9 August 2017

Larking About on the Thames


The history of mudlarking goes back hundreds of years when people, particularly children, would scour the shore looking for anything to sell on or use themselves.  For me it was an opportunity to connect with the past - to hold something that was once in a Victorian home, or perhaps even a pin that held a young girl's hat in place.

In less than an hour on the shore of the Thames I found a handful of bits and pieces lying among the pebbles.  As each wave rolled in and out, making an almost chiming sound as bits of rock went back and forth, my eye was drawn to something new.

Over the past few weeks I've spent some time trying to find out more about my bits of treasure.  What I initially thought was the broken lip of a bowl (lower right side) turned out to be a horse's tooth!  The bit of shoe leather I thought might be no age at all, is possibly over one hundred years old.  There's a saying that clay pipe stems littering the foreshore are the cigarette butts of the seventeenth century - so true.  But it's fascinating to hold a piece of clay that once soothed someone in a moment of leisure.

The button has a brass pin shank and I'm still trying to figure out if it's Bakelite, celluloid or lucite.  I don't think it's casein because that doesn't hold up well in water.  In any case, it's quite likely my button was holding a garment closed at some point between 1930 - 1950.

The piece of brown pottery at the bottom is quite pitted and only glazed on one side (not showing).  Initially thinking this was a bit of roof tile, a bit of digging around on the internet has shown it to possibly be a bit of medieval pottery.  You can't help but think of the person who formed it, carted it about, and what it was used for.

The threaded piece at the top looks like a bit of piping.  When it dried and I took a closer look, it's more like tooled leather.  I have no idea what it could have been used for...as decoration on a trunk?  And the very ugly green bit of glass to the right of that....when it's wet you can see through it, but what was it from?  Perhaps it wasn't anything - a piece of melting glass cast off as waste.  Anyway, it looks like an old slug.

My husband and I have a glass container for the lake glass we find while playing with the dogs over the years.  The difference between the shores of Lake Ontario and the Thames are a world apart - literally.

1 August 2017

Miss Boston and Miss Hargreaves by Rachel Malik

While browsing the display tables and shelves of London's bookshops, I was hoping to find another story like The Essex Serpent by Sarah Perry.  Not a replica of the characters, setting or plot, but something matching its tone of fresh mixed with nostalgia.  Something well-written and atmospheric.  When Rachel (Book Snob) mentioned she was reading Miss Boston and Miss Hargreaves, I asked her if it was good.  Little did I know just how perfectly it would fit the bill.

The prologue reveals two characters, the first is a woman scanning the landscape through a cottage window.  The second is a woman on the verge of freedom outside the gates of Holloway prison.

The story begins during the summer of 1940 in rural England, on the edge of the Downs.  The family farm is being solely run by Elsie, the last member of her family willing or able to do so.  Being something of a gentle soul, the calmness of empty lanes and rolling hills provide the perfect setting for Elsie.  The extra help supplied by Land Girls is necessary but the idea of sharing the space and view is far from relished.  The next recruit, Rene Hargreaves, is about to arrive.

Miss Hargreaves background is more complex than Elsie's.  Breaking free from a marriage to a man with a gambling addiction meant housing her children with relatives.  To walk away from a marriage is one thing, but to walk away from small children is akin to one of the harshest crimes committed by a woman.  With her past kept as a closely guarded secret, Rene begins a new phase of her life as an independent woman and Elsie's partner.  A relationship soon flourishes between the two and they become inseparable.

A promise to return the favour of help when it's needed most brings the past flooding back to Rene with dire consequences.

In one of those fabulously lucky circumstances, part of this story is set in Winchester.  As descriptions of the city centre are mentioned I'm reminded of my time spent there only three weeks ago.  My day in Winchester was sunny and bright but Malik paints a picture of dreary and relentless rain.

'Ventilation was poor and the damp atmosphere held on to every smell: there was a heady whiff of breakfast fry and strong, sweet tea. fresh tobacco and late-night booze along with the tang of curious chemical compounds:  mothballs and Coty, Camay and hair oil'.

It would have been easy to sensationalize the story of Elsie Boston and Rene Hargreaves, but there is none of that here.  It's a beautiful story with a bite; a slow simmer that turns into something of a boil.  And to learn that it's based in reality adds to the fascination - Rene Hargreaves is the author's grandmother.  Blending fact with fiction, Rachel Malik has produced a wonderful debut novel that ticked all sorts of boxes and I certainly hope she's going to keep writing.

Thanks for recommending this book, Rachel (Book Snob)...I loved it!


   Train Landscape by Eric Ravilious, 1939

22 July 2017

London: The Books



The days before luggage with wheels must have been a nightmare for the book-mad anglophile visiting London.  Still, thoughts of wheeling my luggage through Russell Square on my way to the tube station forced a lid on my enthusiasm.  It didn't stop me from making a bee line into every bookshop along the way though because, as we booklovers know...it's a compulsion.  The second-hand shops on Charing Cross Road, the creaking steps of Hatchards, the freshness of Foyles, and the vast selection at Waterstones is just as I left them two years ago, but it was so nice to be back.

Back with me from London is....

The Fox Book by Jane Russ - A perfect combination of beautiful photos, illustrations, and poems combined with research about the beautiful fox.  A section focusing on the fox in art and literature looks particularly good and sealed the deal for me.  Ever since reading Lady into Fox by David Garnett last year I've been gripped by a fascination for this creature.

The Sea Change by Elizabeth Jane Howard - Bought at the Oxfam shop in Highgate Village and one of the new editions reissued by Picador.  A like-new book for a mere £3.  An exploration of four characters in the setting of three countries...sounds epic and perfect for reading on the patio.

The Light Years by Elizabeth Jane Howard - It really can't put it off any longer, I'm jumping into the world of the Cazalet family.  There has been many incredulous looks and comments from people when they find out I haven't read this series yet....that does it, I'm in!

A Dangerous Innocence by Artemis Cooper - There's a theme here, isn't there.  It's a bit like discovering the writings of Elizabeth Taylor - you can't stop once you've started.  Elizabeth Jane Howard keeps coming up in articles having to do with twentieth century fiction and authors.  Her name even came up at the book talk I attended at Waterstones in connection with an affair, of which I suspect there was a few....this is going to be a book to keep me up at night.

The Greedy Queen:  Eating with Victoria by Annie Gray - I've been looking forward to this book since hearing Gray discuss it on a podcast last winter.  You can almost feel gluttonous and full just imagining the daily requirements of such a robust monarch.  Also, the social aspects of food during the Victorian era are fascinating.  I suspect there will be loads of information about puddings, but I'm not looking forward to anything having to do with aspic...blech.

Miss Boston and Miss Hargreaves by Rachel Malik - While gathered around a table at the London Review Bookshop, I asked Rachel (Book Snob) what she was reading.  She mentioned this title with enthusiasm so I whipped out a pen and made note of it right away.  When Mary, Simon, Rachel and I made our way to the Oxfam shop nearby, a proof copy was on the shelves.  Technically, these are not for resale but when it comes to a donation for Oxfam surely that must be alright.  It's an excellent read so far!

Kew Gardens by Virginia Woolf - Couples strolling through the garden during a hot afternoon in July as described by one of the best.  A well-timed gift as I had been to Monk's House only the day before I received this beautiful edition.  Thank you, Mary!

To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf - There's a passage from this story in my copy of Everyman's Stories from the Kitchen that made me want to read more.  Knowing I would be visiting Monk's House, I put off buying or borrowing a copy so it could be a souvenir of my visit.

Crewe Train by Rose Macaulay - 'Bitingly funny, elegantly written comedy of manners....'.  I had already bought a book by Macaulay from the Oxfam bookshop in Bloomsbury but Simon (Stuck In A Book) said that this was his favourite by the author, and now I can see why.  So this is a gift from Simon....thank you!

Messalina of the Suburbs by E. M. Delafield - Rachel (Book Snob) presented me with this book, but the title isn't one I was familiar with.  I've since learned it's based on a real-life case in which a woman was hanged in 1923 for being an accomplice to her husband's murder.  Most definitely not at all like the Provincial Lady series, but I'm very intrigued!  Thank you, Rachel!

The Other Day by Dorothy Whipple - Another generous offering from Rachel, who knows that an autobiography by Dorothy Whipple must be housed with just the right person, and that person would be me.  This is not an easy book to come by so I'm very grateful for the opportunity to own a copy without searching the earth.

Keeping up Appearances by Rose Macaulay - Someone must have stopped into the Oxfam shop in Bloomsbury with their collection by this author.  There were at least five editions sitting together on the top of a shelf, just waiting to be spotted.  I was drawn to this title because I adore the antics of Hyacinth Bucket but then I read a line that described a character buying cami-knickers on Oxford Street.  That's all I needed to know....sold!

16 July 2017

London: A Trip Report


 Despite being back at home, my dreams are still full of faces rushing past as I walk along streets.  The busyness of London makes my home city feel like a calm village at the moment, but normalcy should resume any day now.  So what did I see and do while visiting London....make a cup of tea and settle in for an epic trip report.

Unpack and then head out into the sunshine is my best advice to avoid slipping into a nap after an overseas flight.  I joined a London Walks tour, with Claire as our guide, to learn more about Piccadilly.  The arcades, the shops, the Queen's chocolatier - Charbonnel et Walker.  And yes, we were gifted with samples!  We also stopped by Floris for a peek at the micro-museum at the back of the shop.  We passed around scent worn by Winston Churchill, Marilyn Munroe and Queen Victoria.


 On my first full day in London I took the tube to Highgate Village and then on to Hampstead, high on my list of favourite places.  I bought a copy of Elizabeth Jane Howard's Sea Change and a very breezy blouse because the weather was much hotter (and very muggy) than I had packed for.


 Strolling along the side streets of Hampstead will fill you with all sorts of ideas for things to spruce up the front walk to your house.  Back at home, I'm wondering how I can fit in a gargoyle without frightening the dog.


 I was beyond thrilled to learn that Professor John Mullan would be chairing a talk on Jane Austen at the British Library.  In less than one minute I was booking a ticket.  Also on the panel were authors Paula Bryne, Kamila Shamsie and Helena Kelly.  Each made a five minute speech about their favourite Austen novel, then there was a jovial debate before taking questions from the audience.  John Mullan's favourite is Emma, if you're wondering....


 I passed by this charming facade and thought I would pop in to say hello to fellow library staff members....only to find out it's a Gentlemen's Club.  They wouldn't have a thing to say about due dates, circulation stats, storytime, or reference items.  Or would they?


 On a very, very hot Wednesday I joined another walking tour, this time in Chelsea.  My umbrella was left behind but on my way to the tube stop I realized it would have been excellent for shade.  Thank goodness for Primark.  A mere £5 bought a very pretty floral brolly that made enough shade to share with a few of the ladies in my group.  We saw houses belonging to the rich and famous and some wonderful architecture.  The detail on this gate of a house near the Embankment was obviously well thought out.

My evening was spent at the Waterstones on Gower.  There was a book talk featuring Georgia de Chamberet discussing her latest book Far to Go and Many to Love, edited pieces by Lesley Blanch.  I knew absolutely nothing about any of the people involved but it was an interesting evening and an opportunity to learn something new.

                                                  

 Eltham Palace is unique in that it was the childhood home of King Henry VIII but was decorated to Art Deco period design by the Courtaulds in the 1930s.  A short train ride from Charing Cross station to Mottingham and then a ten minute walk has you on the grounds.  A short film is shown at the beginning of your tour around the house.  A clip of the Courtauld's pet lemur, Mah-Jong, playing with the dog made me laugh.


 Eltham Palace has been used as a set for various films and television such as I Capture the Castle, Home Front, Brideshead Revisited, and Bright Young Things.  


Virginia Courtauld's bedroom.


A very romantic-looking photo of her bathroom sink.  The tiles above her bathtub were in shimmering gold.


Stephen Courtauld's bathroom sink.  While not as extravagant, it's certainly very cheery!  A beautiful place to visit with its unusual combination of historic features, both old and new.  Don't hesitate to place this small palace on your itinerary.


 Once my visit to Eltham Palace was finished I walked to the bus stop near Eltham Church to make my way to Greenwich.  My first stop was the Queen's House which has recently undergone a renovation.   Inigo Jones's Tulip Stairs made me gasp - this aspect of spiralling staircases is always entrancing.  And so is the art on display here.


 One of the volunteers working at the Queen's House pointed me in the direction of a room and asked if I could point out his favourite painting.  It took me less than ten seconds to hone in on this sassy depiction of Herbert John Everett by William Orpen, whose artwork I keep stumbling across and always enjoy.

 After a full afternoon at Eltham Palace and Greenwich, it was time to head back into central London by way of the Thames Clipper.  A fabulous way to catch the breeze on another very hot day.  During this journey, a young teen sitting beside me had her first glimpse of Tower Bridge.  Her face lit up like a search light and her smile was almost the width of her face.  The very definition of a look of wonder.


 I am nearly a master of making the most of my time.  Well, while in London anyway.  I disembarked at Embankment so I could take in the Perfume exhibit at Somerset House.  Scent was everywhere in the rooms, which was very welcome and uplifting with the heat of the day.  Part of the exhibit was an interactive display meant to trick your senses but it didn't fool me....I won't give any more away.


 After a freshening up it was off to the Theatre Royal, Haymarket for Queen Anne, starring Romola Garai and Emma Cuniffe.  Excellent, riveting, educational, wonderful....see it if you can!


 A day I had been looking forward to for quite some time.  Visiting Virginia Woolf's home in Rodmell, Lewes.  The train from Victoria takes about an hour and you can catch a bus just outside the train station to Rodmell.  Walking down the lane, without another person in sight, is a memory that will last forever.


 Above, the doorway of the conservatory at the back of the house which leads into Monk's House.  Only small groups are allowed into the house at one time, but I was early so there was no waiting.  There was a coachload of people from Spain arriving at 2 pm.


Monk's House is as tranquil as people describe and made me wish I could move right in.  It's beautiful in a way that goes beyond bricks and mortar, lovely art, and colourful gardens.  Spiritual?  I would say so.


Pale colours on the walls, soothing views....


...but if the walls could talk.  Virginia's favourite chair near the fireplace in a room where she entertained Elizabeth Bowen.  Oh to be a fly on the wall.


Table designed by Duncan Grant


THAT painting of Virginia by her sister, Vanessa.  It had just come back from exhibit at the Dulwich Picture Gallery so I was pleased, and relieved, that I was able to see the original.  The postcard of this painting is going on my locker door at work tomorrow.



Virginia's bedroom, much roomier than I was expecting, with a view of the stars from a large window.


Although Monk's House is cosy in its dimensions, I could happily pass away a whole day in this room.


Virginia's writing table in the shed past the back garden.


After drinking in Monk's House and gardens, with a visit to the gift shop to buy a copy of To the Lighthouse (decorated inside with a Monk's House stamp, no less), I explored Lewes.


This doorway leads into the Fifteenth Century Bookshop.  I'm not very big but I had to duck and turn sideways a little to get through the door.  Books are piled everywhere, a bit to the detriment of finding anything.  But when I asked the woman working there if she had a copy of Chatterton Square by E. H. Young she knew exactly where to look, but came up empty.


Turning left out of the bookshop I walked down this steep hill towards the train station.  My Canadian sensibilities wandered to the idea of navigating down here on an icy day.  Does it ever get icy in East Sussex....I suppose it must.


Saturday was the day to get together with my favourite bloggers Mary (Mrs Miniver's Daughter), Simon (Stuck In A Book), and Rachel (Book Snob).  We met at the London Review Bookshop for tea and cake and it ended up feeling a bit like Christmas with everyone exchanging gifts.  One mention that the Oxfam shop nearby had some books by Rose Macaulay on offer and we were off.  Loaded down with gifts and books we then made our way to the Dickens Museum on Doughty Street.  Mary relaxed with a drink and book in the lovely garden café while Rachel, Simon and I had a look around the museum.  A very realistic-looking hedgehog placed near the stove in the kitchen made Rachel jump, and us laugh!  After a long lunch and chat in the shade of the café we said our goodbyes until next time.

In the evening I went mudlarking near the Millenium Bridge.  Watch the tide tables if you try this and keep an eye on your escape route!  After only forty-five minutes of eyeing the surface I found clay pipe stems, pieces of blue and white tile (one shows a small apple, while another a small pagoda), pieces of green and brown ceramic (most likely from tiles), and bits of coloured glass.  This is definitely an addictive activity!


Sunday was my day to travel to Winchester from Waterloo Station.  A friend's sister-in-law lives nearby so we arranged to meet.  Maggie met me at the station and we had a fabulous time touring the city.  Above is the Round Table in the Great Hall, first described in 1155.


You don't see hardware like this every day.


Jane Austen's grave in Winchester Cathedral, the inspiration for this day trip from London.  A beautiful spot, especially on a Sunday with the bells ringing.


With this July being the bicentenary of Jane Austen's death, I imagined throngs of people visiting the Cathedral but that wasn't the case at all.  Perhaps it was a lazy day for a lot of people, in any case...I was thankful.


Wouldn't everyone like to see a sunflower from their bedroom window?


Maggie and I had a poke around the Deanery Bookstall located near the Cathedral but neither of us bought anything.  There was a moment of disappointment, and then relief that we didn't have to carry anything.  Looks like fun though, doesn't it.


We couldn't resist marching right up to this house....and then a man opened the front door on his way out!  He was lovely about having two women gawk at his home and told us it was over five hundred years old.  The house came with his job as Headmaster at the boys' school.  Lucky him!


And then we passed the house in which Jane Austen lived towards the end of her life, and died.  As poignant a scene as it was, there was nothing left to do but head to a café.  This a day I'll never forget.


My time in London was coming swiftly to a close but when better to take a ride in a canal boat then on a hot July morning?  Alighting at Paddington station I walked the path towards Maida Vale and climbed aboard the first canal boat I found that was taking customers.  The fifty minutes it takes to ride this stretch of the canal was an excellent time to take in the vista without exhausting myself.


Ending up at Camden Market was a jarring experience from the leafy squares of Bloomsbury.  I was also feeling a bit hungry so once on the tube I made my way to one of my favourite spots in London...the Wallace Collection.  This painting by Joshua Reynolds (The Strawberry Girl) is also a favourite, sort of in the way we like to be scared during a movie or on a roller coaster.  Is she ill or frightened?  An eerie portrait that has stayed with me since I first saw it a couple of years ago.  Yes, Mary, she's as bilious as ever.

After a browse of the collection I had an excellent lunch in the sun-filled café...Mushroom and Gruyere quiche with a slice of elderflower cake for dessert, and the best cup of tea I've ever had.  The brand is Chash, try it if you get the chance.



 I've heard about cabbie shelters so I was thrilled to discover that this iconic (and historic) structure to buy a cup of tea and light fare has landed right outside Russell Square.


 My last full day in London was the day to visit the Geffrye Museum of the Home in Shoreditch.  Set in an eighteenth century almshouse, the museum features room settings from the 1600s to modern day and some lovely paintings of domestic scenes.  While interesting, the part of this visit I liked best was the garden at the back of the museum.


Oh for a cosy chair, a picnic lunch and a good book.  You could easily sit here for a couple of hours.


The Museum of London has added a new gallery since my last visit here. Alighting at the Barbican tube stop I looked forward to a wander around the People's City gallery (1850s - 1940s). Full of intriguing items from a fascinating era I took a ridiculous amount of pleasure from this mock shop front of a Lyons Tea Room.  I especially loved the waitress cap.  Items from the suffragette movement are another excellent draw for anyone visiting this gallery.

Finishing off my holiday in London was a third book talk, and second at the British Library.  Female Friendships and Creativity with Kate Mosse centred around a new book by Emma Claire Sweeney and Emily Midorikawa called A Secret Sisterhood: The Hidden Friendships of Austen, Brontë, Eliot and Woolf.  An intimate gathering chaired by author Amanda Craig, it was just the sort of evening I read about from home and wish I could magically time travel across the miles.  A perfect evening, despite the rain, to cap off every desire during yet another fabulous trip across the pond.

A bookish photo will follow in a few days....



15 June 2017

A Room of One's Own by Virginia Woolf

Virginia Woolf had much to say about women living in a man's world.  Women could be bought and sold, forced into marriage, work in slavery under the title of 'wife', have education and the vote beyond their reach.  Avenues and opportunity available to sons were nothing more than fantasy for their sisters.  When an aunt dies and leaves Virginia the sum of £500 a year, it's a key that opens a door.

'However, as I say, my aunt died, and whenever I change a ten-shilling note a little of that rust and corrosion is rubbed off; fear and bitterness go.  Indeed, I thought, slipping the silver into my purse, it is remarkable, remembering the bitterness of those days, what a change of temper a fixed income will bring about.  No force in the world can take from me my five hundred pounds.  Food, house, and clothing are mine for ever.  Therefore not merely do effort and labour cease, but also hatred and bitterness.  I need not hate any man; he cannot hurt me.  I need not flatter any man; has nothing to give me.'

There were times while reading A Room of One's Own when I struggled to understand what Virginia was trying to say.  Sections rich with a stream of consciousness narrative can be difficult to wade through, but there were so many times when she expressed exactly how I feel.  That this book was first published in 1928, and I'm nodding in agreement in 2017, starkly illustrates there's still room for improvement.

Asked to deliver a paper on the topic of women and fiction, Woolf blends essay with fiction, She expresses the frustration of women who yearn to be educated as equally as their male counterparts.  Today, my contemporaries are still fighting for wage parity with their male colleagues - this in societies where women are 'allowed' to work outside the home.  The freedom to earn money still eludes many women around the world.  But Woolf has room to see the situation from another angle.

'Moreover, in a hundred years, I thought, reaching my own doorstep, women will have ceased to be the protected sex.  Logically they will take part in all the activities and exertions that were once denied them.  The nursemaid will heave coal.  The shopwoman will drive an engine.  All assumptions founded on the facts observed when women were the protected sex will have disappeared - as, for example (here a squad of soldiers marched down the street) that women and clergymen and gardeners live longer than other people.  Remove their  protection, expose them to the same exertions and activities, make them soldiers and sailors and engine-drivers and dock labourers, and will not women die off so much younger, so much quicker, than men that one will say, 'I saw a woman today', as one used to say, 'I saw an aeroplane'.'

I was also struck by Woolf's observation that much of the history of women was never documented because it was mundane.  While men were acknowledged for exploring, inventing, ruling, and acquiring medals in battle, women were raising children, cooking, and cleaning the home.  Raising the next generation to be contributing citizens is taken for granted.  I'm reminded that many women were not paid for the added responsibility and workload of taking in young evacuees during the Blitz in WWII.  Why, it's just women do.

In the last few pages Virginia expresses the importance of being oneself.  Despite outside influences no one holds the key to your mind.  Assigning a fictional sister named Judith to Shakespeare, the author wonders if her creative skills would be encouraged as her brother's were.  Women must continue to support each other and strive to be recognized.  Despite her statement that freedom to write comes with a room of one's own and £500 a year, Woolf acknowledges that 'to work, even in poverty and obscurity, is worth while'.

A Room of One's Own is a book I'll return to again and again.  It's bold, sad, clever, and poignant.  And I was very impressed with Penguin for publishing this book with four blank pages at the back for jotting notes.

Virginia Woolf's desk

26 May 2017

Virginia Woolf by Nigel Nicolson

Visiting Virginia and Leonard Woolf's home, Monk's House, this summer is high on my wishlist.  It has been interesting to read the reviews of visitors who have already made their way to this area of the South Downs.  For some it was a pilgrimage, for others it was simply something to do.  It has struck me as odd to visit such a place and the only comment is about a lack of parking.  A couple of weeks ago I started reading A Room of One's Own, but by page 26 I found myself wondering more about Virginia as a person than concentrating on the words on the page.  There isn't time to read Hermione Lee's detailed biography but Nicolson's book hit the mark perfectly,  And being the son of Vita Sackville-West, the details feel warm rather than clinical.

'Nothing has really happened until it has been described.  So you must write many letters to your family and friends, and keep a diary.'  Virginia Woolf to Nigel Nicolson

I love the image of Nicolson as a young boy, catching butterflies with Virginia Woolf, while she shares her thoughts and ideals.  At one point, while visiting Vita at Long Barn, she questioned the boys in detail about their morning, not accepting short quips in reply.  Observing in detail was a lesson Nicolson never forgot.

Perhaps it was the lack of a smile in photos, her strong opinions, and intimidating writing style that created an image in my mind of a steely no-nonsense woman.  But reading descriptions of Virginia's personal anguish while waiting for reviews, her desire to be heard but shying away when asked to speak, and struggling with a 'constant roar' in the background of her thoughts, reveal the depths of her fragile nature.  Both Virginia and her sister Vanessa endured the loss of their parents, brother, and knowledge of a half-sister in a mental institution.  Left in a household with two stepbrothers who abused the girls, to what degree isn't clear, must have been incredibly unsettling, to say the least.

With a sum of money and property left to the Stephens adult children, they were finally able to cut familial ties with the Duckworth brothers and buy a home in Gordon Square, Bloomsbury.  Although, Virginia was far from ready to join the ranks of party-goers...

'She remained devoted to her few women friends, and only once did she consent to attend a party in the smart world she had renounced.  "I went to a dance last night," she told Violet, "and found a dim corner where I sat and read In Memoriam, while Nessa danced every dance till 2:30."'

Virginia eventual marriage to Leonard Woolf, and their creation of the Hogarth Press was a testament to commitment and perseverance.  I was surprised to learn that in four years of operation the company had a net profit of only £90.    Virginia's journalism was bringing in £100 annually and Leonard's wages as a writer on international affairs were meagre.  But somehow they managed to afford the purchase of Monk's House in 1919 for £700.

'Monk's House would never rate more than one star for bed and breakfast.  O remember it in the Woolfs' days as a simple place, rather larger than a cottage, rather smaller than a house, not shabby exactly, but untidy, with saucers of pet food left on the floor and books on each tread of the narrow staircase.'

I particularly enjoyed finding out the Woolfs referred to the WC as Mrs Dalloway, and Vita Sackville-West's opinion regarding Leonard's plans for the garden by stating 'you can't recreate Versailles on a quarter-acre of Sussex'.  Another wonderful discovery was that Elizabeth Bowen had visited Virginia at Monk's House.  Being slightly in awe of Bowen's writing, knowing she sat by the fire will make my visit there even more meaningful.

As the years moved closer to 1939, and Virginia's depression crept back, it's unbearable to imagine the 'constant roar' coupled with anxiety and uncertainty.  Bombs were collapsing homes in the blink of an eye, there was rationing, the evacuation of women and children, and bleakness.  But even through all this, Virginia uses poetical phrases to describe the scene....

'You never escape the war.  Very few buses.  Tubes closed.  No children.  No loitering.  Everyone humped with a gas-mask.  Strain and grimness.  At night it's so verdurous and gloomy that one expects a badger or a fox to prowl along the pavement.  A reversion to the middle ages with all the space and silence of the country set in this forest of black homes'.

Less than two years later, Virginia drowned herself in the River Ouse, not far from Monk's House.  Her ashes are interred in the garden.

Virginia Woolf, 1939
Photograph by Gisèle Freund