'Pollyanna's Protege' by Margaret Piper Chalmers

MY THOUGHTS: 

This novel was published in 1944 and it shows. My old edition has a double e at the end of protĕgĕ. We are in the thick of WW2 and the story includes spies, espionage and worlds being upturned everywhere. 

Jimmy now uses his engineering expertise in the Middle East. He's donned his soldier's uniform again after 25 years. Jim Junior is utilizing his photography skills by flying over the South Pacific and taking sneaky aerial snaps of enemy bases. Judy employs her dancing talent not on swanky stages but by rallying troops as part of a mobile entertainment unit. Junior and Judy both come strongly into the latter part this story, although their dad doesn't appear within these pages at all. 

At the start, Pollyanna and 16-year-old Ruth are holding the home front together. Pollyanna has picked up the busy hospital and Red Cross work she was doing at the end of Pollyanna of the Orange Blossoms. When this mother and daughter duo visit a local estate sale together, they purchase a compelling watercolour painting by an artist whose calling apparently destroyed him. That same afternoon, they rescue Rosemary Lane, a destitute and homeless girl who'd been wronged by her most recent employer. Although taking a total stranger home on a whim to live with them sounds very reckless, it works in this instance because it's a weird era, and heck, because it's Pollyanna. 

Under their roof, Rosemary deals with her past, becomes embroiled in some espionage, and falls in love. (I won't give outright spoilers, but no prizes for guessing the identity of the young man who finally steals her heart. Wink wink.)

Okay, this is not quality literature. In fact I facepalmed several times. 

1) The narrator, along with Pollyanna's inner voice, instructs us on how to feel about various characters rather than letting us make up our own minds. We're too often told upfront that this guy is sadly bitter or this woman is shamefully selfish. 

2) Chalmers draws from sad old tropes. For example, Rosemary's guardian, Cousin Sophia, was urgently trying to communicate something vital on her deathbed. That scenario should be limited to once per series if at all, and it's already happened early on with young Jimmy's father. Come on Chalmers, let Eleanor H Porter have the monopoly on that one.

3) There are far too many information dumps by characters who get carried away, then suddenly say, 'Oops, maybe I shouldn't have said all that.' 

4) Rosemary is a faultless heroine who needs no character development. Even when she learns how certain people ruined her life, her default reaction is immediate forgiveness and compassion. She's just like the too-good-to-be-true heroines of the animated Barbie movies my daughter was enamoured with when she was small. Sure, Rosemary is Pollyanna's protĕgĕ, but even Pollyanna herself isn't quite so pure and angelic as that. And we keep having dudes falling in love with Rosemary about five minutes after they meet her. My eyes were worn out from rolling. 

5) I found myself quite confused at times, wondering if I'd missed something. Chalmers introduces an entire community, the village of Brixton. She seemed to assume our familiarity with two particular families; the Greens and the Graves, yet when I consulted my list of Glad Books, I hadn't missed a single one.   

6) Holey Moley, there are enough back story subplots here to fill several extra novels all by themselves! Margaret Piper Chalmers has crammed this novel to bursting point.

Okay, other than all that, there are also a few inevitable instances where our 21st century sensibilities might get chafed by sentiments expressed in this mid-20th century novel. I'm never surprised or upset by heated racism expressed by characters who were written during war times, because what else can we expect from authors who were actually living through the conflict? We need to cut them some slack. However, having read The Grapes of Wrath I did feel my hackles rise when certain main characters casually refer to transient workers as 'lazy Okies.' 

Then there's the matter of Rosemary's best friend, Sally, who is louder than life, both in her personality and the bright and garish way she dresses. Her friends and fiance all claim to adore Sally for who she is, yet everyone still wants to change her and make her tone herself down. Go figure! I feel that at least in our era, Sally would have more freedom to dress as flamboyantly as she likes.  

On the whole, the heart of this story, and its snapshot of the time it presents, covers over all the gripes I've just aired. We get to rub shoulders with young men who have no idea whether or not they'll even be alive in another month, and young women who are prepared to roll up their sleeves and perform work they've never done before. In many ways, this book deserves to be up there with the likes of Rilla of Ingleside as an engaging artefact from a specific era. Chalmers evokes the time when Winston Churchill's encouragement to 'Keep Calm and Carry On' was surely a catch cry everywhere. Yet sadly, this one has fallen out of print. 

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Next up will be Pollyanna of Magic Valley by yet another author, Virginia May Moffitt. It's become a real baton handing enterprise now, but we're not far from the finish. 

'The Family from One End Street' by Eve Garnett

MY THOUGHTS:

This kids' book was first published in 1937 and won the Carnegie Medal in 1938. The author, Eve Garnett, also drew all her own excellent illustrations. I found an old vintage copy in a secondhand bookshop which instantly swept me back decades to the time I tackled it while I was still a fraction too young for the long chapters, and the innuendoes about split social classes tended to soar over my head.  

 Josiah and Rosie Ruggles barely make a living cleaning up after others. She's a washer-woman and he's a dustman. Yet they have seven children to bring up and must make ends meet however they can. There's stout and helpful Lily Rose; smart and skinny Kate; the adventurous twins, James and John, young Jo, little Peg, and baby William.

The Ruggles kids tend to not let poverty bother them, because it's all they've ever known. And they learn first hand in a way wealthier children don't, that sometimes when you're short of cash and left to your own resources, you may come up with Wonderful Ideas. While these sometimes flop in the short term, they're always character building. And as kind Mrs Beaseley tells Lily Rose, 'Even if your ideas aren't always a success, it's a good thing to have them.' 

Each family member faces a challenging issue or adventure. Poor Lily Rose accidentally shrinks the petticoat of one her mother's paying customers. Kate is clever enough to win a scholarship to the local High School, yet her parents can't figure out how they'll pay the steep uniform fees. Jim gets more than he bargains for when he attempts to hide in a pipe by the dockyards, and young Jo earns money to see his beloved Mickey Mouse films by opening doors for teahouse customers. But my favourite incident is when John gets to attend the birthday party of a wealthy kid named Peter quite by accident, and finds the afternoon far more of a novelty than do the youngsters brought up free from financial worries.  

Small details about having to make do pop up frequently. For example, Mrs Ruggles rubs Jim's sore head with margarine, because butter is too expensive. And the twins' jerseys are 'lovely' shades of pastel which only come from much washing. John's is pinkish and Jim's a strange blue.  

In another revealing chapter, it dawns on Mr Short, the struggling literary author (Short by name and perpetually short of funds), that a subtle hierarchy of deprivation exists and the Ruggles' are far lower down on it than he is. Yet he can't figure out whether to pity or envy them, since they've taught themselves to curtail their ambitions to such an extent that a simple day out is a major celebratory event for them. When was the last time he had so much fun with so little?

My opinion is divided about books such as this, in which poor families have fun times. The idea that several early to mid twentieth-century stories were written to whitewash or romanticize poverty bothers me a bit, since in actual fact poverty is limiting, frustrating and demoralising with nothing to recommend it. Yet on the other hand, authors such as Eve Garnett considered themselves to be providing a voice for the unheard majority of their time, and their unfolding plots reveal mental benefits such as freedom from entitlement, greater initiative and being easier to impress. But since these positive attributes definitely aren't shared by all underprivileged families across the board, is it really an accurate picture or brushed with a tinge of sentimentality?    

As I say, the jury is still out on that one for me. 

I still think the chapters may be a little on the long side to hold the attention of young readers. Mine drifted back in the 1970s, and with the prevalence of the internet, concentration spans have only got shorter. I'd be interested to see how today's young kids handle this book.   

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'At Bertram's Hotel' by Agatha Christie

MY THOUGHTS: 

 When Miss Jane Marple is offered a free holiday by her nephew Raymond and his wife, she chooses a nostalgic week at Bertram's Hotel in the heart of London. She'd stayed there once as a 14-year-old and longs to see how the place has dated. To Miss Marple's astonishment, nothing much has changed. She finds the current Bertram's Hotel of the 1950s is like stepping straight back into an Edwardian time warp. 

Guests are thoroughly looked after, with Henry the butler presiding over a wonderful high tea with signature muffins. The menu includes old-time treats such as beef steak pudding and seed cake. Elderly clientele are offered reduced rates simply because the management believes they add to the ambience just by sitting around in the lavish foyer. But Miss Marple starts to suspect something's a bit fishy beneath that stately roof.

The senior Chief Inspector Fred Davy is on Miss Marple's wavelength. Bertram's seems to be the scene of so many red herrings, he can't help wondering if they have some sinister significance after all. Could the grand old hotel possibly be the front for some shady business? 

Other guests spark curiosity. Why is Bess Sedgwick, the media magnet with a history of several husbands, staying there? Is the sneaky flaxen-haired teenager, Elvira Blake, her estranged daughter? Why is Ladislaus Malinowski, the celebrated Grand Prix driver, hanging around? Mysteries come to a head when muddle-headed Canon Pennyfather, an ecclesiastical academic, goes missing. 

This novel seems to be Agatha Christie's homage to old age. Having so recently read The Secret Adversary, featuring the youthful vitality of Tommy and Tuppence Beresford, this novel swings to the other end of the spectrum. Its heroes are Miss Marple, who never starts her morning knitting, because her stiff and rheumatic fingers need a chance to limber up; and Chief Inspector Davy, a rotund and bovine gent who's regarded by younger cops as deadwood to be cleared away. There is also the dreamy and doddery Canon Pennyfather, who I imagined to be at least 85 but is actually 63! People used to be considered elderly far younger in the mid 20th century. 

Miss Marple considers how the illusion of making time stand still must cost Bertram's management a small fortune, since it never really does. She decides that people shouldn't ever wish to turn back time, since the essence of life is always forward moving. 'Life is really a one-way street, isn't it?' Although she's right in some ways, I don't entirely agree. There is always a place and time for nostalgia, the study of history and learning from mistakes. I probably wouldn't even be reading through the Agatha Christie mysteries at all if I didn't love that sort of backward glance. 

Overall, I wasn't wowed by this mystery. The murder occurs fairly late in the story, which gives the earlier two thirds a bit of a rambling effect. Revelations, when they come, are underwhelming. Although the story is descriptive, historical, and quite interesting, it's not what I really expect when I crack open an Agatha Christie novel. So thumbs up for the setting, but not so much for the plot. 

After all that goes down at Bertram's Hotel, it must surely have to close its doors, so bad luck for anybody in that fictional version of London who would like to sample those fantastic muffins. 

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'Hard Times' by Charles Dickens

"My satire is against those who see figures and averages, and nothing else," proclaimed Charles Dickens in explaining the theme of this classic novel. Published in 1854, the story concerns one Thomas Gradgrind, a "fanatic of the demonstrable fact," who raises his children, Tom and Louisa, in a stifling and arid atmosphere of grim practicality.

MY THOUGHTS: 

 I'm cruising toward the finish line of my reading of all Dickens' major works. I expected to find Hard Times a slog. The title itself certainly doesn't sell it to me, and stories set during the Industrial Revolution written by honest-to-goodness Victorians tend to be grim. Still, when I got I started, I was surprised to find myself quite enjoying it. 

The setting is 'Coketown' - a typical northern England borough rife with capitalistic greed, exploited factory owners and black smoke. Two middle-aged chaps carry a lot of clout, and the novel is basically about what a hash they make of everything they touch.

Thomas Gradgrind is a leader in the education sector who insists on having nothing but facts, figures and statistics taught to the students. Anything remotely fanciful or imaginative is instantly squelched, and beginning a sentence with, 'I wonder' is a huge faux pas. 

This passage highlights his extreme fanaticism:

'You must discard the word Fancy altogether. You are not to have, in any object of use or ornament, what would be a contradiction of fact. You don't walk upon flowers in fact; you cannot be allowed to walk upon flowers in carpets. You don't find that foreign birds and butterflies come and perch upon your crockery; you cannot be permitted to paint foreign birds and butterflies upon your crockery. You never meet with quadrupeds going up and down walls. You must not have quadrupeds represented upon walls. You must use for all these purposes, combinations and modifications (in primary colours) or mathematical figures which are susceptible of proof and demonstration.'

Gradgrind's own children are guinea pigs of his militant system. During the story, his daughter, Louisa, comes to realise she's emotionally stunted and cynical - accepting a marriage proposal from hell because she's had no practice allowing herself to imagine a higher destiny. And his son, Tom, becomes a self-centered and manipulative jerk after years of being fed this pragmatic, 'look out for number one' type of curriculum. Dickens makes it clear that Louisa and Tom's regrettable destinies are a direct result of how their characters have been shaped by their well-intentioned, yet culpable father. 

Gradgrind's best buddy, Josiah Bounderby, is a big vulgar capitalist who owns a factory and a bank. He oozes hard luck stories about his childhood which become his excuse to show no mercy to the downtrodden people he exploits. And he takes great pride in his housekeeper, the hilarious and calculating Mrs Sparsit, for the opposite reason. She was supposedly born into great nobility, yet has now come down enough in the eyes of the world to work for him. 

The story's fall guy is poor Stephen Blackpool, the loom weaver. He's a kindly, hardworking, peace-loving guy, but since Stephen was created by his author to stand for an entire class of people, the poor guy can't win a trick. If it isn't horrendous blows of fate causing roadblocks for him, it's unscrupulous miscreants. The most unenviable people ever are fictional characters created to be scapegoats for a sorry multitude. For any readers who get their hearts totally invested in Stephen's plight, this may be a terrible book. I think the trick is to stand back and remind ourselves that he's a symbol rather than a person, although that's easy to say a century or two later. 

I couldn't help reflecting all through that some of my own ancestors were poor downtrodden menials like Stephen and his love interest, Rachael. I'm sure many of my fellow South Australians have similar backgrounds. Our ancestors grabbed the opportunity to escape from the horrific grind by fleeing to the opposite side of the world. If nothing else, this novel provides some perspective to make us thankful for the 21st century. 

As for authors like Dickens who used their writing talent to stand up for those with no voice of their own, well done. They undoubtedly helped change the course of history with their heartfelt works of fiction. 

Every Dickens novel seems to have an exemplary young female character. This one's is Sissy Jupe, the daughter of a poor, despondent circus clown. She can't wrap her head around her school curriculum, preferring to cheer her father up by reading him stories of fantasy and imagination. Even though Sissy remains highly respectful of authority figures all through, she's a good example of how we must draw upon courage and individuality to follow our own North Stars, especially when those in power try to fill our heads with propaganda which is contrary to the way we tick. 

This isn't a romance, unless we count the doomed attraction between Stephen and Rachael. However, I found 'The Sound of Music' kept springing to mind. Sissy Jupe quietly does for the younger Gradgrind kids what Sister Maria did for the Von Trapp children by broadening their outlooks with beauty and fun. And in their hour of need, a few desperate asylum seekers flee to the circus for protection, just as the Von Trapps did to the convent. It's an apt analogy, because the circus, in Hard Times, really does represent a sort of sacred jollity in the face of severe oppression, so both refuges serve a similar function. (Circuses have fallen out of favour since Dickens wrote this, but's that's another story.)

By denying Louisa a chance to exercise her imagination, Gradgrind inadvertently 'robbed her of her refuge from what is sordid and bad in the real world around her.' I couldn't agree more, narrator! I can't imagine living like that.

I'm glad I didn't have too hard a time with Hard Times. It's sad to think Dickens saw a need to write a novel to promote having fun, but that's the rough side of the Victorian era we love to romanticize 

Mr Sleary, the lisping circus proprietor, deserves the final word. 

'People mutht be amuthed. They can't alwayth be learning, nor yet they can't alwayth be working, they an't made for it.'  

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