3.5 ⭐️
My second Catherine Cookson novel. Found an enjoyable to hold hardcover version at my local op shop for a bargain $3.00.
There’s something about her writing that I really do enjoy. I wouldn’t want it in huge doses however sprinkled in now and then, her way of telling a story can easily transport me into the world of her plot.
I think what I enjoyed about this one particular story is that I was able to get a glimpse into multiple worlds of the characters and somewhere in my heart found compassion for the majority of them. Kind of like that saying which goes: “there isn’t a person you couldn’t love if you knew their story” well Cookson has the ability to do this for me throughout both the stories I’ve read her from so far. I wonder if it’s like that with her other reads too?
Even though I liked the sweet and amiable Lizzie, I even more warmed to the gentle and oh so kind Richard Boneford and his family. To go through what he went through and still carry himself with such a genteel stride surrounded by his jovial, warm and loving Scottish family circle was one of my favourite parts of the story especially Lizzie’s first visit to the Bonefords at Beckside Hall in Durham. I love his parents James & Edith particularly the way that Edith approaches Lizzie in her bedroom after spending three hours with them upon her arrival to their place.
📕 once seated she did not begin to talk, but stared at Lizzie for some seconds, and then she said, “You will have been puzzled at the charade you’ve witnessed since your arrival….well, my dear, I feel I must explain. You see, it’s a kind of plat we indulge in. We’re all in it. We all have our parts, particularly James and Phyllis, as you have no doubt noticed. It’s for Richard. We pretend everything is as normal as before the war” ……..”You have no idea what it was like when he first came home. He hid himself away like some wounded animal. Yet his face has much improved from when we first saw it in hospital. And what I’ve told myself time and time again, and even said to him: there are so many men worse off than himself, and at least he has part of his face as it was. What broke him up finally was when Janis couldn’t bear to look at him, couldn’t bear even to be near him. He was absolutely torn apart at that time. It was about that time that I first heard of you. We were sitting having tea in the drawing-room, just as were were today and he looked at me and said “I came across a young girl last week who looked me straight in the face, Mother; not a nurse, not one of the hospital crowd but an ordinary girl from outside”. Then she added - she now bent forward and touched Lizzie’s hand - “But she wasn’t an ordinary girl, she was beautiful, and she looked me straight in the face; and I could tell by her eyes she was t forcing herself; nor did she turn her head away; and we talked”That….that was the first time he met you.
📕 As Lizzie was about to speak again the phone clicked. She gave a gasp, put her have to her throat as if she were choking, dropped the receiver on to the stand, then turned and ran across the hall, continued to run up the stairs and into the bedroom; and there, flinging herself on the bed, she gave way to a paroxysm of weeping. Meg had followed her, and when she reached the bed she didn’t touch her but sat on the foot and let her cry it out, and not until the sound of her sobbing subsided did she put her hands on Lizzie’s shoulder, saying “There it’s out of you. Now to business. You can sort out the stuff that you need to take with you and have the rest sent on”
📕 It was quite true what old Meg had said in one of her bits of raw philosophy; a man didn’t only want a wife; she had to be a mother, housekeeper, and loose woman all in one.
📕 ….”but things are not right here are they? Do you mind if I open me mouth a bit wider?”….”No Meg, as wide as you like”
📕….”But liking and loving aren’t the same thing” “D’you know somethin’? I’m goin’ to tell you: me mother had a hell of a life with da. He could drink like a stranded whale. I said to her one, “why do you stick it? Why don’t you walk out on him! You don’t love him. You can’t. And she said “no I suppose not; but I like him, and I’ve found thats much more lastin’ than love” I was young at the time when she said it to me. I didn’t believe it, but I proved it meself years later. If you start such lovin’ somebody and yet know they’re not companion- like, it’s rarely that you grow to like them. But if you start liking them, nine times out of ten you end up by lovin’ them. But then again there’s all stages of love. Eeh! Here I go on.