It was in 2005 or so, I think, that I went to the first of the three Persephone Weekends which were held at Newnham College in Cambridge. They were, for me, utterly magical.
[clematis and mellow stone in The Circus, Bath]
I’m not a great joiner. I’ve come to accept this, although I do keep trying with groups and organisations just in case I discover my personality has altered overnight. Despite my preference for independence, however, the idea of spending a few days in the company of people who share many literary enthusiasms is immensely appealing, and those Newnham weekends, with their talks and beautiful surroundings remain etched in my memory. Mainly because it was such a revelation to find so many like-minded readers who love early to mid C20 literature, and all the culture and art and creativity that surrounds it. Not to mention the programme of enlightening talks and book groups.
[flowers in the ‘green room’ at Persephone Books]
So this year’s Persephone gathering, a full-on Festival in Bath lasting three days and with around 1,000 attendees, was always going to be my idea of heaven. But just to make things a little different, I was at the speaking rather than listening end this time, which was a huge privilege and also a little daunting. This is, in part, because Persephone Books books have come to mean so much to me - I’d never come across so many authors in one place who write so beautifully and without snobbery but with great empathy and affection about the sorts of domesticity and family life which are fascinating precisely because they are so recognisably ordinary and everyday. But also because although I know I can do it, I make speaking in public quite difficult for myself since I don’t like to read my talk or use notes (except for quotes and even then I’m terrified I’ll glance down and find I’m on the wrong page) and I’m never quite sure if I’ll remember everything I planned to say (the worst has not yet happened). Still, it means I can look the audience in the eye when speaking, and that’s always a good way to know how things are going.
Having said that, I also prefer not to wear my glasses when speaking so everything is very gently blurred, although I’m not as bad as the very short-sighted John Lennon who deliberately abandoned his glasses on stage because he said that he would lose his nerve if he could see the audience.
[‘The Artist's Wife, Evelyn, Seated, Reading’ (c1935) by Gerald Gardiner, used to illustrate Celia’s “capacity for contentment” in The Priory by Dorothy Whipple]
So there was a lot of preparation for my talks, one of which was on ‘The Decorative Arts in Persephone Books’ (how long have you got?).
[‘Monday, Northampton’ (1940), Robert Whitmore, used to illustrate aspects of domesticity incl washing lines]
and the other on ‘The Gentle Art of Domesticity: The Comfort, Culture, and Creativity of Home’ (a variation on my favourite theme).
[‘Misia et Vallotton à Villeneuve’(1899) by Vuillard, which sold for $17.75 million in 2017, thereby emphasising the status of the domestic in art and literature]
I was also on the panel for a discussion on ‘The Domestic in Art and Literature’ (again, how long have you got?) which was chaired brilliantly by Dr Charlie Lee-Potter (on the left) who managed to help the three of us -
[Photo courtesy of Suzy Slemen]
[in full flow, photo courtesy of Suzy Slemen]
me, Dr Chris Stephens, Laura Freeman of The Times - to cover vast amounts of ground in a short time in the fabulous surroundings of the Holburne Museum.
I was also able to get to a couple of events with a strong Dorothy Whipple focus, and was thrilled to hear just how loved High Wages is. It’s the DW novel closest to my heart, not only because I wrote the preface, but also because it’s all about the world of dresses, shops, characters, and humour in Manchester and Lancashire that I grew up with, and I feel pretty sure my Nana would have got it out of the Levenshulme library, a fine example of a Carnegie library, many of which would have been vital to the network of Whipple’s readership.
[Claridge’s Hotel, 1930s]
I was accompanied by my wingman/bodyguard/PR agent/technical assistant, Phoebe, who found us the best coffee, was suitably appreciative of the Landrace buns, and watched the athletics on Saturday evening with me (highlight: Armand Duplantis breaking his own pole vault world record. Needless to say, we have already booked our sofa seats for the Paris Olympics.) She, like so many others at the Festival I’m sure, was persuaded to start reading Someone at a Distance. This will enable to her to understand why I talked about the significance of the single beds occupied by Ellen and Avery, the importance of the colour yellow in the novel, and the signals sent out by a character who hand-sews exquisite crêpe-de-chine underwear.
[good smocking in Cambridge on Saturday, with Thaxted Morris Men in the background wearing waistcoats designed by Marianne Straub in the 1930s]
And now it’s all over, I’ve pretty much cleared the decks and my diary for a while. The academic article on an important C20 stained glass designer I co-wrote has been accepted without revisions which is both a surprise and a relief, other work commitments have reduced, and I’m ready for a good spell of knitting, baking, dressmaking, and thinking about smocking. I’ve spent part of the week happily cutting out paper patterns, which reminds me of cutting out paper dolls’ clothes when I was little: give me a pair of scissors and a line to cut along, and I’m all set for an evening.
After all the Persephone titles I scoured for my talks, I’m back to Beatles books although I’m reading a godawful biography of Ringo Starr. He had nothing to do with it, and I can see why: the author is desperate to convince the reader that he was a very average drummer and never quite fitted into the Beatles. I also recently read the new biography of Mal Evans, the Beatles’ roadie and general dogsbody, which could have been condensed into an epic Bob Dylan-style song with a bloody shoot-out and tragic ending. I need to move on quickly, and think something like The Warden by Anthony Trollope will do nicely, having gone past a rather lovely early C17 almshouse in Oundle yesterday.
Happy Sunday!
PS It was great to meet so many readers of this newsletter in Bath - thank you for saying hello!
Thank you for this. A note on your picture of room at Claridges. It shows the two singe beds covered with whole-piece quilts. These have an incredible history all of their own. This particularly British form of quilting was a skilled cottage industry in Wales and the North East in the 19th century with many beautiful patterns created by the famous Elizabeth Sanderson of Allenheads. The quilting workshops were reinstituted in the 1930s in Wales and the North East to give miners wives work during the Depression and Claridges bought the quilts for their rooms. The Bowes Museum has a wonderful collection of these quilts.
Loved loved loved the Persephone Festival. I finished the w/e with your Sunday afternoon talk at the shop and went away feeling very contented. I found ‘my tribe’ over the course of the Festival. Thank you for venturing across to Bath. Feeling most privileged to live here and to be able to pop into Persephone regularly!