Published in 1943 this was probably written in 1942, a very troubled year; the time span of the novel is from late Autumn through to early Spring. I read, probably in one of Carola Oman's novels of war on the home front, that the winter was terrible as the Spring was lovely and the harvest bountiful.
Here we follow Lydia and her new husband Noel Merton. Lydia has been a favourite of mine since, Summer Half, or even earlier as both she and Noel, unmarried and uninterested in each other – in that way – were also on stage in The Brandons.
Noel is now an officer, of course, being a sahib – well educated and well mannered, wealthy and with a profession. He is ordered to Barsetshire and Lydia tags along. A captain at the local camp rings up Lady Waring at The Priory wondering if she can lodge a young couple. This being war-time Lord and Lady Waring have already leant their manor for use as a convalescent hospital and are living in the servants quarters. Hard times; but they have a cook, a baker, a maid, gardener, gamekeeper and the help of various convalescents so they manage. Lydia and Noel come to stay with them as paying guests.
The Warings' only son was killed in the "last" war. Sir Harry reflects:
"There was no child to inherit; the place would go to a cousin in the Navy, who had spent much of his life out of England. What a weary business it all was, giving one’s best to a place where one’s widow wouldn’t even have the right to live."
The cousin who will inherit has a sister who also comes to live with them, having had a very responsible job which took her to America among other things. She suffers from PTSD (unknown at the time) after being torpedoed and spending several days in a life-boat. She comes to the Priory fragile and wan but bucks up as the story progresses, not least due to her becoming the focus of the novel's main love story.
This is in fact a very varied novel with several sub-plots to keep the reader interested. Aside from the love story of Leslie – the Warings' niece – an acquaintance from earlier in the series and now a dashing officer, we have the love story of Mrs Crockett – widow – and her suitors, Jasper the disreputable game-keeper who may indeed have gypsy blood, Private Jenks and Sergeant Hopkins; there is a thief pilfering money at the railway station at Winter Overcotes, there is a further love story as Olivia Crawley's young man, Mr Needham returns – from Libya – not without injury, previously he was curate for Olivia's father the Dean but now wants a "living"– a parish of his own. He is bordered with Selina Crockett's mother Mrs Allen, the former Waring nanny and a powerful force in the village.
One of the things I disliked about the book was the snobbishness. Ms Thirkell usually balances things and does so even here, showing the kindness and generosity the stationmaster shows to Lydia and to others, but there is character which bothers me as the educated privileged wink and sneer at poor Captain Hooper. It is he who has organized Noel and Lydia's stay with the Warings. Noel comments that he is "a very good officer", but:
"'What gentleman?' said Sir Harry.
'Captain Harper, or some such name, Sir Harry. I didn’t like to ask again because he seemed so——'
'No, he was not upset, Selina, and he’s not a gentleman, and his name is Hooper.'"
One must not, [Captain Hooper] said, let etiquette go by the board even in these times of change, and he must introduce Lady Waring to Major Merton. Everyone behaved extremely well. 'Etiquette is not the word,' said Dr. Ford..."
Captain Hooper should have said: "introduce Major Merton to Lady Waring". the "inferior person to the social superior". A solecism i.e. breach of etiquette. Further:
"'And now we have a few moments to ourselves while our common friend is in the other part of the house, would you like to talk business?' [said Lady Waring]
'How few women would have said ‘common’ rather than ‘mutual’! said Major Merton admiringly.'" The "admiringly" bothers me. Further:
"'A pleasure, I’m sure,'" said Captain Hooper. This sounds innocent enough in my ears but is apparently "non-U" i.e. used by the lower (middle)classes in what they think is upper-class idiom.
Of course Captain Hooper does try too hard:
"Not quite your sort, Lady Waring. Schoolmaster in private life, you know. They’re all a bit morbid. He hasn’t got the right idear about Russiar either."
"Not quite" is snobbish for "not quite quite etc." showing Hooper's lack of self-awareness. NOSD - "Not our sort dear" is the upper-class expression of class distinction.
Speaking in a company of classically educated people Captain Hooper should realize that it would not be proper to say: "no one would be learning Latin in a few years and mensar and all that useless rot. Biology and aerodynamics and sensible stuff, he said."
It was surely not Ms Thirkell's intent to provide him with an argument which turned out to be perfectly true.
"'Good morning, sir,' said Captain Hooper jauntily. 'Are you off to the gay metropolis like me? Take my tip, and it’s worth having, if you want a good lunch go to the Poubelle in Hentzau Street. It’s run by Les Free Frogs and there’s a spot of pre-war Dubonnet if you ask Mademersell Rose at the bar.' Sir Harry had hardly ever been deliberately rude in his life, but undoubtedly he would have snubbed Captain Hooper in a way even that thick-skinned officer would feel..."
A snub is apparently acceptable behaviour for friendly advice given about a good restaurant?
Social mores seem to me overly complex.
"“And now, Mrs. Merton,” she said, “as we hope to have you here for some time, I am going to ask if you will let me call you Lydia. It is such a charming name and it suits you.” Lydia blushed with pleasure and as she afterwards said to Noel, was so glad that Lady Waring did not go on by asking her to call her Harriet, for it would have made her very uncomfortable. But no such thought had come into Lady Waring’s head, for to her Christian names were not things to be thrown about lightly and she was capable of feeling just as much affection for people without dashing into informal modes of address..."
“'Good-bye and thank you so much for your tea-party,' said Lydia. 'I hope you don’t mind me calling you Nannie, like Leslie? I’ve got an old Nannie at home, Mrs. Twitcher is her name.' Nannie, smiling grimly, said she didn’t suppose it would be any use saying no, but Lydia could see that she was not displeased by the familiarity..."
Familiarity is apparently acceptable if assumed von oben.
Lydia was a brash out-spoken girl but has become: "during the last two years, married to her own blissful content, willing to please Noel Merton in all outward things in her deep security of pleasing his heart, she had so schooled her old wildness and conformed to his excellent taste in matters of dress and appearance, that we might be forgiven if we did not recognize her for a moment."
This was a bit depressing, but fortunately Lydia still finds ways to express herself.
There is, unfortunately, also some kowtowing to the patriarchy, aside from Lydia's remarks. Leslie – the Waring niece – comments:
"'I think it is frightening,' said Leslie. 'Most of the women I had under me were incredibly efficient and I don’t think they were any more trying than the men. But it’s all upside down. It is quite horrid not to be able to feel that men are superior beings. I’d much rather I did.'”
Lydia has also learned to "judge" in a way she did not seem to do before:
"Looking across the dinner-table at her friend Octavia, Mrs. Noel Merton, bringing a fresh eye to bear on her, for they had not met in the last two years, thought she saw a faint but decided improvement..."
Poor Octavia is not kindly treated:
"She had acquired a not very good permanent wave in her uninteresting hair; her dress, obviously a standardized utility product, had some faint approach to style, though it might have fitted better across the shoulders; and her talk, though far from sparkling, appeared to be sensible..."
"...'Of course I like nursing better than anything, and the war’s a splendid opportunity,' said Octavia, her face lighting up in so far as such an uninteresting face could be said to do such a thing..."
"Philip, who had never looked upon Octavia as anything but so dull that she practically didn’t exist..."
"Leslie admired in Octavia a thoroughness and capacity for taking pains which almost excused her dullness."
Fortunately not everyone feels so: "Look at Octavia. Doesn’t she look wonderful to-night?” says Tommy, her betrothed.
"'I had quite forgotten she was coming,' said Lady Waring, conscience-stricken by the appalling gulf between her precept and her practice, her heartfelt praise of Matron and her entire want of interest in that estimable woman."
Lady Waring also tosses out: "Dr. Davies in the village is very nice, but I cannot quite fancy a woman doctor..."
A few witticisms:
"living as she did by older and by no means despicable standards of conduct, she approved courtesy to one’s elders. It might come from the heart, it might be only an outward form, but it helped to keep civilization going..."
"An angry elderly clergyman hustled them through the service with such vigour that they emerged breathless but glowing with virtue..."
"The cottage, which was so Early English Water Colour as to be almost incredible, stood below a hanger (a wooded hill), a small stream purling beside it. The walls were of a kind of wattle and daub, of a creamy colour, the roof was thatched, the windows latticed and very small."
This seems too pastorally idyllic to be true, and is:
"Owing to its position the cottage suffered from every conceivable drawback of picturesque rural life. The hanger prevented any sun from reaching it except in the late evenings of midsummer when it is almost in the north. The purling brook overflowed every spring and autumn, leaving mud and old leaves all over the garden and sometimes in the cottage. The well was apt to run dry or at other times produced water with a peculiar and unpleasant smell... The windows let in draughts and kept out what light there was..."
This is the home of Jasper, the gypsy game-keeper who is at times distressed by his grandmother, a witch, who has come back to haunt him in the form of a black hare.
"His mother, the witch’s only child, longed passionately for her son to be respectable, perhaps the more because her husband, one of the most accomplished poachers in the district, and the village ne’er-do-weel in his spare time, wished his son to follow his own profession..."
Fans of Mr Trollpe's Barchester may recognize that not only Reverend Crawley (from The Last Chronicle of Barset has descendants living – and prospering – in Ms Thirkell's series, but also Dr Fillgrave – from the novel Dr Thorne is recalled in Sir Abel Fillgrave, also a medico.
“'Are you sure you know your way back?' said Philip, with what appeared to him to be courteous though icy detachment. 'Oh yes,' said Leslie, in a voice which was meant to express 'Ah, do not so reject me,' but came out like 'Of course I do, you great fool'..."
"Private Jenks said his uncle had a hook instead of a hand. 'Came in handy in all sorts of ways, it did,' he added. 'He wasn’t born like that of course.'”
"...nervous of showing a decided opinion on any race, religion, or way of political thought, because unexpected passions suddenly rise so high when the world is in what Mrs. Brandon in an inspired moment had called the stock-pot."
Ah, Mrs Brandon: "...who to everyone’s surprise and most of all to her own, was in charge of the local Land Girls, and doing the job very well in her own peculiar way..."
"...The two ladies had a slight acquaintance and liked each other without intimacy. If the truth must be told, which it mostly mustn’t as being apt to cause disagreeableness, Lady Waring almost classed Mrs. Morland in her mind as a very worthy sort of person..."
Mrs Morland is the popular novelist who, in her confused way, brings some perspective to the stories. Here though it is – surprisingly - Lady Waring who reflects:
"This led her to a consideration of how very difficult it must be for people to write novels, because all the young heroines were in the Forces or civilian jobs and all the young heroes the same, so that there was very little time for novelists to make them fall in love with each other, unless they made the hero be a flying officer and the heroine a Waaf, and then one would have to know all the details of the R.A.F. or one would make the most dreadful howlers..."
Other than the snobbishness, which stuck in my craw, this is a very pleasant novel of how the war has entered into every aspect of life in the wonderful county of Barsetshire.