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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'Why you do need to know a lot,' she said.

'I know all I can my girl and that's never done me harm. I got other things to think to besides love and kisses, did you know?'

'No I didn't, not from the way you go on I didn't.'

The trouble with you girls is you take everything so solemn. Now all I was asking was why you looked in on us while you came down to dinner?'

Thinkin' I came to see you I suppose,' she said. She turned to look at him. What she saw made her giggle mouth open and almost soundless. Then she slapped a hand across her teeth and ran on ahead. He took no notice. With a swirl of the coloured skirt of her uniform she turned a corner in front along this high endless corridor. The tap of her shoes faded. He walked on. He appeared to be thinking. He went so soft he might have been a ghost without a head. But as he made his way he repeated to himself, over and over, This time I'll take his old chair. I must.'

He arrived to find the household seated at table waiting, except for Mrs Welch and her two girls who ate in the kitchen and for Bert who was late. There was his place laid for Raunce next Miss Burch. Kate and Edith were drawn up ready. They sat with hands folded on laps before their knives, spoons and forks. At the head, empty, was the large chair from which Mr Eldon had been accustomed to preside. At the last and apart sat Paddy the lampman. For this huge house, which was almost entirely shut up, had no electric light.

Charley went straight over to a red mahogany sideboard that was decorated with a swan at either end to support the top on each long curved neck. In the centre three ferns were niggardly growing in gold Worcester vases. He took out a knife, a spoon and a fork. He sat down in Mr Eldon's chair, the one with arms. Seated, he laid his own place. They all stared at him.

'What are we waiting for?' he said into the silence. He took out a handkerchief again. Then he blew his nose as though nervous.

'Would you be in a draught?' Miss Burch enquired at last.

'Why no thank you,' he replied. The silence was pregnant.

'I thought perhaps you might be,' she said and sniffed.

At that he turned to see whether he had forgotten to close the door. It was shut all right. The way he looked made Kate choke.

'I heard no one venture a pleasantry,' Miss Burch announced at this girl.

'I thought I caught Paddy crack one of his jokes,' Raunce added with a sort of violence. A grin spread over this man's face as it always did when his name was mentioned. He was uncouth, in shirtsleeves, barely coming up over the table he was so short. With a thick dark neck and face he had a thatch of hair which also sprouted grey from the nostrils. His eyes were light blue as was one of Charley's, for Raunce had different coloured eyes, one dark one light which was arresting.

The girls looked down to their laps.

'Or maybe she swallowed the wrong way although there's nothing on the table and it's all growing cold in the kitchen,' Raunce continued. He got no reply.

'Well what are we waiting on?' he asked.

'Why for your precious lad to fetch in our joint,' Miss Burch replied.

'I shouldn't wonder if the nursery hasn't detained him,' was Charley's answer.

Then Kate had better bring it,' Miss Burch said. And they sat without a word while she was gone. Twice Agatha made as though to speak, seated as he was for the first time in Mr Eldon's place, but she did not seem able to bring it to words. Her eyes, which before now had been dull, each sported a ripple of light from tears. Until, after Kate had returned laden Raunce cast a calculated look at Miss Burch as he stood to carve, saying, 'Nor I won't go. Not even if it is to be Church of England I don't aim to watch them lower that coffin in the soil.'

At this Miss Burch pushed the plate away from in front of her to sit with closed eyes. He paused. Then as he handed a portion to Edith he went on, 'I don't reckon on that as the last I shall see of the man. It's nothing but superstition all that part.'

'And the wicked shall flourish even as a green bay tree,' Miss Burch announced in a loud voice as though something had her by the throat. Once more there was a pause. Then Raunce began again as he served Paddy. Because he had taken a roast potato into his mouth with the carving fork he spoke uneasy.

'Why will Mrs Welch have it that she must carve for the kitchen? Don't call her cook she don't like the name. There's not much I can do the way this joint's been started.'

The girls were busy with their food. O'Conor was noisy with the portion before him. Raunce settled down to his plate. Agatha still sat back.

'And how many months would it be since you went out?' she asked like vinegar.

'Let me think now. The last occasion must have been when I had to see Paddy here to the Park Gates that time he was "dronk" at Christmas.'

This man grinned although his mouth was watering in volume so that he had to swallow constantly.

'Careful now,' said Raunce.

Kate and Edith stopped eating to watch the Irishman open eyed. This man was their sport and to one of them he was even more than that. In spite of Miss Burch he looked so ludicrous that they had suddenly to choke back tremors of giggling.

'It was nearly my lot,' Raunce added.

'It couldn't hurt no one to show respect to the dead,' Miss Burch tremulously said. Charley answered in downright tones, 'Begging your pardon Miss Burch my feelings are my own and I daresay there's no one here but yourself misses him more than me. Only this morning I went to Mrs T., asked leave and told her,' but he did not at once continue. The silence in which he was received seemed to daunt him. With a clumsy manner he turned it off, saying, 'Yes, I remember when I came for my first interview she said I can't call you Charles, no she says "I'll call you Arthur. All the first footmen have been called Arthur ever since Arthur Weavell, a real jewel that man was," she said.'

He looked at Miss Burch to find that she had flushed.

'And now I make no doubt you are counting on her addressing you as Raunce,' Miss Burch said in real anger. 'With Mr Eldon not yet in the ground. But I'll tell you one thing,' she continued, her voice rising, 'you'll never get a Mr out of me not ever, even if there is a war on.'

'What's the war got to do with it?' he asked, and he winked at Kate. 'Never mind let it go. Anyway I know now don't I.'

'No,' she said, having the last word, 'men like you never will appreciate or realize.'

Next morning Raunce chose to enter Mrs Jack's bedroom when Agatha Burch was at work on the Aubusson carpet.

He carried a large tray on which he had arranged three stacks of fresh blotting paper coloured pink, white and yellow, two saucers of Worcester china in which were knibs of bronze and gold plated, two bottles of red and blue ink with clean syringes to fill the inkwells, and piles of new stationery which matched those three shades of blotting paper.

He laid this down on a writing table. When he saw her face which was as it sometimes looked on her bad days so called, pale or blotchy as a shrimp before boiling, he cleared his throat. He watched her close but she did not regard him. He cleared his throat again. He spoke.

'Just the very person,' he said warmly.

'Oh yes,' was her answer.

'I had a bit of a shock this morning,' he went on, looking out of the window onto a glorious day, 'I moved down into the butler's apartment yesterday as will be known to you because one of your girls got the room ready.'

'I don't know how you had the heart,' she said.

'That's all right Miss Burch, everyone has their feelings, but I'm sure Mrs T. would not wish the strongroom left unguarded of a night time.'

'I hope everything was to your fancy,' she remarked.

'I slept very well thank you, mustn't grumble at all. Sheets nicely aired, a good night's sleep considerin'. But I had a bit of a shock when my tea was fetched me.'

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