Category: Literature

Leather Armchairs

Leather Armchairs is a book by Charles Graves, the poet Robert’s brother, published in 1963. It has a foreword by P G Wodehouse, which is a good start, and it describes sixty of the London Clubs then extant.

“Shall we go straight in?”

Kingsley Amis rated this the most depressing question. This is of course complete nonsense. “Shall I press the button now, Mr Putin?” depresses me a lot more. Even, “can you have a family of seven refugees to live with you?” is far from uplifting.

Walled Gardens

Walled Gardens is the title of Annabel Goff’s memoir about her childhood in the south of Ireland in the 1940s and 1950s. (Since describing William Waldegrave’s book as a memoir I now find that it is an autobiography: the former is a description of one part of a person’s life, the latter the whole thing,… Continue reading Walled Gardens

Rod and Net Fishing

The principal difference between shooting and fishing is that the former is Hatch & Release and the latter Catch & Release. The final outcome for pheasant and fish is very different.

Croquet Special

Today dawns in East Anglia with expectation, even excitement, hanging in the air. My illustration is an inadequate attempt to capture the mood. It is the occasion of the annual Late Summer Luncheon for members of the Norfolk County Lawn Croquet Society.

Lord Dundonald

I have been to Westminster Abbey twice and both visits were for memorial services; Lord Hailsham and Dame Joan Sutherland.  A few days ago I paid a third visit, as a tourist.

A Spy in the Family

In the 1980s I was introduced to Patrick O’Brian’s novels about Jack Aubrey and Stephen Maturin (it’s curious that the series does not have a title). Like so many others, I became hooked on the detailed descriptions of life on board a Royal Navy ship in the early years of the 19th century. The depth… Continue reading A Spy in the Family

A Hard Day’s Walk

My walk started well. The track was shaded by trees and had re-assuring red and white GR signs to guide me – important, as I don’t have a map.

Ruins on the River

My idea of the Danube was almost entirely formed by reading Greenmantle, by John Buchan, in which Richard Hannay smuggles himself onto a chain of barges carry arms down the Danube from Germany  bound for Turkey.

Holy Right Hand

Last week, on 20th August, St. Stephen’s Day was celebrated in Hungary. I challenge you to name who wrote this, between the wars, about the St. Stephen’s Day procession of The Holy Right Hand in Budapest. “…the swaying canopy above the sacred relics borne by the Cardinal Prince Archbishop, glorious in crimson and ermine….bishops, monsignori… Continue reading Holy Right Hand