Archive for the ‘books read’ Category

The Larks of Jubilee Flats (book #160)

11 January 2017

Marjorie A Sindall, 1956.

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I can’t find anything about Marjorie Sindall online. This is a short book, in the Panther series. Slight, but pleasant – everyone is very nice and everything turns out for the best. Nursing is a big part of the plot, with Jill, aged 14, planning to be a nurse. She attends a Junior Domestic and Technical School, called the Elmer Foundation, which dates back to the seventeenth century. Her family is working class, her father working at a brewery and her mother a hospital ward orderly:

‘But if I could have my time over again,’ she often said with a small sigh, ‘I’d be a nurse. Best job there is.’

Jill’s school spends two days a week on housecraft and cookery, and sends her for one morning a week to a day nursery. I was surprised that they are planning a school trip to Bruges, staying with Belgian families – cost to the children, £10 each.

There are some good details in the text and pictures. I liked Jill’s father “sprucing himself up” for Sunday visitors: “he donned his best brown suit, and the whole flat was filled with the scent of his violet hair cream”. Feather Ghyll points out the patients smoking on the hospital wards.

The illustrator is Frank Haseler. There’s a bit about him online. This post has some of his illustrations from 1972 (and his son has commented on it). There’s another 1970s image of his here. And a nude by him on eBay.

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A Girl Governess; or, Ella Dalton’s Success (book #159)

10 January 2017

AE Ward, 1894.

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16-year-old Ella has been booked to sing, for pay, at a drawing room concert She wants to do it in order to earn money for her ill sister’s treatment.

There’s a good bit about clothes, reminiscent of Polly and Fanny in An Old-Fashioned Girl:

perhaps I can borrow [a dress]; or if not, I must make my old white muslin do, though it has been washed so many times that it is getting rather thin in places. I can shorten the sleeves and put a bit of fresh lace into them, and you will see how nice it will look.

Fortunately a friend secretly gives / lends her “a beautiful new dress of white muslin, and the sweetest little cashmere mantle”. I like her brother’s phrase, “all that grand toggery”.

A mean girl, Carrie Mason, is not happy about Ella singing for money, and tries to interfere, but Ella is a success and earns two guineas. A chap in the audience then randomly (given her age and inexperience) employs her as governess to his grandchildren, spoilt Geoffry and “meek-spirited”, emotionally neglected Helen. Although at this point Ella is clearly a good girl, thoughtful and kind to her family, her mother thinks she is too self-confident about being a governess, but she, the mother, can’t do anything about this as she herself has not found God so can’t “bid [Ella] distrust herself and look to a higher strength than her own”. So on the one hand Ella’s prospects are looking good, but on the other hand she’s onviously going to be humbled before her relationship with God can be solved.

Fortunately, the rector tells her that she has to give herself to God, and she does so. Rather anti-climatic, but we’re only half-way through the book at this point, and Geoffry is still a right pain. One of the servants has been telling him he is the heir to the estate and shouldn’t have to obey anyone. Fortunately an orphan comes to live with one of the village families, and is a suitable charitable case on which Geoffers can learn unselfishness. Also Geoffry sprains his ancle and twists his back (which explains the scene on the cover) and has to stay in bed for weeks. He learns the value of his sister too. So all’s well with the world, including for Ella’s mother and ill sister, who move to a better house because of the kindness of her employer. The latter remains a bit of a randomer and cannot see that there has ever been anything wrong with Geoffry’s behaviour. All a bit by the numbers generally, I was disappointed that Carrie Mason didn’t reappear. One pleasing thing though – no love interest for Ella.

The book is nicely produced, with the standard random pictures at the start of chapters, as you can see from the first image here.

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Ella looks more than 16 in this picture:

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I think I have read AE Ward’s other book, Arthur’s Victory.

The Young Clementina (book #158)

16 October 2016
Cover of Young Clementina

Cover of Young Clementina

Originally published as Divorced from Reality and revised and re-published, I think in 1966 – this edition is 1970. Cover does not reflect book particularly well.

As the change in title might suggest, the book is not really about Clementina (who is a child). The (literal) divorce is treated in some detail, with a transcript of some of the evidence given – strikingly realistic for 1935 I thought. I can only recall brief mentions of divorce in other novels of the time (eg in Busman’s Honeymoon).

The comments in this review suggest that the revised version of the book has some significant differences from the earlier one.

Stevenson is good on tiredness, I think, rather like Goudge.

I liked the brief descriptions of the private geographical library Charlotte works in, though am worried it’s not financially viable.

I’d have liked things to be slightly harder for Charlotte than they are. She talks about being incompetent with the servants and how difficult things were with Clementina (who is 12 at the time Charlotte becomes her temporary guardian), but you don’t really see that. Even her imaginary friend turns out to be real.

Some DES fans seem to think this is one of her best, but it was a bit slight and without enough detail for me.

Artists and illustrators around the New Forest and Solent (book #157)

20 August 2016

Robert Coles, 1999.

Impressively illustrated book about New Forest and Solent artists since the 17th century.

I liked this illustration by Heywood Sumner of his excavations in the New Forest (from Excavations in New Forest Pottery Sites, 1927). You can see the archaeologist / artist himself, musing or drawing.

Heywood Sumner - Excavations in New Forest Pottery Sites (1927)

Green Money (book #156)

17 August 2016

D E Stevenson, 1939.

This is a lighter Stevenson (despite the first of my quotes below), bordering on farce at times. There are reviews at Leaves and Pages and Worthwhile Books which give a flavour of it. A couple of passages I liked:

When George had gone the house felt strangely empty and strangely silent. Cathy finished her flowers and bestowed the bowls of roses in their usual places about the house; and all at once, as she placed the big brown pottery bowl on the hall table and stood back to admire the effect, the futility of the thing swept over her. “What is the good?” she demanded of herself. “What is the point of wasting all that time doing flowers? How often have I filled these same silly bowls with flowers – spring flowers, summer flowers, or great shaggy-headed chrysanthemums – and how often shall I go on dong it? Does anyone ever notice them? Would anyone care if I stopped doing it? Would father or mother or Peter or anyone look round and say, ‘Hallo, no flowers!'”
She stood quite still, looking at her handiwork, and it seemed to her that life went on and on and nothing ever happened, and the thought depressed her beyond measure. She seemed to see, in the cycle of the flowers, the cycle of the years of her life – daffodils, sweet peas, roses, delphiniums, chrysanthemums, and beech leaves – and then daffodils again – hundreds of bowls of flowers representing hundred of hours’ work – and all quite useless. Cathy had never felt before that her life was useless and static, but now she could not dismiss the idea. Her reason told her that she was a useful member of society, for her family depended on her in all sorts of ways, and she gave each member of it something that he or she would have missed had it been withdrawn; but, in spite of this, her life seemed suddenly flat and stale and empty – and, worst of all, uneventful.
If Cathy could have stood apart and looked at her life from a distance, or stood still, poised between the past and the future, she would have been able to see that her life was not uneventful, and that it was certainly not static. Nobody’s life is static. … for, if nothing else is happening to them, there is change taking place in their own souls.
Cathy was unused to self-analysis. She was too busy thinking of other people to bother much about herself, so her sudden mood of self-pity took her by surprise, and after a few moments she gave herself a slittle shake and lifted her chin . . . . After all, I’m me, thought Cathy, and that’s always something. Nobody has ever been me before.

Mr Ferrier and Paddy are walking on the Roman Road and he is telling her about the Romans:

“So far from their homes!” said Paddy sadly.
Mr. Ferrier took the point. (He had often found that Paddy’s remarks, even when they seemed irrelevant, were not really irrelevant at all, but usually following a definite train of thought missing out several stations on the way.) “It is curious to think that the Romans, here in Britain, were farther from their homes than is possible in modern times,” he said thoughtfully. “I have not studied the matter seriously, but I believe it may be taken as a fact. There is no place in the world to-day so far from another place in time as the distance from here to Rome in 55 B.C. … ” [I’m not sure this is correct.]

George is trying to redirect Elma’s focus on him:

“Look here,” said George, “I’ll give you a book to read – a modern book that will teach you about the modern world. It’s no good filling your mind up with Sir Walter Scott and – and all that. Things are different now. You’ve got to live in To-day, so you had better learn about it.”
“Yes,” said Elma meekly.
George looked at his shelves and selected a couple of “Peter Wimsey” books. They were his own favourites and, as far as he could remember, they contained nothing which could bring a blush to the cheek of the most innocent maiden on earth. “You take these,” he said. “They’re all about a fellow called Peter Wimsey. You read them carefully and you’ll see what’s what. He’s a modern sort of chap, you know – not like Pendennis.”
“I like Pendennis,” Elma declared. “I think you resemble Pendennis. I thought so from the very – ”
“Oh, no, I don’t. And I don’t resemble Peter Wimsey, either,” said George.

(Later on, someone avoids a party by shutting himself in a room and reading Gaudy Night.)

The Lake District Murder (book #155)

16 August 2016

John Bude, 1935 (British Library reprint, 2014).

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I was a bit disappointed by this as found it rather dull. I did like the way the detective doesn’t detect all the time: “On Sunday Meredith took a well-earned rest and spent a lazy day before a roaring fire with the newspapers and the wireless”. Also we are twice told about his “customary high tea”. I also liked the reference to zips, which makes it clear that they are a novelty:

” … Do you know what it is?”
Mrs. Arkwright shook her head …
“It’s a “zip” fastener,” said Meredith. “Ever seen one before?”
“‘How silly of me! Of course I have, now I come to think of it. Mrs. Grath next door but one has got a hand-bag that opens with one of them things. … “

Family Post Bag (book #154)

10 January 2016

Mildred Robertson Nicoll, 1947.

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This follows on from my post about Constance Miles’s diary. Mildred Robertson Nicoll was the half-sister of Constance Miles, 16 years younger. She published an edition of the letters of Annie S Swan, which I would like to read.

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Family Post Bag is a short book, based on letters Nicoll published in magazines during the war. The letters are between eleven people, if I have counted correctly, family and friends, between 1944 and 1946. I found them charming but they are slight and a bit disjointed – that may be part of the charm as they are reasonably convincing as letters. They reminded me a bit of Oxenham, with mentions of country dancing, Girls’ Guildry, working on the land and a strong religious faith: “that city far beyond the stars, that is yet in us and about us and without whose key we are lost”.

Like Miles’s diary, it does give a sense of how disruptive the war was. We know that abstractly of course but it brings it home reading about families being scattered, people doing uncongenial jobs, deaths, injuries and grief, not to speak of the more minor effects on social life – much bridge played according to Miles!

As with Miles, there is concern about “have the men had enough?”. Sibyl Sedgwick writes of “the awful problem of two large meals a day, lunch and dinner, which Oliver always insists on. As you know, I could live quite happily on potato soup and a glass of sherry for lunch day after day, but not so Oliver”. For a party, they had finger rolls stuffed with “sardines and tomato sauce, spam and mayonnaise, and pea-nut butter and raisins”. And there’s “our war-time supper … Dates rolled in bacon. Thank goodness dates are on the market again”.

Sibyl Sedgwick: “I want more than anything in the world a really good corset belt to keep me up and in, and every other woman I know wants the same, but until we polish off the Japs there seems no hope.”

Lots of literary references – MacDonald, Quiller-Couch, Housman.

There is a strong sense of change and, again, disruption – from the past, with Marjorie Leith having to sell her ancestral home, and a suggestion that the New World may be the future, in a way that reminded me of Nevil Shute’s The Far Country. There are also some discussions of organic farming.

I would recommend the book if you’re interested in the period and in domestic fiction. I’d be interested in other’s people’s reviews, but haven’t found any online.

Mrs Miles’s Diary: The Wartime Journal of a Housewife on the Home Front (book #153)

3 January 2016

ed SV Partington (2013).

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Image is of Constance Miles.

Constance Miles was a journalist and novelist who kept a diary from 1939 to 1943, and sent the typescript of it to the Imperial War Museum. It was over 400,000 words; the IWM has cut it down, I guess to about a quarter (apparently a lot of the length was extracts from newspaper articles) and published it.

Miles’s father was William Robertson Nicoll, a journalist and writer who founded the periodicals British Weekly and The Bookman. One of her friends was Barbara Euphan Todd, novelist and children’s writer who wrote the Worzel Gummidge books. Miles herself wrote, with her brother Maurice Nicoll, a novel Lord Richard in the Pantry (1911), which became a play and then a film (it’s on the BFI’s list of 75 lost and most wanted films). The book is credited to Martin Lutrell Swayne, Maurice’s pseudonym, in the BL and the Bodleian, so I’m going on the authority of Partington’s introduction in saying that Miles co-wrote it.

She is credited alone, however, for what I guess is a sequel, Lady Richard in the larder: an extravaganza (1932), and something called Coffee, Please: the story of a lover’s dream (1933). Furrowed Middlebrow has a post talking about these and also her work as Marjory Royce, which Partington doesn’t mention. There also seem to be some manuscripts of hers in the BL: “Anthology of Letters, taken from printed biography including a few private letters” (1950), “The Springfield Diary between the Wars” (1951) and “Brief Lives. Consisting of pen portraits of people well known to the writer, etc” (1954). I would like to get in there and have a nose, and also to her half-sister and father’s archives at Aberdeen … Most of her books are too expensive but I have ordered Dinah Leaves School (written as Royce) and will endeavour to report back. I do have resolutions / ambitions / plans to update this blog more frequently (and have a pile of books waiting to be “done”) but then I’ve planned that before and then I get under the weather and things go to pot.

Anyway – here are some bits from the diary I liked. Rather a focus on cats as you will see. Miles’s own cat was soft grey Muff, who had to subsist on “chicken’s ‘eads fourpence a pound” at times in the war.

Barbara [Euphan Todd] says Miss J, ruler of the Children’s Hour on the BBC, returns her engaging story of a mouse air warden who dealt with bats (and spoke in rhyme all the time), saying that she hopes that children don’t know anything about raids. ‘I suppose their gas masks are to keep fairies in!’ cries the irritated author. (01/12/1939)

Interesting to see that the focus on food being thrown away is not new. “Before the war about a million tons of foodstuffs were thrown into dustbins every year, Sir Ronald reminds us [Ronald Storrs in The Second Quarter, an account of the progress of the war]!” (10/08/1940).

As a war-time companion Barbara has a small black kitten. It likes cheese straws and cabbages and it spends most of its time purring as mine does. It fitted itself into a blue glass vase the other morning and went whirling round and round. It was in an ecstasy. I should like to meet it even more than Goebbels. (24/01/1940) … I hear that one of the survivors of the torpedoed Transylvania came on shore with a cat in his arms, purring contentedly. Good! (15/08/1940) … Went to call on a Paddington evacuee cat in the village, a sweet whitish kitten. The two dressmakers accompaning it are humbly grateful for their one room, where they can just squeeze in (29/10/1940).

Southampton, that pleasant town, has had two dreadful air raids. When you know all the main streets, it makes your heart turn over. (02/12/1940) May wrote that Southampton is a sad sight. Many forsaken cats sitting on the rubble, and piles of stones and bricks. (10/12/1940) At Southampton I again gazed sorrowfully at the once hospitable little hotel opposite the bus stop. It is an ugly ruin. (06/06/1942)

Miles and her husband riffing on the subject of a War Fare Cookery Week. Her husband invents a dance battle between General Slackness, with team members Stomach-ache, Nightmare, Hiccoughs and Collywobbles, and General Efficiency, with members Delight, Health, Taking Trouble and Comfortableness. “I thought of the Nourishing Soup Dance, to be performed by Mesdames Potato, Mutton-broth and Lentil.” (22/12/1940)

She mentions in passing a discussion in the House of Lords about juvenile offending increasing during the war. “From January to August 1940 they increased by 41 per cent among children under fourteen and by 22 per cent among those between fourteen and seventeen. There are many waiting to be taken into special schools.” (20/02/1942). This does seem to have been the case. Kate Bradley, “Juvenile delinquency and the evolution of the British juvenile courts, c.1900-1950”, says that

Corporal punishment on boys aged under 14 increased in the course of the Second World War. In 1938 and 1939 there were 48 and 58 cases of whippings respectively in England and Wales; this rose to a high of 531 in 1941, gradually dropping to 165 by the end of 1943 before returning to pre-war levels in 1944 when 37 cases were handled in this way. This rise has been attributed to the need to deal with increasing juvenile crime during the war in combination with retired magistrates being reinstated to cope with the dual pressures of an increasing caseload and younger magistrates serving on war duty.

There’s also an interesting article from 1944, “Juvenile Delinquency in Britain during the War”. Some lovely and dubious stats about the % of juvenile delinquents whose parents are not providing a normal home life, and speculation that the increase in delinquency is caused by the blackout, disruption of home life –

Children not only lost their homes, but ruined buildings gave endless opportunities for adventure and play which sometimes became rather wild. Toys, candies and innumerable other things attractive to children were buried under rubble and remained there, sometimes for days, until the area could be cleared.

– wartime restlessness, disruption of school life, an increase in young people working and in the amount they earned, and lack of space in approved schools, remand homes and Borstals. One of the solutions proposed is more use of foster care rather than approved schools – experience of evacuation apparently having indicated that this could work.

This is a rather sad passage:

I discover an advertisement in today’s Times about a job I think I am able to fill. If only I could! They want gentlewomen for portresses at University College, London; no manual work, but answering enquiries, phones, etc.
Robin throws water on it firmly. ‘You would always be ill,’ etc. I can do nothing, of course, as my duty lies at home. A nuisance. (24/02/1942)

Miles does mention that she has been asked to be the area Billeting Officer, but it’s not clear if she did take this on. I think probably not, or there would be more about it.

In June 1942 she and her half-sister (Mildred Robertson Nicoll – also a writer) went to see the ruins of Paternoster Row near St Paul’s, the printers’ and booksellers’ area, “a pious pilgrimage … [to] where the British Weekly was started”. “The desolation at the back of the great cathedral is truly frightful. Yes, it frightened me, as I stood looking across the great space full of ruins. … What kind and gentle people have been killed, what tidy office arrangements have been blasted, what valuable papers destroyed!” (25/06/1942).

In the introduction, Partington quotes Miles saying “I want it to be clear … that I got through the war as I did simply because I had this secret life of reading”.

There’s a good review of the diary at I Prefer Reading.

Oh, and I must say that the cover picture is annoying. It’s a young woman hanging out washing – too young to be a good representation of Miles, who in any case would be better represented reading or writing.

Summerhills (book #152)

29 November 2015

DE Stevenson, 1955. Sequel to Amberwell.

Not reading much at the moment, but have to take this back to the library so thought I would log my brief comment. There is a spoiler at the end.

I thought it was interesting and impressive that Stevenson appears to refer to rape in marriage and the long-term effects, as well as to emotional abuse. Anne marries young and quickly, partly because of the pressure put on her by a relative and partly to get away from her unloving family. After her husband’s death, she talks to the vicar, Mr Orme.

” … Martin frightened me so dreadfully.”
“Frightened you?”
“Oh, he didn’t – hit me. He was just unkind. I don’t know why I was so frightened – really.”
… There were some things she could not tell anybody – least of all Mr Orme. She could not tell him the worst things, the things that made another marriage utterly impossible, but she might tell him some of the smaller unkindnesses which she had had to endure …

She describes finanancial dependence and having to account for everything she spent, and being mocked and criticised. Mr Orme

knew quite a bit about life, and was not quite the innocent Anne imagined, so he could fill in the gaps in Anne’s story of her marriage without difficulty. He was so distressed; he was so furiously angry with the unspeakable Martin Selby that he found himself shaking all over and it took him several moments and a tremendous amount of will-power before he could control himself.
“Other men – are not like that.” he said at last.
“Oh, I know,” agreed Anne. “Arnold would never be horrid to me, but all the same I couldn’t marry him – nor anybody else. It’s all spoilt and – and dirty. … “

Stevenson shows that Anne may not recover enough to marry again, not within the timescale of the book, in any case.

The Tall Stranger (book #151)

7 October 2015

D E Stevenson, 1957.

There’s something oddly plot-resistant, slice-of-life-ish, about Stevenson. Makes it difficult to describe her books. In this one, not one of her best but not awful either, the viewpoint starts as that of Nell, a doctor’s secretary, on a foggy London evening. Nell wants to visit her friend in hospital and the doctor goes with her in case she gets lost. In fact they both get lost and attacked by some muggers. Nell, having taken some ju-jitsu lessons, breaks the arm of one of the muggers (the doctor and the policeman don’t believe that this is possible).

All that is preparatory to the real story, which is about Barbie, the friend Nell visits in hospital. The book drifts along, with Barbie convalescing with the aunt who brought her up, becoming unsatisfactorily engaged and meeting another man. Then she goes back to work as an interior designer and the book follows her on a work trip to a Scottish castle, where the second man pops up again. There’s quite a lot of detail about the interior design work in the castle (measuring, fake leather screens, pattern-books). There’re subplots (if that’s the right word given the book’s lack of plot) about two children, a neglected London child and the running-wild daughter of the castle.

As always, Stevenson’s views are mostly conservative. There’s an interesting exchange between Barbie and her aunt, Amalie:

” …Of course it’s the fashion nowadays to sneer at the British Empire – but what would the world be like today if there never had been a British empire?”
“A good deal less civilised for one thing,” said Barbie after a few moments’ thought.
“Yes,” agreed Amalie. “It’s an interesting speculation.” She laughed and added, “I once asked a very clever young man (one of Edward’s Oxford friends who thought he knew everything) what the world would be like today if there never had been a British Empire, and it sort of dried him up. He just gulped and said it was an interesting speculation.”
“I must remember that; it might be useful,” said Barbie.
“You must remember to look rather stupid when you put the question,” Amalie told her. “I mean you must look as if you were terribly anxious to know. It works much better that way.”

This is obviously a criticism of liberal and post-colonial thought, but it’s also, and more interestingly, a suggestion of how women might stand up to “clever young men … who think they know everything”; looking stupid is worth it if it leaves the man speechless.

I’m a bit worried about the treatment of the London child, Agnes. She’s eight and lives in a flat in the same building as Barbie and Nell. Her mother, Gloria-everyone-calls-me-Glore, “‘neglects Agnes and – and shows her quite clearly that she’s a nuisance'”. Nell’s fiancé, Dr Headfort, tells Nell

” … I think I could arrange for her to be put into a Home. Of course I’m not particularly keen on putting children into Institutions, but the Home I know about is in the country and there’s an exceedingly nice matron. It might be better for her than her present mode of life.”
“Almost anything would be better!” [Nell]
“Or we could adopt her ourselves,” added Will Headfort, throwing out his amazing suggestion in a casual manner.
“Oh Will, you are good!” exclaimed Nell in astonishment. She pondered the matter and then continued, “Of course we should have to think about it very seriously. She isn’t a very attractive child – poor little scrap – but I dare say she would improve. … “

Instead, however, Barbie arranges for Agnes to be sent to Scotland to live with the family at the castle and be company for Bet. Her mother is shown as selfish and easy to persuade that it will be less trouble for her to get rid of her daughter. She wants to go to take Agnes to the castle herself and meet the family, but is firmly told by Barbie that “‘If Mrs. Scott had wanted you to go to Oddam [castle] she would have invited you'”. So Agnes is taken on the long railway journey by a servant whom she hasn’t met before, whose Scottish accent may be difficult for her to understand.

Barbie also makes Agnes over before sending her to Scotland, as she’s worried about how Agnes’s shabby, dirty and rather common clothes will appear to the Scott family. Instead of her yellow cloth coat with a missing button, her lacy blue satin dress and shoes with holes in, Barbie buys her “cherry-coloured shorts and a white pullover, brown leather lacing-shoes and white socks; she bought a brown tweed coat and a cherry-coloured beret and some much-needed underwear”. For some reason, Barbie finds Agnes’s “dark hair, scraped back from her forehead and tied in a ‘pony tail’ with an old piece of ribbon – a most unsuitable style of hair-dressing for a little girl”. Barbie “whirled Agnes into the nearest hairdresser and had the absurd pony-tail cut off and the dark hair trimmed closely to what proved to be an exceedingly well-shaped head”. This makes Agnes cry. She then “put Agnes into the bath, scrubbed her all over thoroughly and washed her hair”.

Although one can see the appeal of transforming the child for her new life, and Agnes does smile when she sees what she looks like, I do feel some concern for her going hundreds of miles from home without anyone she knows and without apparently anything to remind her of her previous life and family, even her own appearance.

I was amused by the “black plastic tray with a crisply-ironed tray-cloth” on which Barbie’s meals are brought when she’s convalescing. Height of technology and fashion.

Haing said Stevenson tends to be conservative, in this book Barbie’s fiancé wants her to continue her work as an interior designer: “‘It’s your Thing … You love the work and you’re very good at it … and somehow I can’t imagine you sitting at home, idle. You wouldn’t be happy.'”

As I’m reading Stevenson in tandem with Patricia Wentworth, I was interested to see three of Wentworth’s books in the same large print series advertised at the back of this book – Out of the Past, Latter End and Danger Point.

Re the ju-jitsu, it’s interesting that this is also a plot point in Elinor Brent-Dyer’s The Wrong Chalet School, from 1952, just a few years earlier.