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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'Well?' Charley asked the lad when he got back. He was handed a scrap of paper. He examined it. 'I can't read this,' he said.

'You should write down the messages neatly on a proper bit of paper,' Miss Burch told Albert. Raunce sat staring at what he held. There's times I despair of you my lad,' he moaned. Kate winked at Albert. 'Well come on, don't stand there dumb,' Charley went on, 'I can tell it's from Mrs Jack an' that's all.'

'Not returning for few days Violet Tennant,' the lad recited.

A silence fell over them once more. Then Kate saw fit to comment with what seemed like satisfaction, 'And that's the last we shall see or even 'ear of her if you ask me.'

'Why Kate,' Edith said, 'I never heard such a thing.'

'It was uncalled for,' Miss Burch pronounced, 'and what's more I don't wish another word spoken,' she added very grim. Silence fell yet again. At last Raunce broke the spell.

'Left all on our own,' he said with genuine emotion, seeming to ignore the others. 'How do you like that?'

Edith appealed to the lampman,

'But the Irish would act the same as anyone surely?' she put it to him, 'they'd be busy looking after their own if Jerry came? They'd never bother to protect us. They wouldn't have the leisure?'

He made no reply. It was Charley gave her an answer.

'And what about the panzer grenadiers?' he asked. 'When they come through this tight little island like a dose of Epsom salts will they bother with those hovels, with two pennorth of cotton? Not on your life. They'll make tracks straight for great mansions like we're in my girl.'

'Mr Raunce,' Miss Burch reproved him.

I'll ask you to excuse me Miss Burch,' he said. 'I got carried away for a moment. It's you ladies I can't get off my mind.'

'I know what I'd say if one of those dirty Germans offered me an impoliteness,' Edith said.

'And what good would that do if he didn't speak English?' Kate wanted to be told.

This much,' Edith answered. 'He wouldn't be left in two minds even if he was only familiar with his own language.'

'Now look girl,' Raunce broke in gently, 'it's not only a question of one but of a whole company. Not just one individual but of above a score. Get me?'

'Oo a hundred,' Edith moaned. 'I ought to get away from here.'

Paddy spoke again indistinct as ever.

'Well what is it now?' Charley asked Kate.

'E says not to worry, they won't never come over.'

'I will not allow myself to get upset,' Raunce announced with what appeared to be excessive good humour, 'I've promised my lad here. But can anyone tell me what's to stop 'em,' he went on.

Paddy replied readily in sibilants and gutturals. Kate did not wait to be asked. She translated at once.

'Because the country's too poor to tempt an army he reckons, all bog and stones he says.'

'I'm going to lie down for a spell before I sit by Miss Swift,' Agatha announced as she got up to leave by way of the scullery. For the nanny had taken to her bed. No one paid attention. They all stared at the lampman.

'But let 'im satisfy me in this respect,' Raunce cried, 'what the condition of Ireland has to do with it? For one thing if it wasn't rotten land fit only for spuds we'd've been 'ere to this day, our government I mean. No we gave Ireland back because we didn't want it, or this part anyway. Nor Jerry doesn't want it. Then what is 'e after? I'll tell you. What he requires is a stepping stone to invade the old country with. Like crossin' a stream to keep your feet dry.'

'D'you really think so Mr Raunce?' Edith asked.

'I'm dead certain,' he answered.

'Then what are we waitin' for?' Kate wanted to know. 'If Michael drove us down this afternoon we could cross over on the night boat.'

'Hold hard a minute,' Raunce advised her, 'you're drawin' your wages. Right? You're gettin' what you thought was fair I presume or you wouldn't have come nor taken the place?'

'I wanted to get away from 'ome,' she interrupted.

'You wanted to leave home so you went into service,' he echoed. 'All right. You've been here 'ow long? Sixteen months O. K. All that period you ate their grub, took your wage, and didn't give more in return than would cover a tanner. I'm not blaming, mind, I've done the same. Now then when they're entitled to a month's notice you want to welsh no offence to cook. Don't call her cook she don't like it,' he added referring to Mrs Welch, and seemingly in high good humour.

'Forty quid a year and all found then to have a hundred Jerries after me no thank you,' she said.

'Kate Armstrong,' Edith cried out.

'Send in your notice then," Raunce went on, 'there's nothing and nobody to stop you. But give them the four weeks that's coming to 'em. And be called up in the Army when you land on the other side.'

'What d'you mean get called up?'

'Didn't you know? They've Army police waitin' where the travellers come off the boat. You'll be took straight off to the depot.'

'I wouldn't go.'

'Then if you resist it's the glass 'ouse for you my girl.'

'The glass 'ouse? What's that?'

'Army Detention Barracks ducks. It's rough in them places.'

'Well I don't know, you are cheerful aren't you,' Kate said.

'That's right you forget all about it,' he answered. He winked his bluest eye at Edith so Kate could not see him.

Looking round the corner into the great kitchen Miss Burch said, 'I was going to have a lie down for ten minutes but here I am.'

Mrs Welch was alone with her notebook. She did not look up. She called out, 'Jane a cup of tea for Miss Burch.'

Agatha sat down across the table from her. She did not speak again until the tea was brought. Then she came out almost tragically dramatic, in a very different tone to the one she had used in the servants' hall.

'They're not either of them coming back now,' she said. 'There's been a telegram. They're staying over.'

'Not ever?' Mrs Welch enquired sharp, drawing a tumbler of what appeared to be water towards her.

'Oh I don't go so far as that Mrs Welch,' Miss Burch replied, 'I wouldn't like to say they were never returning, but here we are now on our own and there's Raunce in there over his dinner upsetting my girls with his talk of the war and this I. R. A. worry.'

'I never let that man into my kitchen.'

'You're one of the lucky ones Mrs Welch. You've a place you can call your own.'

'Ah,' this woman answered, 'but run over by two-legged mice.'

'Can't keep nothing safe,' she went on after a silence, and took a gulp out of the glass. 'It's me kidneys,' she explained.

'I wonder you don't take that hot,' Miss Burch commented.

'Hot?' Mrs Welch cried. 'Not on your life not with…' and then she checked herself. 'It's not natural to sup what's been heated except when it's soup or broth,' she went on careful. Miss Burch eyed the tumbler. On which Mrs Welch put her head back and drank what was left at one go, as if in defiance. 'There you are,' she said to Agatha in a thicker voice.

'Very soon if he carries on in the way he's doing,' Miss Burch began again rather quickly, 'I'll remain to do the work alone. Even now with Miss Swift taken bad there's only Edith to look after the children.'

At this Mrs Welch without warning let out a shout of, 'Who took my waterglass tell me that,' and leaned right across the table.

'Bless me,' Miss Burch said, hurriedly drinking up her tea. 'But it's not as if it was any more trouble takin' your Albert out for the afternoons I'm sure. The girl's bringing a third along doesn't amount to nothing,' she said.

At this point, as Agatha was getting up to go, Mary the scullery maid came in the door. 'I spoke to the butcher'm,' she said.

There was a heavy silence. At last Mrs Welch replied unctuously, 'So you spoke in spite of what I said,' From her voice she might have been pleased.

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