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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'Moses,' he corrected himself.

'There,' Jane announced between gasps, 'I feel like I'd been emptied.'

'What of duckth?' Kate asked and there blew up another gust of giggling. 'Oh me,' someone remarked weak. 'It's my side,' another said. Then they quietened.

'Well nobody can say we don't have our fun on occasions,' Edith made comment as she dabbed at her great eyes.

'It'd be all right if we was like this every night,' Jane murmured.

'Oh it's not so bad after all.'

'I don't know Edith,' Mary answered. 'You've not got Mrs Welch although I shouldn't mention names.'

'We ain't got her Albert,' Raunce put in.

'It's not him so much,' Jane explained. 'He's well enough conducted indoors in the kitchen,' she said. 'It's Mrs Welch is the matter. Oh I know I shouldn't but she drinks. All the time she drinks. She's only gone in to Dublin to get another crate. She's like the wells, she's runnin' dry. There you are. That's right isn't it Mary or isn't it?'

'It's the honest truth,' Mary said.

'Go on,' Raunce objected, 'but then 'ow does she get the stuff delivered will you oblige me with that? Because I don't need to tell you she's not drawin' a drop out of my cellar. I don't hold with this fiddling like you'll come across in some households.'

'Why,' Jane disclosed in a hushed voice, 'it's the tradesmen. You know she won't 'ave one of us pass the time of day with ' em even. Well you'd never guess what's behind it. I tell you they drop a case of the stuff with the meat and another with the groceries. And the price all included in the monthly books, isn't that so Mary?'

'That's right,' this girl replied.

'The artful old cow,' Raunce exclaimed.

'Charley,' Edith said firm.

'Pardon I'm sure,' he answered gravely, 'but did you ever hear anything to touch this? Fiddlin'

'er monthly books. No. You know that's serious this is.' He was solemn.

'You're tellin' me,' Kate muttered.

'What?' he asked at once and sharp. 'Bless me my gel but you seem to grow more and more sarky every day which passes. What's come over you?'

'Nothin' Mr Raunce.'

'You let her be, Charley,' Edith reproved him. 'She was only agreein'.'

'No offence intended I'm sure,' he assured her. 'But is that what Mrs Welch is up to? Would you believe it?' he enquired of all and sundry in an astounded tone of voice.

'The wickedness there is in this world,' Mary said.

'The wickedness?' he asked gentle but with a sharp look.

'Because that's thievin' that is,' Jane concluded like a little girl put through her catechism.

'You've said it,' Raunce agreed and relaxed. It had plainly been the right answer. 'That's the very word.' Then he quoted Miss Burch with solemnity. 'And the wicked shall flourish even as a green bay tree,' he intoned. Everyone bar Albert seemed to approve.

A few days afterwards Edith entered Charley's room as she was coming on her way from tea in the servants' hall.

'Come on out and feed the peacockth,' she proposed, for Paddy had at last consented to free these birds again. She waved a bag she had filled with scraps.

'Steady,' he replied. 'That's no light matter.'

'Why what's up Charley?'

'Nothing,' he answered.

'I know there is,' she said.

'I'm not right,' he went on. 'I vomited this morning another time.'

'Oh dear that's bad,' she said lightly.

'I shouldn't wonder if you made fun of this as you've done before but I love you so much my stomach's all upset an' there you are.'

'So it should be,' she countered as though determined not to worry.

'Yes but what's to be the end?' he asked low. 'I can't go on the way I am. I'm in bad shape. Honest, dear.'

'You wait till we're married love. I'll take care you're never sick then.'

'Oh the worry of it all,' he broke out.

'Now just you come along with me,' she said. 'Getting out in the air for a while will do you more good than any other thing.'

'I've no time.'

'No time Charley? How's that?'

'I must lay the dinner dear. Now my Albert's left, everything falls back on me you know.'

'But surely you've never forgotten how they're over to Clancarty for dinner with the Captain. Why you've a free evenin'.'

'There I go again,' he said bewildered. 'It had clean slipped my memory. Well perhaps I will at that.'

'That's right Charley,' she coaxed as she took his arm. She laid her body up against his shoulder. 'We'll sit us down by the old dovecote so you can rest. It will do you ever such a lot of good you'll see.'

When they were established there after she had conducted him as though he was an old man and he had sat himself down heavily he remarked, 'It come as a big shock to me my Albert leavin' the way he did.'

'But you knew he'd given in his notice love,' she objected.

'Of course I knew,' he replied querulous, 'but I never thought he meant to go, any more than Mrs Tennant took it that he did. As she told me.'

'I can't say I considered it was other than talk,' she agreed.

'To walk in just like that an' say look my month's up I must be off the way he did. I never guessed that bloodless abortion 'ad the guts,' he said with a return to his old manner.

'You never could abide him could you?' she remarked.

'That dam kid's attitude was what got my goat,' Mr Raunce explained. The high falutin' love he laid claim to, the suffering looks he darted, 'is faintin' snotty ways.'

Edith gave a single deep laugh.

'Yes go on and laugh,' Raunce said.

'No you made yourself awkward with that lad.'

'That's as may be,' he answered and seemed despondent. 'Yet there's only the one method to learn them kids a trade. It's no earthly good kissin'

'em as you did.'

'Me?' she cried. 'I never.'

'You did that and in front of the investigator johnny into the bargain.'

'Oh well,' she said.

'Have it your own way,' he replied. He relapsed into silence.

'What is it dear?' she asked.

'I'm worried,' he answered.

'What's worrying you then?'

'Nothing.'

'It's not about the old ring any more is it?' she enquired.

'Well Albert's goin' did set 'er mind on it once again. Seems that she'd told him she couldn't accept his notice while he was under suspicion, or so she made out to me. I thought we'd better make an end to that talk. "Look Madam," I said to her, "you can't deny you have the ring back so where's the evidence," I said. She says to me, "But it's what I suspect Raunce, that's where the shoe pinches," or some such phrase. "I can't guarantee it won't happen a second time Madam," I told her, "an* if anything should, then you report it to me Madam an' I'll see you don't have any more trouble. There's things I didn't know then that I know now," I says. "I see Raunce," she said. "Then you don't wish for me to do another thing and I can sleep quiet into the bargain?"

"You silly old cow you can do just that," I said to her only I didn't.'

'Charley that's not very nice,' Edith objected.

'But we've 'ad about enough surely? There's more going on in the world these days than a little crazy bastard of a cook's nephew having the laugh on us. Secreted it right here too didn't he? I shouldn't mind if I never set eyes on these blasted white pigeons again,' he ended.

'Why,' she said, 'your pain you've got's upset you.'

'You're dead right it has,' he replied. 'You don't benefit by your night's rest,' she went on. He appeared to warm to this description of his symptoms. That's exactly it,' he agreed. 'I sometimes just seem to do nothin' but turn over.'

'And d'you always think of me?' she asked taking tighter hold of the arm she had hung on to.

'You bet I do,' he answered. 'More'n you ever realize.' That's right,' she said, 'then you won't come by much harm.'

'I do love you Edie.'

'Do you?'

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