66. A bit more Bath

After a moment’s pause he said, ‘Though I came only yesterday, I have  equipped myself properly for Bath already, you see,’ (pointing to a new umbrella) ‘I wish you would make use of it, if you are determined to walk…’

65. On British traditions

On the BBC website today, I watched the State Opening of Parliament, which took place on Wednesday. It is possibly the weirdest thing I have ever seen, certainly the weirdest thing involving large groups of people in silly costumes. Take note, Yeoman of the Guard: I don’t believe that Henry VII giving you your charter is a legitimate reason to continue wearing the costumes he presumably handed out at the same time. There were also far too many man in bright red tights. And the Ceremonial Changing of the Cushion*? Honestly.

On an entirely different subject, I have had a revelation about brussels sprouts. I was congratulating myself on having developed a way to prepare them in which they don’t taste awful. Then I realised that this was not sufficient. A vegetable that is merely palatable after careful (and not unskilled) preparation has not justified its continued existence in my kitchen.

 

*The Cushion upon which the Crown sits when it arrives (in its personal state coach) is not the Cushion upon which it is carried into some Gallery or other. Perhaps the Travelling Cushion gets dirty.

 

64. Marvellous Maurice

Ravel is not just good at covering his compositional tracks, he turns the process into something like Japanese gravel gardening, where footprints are subsumed beneath beautifully raked patterns. But sometimes you can scrape away at the gravel and suddenly find those footprints again, and my goodness that’s a nice feeling. When senior and respected music analysts use words such as ‘undistinguished’, ‘naive’ and ‘dull’ of an early song, it’s rather satisfying to start shifting the gravel and getting the shivers because you realise just how sophisticated he is, and just how much of the form and imagery of the (complex, Symbolist, almost Wagnerian) poem he’s evoking. Ravel was just 21 years old when he composed his setting of Mallarmé’s Sainte – and he was never, ever undistinguished.

A thrilling discovery and a walk in the late-autumnal park, quiet writing and study interspersed with Sévérac and Couperin on the Steinway downstairs, slowly cooking stacks of good vegetables for dinner, a glass of South Australian wine (Coriole no less), a detective story and a cup of tea. These things make for a pleasant afternoon and evening.

Poor Roy has not had an entirely pleasant afternoon, being at present marooned somewhere in Cumbria; he’s heading for Glasgow on the train and parts of the line have been washed away by flooding. Lucky for him I put an apple in his backpack.

63. On op-shopping in snobby suburbs

There is a woman living in Wimbledon Village or thereabouts who only wears her clothes once. Then she takes them to the Oxfam on Wimbledon Village High Street. Perhaps that is her concession to a social conscience. That, at any rate, is the opinion of the fortunate woman who happens to be of the same size, shape and colouring, and who visits Wimbledon Willage Oxfam every Monday morning to see what’s come in. Apparently, there is always something.

I can’t say I’ve yet found myself a Wimbledon fairy godmother of designer clothing, but yesterday I did acquire two rather beautiful thick, warm, cuddly winter jumpers, both good brands, pure wool and barely worn. Two weeks ago I bought a knee-length trench coat, also beautifully made, and unworn (it still had the tags). Op-shopping in Wimbledon village is rather more expensive than, for example, in Drouin, but it is infinitely more interesting.

A few of the places Edwina and I have enjoyed over the past fortnight:

PS – Mr Darcy and High Tea photos now added to Bath post below…

62. Jane Austen’s Bath

Bath is beautiful. Jane may have referred to it as ‘a bowl of soup’ (because it is in a valley, hills all around, and with a tendency to fog), but she was hauled off there against her will and hated it. ‘Another stupid party’, she wrote to Cassandra, ‘…I cannot anyhow continue to find people agreable’.

So we wandered around Bath, with Jane’s acerbity for company (‘Mrs Hall of Sherbourn was brought to bed yesterday of a dead child, some weeks before she expected, oweing to a fright – I suppose she happened unawares to look at her husband.’), and Edwina and I squeaking in excitement at every street corner.

Finding ourselves near Laura Place, we’d look at each other, quote, in unison, ‘Our cousins in Laura Place!’, and dash off – and the boys would exchange long-suffering looks and fall into line behind us. ‘Westgate Buildings! And who is Miss Anne Elliot to be visiting in Westgate Buildings?’

There are no milliners left on Milsom Street, though there is one just around the corner; we peeped into the Pump Room but didn’t taste the waters, and had two very nice coffees in the Assembly Rooms – where we could have, but didn’t, inscribe our names in the Visitors’ Book (no longer the Master of Ceremonies’ Book…).

Do you think that when Colin Firth signed up to play Mr Darcy, he realised that he was going to have his face framed in the ladies’ lavatory of the Jane Austen Centre, and his and Elizabeth Ehles’ faces identifying the Ladies’ and Gentlemen’s respectively? And that if you order ‘High Tea with Mr Darcy’ (cucumber sandwiches, scones, cake, tea, served on tiered plates) in the Regency Tea Rooms, you eat your High Tea gazing at an even larger oil portrait (also gold-framed) of him?

And why would you want High Tea with Mr Darcy anyway? Surely he’d be a grump…

But the scones were superb (West Country clotted cream is wicked stuff), and there was a four-page menu of teas – no tea-bags here – so we were very happy, despite Mr Darcy’s smouldering looks.

The gift shop (fortunately not a giffte shoppe) at the Jane Austen Centre also does a nice line in ‘I love Mr Darcy’ carrier bags, teatowels, mugs, keyrings and bookmarks. Also a good selection of take-off Austen pseudo-literature. Pride and Prejudice and Zombies? Choose your own Jane Austen Adventure? Prawns and Prejudice (soon to be followed, surely, by Shrimps and Sensibility)? Mr Darcy, Vampyre? Mr Knightley’s Diary? Edmund Bertram’s Diary? (and, of course) Mr Darcy’s Diary? The title of this post is a book waiting to be written. I could make my fortune.

‘Follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies do divert me…’, I quoted, secure in my scholarly snobbishness, with my complete, collected, edited, annotated Letters safe in my backpack.

61. Stairways to Heaven

Memorial tablets on the wall of Bath Abbey

Elizabeth Winckley (1719–1756)

Her underſtanding was excellent, Her genius innocently sprightly, Her heart sincere and generous, Her converſation agreeable, Her friendſhip conſtant, Her mind and perſon equally amiable…

Dr John Marten Butt, 1738–1769

He was a friendly, popular and ſucceſsfull Phyſician.  As a writer he was eaſy, elegant, methodical animated & ingenious, In converſation inexprſſibly candid, never oppreſſive, more inclined to hear than to be heard, yet quick in invention, fluent in elocution, and & endued with a peculiar livelineſs, & ſocial ſenſibility. In his moral character he was a ſincere Christian, & was equally led by the fineſt affections as well as the pureſt principles to diſcharge the ſeveral charities & duties of life, he fulfilled them all with equal beauty and energy     & therefore died Univerſally lamented…

Sir Nigel Bowyer Gresley, 7^th Bart. of Drakelow House in the County of Derby, who died March 26, 1808. By his descent from the famous Rolla, Duke of Normandy and Roger de Torre, Standard Bearer to William at the period of the conquest, the Honours which Sir Nigel Gresley derived from a long line of ancestors rendered the nobility of his family conspicuous: – whilst the elegance of his manners the accomplishment of his mind & the refinement of his taste gave additional ſplendour to the dignity of his birth. By his first marriage to Wilmot Gresley his cousin and an Heireſs he reunited the title with the estates of Drakelow and he had three daughters Wilmot Maria, Emma Sophia, and Elizabeth Augusta: by his ſecond Wife Maria Eliza Garway (also an Heireſs) and descended from Sir Henry Garway [...] in 1611 [?1811], he had Almeria, Georgiana Maria (who died young), Louisa Maria, Georgiana; Roger (the present Baronet) & Nigel, who died in 1816…

Granado Piggott, 1731–1802

A Man who supported through Life what he was entitled to by Birth:  The true Character of An English Gentleman; That he was sincere to his Friends, Affable to his Inferiors, and benevolent to all…

Ambrose Norton, a worthy and Loyal Deſcendant of worthy and Loyal Anceſtors. Her ſerv’d the Crowne of England aboue 40 year in Employments both Civil and Military in which he Ever acquitted himself faithfully and as a man of Honour. He was Exceeding graceful in perſon and behaviour, His luſtrice Gentleneſs and ſweetneſs of diſpoſition were equall to his Courage, and he Crown’d all his other virtues with a moſt Exemplary Piety. He was a Branch of the Antient Family of the Nortons of Somerſetſhire, and Couſin-Garman to S^R Georg Norton of Abbot’s Leigh in that County, a houſe happily Renouned in hiſtory for y^e Concealment and Preſervation of King Charles the 2^d at the Fatal Battle of Worceſtor…

In Memory of C.M. [d. 1765]

One of the moſt valuable Women that ever lived; Whoſe principal Happineſs conſiſted (altho’ ſhe was of ſome rank) in a real & unbounded Affection & Tenderneſs for her Huſband and Children…

Mrs Anne Welch of Aylesbury [d. 1810]

…Affectionate to her Friends, beloved by her Acquaintance, bleſsed with diſtinguiſhed Abilities, ſhe was ſo improved by the Knowledge of various Languages and Sciences that Elegance of Diction, Beauty of Sentiment, the Majeſty of Wiſdom, and the Grace of Perſuaſion ever hung upon her Lips: the Bonds of Life being gradually diſsolved, ſhe winged her Flight from this world in expectation of a better…

Two gentlemen whose inscriptionswere less noteworthy but whose names are certainly worthy of inclusion here:

Marmaduke Peacocke

and

Sir Manley Power.

I think I’d rather spend a dinner part with Anne, John and Elizabeth than C.M., Granado or Sir Nigel (Bart.).

60. Richmond Park

We are very much enjoying having Edwina and Andrew with us this week, and we’ve had some nice excursions. Richmond Park in late autumn sunlight is glorious. Phrases about mellow fruitfulness spring irresistibly to mind.

PS. I’ve discovered sorrel.

59. Foundlings

Yesterday we were treated to lunch at the Foundling Museum. We ate gruel (and other things too).

Here’s a story to break your heart, a petition from a mother whose baby was taken in by the Foundling Hospital:

[Dear Sir / I am the unfortunate woman that now lies under sentence of death in Newgatt I had a child put in here before when I was sent here his name is James Larney and this his name is John Larney and he was born the King’s Coronation Day 1758 and Dear Sir I beg for the tender mercy of God to let them know one and other for Dear Sir I hear you are a very good Gentleman and God Blessing and Name be with you and they for ever / Sir I am you humble / Servant Margaret Larney]

Margaret Larney was indeed under sentence of death: she was burned at the stake for high treason. She had been scraping the gold from the edges of coins (ie, adulterating the currency).

It seems likely that Roy and I will be giving a recital at the Foundling Museum sometime in the not-too-distant future. If we do, we’ll be part of a rather extraordinary tradition, since one Mr G. F. Handel staged a benefit performance of Messiah for the Foundling Hospital every year from 1749 until his death in 1759 (he was also on the Board of Governors).