Dear Readers

As the year draws to a close, it’s time for me to look back at the places I’ve discovered because of my love of literature, and look forward to 2013 and the surprises it holds.  This blog was a chance for me to visit and share museums and villages where certain writers lived at some point or other during their lives. I must admit though, I didn’t expect to make some of the discoveries I have made.  It’s been a thrill for me to step into the past and well, just imagine.

Lady Macbeth Stratford Upon Avon, Charles Dickens Museum London & Old Thatch Gardens Bourne End.

 

I think the most memorable places that I’ve visited and shared with you would have to be Stratford upon Avon and Bath. I enjoyed all of the Shakespeare stuff and would gladly do it again, and The Jane Austen Centre was a treat not to be missed.  But even though I enjoyed these places the most, I’ll never forget trudging all over Hartfield to get myself a gold Winnie the Pooh sticker, or my visit to Bourne End and Old Thatch. Closer to home though, I loved the Dickens Museum and Keats House, both of which are very accessible from where I live and visiting the Sherlock Holmes Museum with my sons was a pleasure. It’s amazing to think that I’ve been an avid reader all of my life and now I finally have the opportunity to see all of this stuff.


Clockwise from top left, Pooh Country Hartfield, Keats Grove Hampstead, Sherlock Holmes Museum London,  Roald Dahl Museum Great Missenden & Jane Austen Centre Bath.

 

It’s not just the exploring that’s I’ve enjoyed this year though.  My family and friends have enjoyed the journey too as I come home with little gifts from various places and they like to know more about the discovery.  They in turn have bought me presents to help me with my escapades, in the form of books of course, and you can never have too many books. Along the way I’ve collected several things myself which have now become a part of the sacred blog book I’ve created to help me collate information so that I can find the houses and monuments and so forth that interest me. It contains bus routes and train lines that help connect me to the gems that I love to seek out. There are post cards and travel tickets stapled to the pages and I now have hundreds of photos of buildings, monuments and graves on my laptop.

So, what does 2013 hold for me?  Firstly, I plan to travel a little further afield.  This is a big wide world full of literary treasure just waiting for me to explore it.  So for a sneak peak, let me just say that I hope to visit places such as Brasov in Transylvania and perhaps Prague and Odense.  Dublin is definitely on the list and so is Edinburgh. Closer to London, a trip to Canterbury isn’t out of the question and I think a weekend down in Devon might be in order.  When my sister visits later in the year, we’re heading for the Lake District to Wordsworth country and of course we’ll be seeking out the world of Beatrix Potter. The list doesn’t end there though, there’s a lot more on the horizon for us which I’m sure you’ll enjoy.

With all of this in mind, I must say that the thought of 2013 excites me and for the last time this year might I add that Once upon a time in London, I discovered something that consumes my life and makes me truly happy to share it with you all.

Happy New Year and thank you for reading.

Luke 2:11 For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.

The Holy Bible

When I was thinking about my first Christmas blog, I researched a lot of Christmas stories. I’m not particularly religious and if there is a saviour as written in The Bible, then I’m probably going to hell, but I’m not above admitting that this book has been a big part of my life. 

I lived in Somerset when I was a little girl and went to Sunday school every week at the wish of my mother. My family left for Australia when I was five years old and when we left England the Church gave me a little white Bible which I still have.

In the front of the Bible the following is written;

Dec 22^nd 1968

To Sandra from the Newtown Methodist Sunday School with God’s blessing and our Good Wishes for your future.

Paulton Somerset England

The inscription in the front on my Bible

I have to admit right now that I’ve never read this book from cover to cover but out of all of my books, this is one that I’ve had for the longest time.  I took it half way around the world with me on a journey and bought it back to the UK 42 years later. It’s sometimes strange how things turn out.

The slightly grubby cover

As I flick through my Bible, I notice the dog eared pages and the musty smell. The pages were gilded around the edges, but a lot of that has come off and the once pristine white cover is kind of grubby. There was a cord bookmark attached but now the end is missing and it just reaches the bottom of the pages. My Bible is the King James Version and I know that there are a lot of different kinds out there, but I believe that this is one of the more popular, as far as Bibles go.  For me it’s one of those books that just sit on the shelf forgotten and only gets moved when I do the occasional dusting or move house.

To say that I’m slightly sentimental would be an understatement and when I hold this book in my hands, I remember my mother and each family Christmas of the past.  It takes me back to when my children were little and even further back to when I was a little girl myself and reminds me of the true spirit of Christmas. I love singing Christmas carols and when I walk along Oxford Street in the evenings, I get kind of dreamy when I see the Christmas lights. It’s the same kind of feeling I get when I think of how I’ve hung on to my Bible for so long. Like I said at the beginning of this post, I’m not particularly religious, but I do love my books and The Bible is a book.

I could have blogged about a story with Father Christmas or reindeers in, but since it’s my first Christmas blog, I figured it only fitting to write about the book that includes the story of the first Christmas. Whether you believe it or not, I’d also like to say that Once upon a time in Bethlehem, a child was born whose birthday would become one of the most celebrated days of modern times. So Merry Christmas to all who read this and *Thanks be to God for his unspeakable gift.

*Corinthians 9:15

 

Peter and the Wolf

Sergei Prokofiev

You know how we skip through life and along the way we see or hear things that kind of stick in our minds but eventually get filed away to resurface when you least expect it? Well, not so long ago I was sitting with my sister Pauline watching Red Riding Hood on DVD.  The woodcutter in this particular story was named Peter and she said, “Isn’t there a story called Peter and the Wolf?”

 

This question from my sister reminded me of a scratchy (vinyl) recording I’d heard when I about nine years old.  I think it was in music ♪ class and we had to listen to the record and the way the different instruments portrayed the characters. This memory encouraged me to do a little research into the story and its origins.

The story and the music were written/composed by Sergei Prokofiev who was born in 1891 in Sontsovka, a province of Eastern Ukraine. This guy composed his first piece at the age of five and he started on his first opera at the age of nine. In 1904 Prokofiev was successful in gaining entrance to the Saint Petersburg Conservatory. After finishing his studies, he travelled to the US and started a successful solo career in New York. Prokofiev composed a lot of works including ballets and operas.  I don’t really know much about any of these, the only one that really interests me is Peter and the Wolf.  He wrote both the story and the music ♫ in 1936 in the USSR. This entire composition was completed in four days – that’s a tiny ninety six hours in case you were wondering.

I love the way the instruments represent the characters and I’ve had Peter’s tune in my head all week. When I listen to the recording, I can picture the composer thinking to himself, what might a bird sound like if it were music?

Although this was never an official book without recording, it kind of made me think about the whole print on pages thing and the way the music describes the tale. It also prompts me to let you know that Once upon a time in a decade left behind, I discovered that you don’t necessarily need words to tell a story. So sit back, click on the link below and enjoy Peter and the Wolf.

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6g7Bl-HtjhE

 

What really matters is what you do with what you have – H G Wells

When it comes to the genre of the humble book, I don’t really have a favourite.  I’m a typical reader of books that are written well and tell a good story. Whether it’s romance, action, suspense and so on, if the style and language are right for me, then I’ll read it.  I don’t tend to give into to marketing ploys, I prefer to go to a bookshop, open the book and read a page or two.

Sometimes the most bizarre situations are the most likeable. This is usually where you meet the strange characters that create the weird worlds of the sci-fi genre. So when you think of the kind of mind needed to create that unsettling universe, you can’t discount Herbert George Wells.

 

H G Wells was born in 1866. Around the age of eight, Wells was a victim of a terrible accident that left him with a broken leg.  Bedridden, he started reading books that his father would bring him from the library which fuelled a craving to write.

He attended Thomas Morley’s Commercial Academy until his father broke his hip and was unable to pay the fees, after which Wells took an apprenticeship as a draper. Needless to say, this experience was the muse for his work, The Wheels of Chance and Kipps.

Wells’ failure over the years with work was plentiful, however, his writing prevailed. His work such as The Island of Doctor Moreau and The time Machine are classics and have both been portrayed by Hollywood, but my favourite is The War of the Worlds. The book is based on an invasion by Martians in the Woking area.  It presents as a genuine account of the Martian invasion. Now I have had the chance to see the places where the aliens invaded, I could probably think of better places for Martians to land, but I didn’t write the book.

Martian Tripod in Woking

Whether you prefer the half man-half beast, Morlocks or Martians, you really should read an H G Wells novel.  The plots are exquisite and I promise that the stories are enjoyable, even if you’re not a sci-fi fan.

H G Wells passed away in 1946 and was cremated at Golders Green Crematorium. His ashes were scattered at sea. Of course the books that I’ve mentioned in this post are not his only work, but those that I find the most appealing.  Looking back over his life, there was plenty of stumbling, but also a perseverance to succeed.  Even right to the end, he endeavoured to pick himself up and now at the end of this post I have the opportunity to tell you that Once upon a time in London, we lost a writer whose apparent last words were ‘Go away. I’m all right.’

 

 

Twinkle Twinkle Little Star – Jane Taylor

This week I’m visiting a nursery rhyme which is special to me in two ways. Firstly, I like it and secondly, it’s the first rhyme that I taught my children actions to. I had no idea of the origin of the nursery rhyme and so began my research.  Initially the rhyme was a poem called The Star by a poet called Jane Taylor.  Naturally I started on my quest to find out more about the author of this well-known verse. 

Jane Taylor was born in 1783 in Lavenham, Suffolk.  She wrote the poem in 1806 whilst living in Shilling Street, Shilling Grange.  When I found out that she was buried in Ongar - just outside greater London, I set out to get a picture of the grave for my blog.  

After catching the tube to Epping, I caught the 21 (bus) to Chipping Ongar. I hadn’t been there before, so I wandered down the High Street trying to find the churchyard. I was a little disappointed when I discovered there were only a few graves there and none of them had her name on.  I think there must be some in the back of the church, but it was all locked up and I had no way of getting in so I missed out on the pic. 

United Reformed Church Ongar

Wandering back up the street, I noticed a sweet shop on the other side of the road and crossed to investigate. Mr Grumpy’s Old Fashioned Sweet Shop looked warm and inviting, so I went in - after all, it was only 3 degrees. Luckily for me the sweet shop was a front for Tilly’s Tea Room and I soon ordered a cream tea.  It was just what I needed. The tea was hot and the fruit scone was the most delicious scone I've ever had.  The intimacy of Tilly’s made it possible to hear all of the conversations going on in the room and there was one old geezer that was sprouting about the history of the village.  Apparently he’d lived in the area for God knows how long so I struck up a conversation to see if I could find out how to get into the churchyard. Poor old bugger didn’t have a clue; all he wanted to do was talk about the heritage listed buildings and eat his soup. 

Back on the bus for Epping, I engaged in conversation with another of the locals who was heading my way.  She actually told me that the Taylor family had lived in a house in the area and there was a plaque on the outside of it.  Another missed opportunity and I felt like kicking myself.  The lady whose name is Christine, took my email address and promised to get in contact with me if there was anything coming up where I might snap a pic. Of course, she told me the best time to visit Ongar is in the summer because they have a lot more events and so on. I will return to Chipping Ongar, but it won’t be before this blog is posted.

Jane Taylor passed away at the age of 40 and is buried in an elusive churchyard in Ongar, Essex.  Her works include many poems for children and although I missed out on the pictures, I can still tell you that Once upon a time in 1806 a poet penned a rhyme and although her light has faded, The Star will twinkle forever.

 

http://www.tillystearooms.biz/

 

“Winning is a state of mind that embraces everything you do.”

Bryce Courtenay

This week I had planned to introduce you to an English poet renowned for one of the most popular nursery rhymes in history, but sadly, I learned the news on Friday that Bryce Courtenay had passed away.  So this week’s blog is a tribute to the legend responsible for The Power of One. 

Bryce was born on the 14^th of August 1933 in Johannesburg. After studying in London, he moved to Australia with his future wife and they married in 1959 making their home in Sydney.  As a journalist, Courtenay had many successful ad campaigns, but it was his books that drew me to him. 

When I first read The Power of One, I didn’t think it would be the type of story that I would enjoy, but I was wrong and I found that it was the kind of book that you tell your friends to read.  I guess though, my favourite Courtenay novel is April Fool’s Day.  I received this book as a gift in a work Kris Kringle one year and as I read the book, I found it harder and harder to put it down. The story is about Damon Courtenay and his struggle with AIDS which he contracted through a blood transfusion.  It’s difficult to imagine the pain that the family went through during that time and it was probably just as difficult to put into words. As I read page after page of revealing text, I imagined the heart ache for the Courtenays as they faced the day to day challenges of the situation.  It’s a must if you like biographies, and who better to write one than a member of the family.

My favourite of his books

 

As I think of the work that Bryce Courtenay was responsible for, I am reminded of the books that were made into movies and although I prefer the book, I sometimes like to sit through a movie adaption to see if it measures up.  I did this with The Power of One and it wasn’t a disappointment. The lifestyle and situations in Courtenay’s novels seem as real as the pages they’re written on and I’m sure I’m not alone in shedding a tear or two whilst bidding farewell to such a profound writer.

The passing of Bryce Courtenay is a blow to the world of literature, but his work will keep him in our lives forever and so I end this tribute by saying that Once upon a time in Canberra, we lost the man who told us that, ‘when men can be made to hope, they can be made to win.’

Rest In Peace Bryce Courtenay 1933-2012

The Monkey’s Paw – W  W Jacobs

When I was in high school, I had an English text that was a short story book called Stories to Enjoy which was put together by Ned Hoopes.  I noticed the same book in a classroom scene in the movie The Sixth Sense and it prompted me to revisit the book. The collection included a story called The Monkey’s Paw by W W Jacobs.  The story is a typical lesson in what goes wrong when a couple get their hands on a lucky monkey’s paw that gives them three wishes. I always remembered this story as I always wanted something like that to happen to me.  I thought it might be fun to be able to just wish for something and have it appear in some way.  Of course, in these types of stories, the wishes usually backfire in some way, shape, or form.

William Wymark Jacobs

The author of The Monkey’s Paw, W W Jacobs ,was born in Wapping, London in 1863. William Wymark Jacobs, was educated at a private school in London and then later at Birbeck College. He worked for a while at the Post Office Savings Bank but was published by 1885.  Jacobs was financially secure enough to leave the Post Office in 1899. After marrying in 1900, he lived in Essex. His wife was a militant suffragette and although there doesn’t seem to be a great deal of information available on Jacobs, his stories are intense enough to gain him interest.

Jacobs died in Islington in 1943, but his legacy suggests that the grass isn’t always greener and although this week’s blog isn’t very long, it’s sufficient to tell you that Once upon a time in London, a story was written which reminds us to be careful what we wish for.

http://gaslight.mtroyal.ca/mnkyspaw.htm

I have nothing to declare except my genius!

Oscar Wilde

I’ve said on several occasions that if I ever formed a heavy metal band, that I would call it Faustian Pact.  The name suggests a deal with the Devil in exchange for your soul and if it is at all possible, it must cross the mind at least once in a lifetime.

In the novel A Picture of Dorian Gray, there is such a deal made, but indirectly.  Dorian Gray is the subject of a painting which he inadvertently wishes to age and bear the sins of his life and that’s exactly what happens. The author is none other than Oscar Wilde.

Wilde began his life in Dublin on the 16^th of October 1854. The second of three children, Oscar was educated at home until he was nine. He first attended Portora Royal School where he was eventually offered a scholarship to read classics at Trinity College.  He was encouraged to compete for a demyship (a form of a Magdalen scholarship) to Magdalen, Oxford which he won easily. Oscar Wilde was somewhat ‘different’ than the usual and Oxford was where he truly started to create himself. In 1878 he graduated with a rare double first in his chosen field which astonished the Dons as Wilde was known as a bad boy.

The plaque in Tite St Chelsea

Wilde set himself up as a bachelor in London and over the next six years he travelled the UK, France and USA where he lectured. Oscar married Constance Lloyd in 1884 and they had two sons together. During the marriage, he consorted on a regular basis with Lord Alfred Douglas who introduced Wilde to the Victorian underground of gay prostitution.  This in fact led to his arrest and conviction for gross indecency in 1895. Prison was Wilde’s downfall and his health declined. After his release in 1897, he spent the last three years of his life tragically in a penniless exile.

Monument reads, We are all in the gutter
but some of us are looking at the stars.

 

Dorian Gray locked his picture away so that nobody could see the evil transforming it over the years.  We all have skeletons in our closets and I suppose that as time goes by, they just stay locked away and are in the end, another part of the mystique of one’s persona. Oscar Wilde on the other hand paid for his shame publicly where his life was an open book which tells us that, Once upon a time in Dublin, a man with everything to live for told us to live the wonderful life within us. After all, he did.

 

‘Four’s the nicest age to be, two and two and one and three…’

E Nesbit

If ever I had a favourite story of courage then it would be The Railway Children written by Edith Nesbit in 1906. If waving red flannel petticoats to stop a train doesn’t win you an engraved watch, then nothing should and although it was said that the story was plagiarised from the plot of The House by the Railway by Ada J Graves, it’s still one of my all-time favourites.

Nesbit was born in 1858 in Kennington Surrey, which isn’t too far from where I live. She was the daughter of a chemist who passed away before she was four and due to her sisters ill health, the family moved around quite a bit. They spent time in Europe where Edith was educated and on their return to the UK opted instead of London, for the countryside and their home in Hallstead, Kent was apparently the inspiration for The Railway Children although, there are some who believe it to have been the town of New Mills in Derbyshire.

Edith married her first husband Hubert Bland when she was seven months pregnant with his child.  It turns out though that she wasn’t the only one and her friend Alice Hoatson who lived with them was also pregnant to Hubert. Edith adopted the child as her own however Alice and Bland had another child together thirteen years later which Edith also adopted as her own. Nesbit did this to please her husband who threatened to leave her if she evicted Hoatson. When Bland passed away, Edith married Thomas Tucker and they lived out their final years in East Kent.  

The plaque in Well Hall Pleasaunce in her honour

Well Hall House in Eltham where Edith and Hubert lived for quite some time no longer stands, but the grounds, Well Hall Pleasaunce, are lovely and the old Tudor Mill there has been transformed into a restaurant.  There is a blue plaque in her honour on a house in Lewisham, but I resisted pursuing that because the gardens in Eltham are much nicer and along the side of the park, there is also a walk dedicated to her.

The walk at Eltham dedicated to Edith Nesbit

Nesbit’s work included over 50 novels including 11 novels for adults and 4 collections of horror stories. Nesbit was a pioneer of sorts and she combined the realistic with a fantasy world and paved the way for writers such as P L Travers and C S Lewis and also for me to say that Once upon a time just a short train ride away, a woman turned children to heroes to *make the story end just right – in the way it’s best for us.

*The Railway Children

 www.wellhall.org.uk

 

 

‘My characters shall have, after a little trouble, all that they desire.’

Jane Austen

I started getting excited about my visit to the Jane Austen centre weeks ago and as a result, drove everybody nuts talking about it constantly. The repeated question of “guess where I’m going?” was in the end answered with, “the bloody Jane Austen Centre,” and threats of death if I mentioned it again. Although, I was taken by surprise when one of my work colleagues dared to ask me who Jane Austen was, to which I answered very frankly, “You’re going to burn in hell for that.” Unfortunately, some people choose to avoid the imaginary worlds of books and scoff at those of us who enjoy nothing more than to read and of course, hunt out any landmark relative to the writers.

The Jane Austen Centre is in Bath and I wasn’t disappointed at all. It’s like taking a step back in time and you really feel like you’re living in the past. As I wandered through the museum looking at the period clothing and the remnants of Austen’s life, I was reminded of a simpler time when a richer English language, which is portrayed in her writing, was more prominent. The style of the clothing worn and the sturdy wooden furniture – now antiques, prompt one to think about what life would have been like when you couldn’t just flick on a light switch or plug in the kettle for a pot of tea.

Me in the museum

 

I enjoyed sitting down to Lady Catherine’s cream tea in the Regency Tea room with my sister Pauline and even though she hasn’t read any Jane Austen, I think she enjoyed it just as much as I did.  But that’s enough about the centre; let me tell you a little about Jane.



My sister outside the Jane Austen Centre

George and Cassandra Austen were honest and sensible parents. Jane who was born on the 16^th of December in 1775 in Steventon Hampshire, the second youngest of their eight children, enjoyed the arts and found pleasure in writing and also reading the stories produced by her siblings during an evening’s recital. This was common during that age as was singing and playing instruments to entertain, for there was no such thing as television. Much of Jane’s adult life was spent either living in Bath or visiting and she mingled with different classes which enabled her to write as though she knew the experience well.

Austen wrote six books in total and when they were first published, she chose to remain anonymous.  It wasn’t until she passed away that she was recognised as the author. In fact, Northanger Abbey and Persuasion were both published posthumously with help from her brother Henry and sister Cassandra who were very close to Jane. The books are romantic and the relationships formed within are very similar to any epoch.  There’s the usual backstabbing and bitchiness which is slightly camouflaged by the style and language of the work, and as the books are written by a woman, there’s a resilient self-preserving female in each.

Jane Austen never married and she was described by the tour guide as a bit of a feminist who was indeed, strong willed and adventurous.  The author passed away in 1817 and is buried in Winchester. However, her work lives on and when read reiterates that, Once upon a time in a not so forgotten era, a woman with the idea of romance presented us with the classics that would bewitch us, body and soul.

 www.janeausten.co.uk

So long and thanks for all the fish - Douglas Adams

In front of the head stone of Douglas Adams sits a container full of pens left by his fans perhaps in the hope of him somehow being able to write from beyond the grave; or maybe just a mark of respect. The headstone is situated in Highgate Cemetery East not far from the entrance gate on the left of a main pathway. It only costs a few quid to go in and look around and there are a few other famous people buried there such as Jeremy Beadle & Karl Marx.  But let’s get back to this week’s subject.

The headstone where the ashes of Douglas Adams are. I think the pot
contains 42 pens

 

Douglas Adams was born on the 11^th of March in 1952.  Educated at Brentwood and Cambridge, some of his earliest writing was published whilst still at school. After leaving University, he returned to London and was determined to break into television and radio as a writer. After being discovered by Monty Python’s Graham Chapman, the two formed a brief writing partnership. He contributed to a sketch for the album, Monty Python and the Holy Grail and appeared twice in the fourth series of Monty Python’s Flying Circus after which his writing stalled for a while. But it was in 1977 that his work really took off.

The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy first entered his mind whilst laying drunk in a field in Innsbruck, Austria.  He was inspired by his inability to communicate with the townspeople and after wandering around drunk with a book called The Hitchhikers guide to Europe, ended up in a field staring up at the stars. It’s funny you know, writers can be inspired by anything and the mind takes all sorts of pathways to build the story. In the case of Douglas Adams, his mind took an intergalactic walk and provided us with one of the most popular Sci-Fi series of the 20^th Century.

Adams was also responsible for three Doctor Who series where he allowed in jokes from HHGG.  Incidentally, these were never published as books because Adams refused to let another writer publish his work. He also took the secret to the number 42 to the grave, the answer to life, the universe and everything given by the supercomputer Deep Thought.  Why Adams chose the number 42 is a mystery which he shared in the strictest confidence with very few.

The comedic imagination of Douglas Adams is truly phenomenal and The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy is one of my favourite science fiction series.  Whether you’re a fan or not, the stories get you in and they are really funny. So this week I finish by saying that Once upon a time in a galaxy not too far from here, a man who was slightly intoxicated, lay in a field and discovered the ultimate answer to life, the universe and everything.

So long Douglas Adams and thanks for all the fish.

The Kindest Thoughts…..

Recently as my birthday approached, I made a list of books for my son Warren and Robbie (who is my cousin’s son but is like one of my own), so that they could choose one or two for me. Because, as we all know, it’s sometimes difficult to know what to give as a birthday gift. Whilst this was happening in London, it never occurred to me that on the other side of the world in Collins Street Melbourne my eldest son Brendan was visiting Kay Craddock Antiquarian Bookseller, seeking out a first edition for me.  The coveted prize was carefully packed into my sister Pauline’s suitcase and delivered to me on the morning of my birthday.

When I opened the gift, I could imagine Brendan standing in the antique book store explaining the type of person I am and exactly what I do with my spare time which of course, as you know, is stalk dead writers.

Immediately after opening the present, I sent a text to Brendan thanking him and then went on to leaf through the pages of my very first, first edition. The book is illustrated throughout in colour and black & white and the boards are a trifle sprung.  The edges of the dust jacket are lightly rubbed and split and the outer leaves and edges slightly foxed. It was published in London in 1974. I know all this because tucked into the dust jacket’s plastic cover is a description of the book. 

The first edition from my son Brendan

Cobwebs to catch Flies is a book about illustrated books that were used to help educated children from 1700-1900, but not text books, more the type you would buy to home school your child. The compilation has been put together by Joyce Irene Whalley and when you open the book, the musty smell of knowledge wafts up.

Just three of the many that Warren & Robbie bought me

The stack of books that I received from Warren and Robbie will keep me occupied for quite some time.  They include works from Robert Louis Stevenson, George Eliot and Jane Austen. When I put together the list, I didn’t expect to get eight books and I kind of felt like the luckiest person in the world on Saturday morning when Warren handed me one after the other. There were also chocolates included in the booty and Warren’s girlfriend Aleks bought me a bottle of Tequila and some Ferrero chocolates as well. Needless to say, we had Margaritas that night and drank the whole bottle.

To top off this particular birthday, my sister is taking me to the Jane Austen Centre and I just can’t wait.  The trip is planned for the end of the month so you can expect to see some pics from the expedition. But as I wait feverishly in anticipation for the excursion I have my first edition and a stack of classics to remind me that Once upon a time in September 2012, the kindest thoughts produced one of the best birthdays I’ve ever had.

www.kaycraddock.com

The beginning is always today – Mary Wollstonecraft

Hidden behind St Pancras International railway station in London is Old St Pancras Churchyard.  The church is the quaint English village type and said to be one of the oldest sites of Christian worship in England. In that churchyard there is a headstone that marks the resting place of Mary Wollstonecraft.

Old St Pancras Church

 

Mary was born in 1759 in Spitalfields and is the mother of Mary Shelley.  That’s not why she's starring in my blog this week though.  Wollstonecraft was also a writer.  She wrote novels, history and a children’s book, but she is most known for the book The Vindication of the Rights of Woman.  Right now you’re probably thinking – “Oh my giddy aunt,” she’s going to start sprouting about equal opportunity and the like, but fortunately, I’m not. The subject doesn’t interest me as much as the writer.

Born into a family where drunken violence was a reoccurring event, she was forced to hand over money to her father that she would have inherited on maturity.  As a teenager, Mary would lie outside her mother’s bedroom to protect her. Wollstonecraft was an avid reader and would spend time reading with her friend Jane Arden who came from an intellectual home unlike her own. A more important relationship that was formed during her life was that with another woman by the name of Fanny Blood.  Go ahead and laugh, I couldn’t believe the name myself. Mary had visions of living in a peaceful bliss with Fanny. However, her friend married and soon after, passed away. 

Plaque in Dolben St Southwark

As you may well know, at that particular time in history, there weren’t many prospects for the less fortunate and whilst working as a governess, Mary decided to embark on a career as an author. The Vindication of the Rights of Woman is one of the very first feminist books. In the book, Wollstonecraft argues that women should have an education corresponding to their status.  She claims that women are the educators of the nation’s children and not just society’s ornaments. Whether or not you agree with the subject, it’s enlightening to know that even way back in that era; there was somebody who had enough confidence in herself to take a chance on something that was for those times, a little irregular.

Headstone marking the original burial place of
Mary Wollstonecraft

Wollstonecraft married William Godwin after a passionate love affair, but shortly after their daughter Mary was born, she died from septicaemia leaving behind an odd legacy as she had written in many genres. Although the head stone is in the churchyard of Old St Pancras Church, her remains are now in Bournemouth in the family tomb.

I for one prefer not to get involved in feminist debates, but I do believe in freedom of choice.  So if you want to burn your bra, shave your head or become a Brickies labourer, then so be it.  What I will say though is that Once upon a time in London, a woman believed so strongly in something that she chose to write a book that helped pioneer a revolution.

Hark hark the dogs do bark!

Once again I find myself revisiting grade four but this week I’m remembering one of my favourite stories from a lesser known or somewhat forgotten author.  I’m referring to Dodie Smith.

Dorothy Gladys ‘Dodie’ Smith was born on the 3^rd of May in 1896.  Fond of writing plays, she wrote her first at the age of 10 and began acting in bit parts in her teens. Originally from Lancashire, Dodie relocated to London with her mother and step father at the age of 14.  The house that they lived in was in Dorset Square, not far from Regents Park.

As Dodie got older, she became a more accomplished actress and writer. Travelling, acting and writing became the norm for Smith, but until I recently researched the author, I didn’t know any of these facts.  The novel that introduced her to me was of course, The Hundred and One Dalmatians.

 

In the outer circle of Regents Park in London, a story of love between two dogs evolves. It tells of how their 15 puppies are taken by the evil Cruella de Vil and the measures they take to save not only their pups, but 97 in total.

I’ll never forget when Mr Mether (my 4^th grade teacher), wrote the name Cruella de Vil on the blackboard and after removing a few letters and manipulating the rest, transformed the name of the villain to Cruel Devil. I think that was the point in my life when I realised that when you write stories, you can use words in any way that you choose to. Maybe that’s why this particular writer and book are so important to me because at that particular moment, I thought Dodie Smith was a genius. I have so much to thank her for.

 

The Hundred and One Dalmatians isn’t the only book that Smith wrote, but it’s the only one I’ve read as I didn’t know if the others would live up to my expectations. My life isn’t over yet though. Since the book was written, there have been 2 movies and a musical about the Dearlys and their brave dogs.  The musical features lyrics written by Dennis DeYoung, the frontman from one of my favourite bands, Styx.  I wish I’d seen it

 

Dodie Smith passed away in 1990 at the age of 94 but her thirst for writing lives on to be enjoyed by readers time and time again. The story proves that the love of a child by their parent goes above all else, even with dogs. And it all happened, Once upon a time on the outer circle of Regents Park.

“We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams.”

Roald Dahl

I was first introduced to Roald Dahl at the age of nine.  My teacher at the time, Mr Mether, read the class an epic adventure of a chocolate fantasy world. Not all at once mind you, but chapter by chapter. Sort of like a serial. That book was of course, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. 

Roald Dahl was born in Wales to Norwegian parents on the 13^th of September 1916.  Dahl wasn’t just a writer though. During WWII he became a flying ace and an intelligence officer and rose to the rank of Wing Commander. I could go on to tell you about the terrible plane crash and also about his family, but I’d rather visit the magical mind of one of the greatest story tellers of the 20^th century.

Table of objects in his writing hut

Dahl wrote in an enviable style. He was a master of invention, especially when it came to naming things. For four hours every day he sat in his writing hut working. Roald Dahl could start and stop just like that. His stories are mysterious and a little on the dark side and the characters are quirky enough to bring the dullest tale to life.

When I first heard of how Charlie Bucket nibbled at his chocolate each birthday, I imagined what it would be like if your family were so poor that all of your grandparents slept in the same bed and cabbage soup was the only thing on the menu.  But like every good story teller, Dahl came up with a solution to the problem. He rescued the wretch by giving him a golden ticket which invited him on that magical adventure through the factory that nobody ever went into and nobody ever came out of. This would have been a dream come true for all chocolate lovers and I really did wish it were me at the time, because as you may know, when you’re a child you believe everything is real.

Dahl reappeared in my life a few years ago when I read My Uncle Oswald.  This book is definitely worth reading and just like the children’s stories, the characters are quirky and the story outrageous enough to suck you into the pages and hold you captive until the end.

Roald Dahl Museum

In Great Missenden in Buckinghamshire, there’s a Roald Dahl Museum and it’s crammed with the delights that you experience in his work and a lot of his personal belongings too.  Whether you’re a fan of Gremlins or Oompa Loompas, you’ll enjoy taking a moment to step back into your nine year old self and remember what it was like when you first discovered the stories, just like I did. I was lucky enough to take an archive tour and I soon learned that his family kept everything.  Before I knew it, I was looking at the original manuscripts and work of the writer.  I actually had the opportunity to read some unpublished work and found out that the original story of Charlie and the Chocolate factory was very different than the one we all know and love. I could reveal it, but I would rather you went to the museum and found out for yourself.

BFG footprints near his grave

On a much sadder note though, Roald Dahl passed away on the 23^rd of November 1990 and he is buried in the churchyard of St Paul’s in Great Missenden. But like his life, every story must finish and the ending to this one goes something along the lines of, Once upon a time in the UK, a storyteller presented us with a golden ticket to a literary world that continues to tantalise your tastebuds whether you’re nine or forty-nine.


His grave at St Pauls where somebody has left him a Kit Kat

We have tears in our eyes,

As we wave our goodbyes,

We so loved being with you three.

So please now and then,

Come and see us again,

The Giraffe, the Pelly and me.

Roald Dahl 1916-1990

 

www.roalddahlmuseum.org

 

Oooo la la

Anne Declos

This week I’d like to take you on a journey to France. Not my beloved Paris, but to Rochefort the birthplace of French journalist Anne Declos.

Declos who was born in 1907, worked as a journalist until 1946 when she joined Gallimard Publishers as the editorial secretary. As an avid reader she translated and introduced the French to work by the likes of Virginia Woolf, T S Eliot and F Scott Fitzgerald. She became a critic and was on the jury for many literary awards.

Anne Declos AKA Pauline Reage and Dominique Aury

The Story of O came about when Anne’s lover made claim that a woman couldn’t write an erotic novel.  Declos proved him wrong by writing The Story of O. Published under the name Pauline Reage, many questioned whether or not it was actually written by a woman.

I remember the book being mentioned on television when I was in my teens.  I asked my mum about it and she told me it was filth and I shouldn’t read it. Years later when I was accidentally browsing through the erotica section of Borders in Carlton, I, by chance, stumbled across the controversial novel.  Of course I bought it and read it asap. However, I never did tell my mum.

The content of the book is sadomasochistic erotica. It’s the story of a French girl – referred to as O, who was sold into sexual slavery by her boyfriend.  Surprisingly, the book is actually written in good taste and the language isn’t at all what I imagined it to be.  Needless to say, The Story of O was prevented from being sold to minors and brought obscenity charges against the publisher due to the subject. Declos did not disclose that she was the author of the book until 40 years after the book was published.

Whether you like it or not, the controversial story is a classic.  The story is timeless and more than 50 years later, if you picked it up, although shocking, you could relate it to today. I’m glad I read it, not only for the experience, but also so I could tell you that, Once upon a time in France, a woman took a wager and proved that you don’t have to be a man to write erotica.

 Poetry & Prose

John Betjeman

On the south bank of the Thames protected from the weather by Waterloo Bridge, there’s a second hand book shop and however hard I try, I can never walk past without browsing.  When I find a bargain I snatch it from the table and pay the man.  I have no idea where the books come from and I don’t really care either. Anyway, when I found a copy of John Betjeman’s best of, I couldn’t resist, especially since it was just over three quid. It was a pleasure doing business for something so enjoyable.

John Betjeman was actually born John Betjemann in 1906. His surname was changed during World War I to sound less German. The family lived at Parliament Hill Mansions in Highgate North London. In 1909 they moved to a more opulent part of Highgate.

Statue of John Betjeman at St Pancras International

Betjeman was educated at Byron House and Highgate School where he was taught by none other than the poet T S Eliot.  He then went on to board at the Dragon School preparatory school in Oxford.  After failing the maths section of the entry exam, Betjeman struggled to get into university, but was accepted as a non-scholarship student.  While at Magdalen College, he was tutored by a young C S Lewis so at this stage of his education, Betjeman had been introduced to two literary greats.

After university, Betjeman worked for a brief period of time as a private secretary, school teacher and film critic. He was employed by the Architectural Review as assistant editor from 1930-1935 and this employer was said to be his true university. During this period, he married Penelope Chetwode and their first child was born in 1937.

If you’ve read any of his work, you’ll understand why I was excited about the book.  Betjeman’s subjects are places and the everyday.  I wouldn’t say the wording is simple, but there is a touch of comedy and it really is easy to understand.  There isn’t a great deal of abstract in his work and his humour only adds to the honesty. If you've never been aquainted, there’s still time.

John Betjeman passed away in 1984 and is buried in the churchyard at St Enodoc’s church in Cornwall. I wish I had known him.  I think he would have been interesting to talk to and the kind of man that people are just drawn to. His style is formidable and charismatic – I love it.  Oh and after sprouting about how much I like the late John Betjeman, might I add that Once upon a time in London, a Poet Laureate pushed aside the pretentious and gave the world an offering of enjoyable modernism that really is second to none.