Henry Green - Loving

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Green remains a dim figure for many Americans. He stopped writing in 1952, at age 47, with just nine novels and a memoir behind him. In the last years of his life-he died in 1973-he became a kind of British Thomas Pynchon, agreeing to be photographed only from behind. But those who knew him often revered him. W. H. Auden called him the finest living English novelist. His real name was Henry Vincent Yorke. The son of a wealthy Birmingham industrialist, he was educated at Eton and Oxford but never completed his degree. He became managing director of the family factory, which made beer-bottling machines. But first he spent a year on the factory floor with the ordinary workers, and his fiction is forever marked by an understanding of the English at all levels of society, something rare in class-bound British literature. Loving is a classic upstairs-downstairs story, with the emphasis on downstairs. You see the life of a great Irish country house during World War II through the eyes of its mostly British servants, who make a world of their own during a period when their masters are away. Green's generosity towards even the most scheming and rascally of them offers a lesson you never forget.
One of his most admired works, Loving describes life above and below stairs in an Irish country house during the Second World War. In the absence of their employers the Tennants, the servants enact their own battles and conflict amid rumours about the war in Europe; invading one another's provinces of authority to create an anarchic environment of self-seeking behaviour, pilfering, gossip and love.
"Loving stands, together with Living, as the masterpiece of this disciplined, poetic and grimly realistic, witty and melancholy, amorous and austere voluptuary-comic, richly entertaining-haunting and poetic-writer." – TLS
"Green's works live with ever-brightening intensity-it's like dancing with Nijinsky or Astaire, who lead you effortlessly on." – The Wall Street Journal
"Green's novels- have become, with time, photographs of a vanished England -Green's human qualities – his love of work and laughter; his absolute empathy; his sense of splendour amid loss – make him a precious witness to any age." – John Updike
"Green's books are solid and glittering as gems." – Anthony Burgess

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'You're very very wicked boy,' said Evelyn to Albert looking where she thought he looked. What she saw was one dove driving another along a ledge backwards. Each time it reached the end the driven one took flight and fluttered then settled back on that same ledge once more only to be driven back the other way to clatter into air again. This was being repeated tirelessly when from another balcony something fell.

That's ripe that is,' Albert said.

'I didn't see,' Evelyn cried. 'I didn't really. What came about?'

'And then there was a time,' the nanny said from behind closed eyes and the wall of deafness, 'oh my dears your old nanny hardly knows how to tell you but the naughty unloyal dove I told of.

'It was a baby one,' Albert said.

'A baby dove. Oh do let me see.'

'I daresn't stir,' he said.

'Where did she fall then?' Evelyn asked.

'Quiet children,' Miss Swift said'having opened her eyes, 'or I shan't finish the story you asked after, restless chicks,' she said. 'And then there came a time,' she went on, shutting her eyes again, hands folded.

'What? Where?' Moira whispered.

'It was a baby one,' Albert said, 'and nude. That big bastard pushed it.'

'The big what?' Evelyn asked. 'Oh but I mean oughtn't we to rescue the poor?'

'Where did she drop then?' Moira wanted to be told. But a rustle made them turn about on either side of Miss Swift who sat facing that dovecote shuteyed and deaf. They saw Kate and Edith in long purple uniforms bow swaying towards them in soft sunlight through the white budding branches, fingers over lips. Even little Albert copied the gesture back this time. All five began soundlessly giggling in the face of beauty.

'Did you see Mr Raunce?' Kate asked at last.

'E went that way,' Albert answered while the two girl children sat with forefingers still on their mouths.

'What did 'e come out of?' Kate asked.

'That door,' Albert said.

'And then they were in great peril every mortal one,' Miss Swift continued.

'And oh Edith,' Miss Evelyn announced, 'we've been watching the doves they are so funny.'

'I shouldn't pay attention if I was you dear.'

'Why shouldn't I pay attention?'

'Not if I was you I shouldn't.'

'Why shouldn't I?' Miss Evelyn asked.

'Because they're very rum them birds,' Kate said also whispering.

'Why are they rum?' Miss Moira asked.

'I'll say they're rum,' Albert announced. 'One of the old 'uns shoved a young bird and 'e fell down right on 'is nut.'

'Well I never,' Kate remarked to Edith. They watched that dovecote over the children's heads.

'Sssh,' said Edith watching rapt. The children turned. There were so many doves they hardly knew which way to look.

'And then there came a time when this wicked tempting bird came to her father to ask her hand,' Miss Swift said, passing a dry tongue over dry lips, shuteyed.

'It don't seem right not out in the open,' Kate mentioned casual.

'And again over there too and there,' said Edith.

'Where?' cried Miss Evelyn too loud though not sharp enough as she thought to interrupt Miss Swift. The nanny just put a hand on her arm while she droned.

'Oh what are they doing then?' Miss Moira cried.

'They're kissing love,' Kate answered low.

'Hush dear,' said Edith.

'But where Kate I don't see. Oh look at those two oh look she's got her head right down his beak, she's going to strangle him,' and Moira's voice rose. 'Nanny nanny stop it quick.'

'Good gracious child what's this?"

But the children had got up and as they rose every dove was apart once more and on the wing, filling the air with sighing.

'Why now Edith and Kate whatever do you think you're about?'

'We've just finished our dinner,' Kate replied.

'Wandering all over the grounds where anyone might see. Who's ever heard?' the nanny said. 'Sit down children and you Albert. If you're going to stay with us you'll do as you're told.'

'Yes'm.'

'Well we're accustomed to let our dinner settle,' Kate said.

'And I make no doubt you use that to get away of an afternoon and let the work look after itself. You'll have Miss Burch after you.'

'Come away, dear,' Edith said to Kate.

'Doves kissing indeed,' Miss Swift called surprisingly after their backs, 'stuff and nonsense. That's the mother feeding her little one dears. If you sit quiet enough you'll see for yourselves,' she said to the children. 'And now where was I?'

'You were at that bit where the kind old father says he can marry her 'cause he's getting too old to know better.'

'Well now that's right,' Miss Swift began once more and the doves, spiralling down in the funnel made by trees which were coming out all over in a yellow green through chestnut sheaths the colour of a horse's coat, settled one after another each outside the door to his quarters and after strutting once or twice went on quarrelling, murdering and making love again. 'So then not knowing any better he let him have her hand,' the nanny said.

Breathless the children watched this leaning tower. Very soon one white dove was crouching with opened beak before another with stuck-out chest. Not long after that they were at it once more and the fat bird, grown thin now, had his head deep down the other's neck which was swallowing in frantic gulps that shook its crescent body. Elsewhere another bird trundled an egg to the edge. Yet another chased a fifth to a corner until it fluttered over behind where these two began again. In pairs they advanced and retreated. Then one more small mass fell without a thud, pink.

'There y'are,' said Albert.

'Where? I didn't see. Oh I've missed again,' Evelyn said. 'Did you?' to Moira.

'You're none of you listening you naughty children,' the nanny said. 'Here's poor nanny wasting her breath and you don't pay attention. We'd better get on with our walk if you ask me.'

'Why nanny?'

'Are you coming?'

'Yes'm.'

'But why nanny?'

'Because nanny says so. Come on now. We'll go down by the fish 'atchery,' and she made off, holding Evelyn by the hand. She dragged on her right leg.

'Tell you what,' Albert said to Moira as they loitered to follow, 'I'll bite 'is little 'ead off'n.'

'You'll what?'

'Like they did in the local where I was evacuated.'

'What's the local?'

'In the pub down in the country. There was a man there bit the 'eads off of mice for a pint. The lady I was evacuated with said so.'

'You shan't you wicked boy I'll call nanny.'

'I'll show yer,' he said darting sideways towards the base of that tower. 'You wait till I find'm,' he said and she burst out wailing. Miss Swift came back, mopped the child's face. The others watched as though disinterested. She did not ask Albert. 'I'll tell Mrs Welch about you' was all she told him.

Later that same afternoon Raunce was in the pantry lending his lad a hand with the tea things. That is to say while his Albert washed the cups and saucers, the spoons and plates, Raunce held up a heavy silver tray like a cymbal to polish it. 'Ha' he went at the expanse of mirror metal, 'ha,' then he rubbed his breath away as he whistled through his teeth in time to the short strokes in the way a man will when grooming a horse, and squinting terribly the while.

Suddenly he spoke. Bert grew quiet at his voice. Raunce said, 'I could have laughed right in her face,' and stopped.

'When was that?' Albert enquired.

'Yes so I could and with you sitting there still as a mouse.'

The boy looked speechless at him.

'Oh get on with your work,' Raunce quoted from another context. There was another lull while Albert redoubled his effort and the butler watched. 'It's not as if we had all night,' Raunce went on, 'which is to say I have not,' he said speaking genteely and he let a short guffaw, 'lucky Charley they call me, begorrah,' he added.

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