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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Back in his room Raunce unlocked the drawer in which he kept the red and black notebooks. He verified that they were there. Then he drew pencil and paper towards him, laboriously made out the date and the address then settled down to write to his mother.

'Dear Mother,' he began, 7 hope you are well. I am. There has been nothing fresh here. Mrs Tennant has gone to England to stay. While she is over she hopes to see Mr Jack who is on leave just at present. Mrs Jack has also gone to be with them. So we are on our own here now and will be for a bit I expect.

'Mother I am very worried over this bombing for you. Don't wait until he comes to get your Anderson shelter fixed. Get it done now Mother dear and it will be something off my mind.

'I often wish I was with you dear but you know the way I'm placed. Once I should leave this country then I'm in their power over there. There's the Labour Exchange with the Army waiting. It's hard to know what to do best.

'Mother what would you say to your coming here. Who knows but there might be a change in my situation one of these days. You've often said it was time I settled down. But not a word to anyone dear, there's nothing said yet. But I've my eye on a nice little place in the park what the married butler before Mr Eldon had. Think of it will you Mother. And mind not a word not even to my sister Bell.

'Well I must close now. But I certainly am worried about you with all this bombing. Tell her, that's Bell I mean, to be sure and look after you all right. Your loving son Charley.'

Then he inked it in. And he wrote the address with his pencil and then inked that. Finally he slipped in the Money Order. After he had stamped the envelope he laid his head down on his arms and dropped off to sleep at once.

When a few days later as she lay in bed Miss Swift was paid a call by Miss Burch she was able to cut short the thanks having expressed what was necessary on the first of two visits of sympathy Miss Burch had already paid. But on the subject of her symptoms she left nothing out.

'I wonder you don't ask Doctor Connolly to put his rule over you,' Miss Burch remarked at last.

'Poor nanny,' Miss Swift exclaimed. 'That man?' she added as if injured.

"There's not another within reaching distance only the native doctors and we won't speak about them. Now they've taken their petrol away that is.'

'You'd never expect me to see him, Miss Burch, after what we witnessed every one of us with Mr Eldon. Why it was no more than a crime if I'm to put a name to it.'

'Mr Eldon he died of a broken heart Miss Swift. There was a lot he told nobody.'

'I'm sure I trembled for him as he lay there Miss Burch but then you see I knew. What training I've had was the best even if I've never served with a hospital. I could tell you things. There was a place I was in, I had him from a baby. The doctors gave him up, gave him up dear and they had two in from Harley Street. It was simple enough really. There he was such a good little chap. Lancelot his name was, his mother was Lady Mercy Swinley. Well one night when they were all gone I was watching for I never left his side, day and night I watched him yes, so I leant forward and looked into his little face and I could see he was going before my very eyes. It was all or nothing Miss Burch. So I took him up and I shook him. Yes and I slapped hard. My heart was in my mouth but he gave a kind of convulsive heave of his whole body and brought it all up. I'd known all along there was something stuck in his gullet but there they wouldn't listen. He brought it up. It was black as pitch. Then after I'd changed his bed things he fell into such a sweet sleep. Something made me do it there you are. But I shook so afterwards I dropped the cup when I poured myself a cup of tea. That hospital nurse couldn't fathom it once she came back. But I knew better.'

'Well,' said Miss Burch. 'But wasn't that the lady I read about the other day, the mother I mean?'

'Yes,' the nanny answered, 'times are hard for a number of them now, there's big changes under way. I shouldn't wonder if things were never the same say what you will. But don't mistake me. I wouldn't put myself above a doctor. Though we can all bear witness about Mr Eldon how that poor man lay calling on a name and Doctor Connolly no more than paid him a call every so often, when we all know what we had under our very eyes with him growing weaker each day that passed, I don't say but someone might have taken matters into their own hands. And I'm sure they could have made free with my medicine cupboard and welcome.'

'You'll excuse me,' Agatha gently said, 'but that's a topic I can't mention.'

'Why certainly,' Miss Swift said bright. 'You don't want to take notice. The truth is,' she said frank, 'I'm an old woman and I'm growing simple.'

'Now Miss Swift…'

'Thank you," the nanny interrupted rather breathless, 'and perhaps it's understandable. After all there's not a woman after a life spent with her charges but doesn't get an eye for illness. It may start as no more than a snivel when you put 'em to bed and then before you've time to adjust yourself you're right in the middle of it, day and night nurses under your feet with oxygen bottles and all that flummery. Prevention is better than cure I say. And there's many a one I've saved when those others in stiff cuffs had their backs turned.'

'I dare hazard it's no different to what I am with a floor,' Miss Burch said conversationally. 'Take a good polished parquet, now, that they've let go. With my experience I can tell at a glance, tell at a glance,' she said.

'There you are,' the nanny exclaimed and lay back grey about the lips. She was wrapped round in the huge crocheted shawl Miss Burch had lent her on the first visit.

'And there's some won't learn their lesson,' Agatha went on. 'Take Raunce. There's a man gone forty, been in good places all his life but his silver's a disgrace. I know of houses, houses I've worked in mind, where he could never have lasted seven days.'

'I won't have Arthur in my nursery.'

'Mrs Welch won't let him enter her kitchen. But then you've both of you a place you can call your own. Not like me with no more than a door opening into the sink and a bit of a cupboard in all this mansion. Now there's one woman been very different lately. Hardly the same at all. Mrs Welch.'

'Time was I wouldn't even venture into her scullery,' the nanny said, 'but since her little Albert's been over there's a noticeable change. He's a sweet child if he may be a bit of a monkey.'

'I suspicion whether it's all the child Miss Swift.'

'I've seen so many,' Miss Swift said, 'oh dear such a number I've looked after and not one but has a soft spot in their hearts for old nanny.'

'I shouldn't wonder if it wasn't the gin again,' Miss Burch said grim.

'Oh dear oh no I wouldn't wish to listen. Why fancy. Oh no I'm an old woman. I've seen things you'd never believe but I wouldn't wish to hear such a thing.'

'It's true for all that,' Miss Burch announced with what seemed to be satisfaction.

'There now I've forgotten every bit of it poor nanny,' Miss Swift replied. 'I don't know I'm sure but you gave me quite a shock with what you just said. But there, I've forgotten all about it. Bless me yes.'

There's things I wish I could forget,' Agatha said in a far-off voice.

Miss Swift squirmed in bed.

'Take Raunce,' Miss Burch began, then stopped.

'You think I should be told?" the nanny asked.

'You'd never guess what he's been up to now,' Miss Burch went on adamant.

•I'm not strong, leastways that's how I've felt lately, weak,' the nanny muttered.

'He's took that peacock little Albert killed, which Mrs Welch hid away, and he's hung it in the outside larder. Swarming with maggots over our meat. How do you like that Miss Swift? It's wicked or worse it is.'

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