At noon, on another warm, sunny, day with a moderate breeze, I poked my camera out of the upstairs window in order to record the garden’s continuing splendour. (I was inspired by a comment from Elizabeth Gauffreau for today’s title)
This afternoon I finished reading ‘David Copperfield’ and scanned the final eight drawings with which that splendid illustrator, Charles Keeping, has adorned the closing pages of my Folio Society edition.
‘I hired a boat directly, and we put off to the ship’
‘I came into the valley, as the evening sun was shining on the remote heights of snow’
‘I thought I had never seen an obstinate head of hair rolling about in such a shower of kisses’
in ‘Going softly to her piano, Agnes played some of those old airs to which we had often listened in that place’ Mr Keeping, through the medium of the flowing grain on the side of the instrument, conveys the unspoken communication between singer and listener which culminates in the next but one illustration.
‘Whom should we behold, to our amazement, in this converted Number Twenty Seven, but Uriah Heep!’, unmistakeable to anyone who has seen the artist’s previous depictions.
‘Clasped in my arms as she had never been, as I had thought she never was to be!’
‘Mr Peggotty went with me to see a little tablet I had put up in the churchyard to the memory of Ham’
‘Peggotty, my good old nurse’
I don’t propose to review such a well-known book, save to say that it was a very good choice for Charles Dickens to term his favourite of the novels.
I have probably mentioned before that I do not generally keep more than one book on the go at any one time. This Dickens work and another, modern, novel have been an exception while I have returned to the Victorian masterpiece. As soon as I have finished reading Harold Brodkey’s book I will draw some comparisons between the two.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s spicy pasta arrabbiata with which she finished the Rosé and I drank Barossa Valley Shiraz 2017.
On a most oppressively humid morning we continued with garden maintenance. Jackie weeded, planted, trimmed and composted while I dead-headed roses,
dug out two self seeded elder trees, and bagged up some of the refuse.
Steady rain set in after lunch. During a lull I dug out some brambles from the back drive borders, until a direct drenching downpour sent me dashing inside. A later let up enabled me to finish my task and grab a couple of pictures.
During the rest of the afternoon I began rereading:
The title page is accompanied by ‘I saw him lying with his head upon his arm, as I have often seen him lie at school. (p.727)’ offering an example of Mr Keeping’s imaginative perspectives.
As before, I will not add my own observations on this very well known classic, but will post Charles Keeping’s inimitable illustrations as I make my way along this novel of which Charles Dickens wrote in his preface to the 1869 edition: ‘Of all my books, I like this the best,’
‘ ‘Why, bless my heart!’ exclaimed Miss Betsey. ‘You are a very Baby!’ ‘
‘Mr Murdstone and I were soon off, and trotting along on the green turf’ – another vehicle for Keeping’s perspective skill.
‘We stopped to exchange an innocent kiss’ – keeping a safe distance.
Jackie had spent the afternoon at a very well catered for baby shower. She therefore had no need of a meal this evening, yet, for me she
Having now completed my reading of Charles Dickens’s “Nicholas Nickleby”, I scanned the last four of the dramatic and insightful Charles Keeping’s illustrations from my Folio Society edition of 1986.
‘They pressed forward to see’
‘ ‘Come,’ said Tim, ‘let’s be a comfortable couple’
‘The rebellion had just broken out’
‘One grey-haired, quiet, harmless gentleman’
Christopher Hibbert’s informative introduction puts this book – one of his earliest – in the context of the author’s life and times. Despite the campaign against the sadistic, exploitative, Yorkshire schools there is much of Dickens’s witty humour in this story of tragedy, romance, and mystery. It is so well known as to need no further comment from me.
Throughout this series Keeping’s drawings speak for themselves.
This afternoon, in order to make inroads into the weeds piercing the Rose Garden Brick Paths, I tore myself away from the Test Match commentary until after the tea break.
Here are two images from before my efforts;
and two scraped out and swept.
Jackie continued with much tidying and planting.
This evening we dined on pork chops coated with almonds; crisp roast potatoes and Yorkshire pudding; crunchy carrots; firm cauliflower and broccoli, with tasty gravy. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Collin-Bourisset Fleurie 2019.
This morning Jackie and I each reached a corner of the bench while weeding the Shady Path. There is just the middle stretch to be completed. A yellow tree peony and a plethora of Welsh poppies can be seen in the surrounding beds.
The clematis Montana weaves about the lilac on the Back Drive.
When literary blogger josbees recommended that I reread chapter 2 of Nicholas Nickleby I had imagined that I would not read the whole book again, but would work my way through scanning Charles Keeping’s illustrations for my readers. In fact I was wrong. As the characters came flooding back to me after more than half a century, this Dickens novel is now one of the few I am happy to read again.
The frontispiece illustration is to ‘A tall lean boy, with a lantern in his hand, issued forth.’
‘Motioning them all out of the room, Mr Nickleby sunk exhausted on his pillow’ demonstrates Mr Keeping’s penchant for sandwiching a section of text into his drawing.
‘The clerk presented himself in Mr Nickleby’s room’ contains the artist’s skill at portraiture. The proximity of the houses seen through the window demonstrates the congested nature of the environment.
‘ ‘Mrs Nickleby,’ said the girl, throwing open the door, ‘here’s Mr Nickleby’ ‘ demonstrates Keeping’s adherence to the text. The young lady has hastily attempted to clean her dirty face with an even dirtier apron.
‘ ‘I have been thinking, Mr Squeers, of placing my two boys at your school’ ‘
‘A minute’s bustle, a banging of the coach doors, a swaying of the vehicle to one side’ exemplifies the artist’s mastery of receding perspective by bursting the foreground range of portraits out of the frame.
Early this evening a friend of Jake, who I photographed Sunset Dancing last December, called to collect a print I had made for him. Jake now lives in The Netherlands, and earns a living skydiving.
Later, we dined on roast chicken thighs and roast potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, sage and onion stuffing, carrots, cauliflower, and green beans, with meaty gravy. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Recital.
I spent much of the day completing my reading of my Folio Society edition of Charles Dickens’s ‘Martin Chuzzlewit’. Much dogged determination and the illustrations of Charles Keeping were required to see me through it.
Christopher Hibbert’s informative introduction was helpful, and indicated that the author was pleased with his work.
The book was written in Dickens’s usual literary style with customary humour and descriptive powers. Somehow or other it failed to engage me, and the first section of almost two hundred pages was frankly boring. Perhaps it was that the characters introduced during this period were unlikeable, even though they were well delineated. Maybe it was the focus on scams and deception at home and abroad that was not to my liking. Although the trip to America and the unwholesome descriptions of the land and its representatives was more engaging, they were not at all flattering. Indeed they must have prompted Dickens, some quarter of a century later, to write a postscript which he insisted should be included with any future publication, as adhered to by The Folio Society, which can only be regarded as an apology, or at least a declaration of a change of heart. It seemed to me that, despite the lively narrative that interval added nothing to the story.
The creation of Mrs Gamp is comic genius, and the schemingly, smarmy, dishonest Mr Pecksniff is memorable, but it was difficult for me to raise much interest in the large number of others who were nevertheless tidily wrapped up in the final few chapters.
‘He sat quite still and silent’
‘Mrs Gamp looked at her with amazement, incredulity, and indignation’
‘A figure came upon the landing, and stopped and gazed at him’ shows Keeping’s mastery of perspective.
‘He sank down in a heap against the wall, and never hoped again from that moment’
‘Mr Tapley stuck him up on the floor, with his back against the opposite wall’
‘ ‘Dear Ruth! Sweet Ruth!’ ‘ – now it can be acknowledged.
‘Miss Pecksniff dashed in so suddenly, that she was placed in an embarrassing position’ displays the artist’s idea of the lady’s mortification. Dickens was not so graphic.
Bishop: “I’m afraid you’ve got a bad egg, Mr Jones”; Curate: “Oh, no, my Lord, I assure you that parts of it are excellent!” “True Humility” by George du Maurier, originally published in Punch, 9 November 1895. A “curate’s egg” describes something that is mostly or partly bad, but partly good. (From Wikipedia).
This evening we dined on more of Jackie’s sausages and mushrooms casserole ; creamy mashed potatoes; crunchy carrots; and tender runner beans, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Malbec.
We began the day with an early trip to Milford on Sea Pharmacy.
Cloudscapes over the Solent and Christchurch Bay were ever changing. The Isle of Wight, invisible not so long avows nicely silhouetted against clear blue sky beyond bands of white cotton and degrees of indigo clouds. Cerulean patches peeped through others. Empty cruise ships waited outside Southampton for Covid-19 restrictions preventing them from taking on passengers to be lifted.
Similar skies prevailed over Keyhaven Harbour
and Hurst Spit, along which a couple of heavy lorries churned up dust before descending to
Saltgrass Lane.
Numbers of walkers and their dogs stood out against the constantly changing skies. Beneath the truck in the third image featuring the spit can be see a husky dog and its human companions.
This group raised considerable attention and a number of questions which the gentleman holding the lead was happy to answer.
After lunch Jackie worked on her water features in the garden while I cleared up a little: transporting clippings to the compost; lifting wind-floored owls, none of which had been damaged; and gathering slender fallen branches.
Having now read the first five chapters of
in which Mr Dickens begins to introduce his characters, I scanned the above frontispiece – ‘It was a clear evening, with a bright moon’ – with the title page and five more of Mr Keeping’s illustrations.
‘The old lady, naturally strong-minded, was nevertheless frail and fading’
‘Neither of the three took any notice of him’ – as the artist shows us.
‘ ‘You have seen the gentleman in this way before, miss?’ ‘
‘He touched the tip of his high nose, by way of intimation that he would let Mr Pecksniff into a secret presently’
Notice how Charles Keeping, in ‘Mr Pinch set forth on a stroll about the streets’ establishes perspective as the lines of the detailed foreground donkeys recede into those of the suggested distant chimneys.
Just before dinner I dashed outside with my camera
to photograph a fleeting sunset.
Dinner then consisted of three prawn preparations, namely tempura, salt and pepper, and hot and spicy; Jackie’s flavoursome savoury rice; served with fresh salad, with which the Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Cabernet Sauvignon.
This was another day of unrelenting gloom and rain, on which I scanned another batch of colour slides from
Kensal Green Cemetery in May 2008. Well, they all started out as colour slides before I converted some.
The first of these chapels within the grounds is Anglican; the second Non-conformist.
A single sorrowful sculpture sits atop the plinth dedicated to George and Mary Maugham; while William Holland’s Renaissance style sarcophagus is supported by stone griffons.
antiquesworld.co.uk provides this information about the firm began by William Holland furniture makers:
Holland and sons were extremely good cabinet makers and they specialised in fine quality furniture. This is why such pieces are so well collected today as if you buy antique furniture by these makers you know you are buying quality. This English furniture making firm was founded in 1803 by William Holland and by the middle of 1800s, Holland and sons was one of the main competitions to the furniture makers Gillows, one of the greatest English furniture producers in History.
Original they were cabinet makers and upholsterers called Taprelland Holland but by 1843 they changed to Holland and Sons with William Holland in control, a relative of the well known Regency architect Henry Holland.
The business soon started to expand quickly and by1851 they employed over 350 cabinet makers and by 1852 took on the prestigious firm of Thomas Dowbiggin of 23 Mount Street, London, who had previously made the state throne for Victoria’s Coronation. Holland and Sons worked successfully not only as furniture makers but also as undertakers and became responsible for the Duke of Wellington’s funeral.
William Holland has the firm expanding at a rapid rate and became so well known for its quality in cabinet making, they became cabinetmakers and upholsters to the Queen. Their first commission was for Osborne House in 1845, supplying furniture in the Queen’s favourite style of the time, the Louis XVI style from France. They continued to supply furniture for Osborne and gained further commissions for Windsor Castle, Balmoral and Marlborough House. Holland and sons also worked for many leading institutions such as the reform Club (we have also supplied the reform club with our antique furniture in the past), the British Museum and the new Houses of Parliament. They were part of many of the important international Exhibitions including London in 1862, Vienna in 1873 and Paris in 1867 and 1872. They gained worldwide fame for their magnificent designs and super quality in cabinetmaking right throughout the Victorian era. Holland and sons stayed as a family run business but sadly closed in 1942 when it fell on hard times due to the ever changing world of the time.’
A small girl is still adorned with flowers and a necklace.
Like other members of ‘The Magnificent Seven’; unlike modern municipal cemeteries, Kensal Green permits more contemporary tributes. Bob Caxton’s descendants have incorporated a stained glass panel into his stone; a sinuous cut metal figure is fixed to the crucifix standing over Maggie Jones; and Charlie O’Sullivan’s polished memorial bears his photograph and the Irish symbols of shamrock and harp.
This afternoon, having finished reading the first four chapters of
I embarked upon the task of scanning Charles Keeping’s superb illustrations as I work my way through Charles Dickens’s novel. In addition to the frontispiece above, entitled ‘Jerry, the manager of these dancing dogs’, a traditional Victorian street entertainment, I now reproduce
‘I found at my elbow a pretty little girl’ whose innate sadness the artist has seen;
and ‘The dwarf glanced keenly at all present’, depicted as evil personified.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s spicy pasta arrabbiata with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Garnacha.
Rain beating a clamorous tattoo on the Modus roof; repetitive rapping from a thumping car radio; abrupt slamming of doors; crashing gears of handbrake ratchets; muffled muttering of masked voices; clicking stilettos clopping through puddles – all combined to distract me from the last chapters of ‘Little Dorrit’ as I waited in the car while Jackie shopped in Tesco this morning. Fortunately the rain had stopped when she brought her trolley load for me to unload into the boot.
Heavy rain soon set in again, and I finished reading my Folio Society edition of Charles Dickens’s ‘Little Dorrit’.
For fear of spoiling the story I will not add my own detailed review of this tale which has been printed in many editions and filmed for a BBC series in 2008 to the many that may be found on the internet.
I will simply quote the first paragraph of www.brittanica.com’s article:
‘Little Dorrit, novel by Charles Dickens, published serially from 1855 to 1857 and in book form in 1857. The novel attacks the injustices of the contemporary English legal system, particularly the institution of debtors’ prison.’ and add that it is a love story with added mystery.
The writer’s flowing prose with sometimes poetic descriptive passages and witty humour mostly captivates, although some of the more boring characters had my interest flagging occasionally.
Christopher Hibbert’s introduction is as helpful as always.
Charles Keeping’s inimitable illustrations are a perfect accompaniment to this novelist’s masterpiece. Regular readers will know that I have posted these as I have worked my way through the book. Although some narrative may be gleaned from these pages I have done by best not to reveal too much.
Here are the last three:
‘A big-headed lumbering personage stood staring at him’ as the brim of his hat had been tossed over the body of text.
In ‘Tattycoram fell on her knees and beat her hands upon the box’ the artist has captured the beating motion.
In ‘Changeless and Barren’, his final illustration, Keeping has managed to symbolise that the work is drawing to a close.
The rain returned before we arrived home and continued pelting for the next few hours. Rather like yesterday, it ceased by late afternoon. Unlike yesterday the sun remained lurking behind the thick cloud cover. We took a drive anyway.
As we approached Keyhaven the sails of a trio of enticing kite-surfers could be seen.
By the time we arrived they were packing up.
Saltgrass Lane runs alongside the tidal flats. At high tide it is often closed.
As we arrived, waves were lapping over the rocks and rapidly covering the tarmac. I was splashed by passing vehicles as I photographed the scene.
Figures were silhouetted on the spit; birds made their own contribution.
We continued along the lane back to Milford on Sea. Had we returned via Keyhaven we would probably have been locked out.
Other lanes, like Undershore, were washed by rainwater from overflowing fields and ditches. Jackie parked on this thoroughfare and I wandered along it for a while.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s stupendous chicken and vegetable stewp and fresh bread with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Garnacha, which involved opening another bottle.
‘Little Dorrit’ is one of Charles Dickens’s great novels. My Folio Society Edition of 1986 is, at 834 pages with 72 of Charles Keeping’s exquisite illustrations, so great that I intend to deviate from my normal approach to books in this blog.
The tale has been reproduced so often in books and films and there are so many Internet pages on it that I think I do not need to refrain from any story spoilers, and my observations may or may not be superfluous.
Just as the author published the work in serial form I will do the same with my presentation of Mr Keeping’s drawings. I will write something about each picture as I make my leisurely journey through the weighty tome.
The frontispiece represents Marshalsea Prison.
Wikipedia tells us ‘The Marshalsea (1373–1842) was a notorious prison in Southwark, just south of the River Thames. Although it housed a variety of prisoners, including men accused of crimes at sea and political figures charged with sedition, it became known, in particular, for its incarceration of the poorest of London’s debtors.[1] Over half the population of England’s prisoners in the 18th century were in jail because of debt.[2]
Run privately for profit, as were all English prisons until the 19th century, the Marshalsea looked like an Oxbridge college and functioned as an extortion racket.[3] Debtors in the 18th century who could afford the prison fees had access to a bar, shop and restaurant, and retained the crucial privilege of being allowed out during the day, which gave them a chance to earn money for their creditors. Everyone else was crammed into one of nine small rooms with dozens of others, possibly for years for the most modest of debts, which increased as unpaid prison fees accumulated.[4] The poorest faced starvation and, if they crossed the jailers, torture with skullcaps and thumbscrews. A parliamentary committee reported in 1729 that 300 inmates had starved to death within a three-month period, and that eight to ten were dying every 24 hours in the warmer weather.[a]
The prison became known around the world in the 19th century through the writing of the English novelist Charles Dickens, whose father was sent there in 1824, when Dickens was 12, for a debt to a baker. Forced as a result to leave school to work in a factory, Dickens based several of his characters on his experience, most notably Amy Dorrit, whose father is in the Marshalsea for debts so complex no one can fathom how to get him out.[6][b]
Much of the prison was demolished in the 1870s, although parts of it were used as shops and rooms into the 20th century. A local library now stands on the site. All that is left of the Marshalsea is the long brick wall that marked its southern boundary, the existence of what Dickens called “the crowding ghosts of many miserable years” recalled only by a plaque from the local council. “[I]t is gone now,” he wrote, “and the world is none the worse without it.”[8]‘
In his introduction to my copy, Christopher Hibbert, speaking of Dickens’s childhood experience, states that ‘throughout his life thereafter Dickens had been obsessed with prisons, prisoners and imprisonment. In England, in America, Italy and France he found his way to the prison in each new town he visited in the way that another man might seek out a museum or a church.’
The jailer of Marseilles Prison takes his little daughter on a tour of the cells.
During my brief spell of residence in Sutherland Place, W2 I served as a Committee member of the local Neighbourhood Association which enjoyed an annual gardens competition. In the summer of 2008 I toured the few streets around my flat making a series of photographic prints of likely contenders on which a small sub-group voted. A set of colour slides from the recently rediscovered cache dated July/August was my basic material. I scanned them this afternoon.
Although these West London properties are highly sought after and very expensive they mostly have negligible gardens. I was genuinely impressed by the ingenuity shown by the nurturing of colourful plants in all kinds of containers laid on paving and walls, on window sills, fixed to railings, and straggling down steps.
I wonder whether anyone will share my favourite. As a clue I will say it was not the stunning header picture.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s deliciously spicy pork paprika; roast potatoes, including the sweet variety, in their skins; firm broccoli; and tender runner beans, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank Languedoc Montpeyroux Recital 2018.
Early yesterday morning Jackie photographed some of our current garden blooms. Each is labelled in the gallery.
We decided to hold these back to today because of the quantity we had published of the St John the Baptist Cemetery photographs. Later, Elizabeth e-mailed me a selection of hers.
This is her take on the inserted death medals;
she also added her version of the House memorial carved lilies;
she was intrigued by the cremation plaques and their offerings from loved ones and from autumn;
I had refrained from photographing these daffodils, but she made the best of them.
I spent much of today finishing reading
Christopher Hibbert in his knowledgeable and informative introduction places this work in the context of Dickens’s time and his works. He tells us that this begins the writer’s focus on social ills.
This is a well wrought story which largely keeps a good pace and culminates in conclusions with surprises and revelations which I will leave open to anyone wishing to read the book for the first time. The descriptions are good. Despite the harshness of the theme the author’s wry humour is much in evidence. I felt that the dialogue of two characters was irritating enough for me to skim them. One was conveyed in the supposed vernacular; another wath ath thpoken with a thevere lithp. The first indicated the humble origins of the man; the thecond I imagine wath a clownith interval. (I do apologithe WP, but I ethpect you get my point).
Regular readers will need no introduction to the exuberant, animated, illustrations of Charles Keeping, ever faithful to the text, and unbound by the page formats.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s variation on Cottage pie, with the addition of mashed potatoes and cheese; crunchy carrots and cauliflower, with tender cabbage, firm Brussels sprouts and tasty gravy. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Shiraz.
