friend, Freddie, is found dead on the Heath after one of the Milner's gatherings the police centre their investigation on those in attendance.  If a gay man is murdered in Soho the case is just another assignment but not when it happens in Hampstead.

There were small but clever details that I really appreciated by a contemporary author such as one of the detectives noting that a great deal of money had been found in the victim's wallet.  It was £5 which is lunch money by today's standards but not for the era written about and could so easily have been ignored in the writing.  The inception of the NHS also gets a mention when a friend of Regine's becomes pregnant during an affair with a married man and when a housekeeper is ill with flu.  Also in keeping with the times, Neville prefers his wife to be the 'salon hostess' sort while Regine hopes to become more than a French history translation clerk for the publishing company she works for.  The sentiments felt quite genuine so I'll forgive the odd moment when the description of clothing went slightly too far.  I know what the cut of a dress from that era looked like.

Here is a gratuitous quote but it was foggy as anything at my house a couple of days ago (at 5 am, before setting out to walk Deacon, thank you very much) just as I happened to read...

'As they walked along the pavement the slabs gradually disappeared.  The suffocating fog crept closer still.  She could see barely a foot ahead.  A white wall rolled towards them.  They were alone in this suffocating, silent world.  Sound, too, was deadened; no traffic, no footsteps.  She stretched her free arm sideways groping for a wall or something solid to hold on to, and when she found it edged her way along it.  Roxborough lit a match, but the feeble glow did nothing to disperse the miasma.'  ...Eeek!

Crime is a genre I just don't dabble in so there were times when a character was about to reveal something really, really crucial...and then they would pull back.  Aaarrrghhh...I wanted to scream 'Just spit it out, for goodness sake!' and let's face it, that's how it works and I was hooked so what was I to do but hang in there.  And too right...this story was entertaining and quite the good read so way to go Elizabeth Wilson, I will definitely be looking out for more of your work.

Mrs Palfrey at the Claremont by Elizabeth Taylor

'Mrs Palfrey first came to the Claremont Hotel on a Sunday afternoon in January.  Rain had closed in over London, and her taxi sloshed along the almost deserted Cromwell Road, past one cavernous porch after another, the driver going slowly and poking his head out into the wet, for the hotel was not known to him.'

From the beginning of the story we can surmise that Mrs Palfrey and her only daughter do not have a close relationship.  She chooses The Claremont as a place to relocate while staying with Elizabeth in Scotland.  It also quickly becomes apparent that this is the sort of hotel that begrudgingly caters to seniors before their final destination of the dreaded nursing home.  After her bags have been taken to her room by the porter, and by only page three, my heart was already breaking...

'The outlook - especially on this darkening afternoon - was daunting; but the backs of hotels, which are kept for indigent ladies, can't be expected to provide a view, she knew.  The best is kept for honeymooners, though God alone knew why they should require it.'

And right there, in a couple of sentences, is why I adore Elizabeth Taylor's exquisite gift for storytelling.  She has acutely and succinctly laid out how it feels to be an inconvenience and despite paying her way, Mrs Palfrey is to be thankful for any hospitality she receives as a guest of the hotel.  Yes, in part, this is a sad novel but not so much so that your first instinct is to shy away from it.  As the reader is introduced to the other elderly guests taking advantage of the low winter rates the story becomes a bit of a sitcom - in a good way.  I gradually warmed up to the irritating Mr Osmond with his inappropriate jokes and adversity to hand washing, Mrs Post does the library run but gets Elizabeth Bowen muddled up with Majorie Bowen.  Poor incontinent Mrs Arbuthnot is also terribly arthritic, Mrs Burton has mauve hair and spends far too much on whisky.  Wanting to find some sort of common ground with the ladies, Mrs Palfrey buys a bit of wool and a set of needles to join in with the after-dinner knitting circle. 

The number of invites received by a guest to attend an outing with family or friends is carefully examined and commented on by the other residents.  When Mrs Palfrey's daughter or grandson show no sign of turning up, her pride takes over and a tale formulates after an unfortunate turn of events.  Ludo is a handsome young writer, poor and barely scraping by, who comes to Mrs Palfrey's rescue in more ways than one and their resulting friendship...well, it's the stuff dreams are made of but by no means perfect.  It is also another example of wonderful characterization on the part of Taylor, so convincingly does she write both sides.

There is no way that I could ever choose just one Elizabeth Taylor to call my absolute favourite but this one did make me laugh...and cry.  A combination which rates quite highly when it comes to labelling something a really good read and this one surely is that.  I also really enjoyed the parallel experience of reading this story while staying in my own little hotel room in London, albeit in different circumstance.  Being the new face in the breakfast room but quickly settling in was certainly recognizable.  Although, thinking back to what the experience would have been like over forty years ago when Mrs Palfrey at the Claremont was written did make me thankful that luggage now have wheels!

Thanks to Verity for writing the post that made me pull this book from my bookcase at the last minute before my trip to London, it was perfect.  And once again, thanks to Laura for being the one to go to for information about this year's read-along of Elizabeth Taylor's novels.

Ham House in Surrey

The B&B we had been staying at was not able to accommodate us for our last night in London so The Heiress and I had to pack up and relocate elsewhere in Bloomsbury.  Too early to claim our room we had to leave our belongings in the hallway of reception and put all notion of them being anything other than safe, aside.  We were off to Surrey on our last full day in England and it wasn't long before the traffic and crowds of central London were all but forgotten.  Arriving at the Richmond station we then had to board a bus for a short ride through town, passing charming neighbourhoods and homes along the way.  My fantasy of buying a home in England with my imagined lottery winnings just got a tad more difficult, it's so lovely here!

The house has a completion date of 1610 inscribed on the front door (there has since been many renovations) and the entrance hall still has its original marble floor.  The photo above was taken from the second story railing.  The hall chairs were supplied at a cost of £1 in 1730, decorated with the coat of arms of the 4th Earl of Dysart.  Just imagine the people who have trod back and forth it over the decades...

The coronet and cipher in the Queen's Closet.  I was excited to find this detail on the floor after Lucy Worsley pointed it out in her documentary If Walls Could Talk: An Intimate History of the Home.

Other, more domestic details, were every bit as interesting, such as buckets on hooks lining a discreet hallway.  Some of them, if not all, would be filled with sand so as to be at the ready in case of fire.  The dog in the portrait looks as though he does a very good job of keeping an eye on things, don't you think?

The Duchess would bathe in the lower level of the house.  A tub this size would have required a good many trips back and forth from the fireplace with loads and loads of buckets of hot water.  The wages for a housemaid in 1668 were £4 per annum.  I was a bit disappointed that the stunning collection of copper pots and pans in the kitchen have been removed to be more in keeping with the seventeenth-century period detail. 

After several hours spent exploring this handsome house, wandering the grounds, stuffing ourselves with Coronation Chicken sandwiches and lemonade in the cafe while Halloween-costumed children enjoyed romping about, it was time to move on.  Oh, if every day could be like this, I half expected to see Hyacinth Bucket stroll in with Richard.  As we waved good-bye and set off on the path back through the village I couldn't resist taking a picture of the above young lady, cooling down her horse after a good ride.  But they weren't my primary focus, it was the hilarious sight of the little dog absolutely covered in mud from the belly down.  No doubt trying to keep up through an afternoon of muck and mire on the trails.

I can't wait to come back for another visit to Richmond and Ham House!  For more information on the house, click here.

A Grand Day Out In Greenwich

Despite the forecast calling for rain The Heiress and I forged ahead with our plan to make this our day to discover Greenwich.  London was sleepy after a busy Saturday night, paper trails of hen-night banners dotted Embankment as we made our way to the pier.  The Thames Clipper pulled up at 9:30 am and we settled in to a window seat but the views took me from port to starboard several times along the journey which was just over half an hour.  I have no idea who the ladies are in the photo above but they kindly agreed to let me take a photo of their very well-behaved pups as we sailed along.  And venturing by boat to a place nestled so closely to the Thames is an absolute must, you can always go home by Docklands Light Railway.   

For some silly reason it has taken me five trips to London to make Greenwich part of my itinerary plans.  With its centuries-old nautical reputation and maritime history it wasn't quite for me, or so I thought.  The architecture is breathtaking and I gasped in awe once the doors opened at the stunningly beautiful, Painted Hall of the Old Royal Naval College, another of Wren's masterpieces.  What I've read is true, particularly on this grey day, there is a hint of Hogwarts about the room with glowing candelabras decorating the tables. 

After basking in the glory of majestic structures and artwork The Heiress and I moved on to the Maritime Museum.  It was there that I caught sight of Horatio Nelson's portrait and wouldn't you agree there something about the glint in his eyes...he's handsome, no?

On a previous trip I had seen Nelson's crypt at St Paul's Cathedral but knew next to nothing about the man so the gaps were being filled in.  And what a fascinating story to unravel... 

At the museum you can see the uniform he was wearing when fatally wounded in the Battle of Trafalgar (1805).  The epaulet on his left shoulder blown apart showing the bullet's site of entry.  Nelson's body 'was immersed in a cask of brandy ,  with camphor and myrrh, and lashed to Victory's mainmast' for the return to Gilbraltar before finally heading to London for burial.  More reading about Greenwich and Horatio Nelson will have to be done!

The Queen's House, decorated outside with carved jack o'lanterns, was closed for an event to entertain children dressed in their Halloween costumes.  We spied some of the most adorable witches and vampires you could ever chance upon, wandering the grounds.  But we did take the opportunity to cheer on some participants of a marathon to raise money for breast cancer research while techno music blared from massive speakers.

The area around the High Street was filled with couples, friends and families enjoying the day and only a few sprinkles of rain fell at all.  The market stalls were full of gorgeous crafts, the Starbucks had a ship's wheel dangling above the doorway.  My favourite shop was Lush Designs and this pillow with its whimsical print Cottages & Castles stopped me dead in my tracks, actually everything in the shop is really nice.  There is no room in my luggage for it so I had to enjoy it and then walk away until another time.

After a fortifying lunch at the Coach & Horses pub, cosy courtesy of its roaring fire, The Heiress and I trekked up the steep hill to the Royal Observatory.  The view over Greenwich is more than worth a little bit of huffing and puffing so don't leave it out!  After milling about for a little while we headed back to the station that would take us home, so glad that we didn't let a weather forecast scare us away from one of the best days of our trip.

Back in Central London we couldn't wait to sit ourselves down at the Byron Burger, Haymarket, for a sumptuous feast minus utensils and then The Heiress went one way to meet up with friends in Earl's Court while I played tourist in Piccadilly Circus.  There was a certain Kate and Wills wedding day teacup I needed to add to my commemorative collection.  Go on, laugh...