The Story Of Hamlet

Having decided to take a physical rest today I gave my brain a workout with this work.

Sir Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch (born Nov. 21, 1863, Bodmin, Cornwall, Eng.—died May 12, 1944, Fowey, Cornwall) was an English poet, novelist, and anthologist noted for his compilationof The Oxford Book of English Verse 1250–1900(1900; revised 1939) and The Oxford Book of Ballads (1910).

He was educated at Newton Abbot College, Clifton College, and Trinity College, Oxford, where he became lecturer in classics (1886–87). In 1887 he wrote Dead Man’s Rock, the first of several novels of Cornwall and the sea. From 1887 to 1892 he worked in London for a publishing firm and as assistant editor of The Speaker. A number of short stories that he contributed to it were reprinted in book form as Noughts and Crosses (1891), the first of a dozen similar volumes. In 1892 he settled at Fowey, the small Cornish port that appears in his stories as “Troy Town.” He was knighted in 1910 and in 1912 was appointed King Edward VII professor of English literature at Cambridge and also elected a fellow of Jesus College. (https://www.britannica.com/biography/Arthur-Thomas-Quiller-Couch)

On the year in which he received his knighthood, he introduced

with “The Story of Hamlet” which details in erudite and fluent modern prose of his time the tale of Shakespeare’s timeless eponymous masterpiece. In more than 20 pages, he clarifies all the dramatis personae, their roles, their relationships, and their characters; he describes their actions, their locations, and their influences; finishing up with observations about the Scandinavian source material upon which our playwright is thought to have based his work. It would be extremely helpful in conveying an understanding of the play for any newcomer.

My first edition was presented with a fine copper plate inscription to “Tristan With love From J. A. R. Decber 25th 1910”.

Well past a century old, the outside of my book bears signs of ageing in the spine, but its inner core is unharmed, except for slight creasing of two of the tipped in colour plates, each of which is protected by undamaged tissue.

The frontispiece is paired with the title page above, the left side of which shows the edge of the the protecting sheet.

As demonstrated by these colour plates, W. G. Simmonds was a master of the golden age of book illustration. Similar edges of the protectors are shown in this gallery of images.

The last page of each Act is decorated with a drawing by the artist; each sheet of tissue bears a similar illustration and lines from the play relevant to the specific colour plate.

This evening we all dined on Jackie’s wholesome sausages in red wine; creamy mashed potatoes; firm carrots, cauliflower and Brussels sprouts; and tender green beans, with which I drank Reserva Privada Chilean Malbec 2022

Where’s The Wagtail?

On this morning’s forest drive I was happy to disembark for photography, and, incidentally, to feel how much cooler the weather was than the average for the time of year.

Field horses, like this one along St Leonard’s Road, are now being equipped with fly protection masks for ears and eyes.

Beyond the flourishing hedgerows the grasses are now becoming parched because of the recent lack of rain.

The pair of frisky foals we have now watched developing since their first weeks have grown a good deal. They gambolled among their herd along Furzey Lane.

Another group had collected their usual avian acolyte. Can you spot the wagtail in either of these two images?

Late this afternoon Elizabeth visited and we had an enjoyable discussion. She did not stay for dinner when the rest of us all dined on the plentiful leftovers from last night’s King’s House takeaway meal, with which I finished the Fleurie.

I Didn’t Leave The Car

On a grey overcast morning, after Jackie shopped at Nisa Local in Stopples Lane, we took a forest drive on which I remained in the car while producing pictures of the journey. This was the first time I had left the house since my operation on 25th.

Nisa is fundamentally a refurbished subsidiary of the previous Coop shop. It is no longer a cooperative but happy to sell produce of the Coop. I’m sure there is some logical process to this.

Apart from having removed the useful hole in the wall cash machine, and changing the frontage, the outlet looks pretty similar to me, although as I said I remained in the vehicle while a gentleman leant on the railings while he enjoyed a phone conversation.

A determined cyclist made his way up the steeply undulating Holmsley Passage.

Further down we passed a large rambling wild rose and a damp moorland landscape bearing cotton grass.

From my passenger seat I enjoyed the sight of splendid magnolia blooms in someone’s garden; wild woodbine, rowan berries, and bramble blossom; and a five barred gate to an upland field.

Ponies, foals, and cattle had begun to gather sheltering along Forest Road, causing chaos by hindering the traffic.

The powerfully heady scent of privet rising above the hedgerow along Beckley Common Road permeated the air around and within our car.

This evening we all dined on King’s House Chinese takeaway fare, the portions providing second helpings for tomorrow.

The Folio Wordsworth

Prompted by a comment yesterday from Anne of Something Over Tea I have today scanned sample pages from

The poems speak for themselves. Nicholas Roe’s introduction is informative and helpful.

Peter Reddick also designed the cover boards, and

decorated the pages with fine bucolic engravings, as fitted the poet.

Including pages of explanatory notes this volume contains almost 500 large format pages.

This evening we all dined on Jackie’s wholesome cottage pie; Lionnaise potatoes; carrots, cauliflower, broccoli, and runner beans, with which I drank Patrick Chodot Fleurie 2022, from a bottle Jackie had bought for me for my post operative return, yet which I hadn’t been able to open until now.

The Folio Hamlet

“An actor who is playing Hamlet should, perhaps, not write about the play. He has formulated his own opinions in order to portray the character as best he feels able. This means that, for the moment, he is set in his ideas about a character on the analysis of which the finest brains of critics and actors have been bent for three hundred and fifty years: so it may seem presumptuous of him to drag the cloak of his opinion in so vast an arena.” So begins Richard Burton’s insightful introduction to this volume. His decision not to review the play accords with mine for rather different reasons, given that others more knowledgeable would have so much more to offer.

I took this book into hospital for me but got no further than the first couple of scenes before I ran out of impetus for reading anything at all – certainly not

I continued at home over the last few days.

Here is the now rather fragile book jacket, looking pretty good after 70 years, and also

the front board design that adorns every issue in this series.

These are the special illustrations by Roger Furse.

This evening Becky, Ian , Jackie, and I all dined on Mr Pink’s battered cod and chips and mushy peas

Health Status

What happened at Southampton General Hospital on Tuesday 25th was rather more than a biopsy, because a bladder cancer tumour was removed. The process was very smooth and didn’t last more than an hour. Care and attention during several hours recovery time involved a nurse beside my side full time monitoring progress. I was in fact kept in for two nights which was most apposite because a very painful blood clot developed and was dealt with immediately by attendant urologists. For the next two days care was irreproachable, given by teams of knowledgable professionals from all over the world. This made me realise that the NHS really could not function without its immigrants. Apart from the occasional difficulties with accents communication with me and with each other was very clear and patient.

It was, of course, very difficult to sleep in such a noisy environment when we were constantly woken for checks – but that is life in hospital.

The next stage is to be a discussion of the team with the pathologist to establish how far and how deep the tumour had extended and what else, if anything needs to be done. I will be given another appointment in 3-4 weeks.

Ian joined us this afternoon when we all continued a mixture of each doing our own things and enjoying convivial conversation.

This evening we all dined on Jackie’s wholesome cottage pie; very tasty Brussels sprouts; crunchy carrots; firm broccoli and cauliflower.

Clocking In

I am home after a successful hospital procedure, still a bit dopy for posting. More details to follow when up to it.

The Old Wives’Tale

This morning I finished reading

In this truly great example of an English novel rivalling the realism of the French Balzac or Zola, Bennet has traced the disparate lives of two sisters born of the same provincial family, delineating their different characters and chosen paths, and reuniting them in their later lives. A sentence from the very last chapter could serve as a statement about the story as a whole: “she paused in wonder at the contrasting hazards of existence.”

The work was first published by Chapman and Hall in 1908, although the author’s chosen period was half a century earlier, as indicated by such as a test ride of the unsteady and uncomfortable aptly termed “bone-shaker” bicycle.

One of the sisters, the more traditionally restrained and less adventurous, never moves from her place of birth; the other, unpredictable, wilful and risk-taking leaves her homeland for a life abroad.

The author has a deep, insightful, knowledge of human nature and the skill of describing and exploring the thoughts, minds, and actions of his characters, both male and female.

Bennet has genuine sympathy with his protagonists, sensitively understanding their strengths and their flaws. He manages their negotiations with each other, – knowing when to enter into subtle persuasion or direct confrontation and when to accept an adamant stance. He shows the potential folly of either headstrong or too reticent love; the importance of trust, and the danger of deception.

“Constance, who bore Mrs Baines’s bunch of keys at her girdle, a solemn trust, moved a little fearfully to a corner cupboard which was hung in the angle to the right of the projecting fireplace, over a shelf on which stood a large copper tea-urn. That corner cupboard, of oak inlaid with maple and ebony in a simple border pattern, was typical of the room. It was of piece with the deep green ‘flock’ wallpaper, and the tea-urn, and the rocking-chairs with their antimacassars, and the harmonium in rosewood with a Chinese papier-mâché tea-caddy on the top of it; even with the carpet, certainly the most curious parlour carpet that ever was, being made of lengths of stair-carpet sewn together side by side. That corner cupboard was already old in service; it had held the medicines of generations. It gleamed darkly with the grave and genuine polish which comes from ancient use alone. The key which Constance chose from her bunch was like the cupboard, smooth and shining with years; it fitted and turned very easily, yet with a firm snap……..” demonstrates Bennet’s facility for description of place and person. Just as the room gives a flavour of the residents, there are many passages where physical images render their characters. Readers will note that plentiful alliteration eases the flow of the prose. Many further examples include those making use of the siblings’ names, e.g. “Sophia slipped out of bed”, “Constance eagerly consented”; “the tap in the coal-cellar out of repair could be heard distinctly and systematically dripping water into a jar on the drop-stone” emphasising a moment of tension; “the enervating voluptuousness of grief” being such an apt description.

Similes like “the topic which secretly ravaged the supper-world as a subterranean fire ravages a mine” abound; “During eight years the moth Charles had flitted round her brilliance and was now singed past escape” is an example of a rich metaphor.

Dry humour, such as the chapters on a troubling tooth removal, is in plentiful supply.

Tim Heald’s introduction gives useful information about Bennet and his time.

The header picture shows the title page and frontispiece, which is to my mind the more fitting lithograph by Glynn Boyd Harte.

Whilst the composition of Harte’s illustrations is impeccable the figures are ill defined and faces seem to be avoided, when I can’t see any justification for this in the author’s meticulous work. It is hard to see the beauty described by Bennet in the couple greeting each other in the second image, and one would never know the distressing disaster being discussed in the last one.

This evening we dined on succulent roast lamb, mint sauce, boiled baby new potatoes, firm carrots and broccoli, with tender cabbage and tasty gravy.

Shove Off

This afternoon we visited Ober Water at Puttles Bridge.

I employed the walking stick that Elizabeth gave me a few years ago, otherwise I would now have found too many trip hazards from the

exposed tree roots from which the soil has been washed into the river over many years.

Along Rhinefield Road we encountered many ponies with foals.

The first picture in this gallery shows a parent on the right taking objection to foal canoodling with hers and buffeting it to encourage it to shove off, which it did, seeking the security of its mother who led her offspring to the safer side of the road.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s spicy chicken jalfrezi; mushroom rice; vegetable samosas and parathas.

Gorley Hill

This afternoon we drove to the north of the forest.

Anna Lane is just one of the lanes we negotiate on our trips, so narrow that traffic spans the centre leaving it free of wheels and therefore grass-covered soil untouched in the middle. When you meet an oncoming vehicle one has to end up on the verge.

From the road up to Gorley Common we looked down on

deer which today didn’t sniff a scent of us;

can you spot this baby hiding behind its mother?

The Common, with its distant view is all that remains of

“Gorley Hill … the site of a former Iron Age promontory hillfort located in Hampshire in the United Kingdom.

The fort once occupied the southwestern corner of Gorley Common on Gorley Hill, a gravel-capped spur that points southwest into the Avon valley next to the hamlet of North Gorley, between the towns of Fordingbridge and Ringwood. The earthworks were destroyed in the 1950s and ’60s when the common’s new owners carried out large-scale gravel extraction works, effectively “scalping” the hill. The tall linear earthen banks present on the hill are a relic of the quarrying process and not prehistoric in origin.[1]The site is now grass, with some gorse and silver birch. The area is now owned and managed by Hampshire County Council.

Heywood Sumner carried out some excavation at the site which was published in his 1917 book Ancient Earthworks of the New Forest.[2]“

This evening we dined on Jackie’s authentic chicken jalfrezi and mushroom rice, with which I finished the Alentejano.