Category Archives: Literature

The George Orwell Challenge – Hop Picking (1931)

Posted on by

Despite his middle class background and apparent financial security (or maybe because of it?) Orwell spent several periods of his life deliberately homeless, to find out for himself what it actually felt like to be destitute – and so he could write about it afterwards. His equivalent today would be one of those undercover journalists who hide a microphone somewhere discreet about their person and then infiltrate an organisation under an alias to reveal the truth about what they get up to. His diaries show that for three weeks in September 1931 he journeyed down to Kent to work in the hop fields, getting to know the type of people involved in this activity, and in particular befriending a chap called Ginger. Orwell describes him in his diary as “a strong, athletic youth of twenty six, almost illiterate and quite brainless, but daring enough for anything. Except when in prison, he has probably broken the law every day for the last five years.”

Accompanied by other characters populating his diaries, he and Ginger travel, work, sleep and generally survive side by side throughout the whole exhausting adventure. Never averse to using pseudonyms, Orwell (Blair) adopted the name P S Burton when roaming around the country, assuming a cockney accent, and seemingly fitting in very well with his new-found companions, although he never shies away from judging these people – he often weighs them in the balance and finds them wanting.

Following these experiences he wrote up the essay Hop Picking which was published in the New Statesman & Nation on 17th October 1931, under his real name of Eric Blair. For the most part, it’s a piece of factual reporting, explaining what the work entails, how much people earn from it, what kind of people work there, and the reality of their day to day existence/survival. But Orwell never attempts to conceal his natural concern for and disgust at the conditions and exploitation faced by the working man (and woman, and child).

Just as in his diaries, he’s quick to cast judgment where he feels it’s appropriate. The essay starts with quotes from two experienced hop-pickers, “a holiday with pay” and “keep yourself all the time you’re down there, pay your fares both ways and come back five quid in pocket” – and instantly Blair remarks that these experienced workers “ought to have known better”. He then sets out his basic tenet about hop picking: “hop-picking is far from being a holiday, and, as far as wages go, no worse employment exists.”

He explains that the work entails long hours, but is basically a simple process. He accepts that it’s “healthy, outdoor work” but quickly points out how painful the inevitable cuts to your hands are, as a result of the plant’s spiny stems, and the revulsion you feel as plant-lice crawl down your neck. He also explains the system of payment; piece-work, with the usual rate being six bushels of picked hops for a shilling – in other words 2d per bushel. At today’s rate, that shilling is now the equivalent of about £2.40, so a bushel would have earned you 40p. But it’s not that straightforward; depending on who was accepting and measuring the bushels, it was perfectly easy for the hops to be crushed down low into the bushel, so that what one man might measure as a bushel another would measure as only half a bushel – so if you were unlucky – or victimised, or exploited – you could end up having to work twice as hard for the same income. Blair estimates that he and Ginger earned about nine shillings a week each (£21.60). Even the best pickers in their gang earned only an average of 13/4 each – today’s equivalent being £32. The manipulation of the language used to describe the payment system is not lost on Blair: “six bushels a shilling sounds much more than “fifteen shillings a week””.

As well as being tricked into working twice as hard, there were other ways in which the employers’ rules could reduce the hop-picker “practically to a slave. One rule, for instance, empowers a farmer to sack his employees on any pretext whatever, and in doing so to confiscate a quarter of their earnings; and the picker’s earnings are also docked if he resigns his job.” Then there were the sleeping conditions: “My friend and I, with two others, slept in a tin hut ten feet across, with two unglazed windows and half a dozen other apertures to let in the wind and rain, and no furniture save a heap of straw; the latrine was two hundred yards away, and the water tap the same distance. Some of these huts had to be shared by eight men – but that, at any rate, mitigated the cold.”

But Blair being Orwell – or vice versa – this is no turgid piece of dry journalism. Using that same appreciation for the sensuousness of language that he used in A Hanging, he is able to transport the reader into experiencing the same hardships – or indeed pleasures – with his words. With the phrase “the spiny stems cut the palms of one’s hands to pieces” you can feel the sharp stem digging into you, just as you can feel the uncomfortable irritation of “the plant-lice which […] crawl down one’s neck”. You can sense the slow dull progress of “trying to coax a fire out of wet sticks”. But you can also smell the scene and sense the welcome cool with the sentence “on hot days there is no pleasanter place than the shady lane of hops, with their bitter scent – an unutterably refreshing scent, like a wind blowing from oceans of cool beer”. Who couldn’t resist breathing deeply to enjoy the wind from oceans of cool beer!

With good journalistic balance, he notes that hop pickers come back year after year, so despite the hardship they have to endure, “the Cockneys rather enjoy the trip to the country” and it still “figures in the pickers’ mind as a holiday.” Part of his conclusion is that “whatever the cause, there is no difficulty in getting people to do the work, so perhaps one ought not to complain too loudly about the conditions in the hop fields”.

From my own experience, I know that in the late 20s and early 30s my mother and her brother worked on the hop fields with their parents, and I don’t recall her saying how terrible an experience it was. This is a fascinating, personal piece of journalism, written directly from the writer’s current experience, balancing the rigours and hardship of the activity with its unexpected popularity and the cheerfulness with which it was endured. It’s also a description of a now historical activity that has thankfully been taken over by machinery. Orwell got it right when he says “hop-picking is in the category of things that are great fun when they are over.”

The Agatha Christie Challenge – The Pale Horse (1961)

Posted on by

STOP PRESS: The Agatha Christie Challenge is now available as a book in two revised volumes – details at the end of this blog post!

In which historian and writer Mark Easterbrook witnesses a fight between two girls in a coffee bar – which leads him into a mystic underworld of seances, black magic and the surprise deaths of unwanted relatives. And what connection can an old converted pub, The Pale Horse, have with these deaths? With occasional support from his old friend Mrs Oliver, and encouragement from the resourceful and charming young Ginger, he’s able to assist Inspector Lejeune to work out exactly what’s happening – although the final revelation is just as much a surprise to Easterbrook as it is to the reader. As usual, if you haven’t read the book yet, don’t worry, as always, I promise not to reveal whodunit!

The book is dedicated “to John and Helen Mildmay White with many thanks for the opportunity given me to see justice done”. Helen Mildmay was the heiress to Flete Manor, in Devon, who set about creating beautiful gardens on the estate which she inherited following the death of her brother. She married Lt-Cdr John White, and their son Anthony is the current owner of the Flete estate. Christie doesn’t mention the couple in her autobiography, and I don’t know to which “justice” she refers! The book was first published in the UK in eight abridged instalments in Woman’s Mirror magazine in September and October 1961, and in the US a condensed version of the novel appeared in the April 1962 issue of the Ladies Home Journal. The full book was first published in the UK by Collins Crime Club on 6th November 1961, and in the US by Dodd, Mead and Company in 1962.

Much has been made of the fact that Christie wrote this book as a response to the popularity at the time of the works of Dennis Wheatley. However, I can’t particularly find any reference to Christie appreciating Wheatley’s works, and indeed Wheatley had been writing for thirty years or more before The Pale Horse was published. So whilst there might indeed be a nod of homage from Christie to Wheatley, it might also be coincidental.

The structure of this book is a little different from the norm. There’s no Poirot or Marple, and the “hero” of the book is historian and writer Mark Easterbrook. He has obviously tasked himself with writing the story of The Pale Horse, as Christie starts the book with a foreword that has been written by him, rather than her. Most of the chapters begin with the words “Mark Easterbrook’s Narrative”; those that don’t, are written in Christie’s third person style and describe the death of Father Gorman and Inspector Lejeune’s early investigations, until Easterbrook himself becomes more involved in asking questions and working alongside the police. I can’t recall seeing the narration swop between one character and another like this since the days of The ABC Murders.

Easterbrook is a reasonably genial companion to take us through this case. Despite his faults, he’s quite charming, witty and urbane; he shows gumption and bravery, but like most of us, also reveals his fears, such as during the séance or his meeting with Bradley. He’s also inclined to be impatient, and doesn’t suffer fools gladly. He’s quick to point out the presence of an airhead – as in his dealings with the sweet bimbo Poppy – which explains his attraction to the feisty Ginger, one in the long line of Christie women full of get-up-and-go spirit, and much more fun to be with than the dry and careful Hermia. We can pretty much identify with Easterbrook.

Detective Inspector Lejeune is one of Christie’s decent police creations, a man with a good sense of dramatic timing, as we see in the denouement; something of a loner, highly intelligent and practical. Christie describes him thus: “he was a sturdy man, dark haired and grey eyed. He had a misleadingly quiet manner, but his gestures were sometimes surprisingly graphic and betrayed his French Huguenot ancestry.” Easterbrook hits it off with him instantly. In his words, “I liked […] Lejeune at first sight. He had an air of quiet ability. I thought, too, that he was an imaginative man – the kind of man who would be willing to consider possibilities that were not orthodox.”

And we also get to meet Ariadne Oliver again, the first time in five years since Dead Man’s Folly, and, perhaps of note, the only novel in which she appears where the crime isn’t investigated by Hercule Poirot. Appearing alongside Easterbrook, Christie now has two writers through whom to express her frustrations and anxieties about writing. The first thing that Easterbrook does, when we first meet him at the beginning of the book, is complain about the problems of being a writer. “Mogul architecture, Mogul Emperors, the Mogul way of life – and all the fascinating problems it raised, became suddenly as dust and ashes. What did they matter? Why did I want to write about them?”

But of course it is through Mrs Oliver that we get – as always – Christie’s autobiographical feelings about the writer’s life. “I’m too busy writing or rather worrying because I can’t write. That’s really the most tiresome thing about writing – though everything is tiresome really, except the one moment when you get what you think is going to be a wonderful idea, and can hardly wait to begin.” She’s completely opposed to opening fêtes, which is unsurprising given her experience in Dead Man’s Folly, or giving an interview, because of “all those embarrassing questions which are always the same every time. What made you first think of taking up writing? How many books have you written? How much money do you make? […] I never know the answers to any of them and it makes me look such a fool.” Mrs Oliver says that she has actually written 55 detective novels to date; by comparison, The Pale Horse was Christie’s 52nd novel, although she had also written ten collections of short stories. `

There’s an amusing interchange between Mrs Oliver and Thyrza Grey, the “leader” of the three “witches” who live at The Pale Horse, when Miss Grey tells Mrs Oliver ““you should write one of your books about a murder by black magic. I can give you a lot of dope about it.” Mrs Oliver blinked and looked embarrassed. “I only write very plain murders”, she said apologetically. Her tone was of one who says, “I only do plain cooking.””

Mrs Oliver isn’t the only character whom we’ve met before in earlier Christie books. In fact, Mrs Christie is on a positively vigorous nostalgia trip in this book. Mark Easterbrook’s cousin is Rhoda Dawes, whom we met in Cards on the Table, which ends with the prospect of romance between her and Major Despard. Rhoda and Despard are now married; he’s now a colonel, and comes across as a more reasonable and wise chap than he was in those earlier days. We also get to meet again the Reverend Dane Calthorp and his wife, whom we first met in The Moving Finger. He’s still very intellectual and clerical; she’s perhaps less bossy and interfering than she was.

Easterbrook is a man set very much in the here and now, and has no time for ridiculous theories of the occult or black magic; how on earth can you kill someone like that using just the power of thought and dark arts? However, Christie very nicely creates an uncomfortable mystic atmosphere in the scene where Miss Grey takes him around The Pale Horse, and they have a private conversation about the kind of mind games that just might be possible. Against his better judgment, Easterbrook finds himself swayed by these mystic theories and possibilities, and that sense of mental or imaginary power or insight pervades much of the book. The reader gets drawn into this too, and quickly concludes that the witch ladies must be responsible for the crimes although we don’t quite know how they do it. This leads the reader on to believing that they’ve absolutely cracked the case early on – how can this story be developed so that there is a genuine whodunit element to it? Christie manipulates us in this way right up to the very last moments when we’re suddenly confronted with an alternative surprise solution which, basically, knocks our socks off. Very often in a Christie, one’s reading pleasure might be eroded by the over-use of coincidence, which can sometimes appear to be really heavy-handed and ridiculous. In this book, there are what appear to be highly unlikely coincidences; but this time Christie uses them as clues rather than as just another coincidence. It’s very cleverly written indeed.

Now we’ll look at some of the references in this book, starting, as usual, with the locations. The events of this book either take place in the small town of Much Deeping, said to be 15 miles north of Bournemouth, or in London. It is of course a fictional location – maybe based on Blandford Forum, or Brockenhurst. In London, Mrs Coppins lives in Benthall Street, Lady Hesketh-Dubois in Ellesmere Square; Easterbrook and Corrigan dine in Lowndes Square, and Ginger lives in Calgary Place. In reality, there is a Benthal Road in Stoke Newington, and an Ellesmere Road in Bow; there’s no such place as Calgary Place. But Lowndes Square does exist, in Belgravia. Easterbrook also dines at the Atheneum, a luxury Mayfair hotel, so he doesn’t stint himself. Mr Osborne is said to have retired to Glendower Close, Bournemouth; there are several Glendower Closes in the UK, but none in Bournemouth.

And now for the other references. The title itself – The Pale Horse – is a reference from the Bible.  Death rides a pale horse in the Book of Revelation, chapter six, verse eight. “History is bunk” sighs Easterbrook, bemoaning his lot at the beginning of the book – and he wonders if it was Henry Ford who originally said it; yes, it was. Whenever Dr Corrigan arrives anywhere, he’s always whistling “Father O’Flynn” – that’s an old Irish ballad set in Donegal. And when Poppy gets anxious at the mention of The Pale Horse, David calms her down with a Coupe Nesselrode. That’s a Swiss ice-cream sundae made with vanilla ice cream, whipped cream, meringue and a chestnut puree.

The erudite Easterbrook refers to Lu and Aengus, and says they come from The Immortal Hour. That is an opera written by English composer Rutland Boughton, which premiered at the first Glastonbury Festival in 1914; it seems to have been long forgotten today. The spirit that emerges when Sybil goes into a trance is named Macandal – that’s the name of a Haitian voodoo priest whose name is still associated with black magic today and who was killed in 1758 and is seen as an important leader in the fight for Haitian independence. Madame de Montespan, whom, allegedly, Sybil is definitely not, was the chief Royal Mistress to King Louis XIV of France.

Mr Osborne draws Easterbrook’s attention to Jean Paul Marigot, whom he says “poisoned his English wife”. This appears to be an invention of Christie’s. Madeleine Smith, whom Easterbrook mentions in the same conversation, was real – a 19th century Glasgow socialite who was accused of the murder of her lover L’Angelier. It was not proven.

Regular readers will know that I like to consider any significant sums of money in Christie’s books and work out what their value would be today, just to get a feel of the range of sums that we’re looking at. Thomasina Tuckerton is said to have inherited an estate worth at least £100,000, which at today’s rate would equal at least £1.5 million. Lady Hesketh-Dubois left half that amount in her will, £50,000 net – so that’s £750,000 today. And the other interesting sum mentioned is the five shillings that Easterbrook is forced to part with to buy a rose from Poppy at her flower salon; today that would be worth about £3.90. That’s not that expensive really!

 

Now it’s time for my usual at-a-glance summary, for The Pale Horse:

 

Publication Details: 1961. My copy is a Fontana paperback, nineteenth impression, dated September 1983, bearing the price of £1.50 on the back cover. The cover illustration, (not by Tom Adams) simply shows Death riding a what looks like a fairground merry-go-round horse. Not overly imaginative.

How many pages until the first death: 5. Lots of deaths occur very early in this book, but then they stop. But it’s good to get going with the sense of detection right from the start!

Funny lines out of context: A few.

Mrs Dane Calthrop has an unfortunate turn of phrase when she gives an example of the kind of event at which a village witch might take revenge: “Billy teased my pussy last Tuesday week.”

A white cockerel is sacrificed in the witchcraft scene in Easterbrook’s presence, leading to Rhoda inquiring: “any white cocks?” And later Easterbrook is remembering the scene and imagines “Bella, chanting her evil spells, held up a struggling white cock”.

Memorable characters:

This book does quite well on the memorable characters count. Mark Easterbrook himself is a strong lead, non-police, investigator. And Ginger, his partner in detection, is a feisty and forthright young woman whom you can easily visualise. The three witch-types at The Pale Horse, Thyrza, Sybil and Bella, are all very well drawn, with distinct characteristics and very easily imaginable in your mind’s eye. And Mr Bradley is memorable in his own way, for being a rather unctuous weaselly type of chap.

Christie the Poison expert: SPOILER ALERT (you might wish to move on to class/social issues!)

Christie writes in her autobiography about being introduced to the workings of a pharmacy and how this gave her her insights into the world of poison. There she met a character whose influence stayed with her all her life and on whom she drew very strongly when writing this book. It’s from this memory that she employed the use of thallium poisoning in this book; a chemical element that was usually used as a rat poison or an insecticide. One of its main side-effects is that it induces hair loss, which is how Easterbrook put two and two together and realised this must be the way that the murders were committed.

As a sidenote, it’s fascinating that reading The Pale Horse alerted a few members of the public to the existence of thallium poisoning in their own lives; the book is credited with having saved the lives of at least two people after readers recognised the symptoms of thallium poisoning. And in 1971, a serial killer, Graham Frederick Young, who had poisoned several people, was caught thanks to this book. A doctor conferring with Scotland Yard had read it and realised that the mysterious “Bovingdon bug” that was erroneously being blamed for the deaths was in fact thallium poisoning.

On the other side of the equation, however, the book is also believed to have inspired “The Mensa Murder”. In 1988, George Trepal, a member of Mensa, poisoned his neighbours, Pye and Peggy Carr and their children, with thallium introduced in Coca-Cola bottles.

Class/social issues of the time:

There are very few of the usual Christie themes and issues in this book. There are one or two references to high taxation, and Mrs Coppins has a bee in her bonnet about how disappointed she is in the new National Health Service. There’s none of the usual xenophobia/racism; apart from the default observation that black magic and occult influence don’t work on Europeans – by which Christie doesn’t mean the French or the Germans, she means white Caucasians as opposed to people living in Africa or the West Indies; the supposition being, I presume, that the West is too intelligent to believe it.

The other aspect of the book that I found interesting from a historical point of view was Christie’s description of Mr Osborne’s traditional pharmacy. It’s so very unrecognisable from the kind of place we would go to today to get our prescriptions filled. ““We’ve always kept good solid stuff. Old-fashioned. But quality. But nowadays” – he shook his head sadly – “disappointing for a pharmaceutist. All this toilet stuff. You’ve got to keep it. Half the profits come from all that much. Powder and lipstick and face creams. And hair shampoos and fancy sponge bags. I don’t touch the stuff myself. I have a young lady behind the counter who attends to all that.”” When Lejeune first arrives at the pharmacy, he “passed behind and through a dispensing alcove where a young man in a white overall was making up bottles of medicine with the swiftness of a professional conjurer”. Today one thinks of all our medicines as being pre-prepared and pre-packed. It’s fascinating to consider the changes in the industry over what is barely more than half a century.

Classic denouement:  It’s a twist on the idea of a Classic Christie denouement. It’s not the traditional gathering together of all the suspects in a drawing room before the detective reveals whodunit. However, all the individual elements are there, with suspicion being heavily placed on Character A before it is revealed that Character B is the guilty party; and we ourselves can witness how the guilty party reacts to being unveiled, which is very satisfactory. On a number of occasions with Christie, the guilty party isn’t present when we find out whodunit, and it’s especially rewarding to see if they’re contrite, in denial, in flight or whichever of a number of possible reactions. And what this denouement has, above all else, is the terrific hidden punch of complete surprise.

Happy ending? Absolutely. There’ll be no more suspicious deaths, and Easterbrook and Ginger look forward to theatre trips together – and more.

Did the story ring true? Despite the high level of spiritualism, occult and black magic, I find this a very believable story. Once you have discovered the modus operandi of the crimes, it all fits into place and makes perfect sense. You can also see how the crime might occasionally fail, which also goes along with our understanding of what happens. I have just two or three quibbles with the story; we might expect to have revealed to us the exact process that caused Ginger to fall ill – that’s omitted from the narrative. Also it’s a little unsatisfactory that some people from the list of names that Father Gorman writes out are not included in the investigations. There are two Corrigans in the story – the Doctor and Ginger – and we never really discover whether the Corrigan on the list is one of those people, or if it’s just a coincidence (which wouldn’t really be very stylish). Or is Christie just being impish?

Overall satisfaction rating: It’s an excellent book, extremely well-written and one of Christie’s more un-put-downable works. Given the tiny quibbles I’ve just mentioned, I’m giving it a 9/10. But it’s a fantastic read.

Thanks for reading my blog of The Pale Horse, and if you’ve read it too, I’d love to know what you think. Please just add a comment in the space below. Next up in the Agatha Christie Challenge is The Mirror Crack’d from Side to Side, and a return to Miss Marple. I’m pretty sure I can remember a lot of this book, including the identities of the murderer and at least one victim. Nevertheless I’m looking forward to re-reading it and, as usual, I’ll blog my thoughts about it as soon as I can. In the meantime, please read it too then we can compare notes! Happy sleuthing!

 

If you enjoy my Agatha Christie Challenge, did you know it is now available as a book? In two revised volumes, it contains all my observations about Christie’s books and short stories, and also includes all her plays! The perfect birthday or Christmas gift, you can buy it from Amazon – the links are here and here!

The George Orwell Challenge – A Hanging (1931)

Posted on by

So here I go with my first blog-dip into the world of George Orwell, and we start with an essay entitled A Hanging, first published in The Adelphi magazine, and also in the 1950 volume Shooting an Elephant. I have it as one of the essays in the Penguin 1975 collection, Decline of the English Murder and other Essays.

I think, to appreciate his work better, a little background information would be useful. Eric Blair (for that was his real name, he used George Orwell as a nom de plume, but never actually changed his name as such) was born in India in 1903 into what he described as a “lower-upper-middle class family.” His mother wanted him to have a public school education, but they could not afford the fees. So he went to St Cyprian’s, a prep school in Eastbourne, on a scholarship. He was never told that he was there on reduced fees, but he soon realised that he was from a poorer background from most of his cohort. He gained a scholarship to Wellington School, which he hated, and whilst there gained a King’s Scholarship to Eton, which he enjoyed, remaining there until 1921.

He didn’t show great academic promise at Eton, so bypassed the prospect of university and joined the Imperial Police, the forerunner of the Indian Police service. He was stationed in Burma, where his maternal grandmother lived, and he worked in the police service there for five years from 1922. After returning to England on leave, he resigned from the Indian Police to become a full-time writer. Orwell drew on his experiences in Burma to write not only A Hanging, but also the essay Shooting an Elephant and the novel Burmese Days.

It’s not known whether the event described in A Hanging was real, fictional, or a combination of the two. It is known that attending hangings was considered a rite of passage for young police officers – and indeed it was a legal requirement that there should be a police presence for every such event. It appears that Orwell didn’t care to talk about this essay in future years, which may suggest that it had a truly shocking affect on the young man.

It’s a short, calm, unemotional and reserved description of the hanging of an unnamed man for an unnamed crime. The language is measured but descriptive, occasionally sensuous, as with the description of the warders crowding around the prisoner, “their hands always on him in a careful caressing grip […] it was like men handling a fish which is still alive and may jump back into the water.” And when he describes how, just before the moment of death, “everyone had changed colour. The Indians had gone grey like bad coffee” – that’s a great simile that you can both see and smell in your mind’s eye.

Although he’s going through the motions of what his job requires, the young Blair cannot contain his feeling for both the “unspeakable wrongness” of taking a life, and for the unintentional ludicrous humour that can arise from it. He is moved by the natural act of the prisoner to avoid a puddle whilst being marched to the gallows – it’s this automatic reaction that reveals the humanity of the condemned man, the fact that his brain and body functions are completely normal, that shocks the writer into recognising the awful truth, that “we were a party of men walking together, seeing, hearing, feeling, understanding the same world; and in two minutes, with a sudden snap, one of us would be gone.”

Orwell relies on the evidence of his eyes and ears to relay the situation to us. He takes everything in, and mentally processes it, without hysteria or endorsement, purely as a witness to what is clearly a routine event. He observes that the prisoner is “a puny wisp of a man”, with “a thick sprouting moustache, absurdly too big for his body”. He “watched the bare brown back of the prisoner […] he walked clumsily with his bound arms, but quite steadily, with that bobbing gait of the Indian who never straightens his knees”. The prisoner never reacts or resists, and only when the noose is around his neck does he cry out to his god. “It was a high, reiterated cry of Ram! Ram! Ram! Ram!, not urgent and fearful like a prayer or cry for help, but steady, rhythmical, almost like the tolling of a bell.” Through his writing, we can hear that slow, mantra-like cry to God for ourselves, as Orwell’s simple words become a conduit from the prisoner to the reader.

Juxtaposed with the ritual solemnity of the procedure, are two humorous events. The first involves a stray dog, unexpectedly breaking into the procession and barking gleefully, even jumping up at the prisoner and licking his face, much to the fury of the superintendent in charge. It reminded me of Emily Dickinson’s poem 465, where just as the narrator is laid out on a bed ready to die, “and then it was there interposed a fly….” and all attention is diverted away from the sombre “main event” by a trivial irritant.

The second comes after the body has been hanged, and the hangman starts regaling the officers with a story about a condemned prisoner who wouldn’t let go of the cage bars when they went to take him out. ““It took six warders to dislodge him, three pulling at each leg. We all reasoned with him, “my dear fellow,” we said, “think of all the pain and trouble you are causing to us! But no, he would not listen! Ach, he was very troublesome!” I found that I was laughing quite loudly. Everyone was laughing. Even the superintendent grinned in a tolerant way.” As the piece ends, the Burmese magistrate starts laughing again at the thought of “pulling at his legs”. The final sentences are: ”We all had a drink together, native and European alike, quite amicably. The dead man was a hundred yards away.”

It’s this mix of the mundane and the extraordinary, as well as the extinct and the living, that gives this piece tremendous power. From the intensity of the death, we go straight to the chattiness of the breakfast. I also admire how we get a strong impression of the characters involved in the process, even though they say and do little. We know the superintendent is an impatient, authoritative man, but with the supportive kindness to share out his whisky, and to allow the prisoner to say his prayer. We know that Francis is a garrulous type, who wins favour by spinning a few stories to break the tension. The Eurasian boy is only there to try to impress Blair with his generosity with cigarettes and his “classy European style” silver cigarette case, probably to gain some preferment. We learn that Blair himself, whilst trying to hold in all his emotions and reactions to the event, can’t resist bursting into laughter like everyone else as a nervous reaction to what he’s endured. Even the dog backs away from the gallows, “sobered and conscious of having misbehaved itself”. And we never forget that the prisoner is a human being too, side-stepping puddles and spontaneously urinating through fear at the news that his appeal had been dismissed.

So many thoughts packed into six short pages, without the writer ever having to over-emphasise or sensationalise. It’s a challenge for the reader to wish to read an account of a hanging for pleasure, but its power and insight is very enjoyable to read. A very impressive short piece.

After A Hanging, he wrote two more essays, Hop-Picking in October 1931 and Common Lodging Houses in September 1932. I’ll take the first of those two next, hopefully in the next couple of weeks.

The George Orwell Challenge

Posted on by

You know me. I enjoy a challenge as much as the next man. But is this a challenge too far? After all, I still have many of Agatha Christies and Paul Bernas to read, and James Bond films to watch, let alone keeping up with old travel and theatre memories. And George Orwell? Really? Is this wise?

I had no idea this was going to happen until a few weeks ago when a friend said he had ordered Animal Farm and 1984 from Audible and was looking forward, finally, to getting to know these famous stories. My instant reaction was to feel oh you lucky thing, getting your first taste of Orwell’s best known and probably best-loved books. I also wondered if they were his best-written books; then it occurred to me that it had been ages since I read them myself, let alone Wigan Pier, Catalonia, Down and Out and so on. In fact, there are plenty of his works I’ve never read. I’ve not read Burmese Days or A Clergyman’s Daughter; and I have no memories of Coming Up for Air or Keep the Aspidistra Flying, even if I have read them. I’m convinced that I was too young and certainly too green and immature to appreciate much of what he was trying to say, so I think the time is right to revisit them. However, a quick glimpse at his bibliography on Wikipedia reveals a mass of essays, reviews, articles, pamphlets and so on. There’s no way I can read all those. I’ll be doing it when I’m 100.

But I am very tempted by the prospect of taking Orwell in chronological order, reading his works and then putting virtual pen to paper to record my thoughts. This will be a very different kind of challenge from the others, because there are already reams of learned and insightful critical appreciations of his books written by people far more academic and brighter than I could ever dare to be. So there’s no point in my adding unoriginal and slight insights into a well-established canon of critiques. I also don’t have to provide synopses, like I do with Berna (because no one else has done that) or thrill assessments and marks out of ten like I do with Christie (because it just wouldn’t be appropriate). So instead I will just read, absorb and record my emotional responses and personal reflections on what Orwell is telling me. It could be as dull as ditchwater – in which case, I’ll stop.

Orwell wrote six novels, three non-fiction books and endless other essays and articles. I’m going to read all the books, and a good number of the essays. Taking them in chronological order, he wrote a few essays in French for Le Progrès Civique publication, but I’m not going to tackle those because a) I’m too lazy to translate them and b) I feel reading someone else’s translation would create a barrier between me and him. His first published essay in English appears to be The Spike, but this is later reworked into Down and Out in Paris and London, so I’m also going to ignore that. Instead, the first piece I will read will be A Hanging, an essay written in 1931, published in The Adelphi magazine, and also in the 1950 volume Shooting an Elephant. I have it as one of the essays in the Penguin 1975 collection, Decline of the English Murder. I’ll let you know how I get on! Wish me luck!

The Paul Berna Challenge – Flood Warning (1960)

Posted on by

In which the intellectual but ineffectual schoolteacher Monsieur Sala switches from zero to hero as he takes on a terrible flood and leads his boys on to safety!

Flood Warning was first published in 1960 by G. P. Rouge et Or under its original French title La Grande Alerte, which translates literally as The Great Alert, with a cover design by Peter Barrett, and further illustrations inside by Charles Keeping. Born in 1935, Peter Barrett would go on to illustrate many children’s books over a long career – this job, designing the cover for Flood Warning, must have been one of his first! Charles Keeping was mainly associated with illustrating the children’s books of Rosemary Sutcliff, but he also illustrated Folio Society books and Oxford University Press books, and enjoyed a long and successful career. He died in 1988 and there is a blue plaque outside his house.

As “Flood Warning”, the book was first published in the UK by The Bodley Head in 1962, and translated, as usual, by John Buchanan-Brown. My own copy of the book is an undated Puffin edition, bearing the price 3/6. A quick check online suggests there are quite a few second-hand copies for sale at varying prices, so if you haven’t got a copy there shouldn’t be much difficulty getting hold of one. Incidentally, Berna thought the title “La Grande Alerte” was, frankly, silly. He had proposed the much more obvious and accurate “Le collège englouti” (The Engulfed College). Flood Warning isn’t a bad name for it though. Along with One Hundred Million Francs and The Clue of the Black Cat, Berna named this book as one of his three favourite children’s novels.

We’ve seen Berna write about gangs like Gaby’s and Charloun’s (in The Knights of King Midas), loners like Frederick in Magpie Corner, and middle-class children like Daniel and Manou in The Mystery of the Cross-Eyed Man. In Flood Warning he goes back to middle-class – and indeed upper-class – children, this time those who attend the exclusive Château-Milon boarding school. Of course, dormitory pranks can be seen as an equivalent to the kind of fun and games a gang gets up to, and you can see how this book reflects very similar gang structure to Berna’s earlier books – although there isn’t one obvious leader. The boys – and they are all boys, which might well be a disincentive for girls reading the book – are all referred to by their surnames, which is a first for Berna, who normally uses his children’s first names or indeed nicknames. The school was based on a Mariste college (run by a religious order dedicated to the Virgin Mary) in Fribourg, Switzerland, which the young Berna (or rather the young Sabran, as he hadn’t yet acquired this nom-de-plume) attended after his father was killed in the First World War in 1914. Much like Château-Milon, the college had one building for the older pupils, one for the middle and one for the youngest.

This is a complete page-turner of a book; once the fear of the oncoming storm turns into a flood, and the flood becomes real, and threatening, Berna never lets up the action-packed narration, gaining suspense and excitement from the intense detail of every stage of fighting the rising tide, and from all the main characters’ viewpoints. The book shows how, when danger is imminent, petty arguments and jealousies are cast aside in the more important issue of survival. Boys and adults work hand in hand as a team to combat the flood waters, each relying on the other to be brave, make innovative decisions and to go beyond whatever they’ve experienced before. The disaster is a great leveller, and as the book progresses, the status difference between masters and pupils becomes less relevant and less noticeable. It’s only when there is a return to some kind of status quo at the end, that the old structure begins to come back.

Flood Warning gives us Berna’s most interesting adult yet. He’s not a parent, he’s not a policeman and he’s not a villain. He is a teacher, whom we first meet truly struggling with his job. Monsieur Sala is an intellectual, and does not possess the ruthless skills to keep order in class, a weakness of which the naughtier and more reckless boys take great advantage. Brossay, the headmaster, is having to fire him for being truly useless at the job; and Sala looks bitterly on the ringleader of the bad boys, Chomel, as a truly evil influence – not only is he making his life a misery, he’s making him lose his job and his accommodation. As schoolkids, the emotional harassment that playing-up and misbehaving can have on a teacher who lacks that hard edge simply never occurs to us. It’s just a laugh, an excuse to play around. However, Berna openly reveals the extent to which Sala is upset and disturbed by the way he is treated. Nevertheless, cometh the hour, cometh the man; Sala blossoms into a hero, rising to the challenges of survival against the floods.

His ascendancy is matched by that of the senior boy Vignoles, a Frederick-type character (see above) who has been a fish out of water for many years but finally finds a role for himself. Five years before the story starts, Vignoles had been deposited at the school by his father, who was too busy with business to look after his son. The boy was taken in by the Brossay family and looked after. But he never felt like he was at home, and he resented the abandonment, constantly dreaming up ways to escape. Like Frederick, he lacks a guiding father figure, and has to make his own way as best he can.

It’s not until he starts volunteering to help protect the school against the rains that he finally starts to feel an affection for his surroundings. “”The seniors are itching to help,” Vignoles answered. Monsieur Brossay was struck by the feeling behind the boy’s words. “I thought you didn’t like Château-Milon,” he said gently. “I’ve changed my mind since last night,” Vignoles retorted in his most icy tones. Monsieur Brossay did not press him. Despite the fact that he had been treated as one of the headmaster’s family during the long time he had been there, Vignoles had remained almost a stranger to him, enclosed in a wall of introspection which resisted all approaches.”

When the floods are worsening, and their situation becomes more desperate, Vignoles opens up to Sala, who is now, also, beginning to find his feet. “It’s taken me six years to realise what the school means to each one of us; safety, order, a breathing-space before we go out into the world, a place where we can be happy, study and learn how to live with other people. When I came, I had the bad luck to play up to the wrong set and win the disapproval of the decent sorts. But that’s all over and done with and I need my friends around me as much as the air I breathe.”

It’s fascinating to read how differently the senior boys are treated (and indeed look after themselves) at a French school as opposed to a British equivalent at the time. For example, the senior boys drink cider with dinner – can you imagine that in Enid Blyton?! Charpenne smokes in bed. Nor do you get the impression that these are moments of “naughty” behaviour; they are merely symptomatic of how much more adult French boys were treated than British. As a curious aside, Charpenne has to reuse old drawings to create new ones – because “paper was scarce” – was this a continued post-war shortage?

Like The Mystery of the Cross Eyed Man, this is another book full of real locations. The actions of the book are all centred on the area around Angers on the Loire, and the river Authion, a tributary, on the broad plains of Anjou. The Day Boys go home to La Bohalle. The nearest explosives factory is said to be “fifty or sixty miles away, near Châtellerault.” Local areas under water include Belle-Noue and La Ménitré. The airfield, to which some of the boys are eventually evacuated, is at Avrillé. You can plot virtually all of the locations mentioned in the book easily against a map.

As always with Berna, the book is littered with beautiful language and evocative passages. For example: after that first, ominous, puff of wind: “Vignoles looked up. The last dead leaves were raining down from the tall plane trees, revolving slowly like a swarm of butterflies as they were caught in the light which streamed in bars of gold from the windows.” When the flood reaches its most dangerous height, “a muddy sea billowed down the drive, poured through the gate like a millrace, foamed against walls and trees, shivered windows and made matchwood of doors, and flooded gurgling into buildings.” When the wind causes the school bell to ring all by itself, it’s “mournfully ringing like the bell of a fogbound schooner.” Not only is the story full of exciting narrative, but there are constant opportunities to let Berna’s words – as deftly translated by Buchanan-Brown – wash over you.

Here’s my in-depth chapter by chapter synopsis of the book. If you haven’t read the book yet and don’t want to see any more spoilers, here’s where you have to stop reading! By the way – this is Paul Berna’s first children’s novel where the chapters don’t have individual titles.

Chapter One. It seems like a normal day at Château-Milon school. Headmaster M. Brossay is delivering his lesson, and the sixth form students are ignoring him. Muret is organising the school football team for their match against Cunault. Vignoles, the dreamer, stares out of the window, lost in the countryside and his thoughts of how to escape. Boisson de Chazelles, the Vicomte, is planning how he could get expelled, as he had done from all his previous schools. Guillon and Montaigu appear to be working but are in fact passing notes with the shock news “Rabbits’ Eggs has got the sack!” That’s their nickname for the kindly but ineffectual M. Sala. Apparently the rumour goes that the lout Chomel, together with the class clown Sardine, shut Mme Juillet (the cook)’s cats in his desk, and when he opened the desk they flew out much to his shock. Twenty-five children laughed their head off and Sala was driven to tears.

Meanwhile, Charpenne is drawing a picture of Brossay with a pimple on his nose. Charpenne is accustomed to writing love poems to Brossay’s daughter Edith, or rather adapting other writer’s poetry. However, Edith has been passing the poems on to Mme Juiliet – also an Edith! Next door, M. Lacour is teaching Maths to the Upper Fifth, one of whom, Jeantet, has the job of ringing the bell, Cunégonde, to signal the end of the lesson.

Muret and his friend Lalande go off for football practice. Guillon and Montaigu try to work out if there is anything they can do about Sala. Vignoles talks to M. Juillet, who warns that rain is coming from Biarritz. Meanwhile, a mix up means that Edith Brossay gets to see Charpenne’s portrait of her father than his love poetry. Although he sees the joke, Brossay writes on the portrait “my congratulations to the artist […] take 8 hours detention.”

Later Brossay confirms to Sala that his inability to hold discipline can no longer continue. He is to leave the school in a couple of days’ time. It will be a blessing for the awkward Sala. Brossay tells him “”none of the boys is really bad at heart and even the worst, I’m sure, are already sorry for the harm they have done you.” Monsieur Sala nodded politely. He thought otherwise, To him, Chomel was evil personified. Nothing he could do had been able to soften the boy’s natural unpleasantness or remove his ridiculous grudge against the timid little schoolmaster imprisoned in his own shyness.”

But it’s as the children are teasing him one last time that evening, that the noise from the howling wind picks up and blows open and breaks one of the windows. “Incisively Monsieur Sala rose from his desk. He could not explain it, but the wildness of the night had sparked in him, for the first time in his life, a terrible courage. He banged the window shut and turned to the astonished boys. “Back to work all of you! Anyone how moves or makes a sound will be in trouble!” Chomel challenges him by not moving. Sala has the last word of the chapter: “Monsieur Chomel […] you are very big, and very nasty, and your nastiness seems to have attracted the worst elements in the form. But there is many a slip between cup and lip, and so do not be too sure that I shall leave this school before you do.”

Chapter Two. When Jeantet sounds Cunégonde at 7 pm, and all the external lights go on, they realise just how the wind has torn all the leaves from the branches. Over dinner, the extraordinary wind is the talk on everyone’s lips, both boys and masters. It doesn’t prevent the hungry Picard from enjoying his “cannon-balls” (one of Mme Juillet’s heartiest dishes) – finishing off everyone’s left-overs, he eats 16 of them!

Chomel and Sardine plan to let off a few more “thunder-flashes” that evening to scare M. Sala. But in the meantime, Messieurs Boris and Sala decide to work together to round up the juniors before bedtime. Boris is sad that Sala will be leaving. Sala tells him of his plans, to return to his parents’ house in Savoy for two weeks’ rest and recuperation, after which he’ll attempt some coaching, maybe at the University of Grenoble.

With the boys safely all in bed, Sala turns his attention to his books and his card indexes. He doesn’t hear the whispering Chomel and Sardine, placing the thunderflashes outside his door, with a fuse leading to Chomel’s bed. However, unknown to them, Kiki Dubourg and little Jozas have their own plans to protect Sala, without spoiling the fun of the explosion – they reposition the flashes under Chomel’s bed! He still has the fuse, but has no idea that it will be his posterior that will be attacked. Meanwhile, in La Vallière, the senior house, Vignoles, Charpenne and Boisson de Chazelles all go up to the bedroom they share. Vignoles cannot sleep, worried about the weather. At the same time that he gets up to look out of the window, M. Sala puts out his light, which is Chomel’s cue to start timing the fuse. Sala, meanwhile, has a nightmare involving angry animals, one of which looks like Chomel. But in reality, one of the juniors’ dormitory windows had blown in. “Outside the gale burst its bonds. Its first shock fell upon Château-Milon with a noise like thunder. Driven before it, a hail of flying débris battered the walls and roofs with a ceaseless rattle.”

Sala goes to check, but at the same time another gust blows against Kiki’s bed, covering it with pieces of broken glass. The boy isn’t hurt, just terrified. He, Jozas, and another boy are moved to empty beds at the other end of the dormitory. However, on the first floor, a branch crashes through a window, “the wind howled through the hole, blowing in a rain of dead leaves, bits of straw and other garden refuse and filling the room with a choking cloud of dust.” Sala tells Martin and Desbois to watch guard. Outside, the wind had started Cunégonde the bell to sound all by itself, “mournfully ringing like the bell of a fogbound schooner.” Boris and Lacour make their way outside but the wind is perilously dangerous, picking up bits of fencing and hurling it everywhere. They’re joined by Brossay, Juillet and the Trévidic brothers. The men all tried to board up the windows with planks and nails, whilst the wind continues to hiss and bring down trees. With the damage mitigated, the order is to go back to bed and they’ll assess the ruins in the morning.

Chomel, meanwhile, is terrified about his thunderflashes. He prays that somehow the fuse had burned out. But at that very moment…. Bang! “A shattering explosion lifted his mattress and deposited him on the floor, gasping like a fish out of water. The gale which raged outside was drowned in a roar of laughter. Chomel was a pitiable sight as in his crumpled pyjamas he got unsteadily to his feet and gaped, green with fright, at Monsieur Brossay, Monsieur Sala, Monsieur Boris and Monsieur Lacour, who were ranged like judges behind the partition.” And for that, Chomel gets six whacks of the slipper, much to Sala’s vengeful delight.

At 1 am comes the first power cut. The wind has started to die down, only to be replaced by rain, “unbroken heavy, steady, filling the countryside with the dull roar of a waterfall.” The next morning they could all see what had happened out there. The boys get soaked, just getting to breakfast. At least Charpenne doesn’t have to spend his detention alone. Never have so many attended one of Father Fabien’s Sunday masses. But it carries on raining, until just before supper, when the gale starts up again. Sala, meanwhile, spends Sunday packing his cases for his Monday departure.

On Monday morning there is another power cut, but life has to carry on. Sala wonders if Brossay might relent and withdraw his dismissal, but Juillet’s car is there waiting to take him to the station. He leaves with minimum farewells and off they drive. But shortly they return, as the road is completely under water! As everyone else gets on with their day, Sala stands “at the foot of the steps, like a piece of jetsam, firmly holding a suitcase in each hand. His thin face and enormous glasses were lost below his rain-soaked hat. “What shall I do?” he asked bewilderedly.” “Stay, of course! That’s all you can do,“ Monsieur Brossay went on impatiently. “We’ll see later…””

Chapter Three. Sala returns to his desk but with new-found confidence, “and the conviction that crises can sometimes be to the advantage of the weak and the despised.” The masters listening to the radio weather forecasts are annoyed that the announcer concentrates on Nantes and ignores the low-lying countryside. The announcement does confirm, however, difficulties in communication in the environs of the school. The day boys are not able to get in, nor can Edith return to her boarding school in Nantes. “At seventeen, it was fun to be thrown into something that smacked of adventure with plenty of males to share it.”

Vignoles reports that the Authion has flooded over the football pitch. He offers to help as much as he can – also promising the help of the other seniors – and Brossay is impressed at how the boy seems to be finally feeling at home. First job is to dig up the basketball pitch in order to fill sandbags to dam the breach of the garden gate. A watch is organised to keep an eye on the water level. Over lunch, everyone talks animatedly – and Sala confirms that the juniors – confined to the house – are behaving themselves, all reading The Three Musketeers together; even Chomel! Sala confesses he’d sooner be helping with the practical work; M. Boris assures him he soon will. At that point comes the third power cut – and the last; there would be no restitution of electricity to Château-Milon.

Vignoles tells M. Brossay that the dam will need to be raised by three feet to stop the water flooding up to the back door by the morning. Juniors and seniors work together to get the job done. But everyone is quietly worried for their safety. M. Juillet fears that they’re in for a repeat of the great floods of 1820, where the top of the Mérovée Tower was the only man-made structure visible. “If Monsieur Brossay let you boys inside the ruin I could show you a funny sort of calendar cut into one of the roof beams. Mérovée, his wife and his man were cut off by the floods and spent a week perched up among the beams and cog-wheels with only a pair of owls and a dozen rats for company.” Meanwhile, Charpenne dreams that life at Château-Milon had turned into a scene from Morte d’Arthur – he was Lancelot and he writes a poem to Edith, who, as Guinevere, was busily helping out with even the most unpleasant tasks.

Vignoles advises that the Authion has only risen an inch or two in the last three hours; but Brossay informs everyone what he has heard on the news, that thousands of homes in the area are in danger, and the Civil Defence volunteers are overwhelmed by calls for help. Further plans are drawn up to keep guard over all the buildings. This includes partnering up two people of balanced strength, usually one master with one student. Once the pairs have been selected, Vignoles is left without a partner. Would M. Sala step up to the challenge? Of course he will. Vignoles and Sala have the 2am – 4am watch, and Vignoles advises Sala that he is certain something is going to happen tonight. “I know I’ve never seen a flood before, but when you’ve watched every detail of a disaster there are some signs which are unmistakable. One thing alone could have saved this corner of the valley, if the weather had cleared at lunchtime and the rain had stopped. It’s too late now. Nothing can hold back the floods.”

Chapter Four. That evening the senior boys speculate as to how the water levels might change overnight – interspersed with laughs about Father Fabien’s stories, and Hubert Boisson de Chazelles’ prissy behaviour. Just before midnight the sky is lit up with red flashes. “The troops are blowing a quarter-mile gap in the embankment. The floods from the Authion are threatening Angers.”

It’s time for Vignoles and M. Sala to go on watch. The diminutive Sala is almost completely hidden by his oilskin raincoat. Brossay, Juillet and Father Fabien discuss the conditions – Brossay notes that his telephone line to the town hall at Longué went dead at the end of their conversation. Sala and Vignoles go off with their instructions. They meet M. Boris at the top of a ladder who informs them that Muret is patrolling the walls, as cracks have been appearing. Boris warns Vignoles that he must stay away from the flood waters, no matter what.

As Vignoles and Sala talk, both of them open up about their feelings – especially Vignoles, who explains that the flood has been a shot in the arm to make him come to his senses. When they realise that the battle against the water is lost, Sala goes to tell Brossay whilst Vignoles keeps further watch. Brossay tells Sala that everyone should go back into their houses – no one is to remain outside. But just as Sala approaches Vignoles to tell him to leave, “there was a dull crash and then the drumming of the rain was drowned by a roaring which increased in volume and came from behind the trees.” Going off to investigate, the water cascades over the garden wall, and Sala throws himself against the sandbags, trying to hold back the flood. Vignoles manages to grab Sala from the sandbags as they both flee for their lives, whilst a wave, ten feet high, pursues them. But they manage to escape to their houses, and in a moment of surprising calm, Boisson de Chazelles takes Sala a cocoa – and they end up playing chess all night long.

A brief respite the following morning allows for a council of war. Fabien and Juillet are in favour of an evacuation; Boris rejects this because of its impracticality. Brossay considers both arguments, but Fabien insists: “there should be one motive behind your decision: we have been entrusted with forty children and we are responsible for their safety. No one will blame you if you have been overscrupulous of that. We must go, and go as soon as we can!” Brossay asks Sala’s advice. Sala agrees with Fabien – his experience of the previous night has convinced him of the danger they are in.

So everyone is bustled into Brossay’s vehicles and driven towards the Arcy Woods – taking several perilous journeys. But the last car doesn’t return. “A muddy sea billowed down the drive, poured through the gate like a millrace, foamed against walls and trees, shivered windows and made matchwood of doors, and flooded gurgling into buildings.” With no knowledge of what has happened, Sala gets everyone left behind to go upstairs – Vignoles, Picard, Charpenne, Boisson de Chazelles, Job Trévidic, Sala himself and… the pathetic Chomel, who cried that no one wanted him to go with them. Meanwhile, the water laps against the foot of the staircase.

Chapter Five. The seven look after themselves the best they can. Yes, they are cold, but they have food, and no concern that the building could collapse. Vignoles and Sala exercise their influence to calm down arguments. Vignoles’ chief fear is that the disaster of 1820 is about to recur. Sala quietly proposes to Vignoles and Charpenne that they should build rafts and sail towards the high land behind Longué. They use bed frames, chair seats, planks and such like to build the first raft. For the second, they adapt the hot water tanks in the bathroom. Vignoles and Sala propose waiting until morning to make their escape, but the others call it cowardice.

However, they also discover two strong ladders, and it occurs to them to use them to cross the virtual bay outside and reach the mill, where they’ll be much safer. Disagreements over what to do turn into a fight, with Charpenne attacking Chomel and Boisson de Chazelles disowning Vignoles as a friend. Nevertheless, the ladder bridge is constructed, and one by one they cross over into the mill – until it’s Chomel’s turn. The bully is nowhere to be seen until he is found hiding under a bed. Vignoles and Chomel get across just in time before the flood engulfs the dormitory. In the mill, they discover the calendar that M. Juillet had mentioned.

They are all able, finally, to sleep. Vignoles awakes from his dream hearing a knocking sensation. It’s the rising water level. They have to ascend another ten feet. Once again they rest, but Chomel can’t stop crying. VIgnoles tells him to forget his past, “you’re a different person now.” With relief, they notice the rain stops; the levels start to fall. “Boisson de Chazelles saw the red canoe first. It floated along on a slight current, upside down, and straight for Mérovée’s Tower.

Chapter Six. Using plaited sheets, Boisson de Chazelles climbs down to the water level, stops the canoe in its tracks, upends it, tests its sturdiness, and proves he’s a natural when it comes to manoeuvring canoes! After a discussion as to who should be the first to be evacuated, Chomel also gets on board and the two of them set off for the Arcy Woods, where they can make contact with M. Brossay. The others, unexpectedly think they’re going to be rescued when a launch appears noisily out of the fog; but it’s packed with other survivors and drives off past them, apparently not noticing their frantic shouts for attention.

Meanwhile Boisson de Chazelles and Chomel are heading towards the wood, when they discover a helpful signpost peeping out above the water level, proving they’re on the right course. Eventually they see a number of cars parked, including those from the school – but not a soul in sight. Eventually they spot Brossay and creep up on him, startling him with delight. Relieved that everyone is accounted for, Brossay explains their treacherous journey.

Brossay is horrified that Boisson de Chazelles intends to turn back and get the others – threatening him with expulsion if he refuses to stay. But he sets off anyway, and gets back to the Tower without too much difficulty. This time Sala insists that the canoe hero stays in the tower, but instead he takes Trévidic and Charpenne on board and heads back to the woods. However, something is wrong. Somehow they get caught in the mainstream of the Loire, and they miss the woods completely. As the canoe heads for a cross current with tree trunks and brushwood, they paddle furiously to escape the danger. They survive this disaster, but Boisson de Chazelles is exhausted. The others take control as he drifts off into oblivion. And next thing they know – they’ve arrived in the outskirts of Angers!

Rescued by the police, Boisson de Chazelles tells them as best he can of the numbers and location of the people bivouacked in the Arcy Woods, plus those remaining at the Mérovée Tower. The weather is expected to clear in half an hour!

Chapter Seven. Meanwhile, Sala is concerned that the canoe didn’t return, but satisfies himself with the thought that they must have stayed with Brossay. Vignoles is not so certain. When “the Vicomte” first arrived at the school he kept on finding ways to escape. He’s not the kind of person who would stay in the woods. They comfort themselves with opening a tin of sardines, and sleep eventually takes over.

They awaken to the beautiful sight of the fog clearing and their new water-filled environment surrounding them. Many more vessels are now driving past; they hope that their rescue will come soon. Helicopters appear, picking up and dropping down the rescued, creating beautiful patterns in the sky. But none of them comes to the Tower. Sala has the great idea to use the discarded sardine tins as mirrors, flashing the reflected sunlight into the sky, so that the pilots can see them.

And it works! Eventually a helicopter hovers over the tower, lets a nylon ladder down, and Picard is the first to depart. Sala insists that when the helicopter returns, Vignoles will be next to be evacuated. Sala has a moment of pure self-discovery. “Monsieur Sala was quite bewildered. Kant now seemed an old driveller and his Critique of Pure Reason a mass of nonsense. “Good gracious, that’s right, my thesis is a monumental blunder!” the little man thought frankly to himself. “There’s plenty of other things for a keen observant brain: all you need do is keep your eyes open to the world around.” At this very moment, he thought, men overwhelmed by a great disaster had not been left to perish. In one night their suffering had awakened the sympathy of an entire nation, a sympathy expressed alike in the smallest as in the most heroic service. This fight to the death against the misfortunes of others was indeed the only war worth waging nowadays.”

Vignoles is rescued and taken to the airfield at Avrillé. There he is given a number, to find a bus that will take him to join the rest of his schoolmates, in Château-Gontier. Picard is waiting for him. The helicopter returns for Sala, but the bus cannot wait for him – there will be more buses later that Sala can catch. Brossay is there to meet the buses, and his thoughts are a mixture of relief and how he can best describe the bravery of his boys and staff as a future marketing ploy!

Picard and Vignoles reflect on how the experience of the past few days has changed people. Brossay couldn’t wait to get rid of Sala, but now is waiting to welcome him back as a hero. Vignoles himself admits “a couple of days ago I couldn’t have cared less about Chomel, and yet when we had to get out of La Vallière in a hurry, I was more worried about saving the idiot’s life than I was about my own.”

At the makeshift school, everything quickly goes back to normal. Only one thing – person – is missing. Sala wasn’t there when the helicopter returned for him. There’s no trace of him having been rescued by anyone else. What can have happened?

Chapter Eight. A few hours later, the Loire starts behaving again; after three days, the Authion returns to its normal course. Brossay arranges for all his pupils to be sent home. His wife and daughter go off to Nantes, leaving just the Juillets, the Trévidics, and Vignoles, who is determined to see in the return to Château-Milon. It would be six days before that was possible. And there is still no news of Sala.

When Brossay finally reaches the old school, all he could see was wreckage. Until he sees a figure leaning out of a skylight. It’s Sala! He’d been locked in the Tower all this time, and he didn’t want to try to break the door down, because “the school’s suffered enough damage as it is.” Sala confesses he wasn’t picked up by the helicopter because – he had lost his glasses! He’d had an accident with the cogwheel, and when he came to, his glasses were missing – and without them on, he couldn’t find them! He knew he would be a danger to himself and others if he attempted the evacuation without them, so he pretended to be dead. But all’s well that ends well!

Exploring the wreckage, Brossay determines that the school will reopen for the summer term. One by one, the masters return over the next fortnight; whilst Sala takes up the manuscripts for his thesis, Modern Survivals of Kantian thought, and throws them on the bonfire burning all the other wreckage. He also sacrifices his copy of Critique of Pure Reason.

Come February, it’s Vignoles who’s accompanying Edith around the estate, showing her the work in progress. She confides that only thirty pupils have committed to returning, but Vignoles is convinced more will follow. As they walk, they realise how they have both changed – particularly Vignoles. ““You’ve been here six years,” the girl went on, “and I can remember times when we didn’t say a word to one another for months on end. And yet you were one of the family; Father told you that often enough.” “I know,” Vignoles answered, “but I had to go through all this to realise what he meant.” They walked off hand in hand to see how the kitchen garden was doing. “I’ll end up cutting my best friend out,” thought Vignoles when they came back from their stroll. He appreciated the irony of the situation.”

The first day of the summer term finally dawns. Masters are dressed in their Sunday Best; vehicles await at the local stations to pick boys up to take them to the school. Vignoles feels more at home than ever before. Sala greets the juniors and takes them to the dormitory – and confronts the returning Chomel. “Are you proposing to go on ragging me this term? […] If it’s something you can’t help, if it’s vital to your physical wellbeing, you’ve only to tell me now and we’ll come to some arrangement.” “Oh no, sir! Never, sir!”

Eventually Vignoles’ closest friends arrive; first Picard and Charpenne, and then finally, out of the blue, Hubert Boisson de Chazelles, still full of arrogant cheek. Everyone who was expected to return, has returned, plus a few more. Brossay reflects: “the peril which they had surmounted together had changed them all. It had revealed unexpected strength of character, it had dissolved foolish enmities, it had strengthened the ties of friendship, it had cured the selfish and stirred the sluggards.”

The book ends by considering the future for all the major characters. “In a matter of hours Vignoles had learned to love a school where he had so long rejected the family life that had been offered to him. The butterfly Charpenne had realised that real feeling is expressed not in plagiarised sonnets but in the anxiety felt for someone dear to you. The appalling Chomel had in one night of peril cast off his old stupid and mischief-making self. That rolling stone Hubert Boisson de Chazelles had at last realised that team spirit counted for more than rank or wealth and that one unselfish action did more to inspire true comradeship than weeks of showing off. In short, every one of the boys, from tiny Kiki Dubourg to gigantic Picard, had come in his own way through the ordeal. Not one had failed. Through them and for them their school had survived the floods and recovered its physical and spiritual being.

And this was just as true of the amazing Monsieur Sala. That night, as he crossed from La Vallière to Mérovée’s Tower on two shaky ladders, he had shed his shyness and made sure that, despite his disastrous beginning, he would find in Château-Milon the haven of sympathetic security best suited to his unpretentious, scholarly way of life.”

To sum up; this is a thrilling adventure mixed in with some enlightening personal development journeys. The fearful rise up and take command, and the bullies cower (as they always do when threatened.) This should be a much better known book than it is – because it’s definitely one of Berna’s best. If you’ve read the book – or are re-reading it now, I’d love to know what you think about it, so please add a comment below. Paul Berna’s next book was Le Bout du monde, which wasn’t translated until ten years later in 1971, as Gaby and the New Money Fraud, but as we’re taking Berna’s books in the order he wrote them, rather than the year they were published in English, we’ll take that book next. I look forward to re-reading it and sharing my thoughts about it in a few weeks.

The Agatha Christie Challenge – The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding (1960)

Posted on by

STOP PRESS: The Agatha Christie Challenge is now available as a book in two revised volumes – details at the end of this blog post!

A selection of six short stories, five with Hercule Poirot and one with Miss Marple, solving a miscellany of crimes. Of course, the usual rules apply; if you haven’t read the book yet, don’t worry, I shan’t spoil the surprise of any of the six revelations!

The book was first published in the UK on 24th October 1960; however, this particular selection was not published in the US. The stories had all been individually published previously in magazine format, two of them re-written and expanded versions of the originals. The book doesn’t begin with the usual dedication, but rather a foreword where Christie remembers the Christmases of her childhood, staying with her brother-in-law at Abney Hall, previously the inspiration for the settings of The Secret of Chimneys and After the Funeral. At the end of the foreword she dedicates the book “to the memory of Abney Hall – its kindness and its hospitality.” And you can certainly recognise Christie’s account of her own Christmassy fun in the antics of the fictional children Colin, Michael and Bridget, in the first story, The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding, which we’ll look at first!

The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding

This is an expanded version of the story of the same name which appeared in The Sketch magazine on 12 December 1923 – so it took 37 years to get from stage one to stage two! It would first appear in the US in 1961 in the collection Double Sin and Other Stories (this collection not published in the UK) under the title The Theft of the Royal Ruby. Poirot is invited to the grand old house Kings Lacey, ostensibly to celebrate a traditional English Christmas with a traditional English family, but it is a front for him to investigate the disappearance of a priceless ruby, stolen from an eastern prince whilst sowing one last wild oat before committing to marriage.

It’s an entertaining little tale, with some interesting characters, and sense of fun; but I felt the two separate threads of the theft and the traditional Christmas didn’t sit particularly comfortably with each other, and for a long time you’re wondering how on earth Kings Lacey could possibly hold the key to solving the crime. There’s a nice piece of double-crossing by Poirot, as well as the occasional connection with a couple of other Christie books – the murder game in Dead Man’s Folly springs to mind. Whilst we know that Abney Hall was in Cheshire, the location of Kings Lacey is not mentioned, although the fictional town of Market Ledbury is close enough to go to the pub, and Desmond suggests leaving early and going on to Scarborough.

The story succeeds strongly in evoking the memories of long gone Christmases – especially the food. Mrs Lacey revels in continuing the traditions. “All the same old things, the Christmas tree and the stockings hung up and the oyster soup and the turkey – two turkeys, one boiled and one roast – and the plum pudding with the ring and the bachelor’s button and all the rest of it in it. We can’t have sixpences nowadays because they’re  not pure silver any more. But all the old desserts, the Elvas plums and Carlsbad plums and almonds and raisins, and crystallized fruit and ginger. Dear me, I sound like a catalogue from Fortnum and Mason!” I confess I’d never heard of the tradition of the bachelor’s button; if a single man found it in his pudding, he would stay single for the following year. Similarly, the tradition of the spinster’s thimble, which is also mentioned in the book, and the ring, which indicated that you would get married during the course of the following year.

There are a few unmistakably Poirot/Christie observations and uses of language. Poirot is only convinced to go to Kings Lacey when he discovers there is central heating. Colonel Lacey gruffly disapproves of the Christmas invitation to Poirot: “can’t think why you want one of those damned foreigners here cluttering up Christmas? Why can’t we have him some other time? Can’t stick foreigners!” And twice Christie makes us smile with her use of the word “ejaculated”, as when the Colonel discovers the glass in his mouth.

The story includes one of Christie’s most famous sentences: “Mr Jesmond made a peculiar noise rather like a hen who has decided to lay an egg and then thought better of it.” I also loved the description of the old retainer Peverell; “he noticed nothing that he was not asked to notice”. And Poirot gives Mrs Ross, the cook, a five pound note as an expression of his gratitude. £5 in 1960 is worth £80 today, and at 1923, when the story was originally written, the equivalent would be over £200!

Overall, a decent little story. Not a classic, but not bad.

The Mystery of the Spanish Chest

This is an expanded version of the story The Mystery of the Baghdad Chest which appeared in the Strand Magazine in January 1932. In the US, the shorter version was published in the Ladies Home Journal in the same month and the expanded version appeared in the US in The Harlequin Tea Set (not a collection published in the UK) in 1997. Poirot’s attention is drawn to a case where a Major Rich has been accused of murdering a Mr Clayton, whose bloody body was discovered in an antique Spanish chest. Mrs Clayton is a friend of socialite Lady Chatterton who encourages Poirot to speak to her about the case, because she insists Rich is innocent. Poirot can’t resist but employ his little grey cells to get to the heart of the matter. This is a well-written, nicely crafted little tale, a detective novel in miniature, with clearly defined exposition, detection and denouement sections. On the face of it, only two people could possibly have committed the murder – neither of which is a satisfactory solution for Poirot; but, right at the end, he sees how there might be a third possibility.

The book features Poirot’s secretary Miss Lemon, a terrifying creature with no imagination but boundless efficiency. It’s interesting that this story was published out of sequence in respect of Hickory Dickory Dock, which also includes Miss Lemon – but this time making mistakes, and also Miss Lemon’s sister, Mrs Hubbard. However, in The Mystery of the Spanish Chest, Miss Lemon’s sister in an unnamed lady who once bought a Spanish chest at a sale and keeps her linen in there. You don’t get the sense at all that they are the same person.

We are reminded of Poirot’s earlier inamorata, the exotic Russian Countess Vera Rossakoff, and of Poirot’s admiration for ladies with curves – unlike Miss Lemon, who’s treated in a rather sexist way by Christie. Mrs Clayton, it emerges, lives in Cardigan Gardens, precisely the same address as Harold Crackenthorpe in 4.50 from Paddington. It was obviously an address with which Christie felt comfortable! Lady Chatterton, however, lives in Cheriton Street, which sounds like it should be a fine London street, but is in fact a Christie invention.

We meet Inspector Miller, who’s in charge of the case; he’s described as “not one of Poirot’s favourites. He was not, however, hostile on this occasion, merely contemptuous.” Mrs Spence has a nice turn of phrase to describe Mrs Clayton: “she’s one of my best friends and I wouldn’t trust her an inch”. There’s an Othello motif to the story, which puts an interesting complexion on one’s own attempts to solve the crime before Poirot, plus there is the unusual situation in a Christie story where a servant is actually one of the chief suspects in the case. All this, plus a final denouement that reveals a clever and totally unexpected detective solution. I thought this was a cracking little story.

The Under Dog

This entertaining story was first published in the US in The Mystery Magazine in April 1926, and in the UK in The London Magazine in October 1926. Its first appearance in book form was in the UK in 2 New Crime Stories, published by The Reader’s Library in September 1929. Again, it would be more than thirty years before it was published as part of a wholly Christie collection. Bullying, angry Sir Reuben is found dead and his nephew is arrested for his murder. Sir Reuben’s widow, Lady Astwell is convinced they have arrested the wrong person and that his secretary is to blame. She hires Hercule Poirot to discover the truth.

This murder mystery in miniature contains everything you would expect from a full length work of detective fiction: lively characters, a full-scale denouement where the emphasis shifts from a pretend guilty party to the real one, unexpected motives and false clues. There’s also a surprisingly big hint from Christie in the name of the story – so try not to dwell on that if you haven’t read it yet!

The background structure to the story reminded me very strongly of that which precedes this one in the collection – The Mystery of the Spanish Chest – where one of the suspects hires Poirot to prove that one of the other suspects isn’t guilty. Indeed, we meet Inspector Miller again too, from that same story. There’s no love lost between him and Poirot. Poirot describes him: “he is what they call the sharp man, the ferret, the weasel.” Lady Astwell simply considers him “a bumptious idiot”. As for Miller, he “was not particularly fond of M. Hercule Poirot. He did not belong to that small band of inspectors at the Yard who welcomed the little Belgian’s cooperation. He was wont to say that Hercule Poirot was much overrated.” He clearly resents Poirot being brought into the case at the whim of Lady Astwell. “Of course, it is all right for you M. Poirot […] you get your fees just the same, and naturally you have to make a pretence of examining the evidence to satisfy her ladyship. I can understand all that.”

Poirot works with George his valet more than I have seen in any other of the stories so far. George, whom Christie describes as “an extremely English-looking person. Tall, cadaverous and unemotional” allows himself to be used by Poirot as a spy or as a dummy dead body; the relationship reminded me a little of that of Bunter to Dorothy L Sayers’ Lord Peter Wimsey. Poirot is particularly irritating in this story to the people around him, staying on longer than required, ostensibly making overwhelmingly thorough searches everywhere – but there is a method to his madness, as you can imagine. He calls on the assistance of a Dr Cazalet to run a hypnosis session on one of the suspects, which is nicely written and a thoroughly enjoyable diversion. His practice is at 384 Harley Street – in real life, Harley Street numbers don’t go that high.

At one point, Poirot makes use of a “thumbograph”, which was a book in which you kept the thumb print of someone you admired or were friends with – a little like an autograph book, but just for thumbs. I’d never heard of that before. The story is set in the fictional town of Abbots Cross – there is an Abbots Cross, but it’s in Northern Ireland, so it can’t be that one! And there is talk of a gold mine in Mpala; this is actually a wildlife reserve in Kenya.

There’s one sum of money that’s of interest – Victor accuses Poirot of hanging around so that he can continue to charge “several guineas a day”. One guinea in 1926 is worth an impressive £45 today; even so, Poirot’s charge out rate isn’t that expensive on the whole! And Christie gives us another of her hilarious comedy lines taken out of context. When Poirot is thinking deeply about a problem, then instantly comes out of his deep thoughts, she says “he came out of his brown study with a jerk”. That’s not a nice thing to say about someone!

A very good story – I’d say the best of the selection so far.

Four and Twenty Blackbirds

This little tale was first published in the US in November 1940 in Collier’s magazine and in the UK in the Strand Magazine in March 1941 under the title of Poirot and the Regular Customer. Christie describes this story as a sorbet in her introduction, but to be honest, it’s barely that; it’s a very slight tale and strikes you as a disappointment after the stronger stories that have preceded it. Poirot and a friend are dining at a restaurant, and remarking on how most diners – men at least – will always choose their same, favourite meals. But one day, an old man. who dines at the restaurant every Tuesday and Thursday, not only dines on a Monday but goes for completely different courses from his usual choice. Poirot smells a rat – and he’s right!

The London locations are all for real – the restaurant is on the Kings Road Chelsea, Mr Gascoigne lives on Kingston Hill; Dr Lorrimer lives on Dorset Road, which is in South East London rather than South West. Sadly there’s no such restaurant as the Gallant Endeavour, which is a terrific name for one. However, Augustus John dined there, and he was real enough!

Rather like The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding, this story emphasises the importance of food, in particular, the importance that Poirot places on it – he’s never one to cut a course or not give it his full attention. It’s an interest that is associated with older men; women, it is decided, tend to like variety, whereas men don’t. The trouble with this story is that it relies on an extremely unlikely event that stretches credibility to the nth degree, and when you realise how the crime balances on that fact, you simply can’t take it seriously. The solution feels rushed, too. All in all, an unsatisfactory sorbet!

The Dream

This story was first published in the UK in the Strand Magazine in February 1938. This curious tale starts a little uncertainly, then builds up to a very exciting detective section, when Poirot asks all the right questions and winkles out the truth – and then truth itself turns out to be a little disappointing, with a denouement not unlike that in the previous story, Four and Twenty Blackbirds. Poirot received a letter to visit the reclusive millionaire businessman Benedict Farley; and when he finally gets to meet the great man, Farley tells him of a recurring dream he has, where, at precisely the same time every day, he is required to take a revolver out of his desk drawer, load it, and shoot himself. Then he wakes up. Is this just a recurring nightmare, or something more sinister? Poirot does eventually get to the bottom of it all, but everything is not as it seems right from the start.

This is a difficult story to discuss without giving the whole game away; suffice to say that it is an enjoyable read, once it gets going; let down only by the fanciful ending. The case is handled by Inspector Barnett, “a discreet, soldierly-looking man” according to Christie, but his personality doesn’t shine through. Much more interesting is Dr Stillingfleet, a young doctor who looks after the Farley family, but was sidestepped when Farley appears to have consulted other doctors about his dream. Stillingfleet was mentioned in Sad Cypress, and will return in the much later Christie novel, Third Girl.

One or two interesting references; Stillingfleet wonders if Poirot would ever commit a crime. Curtain: Poirot’s Last Case was probably written a few years later; I’ll say no more. Mrs and Miss Farley apparently went to see The Little Dog Laughed at the theatre on the night in question; there is a play of that name – but it wasn’t produced until 2006. And Miss Farley says that her inheritance in the event of her father’s death would be approximately a quarter of a million pounds – the rest going to her stepmother. £250,000 in 1938 would be approximately £10.5 million today – that’s quite a tidy sum.

All in all, not a bad story. I really wanted it to have a more satisfying ending. But the getting there is good!

Greenshaw’s Folly

This Miss Marple story was first published in the UK in the Daily Mail, in December 1956; as such it is a much more recently written story than any of the others in the collection.  Miss Marple’s nephew Raymond West takes his friend Horace to view an architectural monstrosity, Greenshaw’s Folly, and in so doing bumps into Miss Greenshaw who lives there – the last of the Greenshaws. She requests that the two men witness her will; she has decided to leave all her money to her faithful housekeeper Miss Cresswell. But when Raymond’s wife’s niece Louise starts working for Miss Greenshaw a few days later, a very peculiar thing happens… And I can say no more without giving too much of the story away.

Sadly this is yet another story in this collection which relies on one particular trick – involving the use of disguise; and again, the fanciful nature of the crime truly beggars belief! There is a moment of high drama where one character sees another in distress, but, with the benefit of hindsight, how could that character not have realised the trick that was being played? It’s a shame, because it was building up to being a rather enjoyable tale, with Miss Marple dishing out the insights like a woman possessed. I did like the opening scene where Raymond West knowingly plays on his celebrity status to get what he wants, and his friend Horace is an amusing caricature of someone with an artistic bent. Interesting how the plays of J M Barrie come into the story too – all perfectly genuine, and the clue that Miss Marple gets from the mention of the play A Kiss for Cinderella is completely fair in retrospect! Lady Audley’s Secret is also a genuine novel of the Victorian era, and Paul and Virginia is an 18th century book by Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, but there is no such place as Boreham on Sea (sounds very dull).

It strikes me that the decision to group these short stories together in one volume must have largely derived from most of them sharing the same plot elements, which makes for an overall disappointing read. Whilst The Under Dog and The Mystery of the Spanish Chest have a lot of entertainment value within them, and The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding is a decent stab at a short story, the others are underwhelming in varying ways. I think my average score for the book as a whole works out as 6/10.

Thanks for reading my blog of The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding, and if you’ve read it too, I’d love to know what you think. Please just add a comment in the space below. Next up in the Agatha Christie Challenge is The Pale Horse, something more of a supernatural novel with neither a Poirot nor a Marple to guide the way. I know I’ve read it, but I can’t remember a thing about it, so I’m looking forward to rediscovering it. As usual, I’ll blog my thoughts about it as soon as I can. In the meantime, please read it too then we can compare notes! Happy sleuthing!

 

If you enjoy my Agatha Christie Challenge, did you know it is now available as a book? In two revised volumes, it contains all my observations about Christie’s books and short stories, and also includes all her plays! The perfect birthday or Christmas gift, you can buy it from Amazon – the links are here and here!

The Agatha Christie Challenge – Cat Among the Pigeons (1959)

Posted on by

STOP PRESS: The Agatha Christie Challenge is now available as a book in two revised volumes – details at the end of this blog post!

In which murder comes to the exclusive girls’ school Meadowbank, run by the redoubtable Miss Bulstrode, and Middle Eastern espionage clashes with young ladies’ tennis practice. The police don’t seem to have much of an idea until one of the girls escapes to London to ask the help of family friend Hercule Poirot. And he sees through the lies and offers a thrilling solution. As usual, if you haven’t read the book yet, don’t worry, as always, I promise not to reveal whodunit!

The book is dedicated “for Stella and Larry Kirwan”. Sir Archibald Laurence “Larry” Patrick Kirwan was an archaeologist who worked mainly in Egypt and Arabia. Although Christie doesn’t directly mention the Kirwans in her autobiography, one presumes they all knew each other from their shared interest in archaeology. The book was first published in the UK in six abridged instalments in John Bull magazine in September and October 1959, and in the US a condensed version of the novel appeared in the November 1959 issue of the Ladies Home Journal. The full book was first published in the UK by Collins Crime Club on 2nd November 1959, and in the US by Dodd, Mead and Company in March 1960.

I had looked forward to re-reading this book because I’ve always thought of it as my favourite Christie. And, despite realising a few whopping great coincidences, sighing at a few too many xenophobic remarks, and a couple of downright flaws, my opinion hasn’t changed. This is a breeze of a delight to read. Christie is on top form with her lightness of touch, some dramatic asides and confiding moments to the reader, some well-placed comedy, plenty of activity and very nicely dovetailing the posh school/Middle Eastern revolution/50s teenagers/well-meaning but ambitious teacher elements.

Using short chapters, short chapter parts, even copying us into the letters sent out by some of the characters, Christie presents all the aspects of the book early on, so our head is bombarded with lots of fascinating information right from the start. The return to Meadowbank for the summer term is seen from the points of view of the teachers, the non-teaching staff, the pupils and the parents. Then we’re whisked away to Ramat for the opening salvos of the revolution, and we see how it overlaps with the school, with one of the parents being the sister to the Prince’s pilot and best friend, taking one of the schoolchildren on an extravagant holiday before term starts. We meet the diplomatic staff left to handle the revolution and the British involvement as best they can, again returning to see the way the school is caught up in the events. As a result, when the murders start happening, the investigations become a joint operation between the local CID and Secret Service staff. And that’s before Poirot becomes involved!

And, unusually, Poirot doesn’t appear until 70% of the way through the book. He’s very much brought into the case so that he can employ his little grey cells (although he doesn’t mention them), and Poirot as a character doesn’t particularly develop in this book. His attributes are those which we already know, and the only time his personality really stands out is when he takes full charge of a super-powerful classic denouement, more of which later. It’s up to Inspector Kelsey to make sense of the facts of the case, alongside “Adam Goodman” (not his real name), who’s masquerading as a junior gardener at the school. To be honest, we get a greater feeling for Adam’s characteristics – “he was tall, dark, muscular, and had a gay and rather impertinent manner”. Of Kelsey, all we know is Christie’s description that he “was a perceptive man. He was always willing to deviate from the course of routine if a remark struck him as unusual or worth following up.” He also – apparently – worked with Poirot in the past, in a case when a Chief Inspector Warrender as in charge. “I was a fairly raw sergeant, knowing my place” he explained. This doesn’t appear to refer to a previous Poirot story, it’s just a bit of filler.

Whilst Christie’s on great form with her style and her delivery, I can’t help but think she’s made a couple of errors. Firstly, when considering everyone’s alibi for the second murder, Kelsey mentions that Miss Rich was staying that night at the “Alton Grange Hotel, twenty miles away.” Twenty-two pages later,  he tells Poirot she was staying at the “Morton Marsh Hotel, twenty miles away.” Which is it?! There’s no suggestion that Miss Rich made an error in her alibi and has since corrected it. This is just an inconsistency error.

I’d also take Poirot to task for an unaccountable lapse of logic during the denouement. It’s going to be difficult for me to express this without giving too much of a game away, but I’ll try. Poirot maintains: “[A] could, of course, have killed [B] but she could not have killed [C], and would have had no motive to kill anybody, not was such a thing required of her.” However, a few paragraphs earlier he had clarified that “[A] was set down by the car in the first large town where she at once resumed her own personality.” So, in fact, she was totally at liberty in a nearby town when B was murdered! Not being watched by the police or secret service staff, I contend she certainly had the opportunity to murder B if she wished. I agree though that she had no motive. But I think Poirot had something of a lucky break there.

But we forgive Christie these trespasses, because the flow of the writing is exceptional. From portentous comments at the end of chapters foreboding ill, to an amusing exposé of Princess Shaista’s bra situation, to the totally convincing Julia/Jennifer conversations that really get into the mindset of that kind of jolly hockey-stick young girl, to a suspenseful scene where Julia is in bed and someone is trying to creep into her room, to absolute honesty with the clues – there’s at least a couple of scenes where Christie virtually tells us who is guilty but still we don’t pick it up – it’s just a beautifully written book.

One thing that occurred to me during this book, and I realise has been an assumption in virtually every book of hers, is the dismissal of the possibility that domestic staff will have played a part in the crime. When Kelsey and Miss Bulstrode are considering the alibis of the staff, he adds, as an afterthought, ““As for your servants, frankly I can’t see any of them as murderers. They’re all local too…” Miss Bulstrode nodded pleasantly. “I quite agree with your reasoning.”” What reasoning?! It’s pure assumption. “I can’t see any of them as murderers” is hardly forensic detection. Yet wherever there are servants or domestic staff in one of Christie’s books, they only ever get asked basic witness questions and are never in the running to do a crime. Only perhaps in Murder on the Orient Express and And Then There Were None does this not apply. Odd that!

It was when reading 4.50 from Paddington recently that I picked up on Christie’s rather curious antipathy towards gardeners. The usually pleasant Miss Marple really gets her teeth into criticising them for being lazy or doing generally poor quality work. In Cat Among the Pigeons, Miss Bulstrode laments the fact that they have been left “short-handed except for local labour.” Mrs Upjohn is equally critical. “Of course the trouble nowadays […] is that what one calls a gardener usually isn’t a gardener, just a milkman who wants to do something in his spare time, or an old man of eighty”. Christie allows us to see this argument from the other side, with Head Gardener Briggs moaning to Adam about Miss Bulstrode’s interference with what he sees as his domain. “Now, along this here […] we’ll put some nice asters out. She don’t like asters – but I pay no attention. Females has their whims, but if you don’t pay no attention, ten to one they never notice. Though I will say She is the noticing kind on the whole. You’d think she ‘ad enough to bother her head about, running a place like this.” Christie rather cleverly gives us a little insight into Briggs’ attitude that backs up both the gardener’s and the employer’s issue with each other. Each one always knows best.

Now we’ll look at some of the references in this book, starting, as usual, with the locations. This is largely a book of fictional localities; apart from Poirot’s London residence, and a ransom note that’s postmarked Portsmouth, all the other places are Christie inventions. Ramat is the most interesting; it’s a Hebrew word, meaning Heights, and there are dozens of places in Israel that have Ramat as part of its name. Christie names the main hotel there, the Ritz Savoy, which is a combination of two very separate hotel entities, but we get the flavour of the place. The local tourist site appears to be the Kalat Diwa Dam, but that is another Christie invention – in fact, Google Translate suggests that Kalat Diwa is Arabic for she called, which sounds rather unlikely. A plane wreck is discovered in the Arolez Mountains, which is also fictional; if you search on Arolez, however, you find a Turkish manufacturer of pastries and ice creams! However, Julia believes that her mother’s Anatolian bus journey will take her to Van, which is a real life city in the east of Turkey.

Closer to home, Miss Johnson’s alibi was that she was staying with her sister at Limeston on Sea, and Miss Blake’s that she was with friends in Littleport. There is of course a Littleport in real life – it’s a large village in Cambridgeshire. Limeston on Sea doesn’t exist though; and the location where the ransom money was to be handed over, Alderton Priors, is also fictional, although there is a village called Alderton near Tewkesbury, which has a road named Prior’s Hill. Unlike the majority of Christie books, you don’t get a sense of whereabouts in the country the book is set. Normally there are some clues, but in this book you draw a blank. Alderton Priors is said to be in Wallshire; where that is, is anyone’s guess.

And now for the other references. Miss Bulstrode butters up the difficult Mrs Hope by admiring her “Balenciaga model.” Cristobal Balenciaga was a Spanish couturier for over fifty years from 1917 – and after he died, and the brand name ceased, it was taken up again in 1986, and the brand is now owned by the French multinational holding company Kering. Mrs Sutcliffe and Jennifer return to England on board the Eastern Queen; that was a passenger/cargo ship built in Scotland; but in 1959 it was being used by the French Government. It was broken up in 1974.

Shaista admires the American tennis champion Ruth Allen, primarily for her smart sportswear; sadly she’s a concoction of Christie’s. Unlike Neil Cream, whom Mrs Sutcliffe remembers as being a multi-murderer; he was real enough, and is better known colloquially as the Lambeth Poisoner. Joyce Grenfell, whom Julia likens to Miss Vansittart, however, was certainly alive and kicking; a much loved actress and comedian who died in 1979. When Julia sees the hidden treasure, she has a vision of “Marguerite and her casket of jewels” – a scene from Gounod’s Faust – and also The Hope Diamond, a stunning blue jewel currently housed by the National Museum of Natural History in Washington DC, with an estimated value of $350 million.

Julia Upjohn uses the fact that her mother and Poirot have a mutual friend in order to gain access to meet the great man. The mutual friend is Mrs Summerhayes, in whose guest house Poirot spent an awkward but not unfriendly time whilst solving the case of Mrs McGinty’s Dead.

Regular readers will know that I like to consider any significant sums of money in Christie’s books and work out what their value would be today, just to get a feel of the range of sums that we’re looking at. There are two sums mentioned in this book, one of which is of vital importance; the value of the property that Bob Rawlinson passes on to Mrs Sutcliffe and which Julia Upjohn eventually finds – approximately three quarters of a million pounds. That’s a lot of money even in today’s terms, but back in 1959 that was the equivalent of  £12.2 millions today. The ransom note – which rather gets forgotten about, oddly – demands the sum of £20,000 which is also no feeble sum, equalling £325,000 at today’s rate.

 

Now it’s time for my usual at-a-glance summary, for Cat Among the Pigeons:

 

Publication Details: 1959. My copy is a Fontana paperback, eighth impression, dated July 1969, with no price on the covers – this may have been because it was sold in Spain (I bought it on holiday in the Costa Dorada in 1972!) The cover illustration, presumably by Tom Adams, is extremely simple considering some of his work – it just shows a tennis ball, some priceless jewels, and a pistol; all extremely relevant to the plot.

How many pages until the first death: Strictly speaking, 23 – but although this isn’t a death by natural causes, it isn’t a death that’s being examined by the British police (or indeed, Poirot). For the first “murder”, we have to wait a little longer – 59 pages. But there’s a lot to take in and be entertained by whilst we’re waiting.

Funny lines out of context: Not a classic, but a wryly amusing example of Christie’s use of the E word. ““Nom d’un nom d’un nom” ejaculated Poirot in an awe-inspired whisper.”

Miss Bulstrode is also guilty of making the understatement of the year. “”I’m very sorry about this, Miss Bulstrode, very sorry indeed,” said the Chief Constable. “I suppose it’s – well – a bad thing for you.” “Murder’s a bad thing for any school, yes,” said Miss Bulstrode. “It’s no good dwelling on that now though.”

“Miss Bulstrode had her rules, she did not accept morons.”

Memorable characters:

There are many strong personalities at work here, but they’re all cast in the shade by Miss Bulstrode herself. Bully, or The Bull by nickname, exudes inner strength and the ability to command, and hardly ever gets thrown off course. She inspires love and respect from teachers and pupils alike – and even Adam is mindblown by her abilities. Jennifer Sutcliffe takes after her mother’s prejudices and sounds like a little Brexit Party member with her scorn for foreign countries and their dishonest inhabitants. Jennifer and Julia make a very interesting partnership.

Christie the Poison expert:

No mention of poison in this book; the murders are committed either by shooting or being coshed over the head.

Class/social issues of the time:

Meadowbank is a very upmarket and high class school, so, as you might expect, class issues are discussed, but with some maturity and care. Miss Bulstrode is planning her retirement and initially considers Miss Vansittart as her most suitable successor, because she is a safe pair of hands who will run the school exactly on Miss Bulstrode’s terms. Miss Rich, on the other hand, who is clearly of a lower social standing, would have different ideas, more progressive and more challenging. Rich’s idea of the future of the school would try to minimise class differentiation, whereas Bulstrode and Vansittart would maintain the status quo.

Jennifer Sutcliffe, too, wasn’t inclined to go to Meadowbank because it was too exclusive and she didn’t feel as though she would fit in; nevertheless, she quickly does. Perhaps the biggest exposure of class difference is revealed right at the end of the book, where we find out a little more about Prince Ali Yusuf – but I can’t tell you that without spoiling a big surprise!

Otherwise there’s the usual dollop of xenophobia/racism; perhaps slightly more than usual. For some reason, the French really get it in the neck in this book. Julia Upjohn tells her mother that Mlle Blanche doesn’t keep order very well; “Jennifer says French people can’t”. Miss Chadwick, the older teacher, didn’t like Mlle Blanche, nor her predecessor, calling them sly. “Miss Bulstrode did not pay very much attention in this criticism. Chaddy always accused the French mistresses of being sly.” Kelsey picks up on this later, and considers Mlle Blanche’s slyness in her potential for being a suspect, but Miss Bulstrode interrupts him. “Miss Bulstrode waved that aside impatiently. “Miss Chadwick always finds the French Mistresses sly. She’s got a thing about them.”” Even Kelsey’s assistant, Sgt Bond, agrees, after they’ve interviewed Mlle Blanche. “”Touchy”, said Bond. “All the French are touchy.”” It makes you wonder if Christie has had an unfortunate incident with a French person.

Miss Bulstrode doesn’t hold with these xenophobic assumptions. Wondering whether one of the girls might have made an assignation to meet someone, Miss Johnson gasps. ““One of our Italian girls, perhaps. Foreigners are much more precocious than English girls.” “Don’t be so insular,” said Miss Bulstrode. “We’ve had plenty of English girls trying to make unsuitable assignations.””

Generally, there’s a little of the usual racist language of the era. Briggs refers to “Eye-ties”, and Adam refers to the Emir as “Wog Notable”, which feels particularly uncomfortable today. The systemic racism of the time is emphasised at the end of the book when we discover that Alice’s child is called Allen, and not the original name Ali. She explains: “it was the nearest name to Ali. I couldn’t call him Ali – too difficult for him, and the neighbours and all.” There’s also some of Christie’s sexism, which she often finds difficult to conceal. Inspector Kelsey’s immediate reaction to meeting Miss Rich was “ugly as sin” which does him no credit at all. Christie also has a tongue-in-cheek description of another of Miss Bulstrode’s strengths: “Miss Bulstrode had another faculty which demonstrated her superiority over most other women. She could listen.” Such strengths lead Adam to think of her as “remarkable”. Women were definitely underestimated in 1959!

Other minor themes and comments give us an indication of what life was like in those days. Kelsey says there will be as little publicity as possible, and that they’ll “let it get about that we think it was a local affair. Young thugs – or juvenile delinquents, as we have to call them nowadays – out with guns among them, trigger happy.” So Kelsey clearly disapproves of the use of what we would think of today as the more PC terminology. “I don’t know what England’s coming to”, grumbles Mr Sutcliffe like an old Colonel from the last days of the Raj, when he hears about the murders at the school. And as a forerunner of the more sexually liberated 60s that were just around the corner, Colonel Pikeaway warns Adam about his conduct when he’s working at the school. “If any oversexed teenagers make passes at you, Heaven help you if you respond.”

Classic denouement:  100% – this is up there with the absolute cream of the crop. Poirot assembles everyone, makes us think that an innocent person is the guilty party to take us down one dead end – then reveals a surprise witness and the guilty person explodes with fury. It’s very dramatic, and very exciting; one of those denouements you can read again and again. There’s another twist too – the first time that Christie ever employs this particular device, but I can’t say more if you haven’t read it!

Happy ending? A grey area – but it’s a happy ending in some respects. Christie happy endings are usually rather Shakespearean, with any number of couples getting engaged or getting married, but there’s no suggestion of any of that here. However, we do see how the prospects for Meadowbank might improve; and unexpected wealth is bestowed on two surprised recipients.

Did the story ring true? Yes and no. Yes, in that all the events that take place in Meadowbank are totally believable and make logical sense. However, there are a few extraordinary coincidences. Why would one of the other mistresses be in Ramat at the same time as the Sutciffes and the Revolution? (And the mistress in question’s response of “why shouldn’t I go to Ramat?” doesn’t quite cut it.) Worse, is the coincidence that Mrs Upjohn worked in undercover missions in Switzerland during the war, and recognises one of the “enemy” at least fifteen years later, going about their business at home. And to cap it all, Christie puts Mrs Upjohn on a bus around Anatolia for three weeks, totally uncontactable, simply to extend the length of time it takes to solve the crime. Had she stayed at home, this could all have been done and dusted over the course of a weekend. But then, of course, there would have been no novel!

Overall satisfaction rating: Despite all its flaws I am a huge fan of this book and it’s one of the most accessible, understandable and exciting of all her works.  10/10 with no hesitation.

Thanks for reading my blog of Cat Among the Pigeons, and if you’ve read it too, I’d love to know what you think. Please just add a comment in the space below. Next up in the Agatha Christie Challenge is The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding, a selection of six stories – three short, three not so short – five of them featuring Hercule Poirot and one with Miss Marple. As usual, I’ll blog my thoughts about it as soon as I can. In the meantime, please read it too then we can compare notes! Happy sleuthing!

 

If you enjoy my Agatha Christie Challenge, did you know it is now available as a book? In two revised volumes, it contains all my observations about Christie’s books and short stories, and also includes all her plays! The perfect birthday or Christmas gift, you can buy it from Amazon – the links are here and here!

The Agatha Christie Challenge – Ordeal by Innocence (1958)

Posted on by

STOP PRESS: The Agatha Christie Challenge is now available as a book in two revised volumes – details at the end of this blog post!

In which Jacko Argyle is found guilty of the murder of his mother Rachel and dies in prison before Dr Arthur Calgary can come forward and gives him a cast-iron alibi for the time the crime was committed. The other household members aren’t happy to discover that it wasn’t Jacko who killed Rachel – as it means one of them must have. Calgary takes it on himself to discover the truth. As usual, if you haven’t read the book yet, don’t worry, as always, I promise not to reveal whodunit!

Whereas Christie’s previous book, 4.50 from Paddington, unusually contains no dedication, Ordeal by Innocence contains both a dedication and an epigraph. The book is dedicated “to Billy Collins, with affection and gratitude”. That’s none other than William Collins himself, Christie’s publisher since the days of The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, and whose company would continue to publish her books until her death in 1976 – and indeed beyond (with the unusual exception of The Hound of Death.) The epigraph reads: “If I justify myself, mine own mouth shall condemn me. I am afraid of all my sorrows. I know that Thou wilt not hold me innocent.” These are two verses taken from the book of Job, chapter 9 verses 20 and 28. The book was first published in the UK in two abridged instalments in John Bull magazine in September 1958, and in the US in thirty-six instalments in the Chicago Tribune from February to March 1959, under the title The Innocent. An abridged version of the novel was also published in the 21 February 1959 issue of the Star Weekly Complete Novel, a Toronto newspaper supplement. The full book was first published in the UK by Collins Crime Club on 3rd November 1958, and in the US by Dodd, Mead and Company later in 1959 under the British title.

Much has been made of two facts regarding this book. Firstly, many commentators believe that the plotline owes a lot to Christie’s short story Sing a Song of Sixpence that was published 24 years earlier in the collection The Listerdale Mystery. Personally, whilst there might be some overlap, primarily in the which of us did it? area, I don’t really see the enormous link between the two – in fact, I think there is a greater link – certainly as regards the motive – with the novel Appointment with Death. Secondly, in Christie’s own words, this book, along with Crooked House, “satisfied me best”; after a period of reflection, she placed it as one of her few personal favourites.

This is definitely a book that splits her fandom, with many people siding with the contemporary reviews at the time, that it was below par for Christie, and others agreeing with more recent reviews that it’s one of her best. I firmly sit with the earlier viewpoint. I found this book very stodgy, very slow, and very disappointing. And, where those who like the book, criticise its ending for stacking up too much action and artifice, I find the ending (along with, to be fair, the beginning) by far its most readable and enjoyable part. Christie set about this book to be a psychological thriller rather than a murder mystery, and for me it simply doesn’t work. After its initial mysterious opening, it quickly falls into dull characterisations and strained conversations, until the arrival of Mickey. His confrontation with Calgary injects some drama into the events, and you think that it’s all going to pick up from this point – but it doesn’t. Instead, there are endless scenes of reflect and retrospection, reminiscences, and recollections, and absolutely no action. There’s a lengthy sequence, for example, where Leo Argyle drones on through what appears to be a full psychological assessment of his marriage. It’s very introverted and, frankly, not at all interesting, although you do feel it’s probably cathartic for him. But that doesn’t make a gripping read for us.

It’s not a question of the book missing a Poirot or a Marple, as it has the perfectly serviceable Superintendent Huish in charge of operations, but Christie makes Huish take a very back seat. I just spent hours and hours reading the thing waiting for something to happen. And on those rare occasions where something does happen, it’s in isolation and is followed by more conversations and introverted wonderings. I can appreciate that Christie might well have wanted to try her hand at a different kind of narrative, a more thoughtful, perhaps cerebral book. But the outcome is one of sheer tedium* (*with exceptions).

The exceptions are the intensely mysterious and unnerving start, where Dr Calgary drums up the courage to visit the ironically named Sunny Point house, with no understanding of where he fits in to the unfolding drama of the household; and the final twenty pages or so which involve another murder, an attempted murder, the surprise unveiling of the murderer and the explanation of how the whole thing came about. But the morass of pages in between is, I’m afraid, hard work. The retrospective nature of the narration acts as a distancing agent, as Christie tries to make us see inside the heads of Leo, Hester, Mickey and so on, but doesn’t really achieve it. As a result, we’re just onlookers, having a story told to us from a distance but without much in the way of personal involvement or attachment.

The second murder is, regrettably, telegraphed about 80 pages before it happens. For some reason, as I mentioned earlier, the police play a very back seat with this book so it’s incumbent on Dr Calgary (because his evidence turns the household into uproar) and Philip Durrant (because he is bored and wants some mental exercise) to do the necessary investigating. Durrant is going to go one of two ways; he’s either going to turn out to be the murderer himself, or be murdered for his meddling. You just know it’s going to happen. And it does. There’s an element of fatalism here, that comes across as rather oppressive but also easy for Christie. There’s a point where Calgary is leading all the investigation and it occurs to the reader that we actually know very little about him, and what his motivation is for getting so involved with trying to uncover the truth. To be fair, that’s never really satisfactorily dealt with; we’re told it’s because of Hester’s early statement “it’s not the guilty who matter, it’s the innocent”, but the lack of a structured investigation procedure doesn’t do this book any favours.

One thing that is very much in the book’s favour is that the reader hasn’t got a tiny clue as to who is guilty until right at the very end. Christie dumps a couple of enormous clues on us fifteen pages before it ends, that, if you stop and check back on a couple of earlier sentences and actions, indicate precisely and unequivocally who is to blame. Even though another suspect is brought into the frame at the last minute, once you’ve read the passage in question, there’s no doubt as to whodunit. And although you’ve been desperate for some action, so this last-minute excitement comes as a very welcome diversion, in a sense it is a shame that the book’s so closely guarded secret is opened up so inelegantly at the end.

With none of Christie’s usual sleuths taking part in this story, it is left to Superintendent Huish to lead the investigations, under the auspices of the Chief Constable, Major Finney. Christie doesn’t give Finney any characteristics at all – which is quite unusual of her – but we do at least get a small insight into the nature of Huish. “Huish was a tall, sad-looking man. His air of melancholy was so profound that no one would have believed that he could be the life and soul of a children’s party, cracking jokes and bringing pennies out of little boys’ ears, much to their delight.” So, a professionally dour man, which belies his true personality. We know he also has a “gentle West Country voice.” But beyond that, there’s very little to go on.

Now we’ll look at some of the references in this book, starting, as usual, with the locations. Apart from a couple of obvious places, like London and Plymouth, all the locations are West Country creations of Christie but probably based on real places. Redquay, Polgarth, Ipsley; the ferry at Drymouth (maybe real-life Dartmouth?), and the cathedral city of Redmyn (maybe Truro?) The introverted nature of the book means that location as such is not important, the only relevant location is in the mind.

There are, however, several other references, quotations and people. Most people will recognise Calgary’s early recalling of “how sharper than a serpent’s tooth” as coming from Shakespeare’s King Lear; in fact, Serpent’s Tooth was one of the possible original ideas for the title of the book. “Nothing is ever settled until it is settled right” says Leo, quoting Kipling – it’s a quote that also appears in A Pocket Full of Rye. In discussing Jacko’s trial, and commenting on his mental stability, Leo affirms “the McNaughten rules are narrow and unsatisfactory”; the McNaughten rule – and I’m quoting Wikipedia here, is “that every man is to be presumed to be sane, and … that to establish a defence on the ground of insanity, it must be clearly proved that, at the time of the committing of the act, the party accused was labouring under such a defect of reason, from disease of the mind, as not to know the nature and quality of the act he was doing; or if he did know it, that he did not know he was doing what was wrong.”

A number of old cases are quoted in this book. For instance, the case of Lizzie Borden, also mentioned in After the Funeral, who was tried and acquitted of the axe murders of her father and stepmother in Massachusetts in 1892. Huish remembers Harmon “in 1938. Long record behind him of pinched bicycles, swindled money, frauds on elderly women, and finally he does one woman in” – I’m fairly sure that’s a fictional character. Charles Bravo, is cited as a plausible murder victim; Mrs Cox and Dr Gully, also mentioned, were involved in the case. Bravo was killed in 1876 by antimony poisoning, but to this date no one has been brought to book for the murder.

We’ve all heard of the Magna Carta, but Hester is able to quote it: “to no man will we refuse justice”; which remains the basis of many extant laws around the world. Tina’s father is said to have been a Lascar seaman – a lascar was an Indian or Asian sailor or militiaman employed on European ships from the 16th to the 20th century. Micky remembers his mother, hiding in the Tube from “moaning minnies”, a slang term for German smoke mortar bombs. Hester is said to have seen an amateur performance of Waiting for Godot at the Drymouth Playhouse – that is, of course, Samuel Beckett’s famous 1953 play.

“We shall never know the truth” says Peter, “I feel a kind of pricking in my thumbs”. By the pricking of my thumbs is a quotation from Shakespeare’s Macbeth, but also the name of an Agatha Christie book that the grande dame hadn’t written yet – a Tommy and Tuppence novel that would appear in 1968. When in London, Hester decides to stay at Curtis’ Hotel, as that’s where her mother used to stay – but it’s a figment of Christie’s imagination, I’m afraid. Philip recollects a line of French poetry – “Venus toute entire à sa prole attaché” – Venus entire latched onto her prey – a line from Racine’s play Phèdre. It’s the moment he realises he doesn’t love Mary any more.

Regular readers will know that I like to consider any significant sums of money in Christie’s books and work out what their value would be today, just to get a feel of the range of sums that we’re looking at. Money has an important role to play in this book, so it is surprising that it’s mentioned so irregularly. Orphan Mickey is taken into Rachel and Leo’s household for the princely sum of £100 – which at today’s value would be £1,633. No wonder Mickey was upset at the bargain basement deal. Jacko demanded half that sum, £50, from Rachel – that’s £816. And the £2 that Hester borrows from Kirsten, is a surprising £32 today.

 

Now it’s time for my usual at-a-glance summary, for Ordeal by Innocence:

 

Publication Details: 1958. My copy is a Fontana paperback, eighth impression, dated November 1970, with a price of 5/- on the back cover. The cover illustration, presumably by Tom Adams, shows a female figure surrounded by blue petals against the clouds across the moon, about to be swallowed up by an enormous snake. None of these symbols seem to have anything whatsoever to do with the story, although Viper’s Point was the original name for Sunny Point.

How many pages until the first death: The first death occurs before the book starts – the best part of two years before. For the second death, you have to wait an additional 170 pages – so if you’re waiting for someone else to die in order for the book to get the kick start it needs, you have to have a lot of patience. That only adds to the sense of boredom.

Funny lines out of context: None that I could see.

Memorable characters: Sadly, the characters are all very one-dimensional. A few of them – Gwenda, Finney, even Hester herself, have very little in the way of personality. Mickey is notable for having a spark of dynamism to him. But the rest do not stay in the mind at all.

Christie the Poison expert:

All the deaths in this book (before and after it starts) are characterised by acts of violence, and poison plays no part in it.

Class/social issues of the time:

As this book is very unlike most of Christie’s other works, unsurprisingly it doesn’t follow many of Christie’s usual themes and issues. The lesson to be learned from the book, if you like, is, as in the words of Lennon and McCartney, that money can’t buy you love. Rachel Argyle collected children with the view to adopting them as she couldn’t have children of her own. And though she showed them love, generosity and support, her relationships with her children were never as good as a those with a true blood relationship.

There’s a conversation in the book between Philip and Hester that goes quite deeply into the subject of suicide, and you feel that today the chapter could almost warrant a trigger warning. Hester confesses that she’s frequently thought of suicide, and Philip loftily discusses how prevalent suicide is in teenagers, citing a number of good reasons why this should be the case. Suicide was still illegal in 1958, and you can tell from the matter-of-fact and critical nature of their conversation that common practice was to look down on and scorn suicide rather than the more compassionate attitude we take today.

There’s a little xenophobia as usual; Mary favours a suggestion that Kirsten is the murderer as “after all, she’s a foreigner”. Tina is twice described as “half-caste”, which simply reflects the language of the day rather than being an indication of racism; however, when Philip starts to consider her as the murderer, he crosses the decency line. “Tina’s always the dark horse, to my mind […] perhaps it’s the half of her that isn’t white.”

Apart from that, there isn’t the variety of conversations with a range of people, or comments on actions that might stimulate class or social observations. Deep down, the book isn’t interesting enough to have them!

Classic denouement:  In a strange way, yes. All the suspects and interested parties are assembled by Calgary, who, guides us all to a slanging match showdown with the guilty party. The most extraordinary thing about this is that it all takes place without sight nor sound of a police officer – not even in the follow-up final chapter.

Happy ending? Yes – probably. Things are definitely looking good for one couple, whilst another might have a chance together. Others, however, are not so lucky.

Did the story ring true? One of its plus points. Yes, you can completely imagine how this story could be true, from the modus operandi to the frantic last efforts of the guilty party to eradicate proof against themselves.

Overall satisfaction rating: It has a good, mysterious start and an exciting, if frantic ending. You don’t find whodunit until the final scraps of pages, and the story does actually hang together quite convincingly. It’s such a shame, then, that the vast majority of the book is made up of tedious conversations, waiting around for something to happen. It’s not Christie’s worst, but she’s way off the mark thinking it was one of her best. I’m being generous with a 6/10.

Thanks for reading my blog of Ordeal by Innocence, and if you’ve read it too, I’d love to know what you think. Please just add a comment in the space below. Next up in the Agatha Christie Challenge is Cat Among the Pigeons, the Christie that I automatically think of when I try to assess which of all her books is my favourite. It’s a welcome return to Hercule Poirot after three years, and – if I remember rightly – the girls school setting gives a great sense of claustrophobia. So I’m really looking forward to attacking this book again. As usual, I’ll blog my thoughts about it as soon as I can. In the meantime, please read it too then we can compare notes! Happy sleuthing!

If you enjoy my Agatha Christie Challenge, did you know it is now available as a book? In two revised volumes, it contains all my observations about Christie’s books and short stories, and also includes all her plays! The perfect birthday or Christmas gift, you can buy it from Amazon – the links are here and here!

The Agatha Christie Challenge – 4.50 from Paddington (1957)

Posted on by

STOP PRESS: The Agatha Christie Challenge is now available as a book in two revised volumes – details at the end of this blog post!

In which Mrs McGillicuddy witnesses a murder from her train window as another train overtakes and she sees the back of a man strangling a woman. However, no murders or missing women have been reported. Is this the result of her overactive imagination? Her friend Miss Marple doesn’t think so, and engages the bright young cook and housekeeper Lucy Eyelesbarrow to do some snooping. With Lucy’s help, and the professional expertise of Detective Inspector Craddock, Miss Marple gets to the bottom of it all eventually! As usual, if you haven’t read the book yet, don’t worry, I promise not to reveal whodunit – although there are a few plot spoilers I’m afraid!

This is one of Christie’s comparatively rare books that contains no dedication. It was first published in the UK in five abridged instalments in John Bull magazine in October and November 1957, and in the US in thirty-six instalments in the Chicago Tribune from October to December 1957, under the title Eyewitness to Death. With that same title, an abridged version of the novel was also published in the 28 December 1957 issue of the Star Weekly Complete Novel, a Toronto newspaper supplement. The full book was first published the US by Dodd, Mead and Company in November 1957 under the title What Mrs McGillicuddy Saw, and in the UK by Collins Crime Club on 4th November 1957 as 4.50 from Paddington, a complete year since the publication of her previous book, Dead Man’s Folly. The UK version was to be titled 4.54 from Paddington until the last minute, when the title and text references were changed to 4.50 from Paddington. This change was not communicated to Dodd Mead until after the book was being printed, so in that edition the text references to the time show 4:54 rather than 4:50.

As with After the Funeral, this book was the basis for one of the Margaret Rutherford Miss Marple films; the first in the series, Murder She Said. Much of the original plotline survived into the film, although Miss Marple plays a much more active part than in the book, as she basically assumes the Lucy Eyelesbarrow role.

4.50 from Paddington is a very enjoyable read, with some excellent aspects to it, plus a couple of downsides. It plunges straight into the main story, with Mrs McGillicuddy witnessing the murder on the third page. No faffing around with endless heavy exposition before getting to the meat, which is always a delight for the reader. Christie writes fluidly, amusingly and with some great quirky descriptions, and also creates a few terrific cameo characters. On the downside, some of the suspects aren’t very well drawn, and personally I kept on mixing up the brothers Cedric, Alfred and Harold so that I couldn’t work out what their particular personality traits are. There’s also a ridiculous coincidence set up, which, whilst thoroughly entertaining (it actually takes your breath away when you read the sentence in question) really takes preposterousness to a new dimension. Nevertheless, you forgive Christie because you’re totally enjoying the reading experience. Christie uses her short chapter structure to its fullest benefit, to build momentum and suspense, and give the impression that she’s keeping you up to date with what’s happening in every area of the story.

With only a few pages to go, you realise that so many of the story’s secrets are still to be revealed, so you’re really kept on the edge of your seat towards the end. Primarily, we don’t discover who it was who was murdered on the 4.50 from Paddington until three pages before the end; and that’s unavoidable, because, in order for the crime to make sense, you have to know who the murderer is first. Some critics feel this is a downside, as the reader is unable to stretch their own little grey cells to any meaningful extent. Personally, however, I see it as a strength. It’s amazingly skilful that Christie manages to keep those secrets right to the very end!

Although Miss Marple takes a very back seat in this book, by sending in Lucy to do her work for her, you nevertheless still get the sense that her presence is never too far away. She’s very active in the early stages as she encourages Mrs McGillicuddy not to give up her belief that she has genuinely seen a murder. Miss Marple achieves what she can, considering her age and infirmity, and then hands the real work over to Lucy. However, every time that Miss Marple does play a prominent part in the story, you feel you learn a little more about her. Much of the book’s energy stems from the juxtaposition of tradition versus modernity. Tradition is chiefly seen in the thoughts and characteristics of Miss Marple, and the head of the family at Rutherford Hall, Luther Crackenthorpe. I’ll touch on the modernity aspects later in this blog, but let’s think a little more about the fluffy, pink Jane Marple – a sweet little old lady with the mind of a razor.

When we first meet her, she’s surprisingly antagonistic and difficult. She’s always derived a great deal of joy from her garden, but not at the moment. “The garden is not looking at all as it should […] Doctor Haydock has absolutely forbidden me to do any stooping or kneeling – and really, what can you do if you don’t stoop or kneel? There’s old Edwards, of course, – but so opinionated. And all this jobbing gets them into bad habits, lots of cups of tea and so much pottering – not any real work.” She’s not only frustrated by the fact that she can’t tend the garden herself as she used to, she’s also got her claws into her own gardener – opinionated, full of bad habits, lazy. This is not a contented Miss Marple; she’s annoyed, restricted, and thoroughly critical of others. Miss Marple’s traditional stance is also emphasised at the end of the book when she and Craddock both agree that the perpetrator of the crimes deserves to be hanged. None of this mentally unstable nonsense; an eye for an eye is what’s required here.

She does continue to be very anti-feminist with her general outlook on woman’s place in society. It’s a respectable place, but not too ambitious. “Women have a lot of sense, you know, when it comes to money matters. Not high finance, of course. No woman can hope to understand that, my dear father said.” She’s deferential to “gentlemen”; “”so many gentlemen in the house, coming and going,” mused Miss Marple. When Miss Marple uttered the word “gentlemen” she always gave it its full Victorian flavour – an echo from an era actually before her own time. You were conscious at once of dashing full-blooded (and probably whiskered) males, sometimes wicked, but always gallant.”

That paragraph is one of a couple where Christie’s voice comes in and speaks to the reader directly, which is a refreshing narration technique for us to enjoy. I love how, with no prompting, Christie describes Miss Marple’s current maid as “the grim Florence”. More significantly, (and slight spoiler alert!), when Lucy is explaining to Bryan about how the curry might have been poisoned, and tries to convince him that she had nothing to do with it, Christie’s voice comes in again: “Nobody could have tampered with the curry. She had made it – alone in the kitchen, and brought it to table, and the only person who could have tampered with it was one of the five people who sat down to the meal.” And that’s slightly disingenuous of her!

So not only do we get to know a bit more about Miss Marple’s character we also meet Inspector Bacon and Sergeant Weatherall, and get reacquainted with Inspector Craddock. Christie doesn’t spend too much time rounding out the character of Bacon; he’s the local Inspector, “a big solid man – his expression was that of one utterly disgusted with humanity.” Weatherall provides an occasionally comic presence; Christie describes him as “a man who lived in a state of dark suspicion of all and sundry” – which is probably not a bad thing for a police sergeant.

Craddock, however, is a more complicated soul. We met him before when he led the detection in A Murder is Announced. In that book, he revealed the rather unusual characteristics of being able to recognise his own faults and prejudices. He is surprisingly self-aware; scrupulously honest, diligent in his work. In 4.50 from Paddington, he is the Inspector brought in from Scotland Yard. Christie describes him as having “a pleasant manner […] Nobody could make a better show of presenting a very small portion of the truth and implying that it was the whole truth than Inspector Craddock.” He’s delighted to be working with Miss Marple again; and she’s delighted too, and not only because he’s Sir Henry Clithering’s godson, but because she knows he’s a sensible, but also suggestable, detective. She tells Lucy about how they first met; “a case in the country. Near Medenham Spa.” That is indeed A Murder is Announced. He respects her insight, occasionally gently teasing her for having a mind unlike most other fluffy pink old ladies. Craddock’s self-awareness becomes more acute towards the end of the book, when he feels guilty about not having prevented further deaths. “The fact remains that I’ve made the most ghastly mess of things all along the line […] The Chief Constable down here calls in Scotland Yard, and what do they get? They get me making a prize ass of myself!” However, it’s this conversation with Miss Marple that finally gets his brain working in the right direction, so his self-doubt proves to be useful and constructive after all.

Now we’ll look at some of the references in this book, starting, as usual, with the locations. There’s a good mixture of real and make-believe places. Of prime importance in the early stages of the book are the stations through which the 4.50 from Paddington passes. Brackhampton, Milchester, Waverton, Carvil Junction, Roxeter, Chadmouth, Vanequay; other trains stop at Haling Broadway, Barwell Heath and Market Basing. The 5.00 Welsh Express goes to Cardiff, Newport and Swansea. Well, there’s no doubting the reality of those places. Milchester appears in A Murder is Announced, Market Basing (which one presumes is based on Basingstoke) appears in Crooked House, Dumb Witness and The Secret of Chimneys (amongst others). Brackhampton is presumably Bracknell in disguise.

Otherwise, locations in London sound highly realistic; Harold has tea at Russell’s in Jermyn Street, (no such tea room, but Russell and Bromley shoe shop is in Jermyn Street), dines at Caterer’s Hall (doesn’t exist), lives at 43 Cardigan Gardens (also doesn’t exist). In Brackhampton, Emma has lunch at the Cadena Café, which was a well-established chain of cafes bought out by Tesco in 1965, shops at Greenford’s and Lyall and Swift’s, (neither of which I can identify) Boots, (obvious) and has tea at the Shamrock Tea Rooms (plenty of those around). Martine Crackenthorpe gives her address as 126 Elvers Crescent, N10. N10 is the Muswell Hill area of London, but there’s no Elvers Crescent. The compact that is found is said to have been sold by shops in the Rue de Rivoli in Paris – that’s a pretty exclusive and real address.

And now for the other references. Miss Marple tells Craddock that her method of thought was based on Mark Twain: “the boy who found the horse. He just imagined where he would go if he were a horse and he went there and there was the horse.” I’m pretty sure that’s A Horse’s Tale, published in 1907. Harold drives a Humber Hawk; that was a Hillman style car that was manufactured from 1945 to 1967. Miss Marple raises the question of tontine; the definition of which I lift shamelessly from Wikipedia: “an investment plan for raising capital, devised in the 17th century and relatively widespread in the 18th and 19th centuries. It enables subscribers to share the risk of living a long life by combining features of a group annuity with a kind of mortality lottery. Each subscriber pays an agreed sum into the fund and thereafter receives a periodical payout. As members die, their payout entitlements devolve to the other participants, and so the value of each continuing payout increases. On the death of the last member, the scheme is wound up.”

Cedric advises that on the afternoon of December 20th he saw a film, Rowenna of the Range. He describes it as a corker of a western, but I’m afraid it’s fresh out of Christie’s imagination, so don’t IMDB it. I think Mrs Stanwich, the woman who poisoned and killed her own child, whose case Miss Marple recollects, is also fictional. And when Craddock asks Dr Morris about cases where people were poisoned without a doctor realising it, mentioning “the Greenbarrow case, Mrs Reney, Charles Leeds, three people in the Westbury family”, I believe these are all fictional too.

Regular readers will know that I like to consider any significant sums of money in Christie’s books and work out what their value would be today, just to get a feel of the range of sums that we’re looking at. Most unusually, sums of money are not mentioned in this book. There’s the question of the Crackenthorpe inheritance, but no sum is actually cited. The only mention of a sum I noticed was when Mrs McGillicuddy gives a railway porter a shilling as a tip. Today that would be worth 84p. Not overly generous.

Now it’s time for my usual at-a-glance summary, for 4.50 from Paddington:

Publication Details: 1957. My copy is a Fontana paperback, sixth impression, dated May 1967, with a price of 3/6 on the front cover. The cover illustration by Tom Adams shows the sarcophagus in the background, with the compact, some fur from a collar and some foliage, neatly and fairly encapsulating a few vital elements of the plot.

How many pages until the first death: 3. There are few things more rewarding than a whodunit where the crime appears so early in the book. You know there’s no waiting around, no lengthy expositions, just the opportunity to dive straight in and solve it!

Funny lines out of context: Regrettably none that I could see.

Memorable characters:

Although some of the characters aren’t very well drawn, there are plenty that are. Lucy Eyelesbarrow is one of Christie’s strong young women, full of gumption and derring-do, a trusty pair of hands into which to entrust a lot of the leg work in solving the crime. At first you get a slight sense of disappointment that Lucy is rather artificially parachuted into the story, rather than having any real organic connection to it, but that quickly passes as she gains importance in the first half of the book. The obvious attraction that Cedric and Alfred feel for her is amusingly described, and the very gentle dalliance between her and Bryan is also rather charming.

Elsewhere, Luther Crackenthorpe also stands out because of his irascibility and belligerence, but you can see the heart within the man, and his approaches to Lucy are also amusing. You can never really decide to what extent he’s shamming his ill health or if the Doctors are right and he is needs lots of rest. Mme Joliet features briefly but entertainingly; “a brisk business-like Frenchwoman with a shrewd eye, a small moustache and a good deal of adipose tissue.” And young Alexander’s fresh-faced and exceedingly proper prep school keenness is amusingly and lovingly drawn. It’s not surprising that they made more out of that role for the film Murder She Said.

Christie the Poison expert:

Dr Quimper underplays the possibility that Crackenthorpe may have been the victim of arsenic poisoning, and there are discussions about how you can introduce arsenic gradually into a diet without anyone realising. And there was arsenic in the curry. Aconite is also used in this book – the first time that Christie employs this poison in her novels. Better known as wolf’s bane, this was the poison that was used in ancient Greece, where a javelin or dart would be dipped in the substance to make it even more lethal when piercing skin. Used in Ayurvedic and Chinese medicine, and also for its attractive floral appearance, it’s extremely effective as a poison.

Class/social issues of the time:

By far and away the biggest social theme of this book is people’s concerns and suspicions about modern progress, juxtaposed with good old-fashioned practices. Take, for example, the new developments in a 1957 kitchen. When Bryan helps Lucy prepare dinner, he’s impressed by the modern oven. Different ingredients have been merrily cooking away, apparently with no human help. “Have all these things been fizzling away in here while we’ve been at the inquest? Supposing they’d been all burnt up.” “Most improbable,” replies Lucy, “there’s a regulating number on the oven.” “Kind of electric brain, eh what?” admires Bryan, whose exposure to modern cooking methods are limited to putting “a steak under the grill or open a tin of soup. I’ve got one of those little electric whatnots in my flat.”

Miss Marple, perhaps unexpectedly, recognises the benefits of modern domestic progress. She accepts her nephew Raymond describing her as having a mind like a sink, “but, as I always told him, sinks are necessary domestic equipment and actually very hygienic.” Harold’s wife, Lady Alice, is less progressive. “I read in the paper the other day […] of forty people in a hotel going down with food poisoning at the same time. All this refrigeration is dangerous, I think. People keep things too long in them.”

It’s not just kitchen developments that rear their head. Miss Marple and Craddock are both suspicious of the modern tendency towards explaining (or excusing) criminal behaviour from a mental health perspective. Old Doctor Morris, too, when asked by Craddock why Crackenthorpe dislikes his sons, replies “you’ll have to go to one of these new-fashioned psychiatrists to find that out.”

Another major bugbear amongst the characters – especially Luther Crackenthorpe – is high taxation. I’m not sure if this was a hangover from the war, or whether Christie’s own tax bill that year was preposterous, but there’s hardly an opportunity missed to criticise the high levels of taxation at the time. Emma says of her father, “he has a very large income and doesn’t actually spend a quarter of it – or used not to until these days of high income tax.” Dr Morris agrees: “it is the root, too, of his parsimony, I think. I should say that he’s managed to save a considerable sum out of his large income – mostly, of course, before taxation rose to its present giddy heights.” Even Miss Marple stirs his anger on the subject in a conversation also with Cedric; “”punctuality and economy. Those are my watchwords.” “Very necessary, I’m sure,” said Miss Marple, “especially in these times with taxation and everything.” Mr Crackenthorpe snorted. “Taxation! Don’t talk to me of those robbers. A miserable pauper – that’s what I am. And it’s going to get worse, not better. You wait, my boy,” he addressed Cedric, “when you get this place ten to one the Socialists will have it off you and turn it into a Welfare Centre or something.” High taxation is even given as one of the motives for the crime (but I don’t want to give away too much!)

A Christie wouldn’t be a Christie if it didn’t have a little gentle xenophobia, and in this book, it’s reserved for the French. Describing someone or something as French, is taken as a cue to roll your eyes, shrug your shoulders, and say, “oh, well, the French….” as if that explains everything that’s wrong with the world.

Classic denouement:  No. Even though Miss Marple sets up a revelation of who the murderer is in front of a large crowd of witnesses, it all happens so quickly and suddenly that you couldn’t possibly describe it as classic. You haven’t got the time mentally to prepare yourself for what’s about to happen. Nevertheless, it’s still very entertaining and enjoyable.

Happy ending? Yes. The final discussions between Miss Marple and Inspector Craddock are light-hearted and friendly, and they concentrate on who might engage Lucy in the matrimonial stakes. Craddock doesn’t know who might become Lucy’s significant other, but Miss Marple is certain. Interestingly, in Christie’s original notes, she made it clear that she felt it would be Cedric. But I don’t think that’s how it will work out!

Did the story ring true? As mentioned earlier, there’s one massive coincidence without which a vital piece of evidence would never have been revealed. It’s a fantastic and thoroughly enjoyable surprise too, but the reader might think the coincidence is just a step too far. Personally, I forgive Christie for it, and therefore I think that, on the whole, the story just about holds together.

Overall satisfaction rating: For me, the good sides outweigh the downsides, and the twists are entertaining enough to warrant a 9/10.

Thanks for reading my blog of 4.50 from Paddington, and if you’ve read it too, I’d love to know what you think. Please just add a comment in the space below. Next up in the Agatha Christie Challenge is Ordeal by Innocence, a mystery novel that includes neither Poirot nor Marple, nor any of Christie’s other long-term detectives. Nothing about this book springs into my mind, so it’s either totally forgettable or my brain has sprung a leak. I guess we’ll find out! As usual, I’ll blog my thoughts about it as soon as I can. In the meantime, please read it too then we can compare notes! Happy sleuthing!

If you enjoy my Agatha Christie Challenge, did you know it is now available as a book? In two revised volumes, it contains all my observations about Christie’s books and short stories, and also includes all her plays! The perfect birthday or Christmas gift, you can buy it from Amazon – the links are here and here!

Happy New Year!

Posted on by

First, gentle reader, let me be among the last (probably) to wish you a happy new year – and, my word, we don’t half need one. I hope you’re doing as well as can be expected under these trying circumstances, Covid-dodging on a daily basis, crossing every digit available for your turn for the vaccine to come as soon as possible.

 

It’s thin pickings for a theatre blogger at the moment; not only because the theatres are all closed, but also because, try as I might, I find it hard to get enthusiastic about live streaming theatre. I know, I know, my bad. I thought I would take to it like a duck to water; instead, I’ve taken to it like Boris Johnson to the truth. It tends to remind me more of what we’re all missing, rather than having something that’s worth it in itself. And I know it’s worth it, and I definitely implore you to keep downloading and streaming, because the industry needs it. Please forgive me if I simply can’t bring myself to do it too.

 

One difference (for me) from Lockdown 1.0 to Lockdown 3.0 – I feel more fired up about reading. Last March and April I couldn’t have cared less for the written word. Today I feel it ought to play more of a part in my daily rituals. So I shall definitely be continuing with my Agatha Christie and Paul Berna Challenges, and, on a less regular basis, the James Bond Challenge (they’re a lot of work and take a long time to write!) I’ll also try to keep up with my nostalgic theatre memories and my lockdown travel reminiscences. As for going back to the theatre, I feel as though it will be unlikely for me until I’ve had both doses of my vaccine and given them the statutory three weeks to bed in. With current progress, I hope that means I’ll be in time for next Christmas’s pantos!

 

I knew there was something else I wanted to tell you. There’ll be no Chrisparkle Awards this January. There doesn’t seem a lot of point hiring the costumes and the television cameras etc to celebrate 10 weeks’ worth of live entertainment (not that it isn’t worth celebrating, but I’m sure you get my drift). With any luck the Awards will return this time next year. Or this time in two years’ time. Who knows.

 

Stay safe everyone. Look after your minds as well as your bodies. We can all feel somewhat fragile at the moment – there’s no shame in that. My appreciation for the emergency services and the NHS is off the scale; may all the people who work there safely and successfully keep us all well whilst remaining fit and healthy themselves. We’ll get through it all, I’m sure.