The Tiger in the Smoke

A policeman using a flare to guide a bus through London in the
Great Smog of December 1952. I would have thought a flare would
be unsafe and add to pollution! Fortunately the police in Margery
Allingham's novel had torches. (pic from The Guardian)

"It may be only blackmail,' said the man in the taxi hopefully. The fog was like a saffron blanket soaked in ice-water. It had hung over London all day and at last was beginning to descend. The sky was yellow as a duster and the rest was a granular black, overprinted in grey and lightened by occasional slivers of bright fish colour as a policeman turned in his wet cape."

It’s a brave author who chooses to follow in the footpath of Charles Dickens and open a novel with a description of a London fog. But Margery Allingham does just that (much more succinctly than her predecessor did in Bleak House), and she manages to sustain the eerie, malevolent atmosphere created by the fog for much of The Tiger in the Smoke. Allingham's fog, like Dickens', is virtually a character in its own right, providing a cover for criminals, deceiving those who hunt them, and clouding thoughts.London fog, or smog - also known as a pea-souper or London Peculiar - was common throughout the 19th century and during the first half of the following century. It was a phenomenon caused by industrial pollution and domestic coal fires, and was thick, yellow and choking, enveloping the city and reducing visibility. In December 1952 - the year this novel was published - air pollution, combined with unusual weather conditions, brought about a particularly bad four-day smog which, according to records of the time, caused the death of some 4,000 people from respiratory complications, and severe illness in as many as 100,000 more. The incident prompted politicians to draft new legislation, and the first Clean Air Act became effective in 1956. Obviously, Allingham's novel must have been written and published earlier in the year, but it does show she was familiar London pea-soupers. 

 Anyway, I digress. The Tiger in the Smoke is one of the author's later novels, featuring her upper class sleuth Albert Campion and his sidekick,the magnificently named Magersfontein Lugg. Campion's cousin, beautiful young war widow Meg Elginbrodde is now engaged to another man, but has been receiving blurry photographs showing a man who looks like her first husband... So is it him? And if so is he still alive, and why hasn't he contacted Meg? And if he is dead, who is the man in the photograph, and what does he want from Meg? Campion has been drafted in to help Divisional Detective Inspector Charlie Luke unravel the mystery, which turns out to be much more dangerous than either of them anticipate.

The duo meet Meg at a major London train station, because Meg has received a note on the back of one of the photos telling her to go to Platform 5. She sees a man who looks like her husband Martin, but when she calls to him he runs away. And when the police capture him she realises the man is definitely not Martin. The police get little information out of him, and as they have no evidence to prove he has committed a crime, they release him. But soon after that he turns up in an alley where has been kicked to death whilst wearing Martin Elginbrodde's old jacket.

At the same time Meg's fiance, Geffrey Levett, has disappeared and no-one has any idea where he is, and the police suspect he may be involved in the fake photos, though there seems to be no motive. Then Campion's old friend Inspector Stanislaus Oates (now promoted to the dizzy heights of Assistant Commissioner and Chief of Scotland Yard), appears and reveals that jailed villain Jack Havoc has escaped after killing a respected psychiatrist. Havoc, says the Assistant Commissioner, is a truly wicked man, a born killer - and he may be mixed up in the plot against Meg. Minutes later Oates is proved right as a report comes in of three killings. The caretaker at the offices of Martin's solicitor has been stabbed to death, along with a bed-ridden old lady and a young policeman.

Things get more complicated by the minute. There's a gang of shady street musicians (three of whom are Havoc's former henchmen), a respectable old woman who is actually a money-lender and not at all law-abiding, and a police chase by land, air and sea. I don't want to spoil the plot, so all I will tell you that everything revolves around an unnamed 'treasure' hidden in France.

Campion is older and wiser than when when we first meet him in the earlier books. This is set about 20 years later and plays a minor, though still active role. Catching people like Havoc is best left to professional police, he says. Lugg, the former burglar turned honest man, also has a small part to play, which is a shame - I always think he is such a magnificent character. Campion's wife Amanda has a key role, as does the lovely Meg, and we also catch a glimpse of Campion's young son.

Unusually, there is a major scene in the darkened church where Meg's father, the saintly Canon Avril, has a philosophical discussion with the killer, who has a chance to turn back, or to continue on his wayward path. Oddly enough, the two men seem to have some understanding of each other. Their discussion, and other comments in the book, made me reflect on the nature of evil. I shall leave you with the Canon's words: "Our Gods are within us. We choose our own compulsions. Our souls are our own."

The 1952 Club runs all week, hosted by Simon at https://www.stuckinabook.com/, and Karen at https://kaggsysbookishramblings.wordpress. They have links to all the books people have read for the challenge.

Excellent Women

The clothes worn by the women in this photo look exactly as I
imagine those worn by Mildred and her friends.

T

oday's offering for the 1952 Club, is Excellent Women by Barbara Pym, which is, as you might expect, an excellent book! The heroine (I will call her that, although I am certain it is not how she would see herself) is Mildred Lathbury, a 30-ish spinster who is a stalwart member of the local church, helping with teas, flowers, jumble sales, fetes and so on. She works part-time for an organisation which aids impoverished gentlewomen, which is, she tells us 'a cause very near to my own heart, as I felt I was just the kind of person who might one day become one'.

But Mildred's colourless life takes a turn for the better when Helena and Rockingham Napier move into the flat beneath her. When the two women first meet (by the dustbins in the basement), it is obvious that they are unlikely to become friends. Helena is 'fair-haired, and pretty, gaily dressed in corduroy trousers and a bright jersey'. Mildred is clad in a shapeless overall and an old fawn skirt, which draw attention to the fact that she is mousy and plain. And their outlook on life is also at a variance: Helena has no use for church, and no time for cooking and housework. An anthropologist, she is writing up her notes on kinship groups, following a research trip to Africa with a male colleague. Meanwhile, her naval officer husband has spent the last 18 months in a luxurious Italian villa looking after 'dreary' WRNS in 'ill-fitting white uniforms'.

When I was a child, women wore crossover overalls 
to to protect their clothes around the house. They were
 often made from old dresses, sometimes with sleeves, and 
were usually shapeless and faded,  with a tie round the waist.
(Pic of vintage overall pattern from Etsy site My Vintage Wish)

Rocky is charming, an educated, sophisticated man of taste, who puts people at their ease without even trying. I imagine him looking a bit like Montgomery Cliff in The Heiress (which is a travesty of Henry James' Washington Square, but nonetheless very enjoyable). Sensible Mildred feels the attraction, though she is aware he is frivolous, flirtatious and unreliable, totally unlike her friend the Vicar, Father Julian Malory. It might be supposed that Mildred and Julian are destined to marry - what could be be more suitable you ask yourself. But he falls for the charms of beautiful, sad-eyed widow Allegra Gray.

I think this advert, from 1951, has something of the feel 
of Rocky charming an adoring woman. (Pic from 
 https://www.etsy.com/uk/listing/1216651471/vintage-ad-1951-pacific-mills-mens-suit)

Much to her surprise, Mildred finds herself drawn into the Napiers' chaotic lifestyle, and meeting new people, including Helena's fellow anthropologist Everard Bone. Mildred decides she does not like him - she doesn't like fair-haired men, his nose is too pointed, and he seems to view the rest of the world (especially Mildred) with disdain. But, as we all know, couples who affect to dislike each other are generally hiding their true feeling...

Barbara Pym is often compared to Jane Austen, who once described her method of writing as being done with a fine brush on a 'little bit (not two inches wide) of ivory'. Like Austen, she portrays the everyday domestic details of life, showing us the concerns of ordinary people, and ignoring the bigger picture. You would hardly know Excellent Woman is set in the aftermath of WW2, but it's the small things in life that seem to affect people most. Pym is a very humorous writer - she's not laugh out loud funny, but she makes you smile, with the kind of quiet irony you might find in Austen novel. 

Take this sentence when Mildred admits: "I suppose an unmarried woman just over thirty, who lives alone and has no apparent ties, must expect to find herself involved or interested in other people's business, and if she is also a clergyman's daughter then one really might say that there is no hope for her."

 I love that - pure Austen I think, as is Mildred's wry observation that it's the unsuitable women that men fall in love with.

Stylish trousers and brightly coloured jumper,
like those worn by Helena.
(https://wearinghistoryblog.com)

Pym's books are comedies of manners, and this is no exception. She draws her characters with precision, placing them in a particular time, place and social strata. But while she pokes gentle fun at them, she is never cruel, inviting us to smile with these people rather than at them. There are far too many characters to mention them all, but I like the Vicar's sister Winifred, who looks after him, dresses in clothes from the church jumble sales, and keeps a battered copy of Christina Rossetti's poems by her bed. A hopeless (or perhaps that should be hopeful) romantic, she has never been in love, and no-one has ever loved her, but she is happy with her life. Then there is Mildred's old schoolfriend Dora Caldicote, a jolly hockey sticks sort of woman, who harbours the forlorn hope that her brother William will marry Mildred, even though he is obviously not the marrying kind.

There are some wonderful descriptions of social events, like the complexities of lunch at a self-service cafeteria, where the trays rattle along on a moving belt at terrifying speed and bewildered Mildred ends up with things she doesn't want and no saucer for her coffee. Talking of which, my local Co-op cafe provides a not-bad pot of tea, with a cup, but no saucer, so I know exactly how she felt!

I could go on and on saying how much I love this book, and what a marvellous writer Barbara Pym is, but to be honest it's difficult to know what to put in and what to leave out, because so many other people have expressed their thoughts so much better than I can. Just read the book - and if you've already read it, please read it again!

The 1952 Club runs all week, hosted by Simon at https://www.stuckinabook.com/, and Karen at https://kaggsysbookishramblings.wordpress.

My Virago edition has a lovely foreword by
Alexander McCall Smith, who is kind, warm and
generous in his appraisal of Barbara Pym. 

The Borrowers

Arrietty wandered through the open door into the sitting -room. Ah, the fire had been lighted and the room looked bright and cosy. Homily was proud of her sitting-room: the walls had been papered with scraps of old letters out of old waste-paper baskets, and Homily had arranged the handwriting in vertical stripes, which ran from floor to ceiling. On the walls, repeated in various colours, hung several portraits of Queen Victoria as a girl; these were postage stamps, borrowed by Pod several years ago from the stamp-box on the desk in the drawing room. There was a lacquer trinket-box, padded inside and with the lid open, which they used as a settle; and that useful standby - a chest of drawers made of match-boxes.

The room, and its occupants, are part of the enchanting world that exists beneath the floorboards in the Big House, in Mary Norton's classic children's book, The Borrowers. OK, I know it's a children's book, but adults can still enjoy it and, since it was first published in 1952, I thought it would be just perfect for The 1952 Club. I was prompted to read it again because I couldn't find my little embroidery scissors, or my skein of green thread, and I found myself thinking 'the Borrowers have taken them'. For those who don't know, Pod, Homily and little Arrietty are Borrowers. Everything they have is 'borrowed' from the Big People (otherwise known as Human Beans) and put to ingenious use. All the small day to day items that disappear from your home - pins, safety pins, razor blades, scraps of food - turn up in their minuscule domain. 

The Borrowers, drawn by Diana Stanley, the 
original illustrator of the books.

They have a deep red blotting paper carpet, a table made from the base of a pill box, and a mustard pot which now does duty as a coal scuttle, filled with slack and candle drippings. Homily makes soup in a pewter thimble and uses pins and a reel of thread to knit jumpers for her family. Arrietty reads miniature Victorian books (as big as church Bibles to her) and keeps a diary in Bryce's Tom Thumb Diary and Proverb Book, which has a saying for every day of the year, and space for her to write. In her hands, the small pencil from a dance programme is as big as a rolling pin to us.  

Pod, Homily and Arrietty are the Clock family, because the entrance to their home lies behind the kitchen clock. Once upon a time there were dozens of Borrowers living in the Big House, including the  Overmantels, who lived in the Morning Room on a limited diet of breakfast food (what else would be served in the morning room!), and the Harpsichords (who changed their name from Linen-Press) and Rain-Pipes. In those days the house was full of people; now only Great-Aunt Sophy, who took to her bed 20 odd years ago, is left, and the army of servants dwindled to Driver the cook and Crampfurl the gardener, who care for the old lady and the building. It means there are slim pickings for the Borrowers, so gradually the families have moved elsewhere, and only Pod, Homily and Arrietty are left.

Homily hard at work while Arrietty writes in her diary. (illustration
by Diana Stanley)

Like all Borrowers, they believe the Big People are there for their benefit, to provide the necessities of life for them, but at same time they are frightened of the consequences of being seen. Poor Uncle Hendreary was forced to emigrate to a badger's sett when a cat was brought in after he was spotted by a maid on a mantlepiece and he sneezed when she dusted him!

So the little Clock family continue their uneventful, hidden lives - until the day a Boy comes to stay, sent home from India to recuperate after illness. The Boy sees Pod, and actually helps him 'borrow' a cup from the dolls' tea set. This is obviously a crisis, and a very shaken Pod considers moving home, but the family stay put, and Pod even teaches his daughter how to 'borrow'. But this leads to their downfall, because Arrietty makes friends with the Boy, who 'borrows' all sorts of wonderful things for them, and is eventually caught by the two servants (who have always believed he is sly and up to good). There are some heart-stopping moments when it seems the Borrowers' lives are threatened but, thankfully, they escape to the outside world, with a helping hand from the Boy who is being shipped back to India.

And if you want to know what happens to them in the great outdoors, the next book in the series, The Borrowers Afield, is even more magical. I'm aware there are people who think adults shouldn't read children's books (unless, of course, they are reading aloud to children), and I've probably made it sound very silly and whimsical, but it really is a lovely book, and I adore the concept of these little people living beneath our feet, and making good use of items we don't look after. 

The 1952 Club, runs throughout the week, and there are links to the many other books published or written in 1952 at https://www.stuckinabook.com/, andhttps://kaggsysbookishramblings.wordpress, the blogs run by Simon and Karen, who are hosting the event.

Murder in the Mill-Race

 

Doctor Raymond Ferens, his health ruined by his wartime experiences, and his wife Anne move to Milham in the Moor, an isolated village high on Exmoor. It seems idyllic, but soon they find themselves caught up in a murder mystery when Sister Monica, warden of the local children’s home, is found drowned in the mill stream. Villagers, who generally regard Sister Monica as ‘a wonder’ claim she must have come over dizzy and fallen off the bridge. But Sgt Peel (from the nearby town of Milham Prior) is not so sure. He is suspicious because there was another unexplained drowning (of a maid from the children’s home) in the same place. And there are puzzling aspects to the case. So Scotland Yard is drafted in to help, in the shape of Chief Inspector Macdonald and Detective Inspector Reeves.

Murder at the Mill-Race: A Devon Mystery, by ECR Lorac, is one of those lovely British Library Crime Classics, with an interesting introduction by Martin Edwards, who edits the series, and has a very nice blog here. I’d never been a huge fan of crime fiction until I discovered these BLCC ‘Golden Age’ murder mysteries, and I think I’ve loved all the ones I’ve read. There’s not too much blood and gore, which is what puts me off many modern crime novels, which sometimes seem almost to be a celebration of violence. These bygone authors (who were immensely popular in their day), produced well crafted tales, with believable characters, and their detectives (policemen as well as amateur sleuths) rely on their brains (rather than intuition) to unravel the clues, which is something I always appreciate. And their portrayal of the life and times they write about is nearly always brilliant – Golden Age crime writers are really good on domestic detail, the social set-up, and the way people respond to events, and that’s especially true in this book.

Anyway, I digress. Our Scotland Yard detectives quickly discover that Sister Monica (or Miss Monica Emily Torrington, as she should really be known) was neither as wonderful nor as well-liked as people would have them believe. A post mortem reveals traces of alcohol in her blood, yet she was a strict tee-totaller, and her secret savings amount to far more than her meagre wage – so where does the money come from? But no-one is willing to admit any fault in Sister Monica. And if they have their suspicions about the identity of the killer and the reason for the murder, they’re not admitting that either. Lorac tells us:

“Never make trouble in the village,” is an unspoken law, but it’s a binding law. You may know about your neighbour’s sins and shortcomings, but you should never name them aloud. It’d make trouble, and small societies want to avoid trouble.”

Chief Inspector Macdonald and Detective Inspector Reeves pursue their inquiries kindly, but firmly, and are quite prepared to undertake practical investigations to prove their suspicions – unwittingly aided by Dr Ferens and land agent John Sanderson, who carry out their own experiment in a bid to discover what really happened.

Gradually a clearer picture emerges of Miss Torrington, who adopted the title ‘Sister’, along with an air of religious humility, and a ‘long dark cloak and veil which hospital nurses had worn as uniform in the early nineteen hundreds’. A capable nurse, she managed the children’s home efficiently and economically for almost 30 years, and while the youngsters in her care were not loved, they were not ill-treated. But by the time Raymond Ferens and his wife meet her she is ‘ageing, domineering, narrow-minded’ and has been in the job too long. Miss Braithwaite, one of the few people to speak out against Sister Monica, tells the police:

“She was one of those women who cover a mean and assertive mind with a cloak of humility, and there was something abnormal about her, almost pathological. Also, she was a malicious gossip, an eavesdropper and a raker-up of other people’s secrets.”

There’s a host of believable characters, and I like the way you get a glimpse of their personalities, as well as a descriptions of their physical appearance, each of them a power within their own own sphere, like Mrs Yeo who runs the Post Office, the village shop, the WI, the Mothers’ Union, and all the other ‘worthy efforts’. But the social niceties of the village hierarchy must always be observed – it would take a brave person to treat Lady Ridding as a social equal! On the whole I rather like Lady Ridding, whose aristocratic charm hides a shrewd business brain, and I love the way the London detectives remain polite, but steadfastly refuse to be influenced by her social standing! However, she is chairman of the committee which runs the children’s home, and I couldn’t quite understand why she closed her eyes to Sister Monica’s oddities.

There is quite a bit of dialect in this novel, which I don’t always like, but here it somehow rings true, isn’t patronising, and seems in keeping – as I was reading I could hear that lovely slow, soft-spoken Devonshire burr. And I liked the way Milham in the Moor ‘ten miles from anywhere and nothing but the moor beyond, all the way to sea’ was as much a character as the people – there are some lovely descriptions of the landscape, and I can see how its isolation could make villagers band together against outsiders.

Overall I really enjoyed this, and I didn’t guess who the killer was – but then, as I’ve said before, I very rarely do. My main quibble is that we kept being told that some women go a bit peculiar as they get older, especially when they’ve been in a position of power for a long time, and they become very dominating, and Sister Monica is one of these. She was certainly very unpleasant, and the more we found out about her, the more unpleasant she became, and I know this was published in 1952, and you have to put things in perspective, but it’s a spurious argument.

Why is it that women in positions of authority, like hospital matrons, headmistresses, chairwomen of committees and so on, are so frequently portrayed as power-crazed, domineering harpies, who should be retired, or removed from their positions? But men’s right to abuse their position, or hang on to power when their abilities are no longer up to it is rarely questioned. Sorry about the rant. I could go on about this for a lot longer, but it didn’t actually spoil my enjoyment of the book – I just felt I had to say something!

I've used this before, but am reposting it in a bid to revive the blog, and to join The 1952 Club, which runs all week, hosted by Simon at https://www.stuckinabook.com/, and Karen at https://kaggsysbookishramblings.wordpress. It seems a good choice, since I have recently moved to Devon, albeit nearer Dartmoor than Exmoor!

The Mirror Crack'd from Side to Side

I am trying to make up for lost time here! I cannot believe nothing has been posted on the blog since July (apart from Sunday's offering). I had such good intentions of keeping it going, but my husband got ill again, and life has been hectic with his latest round of hospital appointments. Anyway, as I've said before, this week is The 1962 Club, organised by Simon at Stuck in a Book and Karen at Kaggsy’s Bookish Ramblings, so I'm doing my best to join in. 

Agatha Christie has featured in many previous Clubs, and the current one is no exception. Usually I really enjoy her Miss Marple books, but I struggled a bit with The Mirror Crack'd from Side to Side, and am not sure why. There are some very good things in it, but I don't think it will become one of my favourites. Like many people, I watched the old BBC dramatisation, with the excellent Joan Hickson as Miss Marple, and the more recent ITV version with Julia McKenzie starring as the spinster sleuth, but I don't think I've read the novel before - if I have, I've completely forgotten it.

It's quite slow moving, there are some loose ends that don't lead anywhere, and are never explained, and there's a lot of domestic detail that doesn't add anything to the plot - I normally like domestic detail, especially in 'Golden Age' crime novels, but this time there was too much. And I always feel Christie never quite adjusted to life in the 1960s, and the novels she wrote during that period somehow seem a little less real than her earlier work.

Agatha Christie

Anyway, The Mirror Crack'd from Side to Side centres on the death of Heather Badcock. organiser of the local St John Ambulance, who dies after drinking a poisoned cocktail at a fete held to raise money for the charity. Police assume the intended victim was American film star Marina Gregg, the new owner of Gossington Hall, where the fete is held - after all, who would want to murder Heather, a kindly woman who always wants to help people, even if her efforts are not always appreciated. Other deaths follow, along with mysterious telephone calls, death threat notes, and poisoned coffee. Is someone really trying to kill Marina? And if so, who? And why? Or, however unlikely, could Heather have been the target? 

There are plenty of suspects, including Heather's downtrodden husband; Marina's current husband the film director Jason Rudd; a wealthy movie mogul who was spurned by Marina, and his film star wife who was once married to one of Marina's ex-husbands. Scotland Yard sends Chief Inspector Dermot Cradock to investigate, and he enlists the help of the redoubtable Miss Marple, who is already trying to unravel the mysterious goings-on at the Hall and the nearby film studios.

She is particularly interested in her friend Dolly Bantry's account of a meeting between Heather and Marina Gregg, and the odd expression on the film star's face, which reminds Dolly of Tennyson's The Lady of Shalott, which is referred to several times throughout the book:

"Out flew the web and floated wide—

The mirror crack'd from side to side;

"The curse is come upon me", cried

The Lady of Shalott."

John William Waterhouse's painting of The Lady of
Shalott - I've included because I love it!

The Lady of Shalott, for those who don't know the poem, could only look on the world through the reflection in her mirror, and the tapestry she was weaving - otherwise she will die. There are parallels, I think, with Marina Gregg, who is also unable to face reality, and whose life is shattered when a long hidden event from the past reppears. Dolly, a former owner of Gossington Hall, is much more astute than I remember her being in The Body in the Library, and offers some useful insights into Marina's character.  She explains how the actress began to say all the usual things. "You know, sweet, unspoilt, natural, charming, the usual bag of tricks," she tells Miss Marple. Christie builds Marina's character bit by bit, seeing her through the eyes of staff, residents, her husband, people in the movie industry, and the police. She is insecure, craves love and affection, and adores being  the centre of attention. She can be sweet and charming when it suits her, but suffers mood swings with dramatic highs and lows - I guess these days she would be described as bi-polar.

Christie also paints a sympathetic picture of the ageing Miss Marple. In most of the books Jane Marple remains much as she was in her first appearance some 30 years earlier, and life in St Mary Mead (and elsewhere) doesn't seem to have moved on. But here Miss Marple and the world around her have changed. She is frailer than she was, and trips and falls while out on walk. She can't see clearly enough to find dropped stitches in her knitting, and can no longer do the garden - there is a man who drinks lots of tea and does very little work. There is no maid, but Cherry from the new housing estate comes in to cook and clean, and although her work is not quite up to the standard expected, she is cheerful and caring. Less caring is Miss Knight, employed by Miss Marple's nephew Raymond West to look after her following a bout of bronchitis. 

Since devoted maidservants have gone out fashion, people like Miss Marple have to rely on the Miss Knights of the world for help when they are ill. "There wasn't, Miss Marple reflected, anything wrong about the Miss Knights other than the fact that they were madly irritating. They were full of kindness, ready to feel affection towards their charges, to humour them, to be bright and cheerful with them and in general to treat them as slightly mentally afflicted children. 'But I,' said Miss Marple to herself, 'although I may be old, am not a mentally afflicted child.'" It did make me think about the way society treats the elderly, and people focus on what they think is good for pensioners, rather than considering what they actually want and enjoy.

If you want a slightly different view of the book, then read Karen's review here - she was much more enthusiastic than I have been.