Unfortunately my recently prescribed antibiotics have not dismissed my UTI so I rang the GP surgery to report this. Within ten minutes I was called back and prescribed an alternative, this time being asked for a sample which I furnished this afternoon and collected the medication at the pharmacy.
Opening with a bustling description of the rush to catch a train, described as an uneven race to keep track of a porter who “turned the corner at the end of the platform whilst Mrs McGillicuddy was still coming up the straight.” is an example of the writer’s ability to engage attention and the dry humour which pervades Agatha Christie’s novel “4.50 From Paddington” – the first by her that I have read.
The story is very well crafted, with various leads, false and incidental, followed without any real suggestion of the final conclusion. Much is told by skilled dialogue of which the author is a master. She amplifies the words with description of tones, as in ” “Well?” she said. It was a small insignificant word, but it acquired full significance from Mrs. McGillicuddy’s tone, and Miss Marple understood its meaning perfectly.” Sometimes sentences are left unfinished, as in “You don’t think……..” for the reader or indeed the conversationalist to complete. The mood of each person was indicated by such as a raised eyebrow or slumped body language.
Mrs Christie makes good use of short sentences to increase the pace of the narrative, and has an ability to create the essence of person and place with simple, telling, statements, as in “Her eyes were like windows in an empty house.” and “He unpropped himself from the dresser.”
There are hints at romance and less than subtle match-making.
It is hardly surprising that this story has been filmed on a number of occasions.
My 1959 edition of The Book Club was in a collection bequeathed to me by my Auntie Ivy some 50 years ago.
It is protected by two copies of the same book jacket very well designed by Taylor, about whom I have found no information. This featured copy is the top one; the second, even less blemished, is pristine. Anyone lacking a jacket should apply for a replacement in writing enclosing a large cheque.
Clinging to the top of the closed pages was a desiccated spider complete with clustered cobweb.
After starting on my next antibiotics I turned back to Maria de Zayas and the penultimate story in my Folio Society selection.
Very reminiscent of the Whitehall farces of the 1950s and ’60s presented by Brian Rix involving unlikely scenarios, although lacking their humour, this offering by Maria involves her usual themes of love, honour, deception, treachery, bed-hopping, and murder designed to demonstrate “that, in the end, no crime goes unpunished”.
Here is Eric Fraser’s illustration to this narrative.
This evening we dined on Hordle Chinese Take Away’s excellent fare, taken on our knees in front of the TV catching up on episodes of Freddie Flintoff’s Field of Dreams, a truly inspirational series which I will review when I have seen them all.
