A Chelsea Concerto by Frances Faviell

One genre I don’t read often is memoir. I say that like I do read a lot from every other genre, which would be a bit of an exaggeration. All right, all right! It would be a blatant lie. So perhaps I should rephrase that. One genre—from the many—I do not often read is memoir, which explains why A Chelsea Concerto has been on my shelf since 2022 without being read. (Side note: I have an embarrassing number of books that have been on my shelves for well over a decade, but they were almost all purchased secondhand. It is very rare for me not to read a new book as soon as it finds its way into my eager hands.) If it was not for my friend, Gina, mentioning that A Chelsea Concerto was the book club read for the month of April on the Dean Street Press Facebook group, who knows how much time would have gone by before I finally picked it up. I am not on Facebook. But if I was, I’m sure the Dean Street Press group would be the first place I would visit. The mere thought of my fellow readers actively reading a book I had available to me was enough to put me over the edge. Gina mentioned A Chelsea Concerto a couple of times in the past week or so, and as I am both susceptible to suggestion and always want to be reading what Gina is reading, I finally took this one from off the shelf and—after dusting it off—I whizzed through it. Thank you, Gina, for keeping me informed! (If you haven’t already, you should visit Gina’s book blog and while you are at it, why not follow her on Instagram too. But prepare yourself to be very jealous of her vintage book collection!)

Originally published in 1959, A Chelsea Concerto is Frances Faviell’s account of living in London during the Blitz. Frances Faviell was the pen name of the painter and author Olivia Faviell Lucas. The image on the cover of the Dean Street Press edition is from one of her paintings, so clearly she was as talented at painting as she was at writing. And her writing is wonderful!

She was living and working as a portrait artist in Chelsea when World War II was declared and having previous nursing experience she signed up with the Red Cross. Due to its location, being close to the Royal Hospital and the Thames, Chelsea was one of the most heavily bombed areas in London. I believe Faviell records it as being the third hardest hit area of the city. Faviell joined the Red Cross during the Phoney War, while they kept themselves busy with training scenarios, nothing could have prepared them for what was to come.

Although, a few skills Faviell acquired earlier in life prove to be unexpectedly useful to her. On one occasion, after being told to take off her coat and dress, she was lowered head first, holding a flashlight in her mouth, into a hole just wide enough to fit through, at the bottom of which a man was making an “unnerving” sound “like an animal in a trap”.

The blood had rushed to my head from being upside down. Fortunately I had done some acrobatic dancing and had been held in this manner previous to being whirled around in the dance, so that keeping my body stiff was not too much of a strain, but the stench of blood and mess down there caught the pit of my stomach and I was afraid of vomiting and dropping the precious torch. (130-31)

This scene is well described without being gratuitous, as is the rest of the book. But somehow those places in the text with sparse detail, like a rough sketch with a few splashes of colour, are some of the most difficult to get through. Left to the reader to fill in and imagine for themselves, I found it made for difficult reading in a few places where my imagination added a little too much colour than my emotions could handle.

Ever the artist, Faviell presents the beauty alongside the grim reality of living in a war zone. Here she captures the benefits of the blackout and fuel rationing. 

The black-out gave new and fascinating aspects of the Thames against which the outlines of buildings and the whole skyline were imprinted without the former blur of light from the great city. In the day we enjoyed freedom from traffic jams — the streets had suddenly become a joy for walking and cycling, and I now cycled with Vicki perched in a basket on the front. (27)

Vicki is Faviell’s Dachshund, and being a dog lover myself, I took particular enjoyment from any of the scenes that featured Vicki, or Miss Hitler, as she was jokingly referred to by the locals due to her German origin. It is touching that in a time when some people were suspecting anyone who appeared to be a foreigner, others retained their sense of humour. The idea that some people Faviell came across were prejudiced again certain breeds of dog because of being German is crazy to me. But fear can bring out the worst in people, and the illogical.

There are so many accounts of everyday people acting with courage, despite not being courageous by nature. Faviell says there were days she felt she didn’t want to help anyone, though she felt compassion for them, and times when she was all but overcome by fear. After asking the wardens about how they managed, as they were out in the streets during the bombing, one that she was particularly envious of for her coolness under pressure admitted that sometimes she had to “literally drag [herself] from railing to railing to reach the end of [her] beat” (116).

I’ve read quite a bit of historical fiction set in London during World War II, and I have often been left with the impression that the author was romanticising the situation. Usually, I still found enjoyment from reading these books, but when I am reading fiction written by people who didn’t experience the events firsthand I find myself wondering what it was really like. While Faviell did write this book some time after the war had ended, and the artist in her manages to see beauty and loveliness in the world even when on the outside it seems like there would be none, I think she does a wonderful job of relating events without seeming to overly dramatise them.

But how she can see both the beauty in falling incendiaries and the fun in extinguishing them, is beyond me.

On this night Richard and I had a wonderful time. He belonged to a fire-fighting party for our part of the street and incendiaries were falling everywhere. They were small and pretty, like fireflies coming down and the sky looked fantastically beautiful. They were easy to extinguish with sand or a stirrup pump provided they were tackled immediately. (147) 

And it wasn’t just Faviell who felt this way about them. In a letter, her mother, who resided in Plymouth, describes them as “the most beautiful sight I have seen for a very long time” and relates “everywhere I could hear laughter and shouting as people put them out” (148).

Faviell’s knowledge of Flemish put her in the position to help with some of the refuges that were streaming into London. She was assigned an area and saw that they were fitted out with clothes, housewares, and all the other necessities of life when essentially all they had were the clothes on their backs. Can you imagine? Her work with Flemish speaking refugees ranges from moderating arguments, teaching English, dealing with mysterious illnesses, and setting up garden allotments.

There are so many sections from this book that I want to share and discuss and just generally marvel at. I have to applaud Dean Street Press for choosing A Chelsea Concerto as their first book club read. I’m looking forward to reading more of Frances Faviell’s books, especially her first one, The Dancing Bear (1954), a memoir from her time in Berlin from 1946 to 1949. The title alone has me intrigued, but after reading Crooked Cross by Sally Carson, a novel set in Germany during the rise of the Nazis, I am interested in learning more about Germany during the first half of the 20th century. Faviell wrote three novels too, A House on the Rhine (1955), Thalia (1957), and The Fledgling (1958), none of which I have read, but am eager to explore. Thanks to Dean Street Press, these are all currently in print under their Furrowed Middlebrow imprint.

This blog post contains affiliate links for Blackwell’s. As a Blackwell’s Affiliate, I may receive a small commission, at no additional cost to you, if you decide to make a purchase through one of the links on my website. I recommend Blackwell’s because I use them myself. This helps support me in sharing—what I hope is—valuable content. Thank you for your support!

Crooked Cross by Sally Carson

Is it too early to claim I have just read a book that will be among my top ten of the year? Don’t bother answering that. It has already been decided. The newest book to be republished by Persephone Books is Sally Carson’s 1934 novel Crooked Cross. It is a powerful account of the rise of Nazism in Germany and how it affects one family in Kranach, a small Bavarian market town in the mountains south of Munich. As of right now, it is my pick for favourite book of the year.

 Christmas 1932. The Klugers are happy and looking forward to the future with optimism for the first time in years. The younger son has joined the Nazi Party and the elder son who has been unable to find work soon joins up too. The daughter Lexa, is engaged to Moritz Weissmann, a surgeon with a bright future. Recently, Lexa has quit her job at the library in preparation for their upcoming wedding and the couple’s excitement is evident during the holidays. Moritz and his father, Professor Weissmann, celebrate Christmas with the Klugers and the two families already feel joined.

But all of that is about to change. In the new year, Hitler is elected Chancellor, and changes quickly occur that on the surface may seem small. Moritz loses his job at the hospital because he is Jewish, and he is unable to find another. Professor Weissmann, who has all but lost his eyesight, had to give up his work at the university some time ago. With no money coming in, Moritz and his father are forced to move to a one-room flat. Soon Lexa’s brothers, Erich and Helmy, are telling Lexa that surely she must see that she has to give Moritz up because he is a Jew. As the Klugers effectively cut ties with the Weissmanns it becomes increasingly difficult for Lexa and Moritz to see each other. 

‘Is it worth it, Lexa?’ he asked. ‘Do you realise all it means?’

She was looking at him directly.

‘To me — everything,’ she answered.

[…]

Moritz said, ‘But it seems hard — too hard on you. I didn’t know you felt like that about it too.’

Nor had Lexa known until that moment. All her muddled ideas and thoughts, her worries and anxieties for Moritz had a reason, a point, an ending now. This was her loyalty; this was where she had to act. This was her moment, the moment for which she must have been waiting. (109)

At the risk of sounding trite, this is a beautiful love story set from Christmas 1932 to the summer of 1933. This book is poignant, moving, and powerful. And oh, so devastating. All while I was reading I kept marvelling at the fact that Crooked Cross was published so close to the time it is set, just a year later. Without the benefit of hindsight this book is a warning to the world of what was happening in Germany at the time, and written by an English woman who spent holidays in Munich in the early 1930s.

The whole way through I felt like I was waiting for something to happen. Of course, we know the history, we know what is about to happen, but it is nonetheless shocking. I have never read a book that was set in Germany at this time, and from a German perspective. One of the things I have never been able to wrap my head around was how someone like Hitler came into power. I did not understand the effect that losing World War I had on the German economy and how that must have in turn affected the citizens. The desperation of people who are hungry, out of work, and feeling a loss of identity is fully captured in this book. 

Allow me to quote from Laura Freeman’s preface, as she sums up this book so much better than I can.

The ‘crooked cross’ of the title refers to a swastika. Hitler called it a ‘hooked cross.’ The Nazi party may pretend that they offer stability and peace, but, as one character observes, ‘the price these people paid for their songs, their uniforms and their promises was a strange feeling of unrest and uncertainty.’ This is a book in which everything is crooked and in which people are hooked. If you have ever wondered how a nation was mesmerised by the lies of an authoritarian regime, Crooked Cross explains it with chilling force. (viii)

I hesitate to call this an important book, because if you are anything like me you read that and think, ‘ugh, sounds a lot like work’. But I assure you this book is the easiest time you will have broadening your mind and exposing yourself to a unique perspective.

As far as I am concerned this is a must read. If you are not ‘into’ politics, that’s fine. You don’t need to be. The love between Lexa and Moritz is like a bright light that gives these characters hope—that gives them something to fight for even when the chips are down and all is against them. So enjoy the rare treat of reading about a young couple whose feelings for each other go far beyond that of infatuation under the guise of love. 

The one thing about this book that I was not sure worked for me is so small a thing that I’m not even sure I need mention it. But, of course, I am going to because for better or worse, I do like to have a bit of a complain. For the most part, this book is written in third person past tense. However, scattered throughout the book the narration slips into second person. Sometimes it is just a sentence or two. Other times it is a few paragraphs. Second person narration is so uncommon in novels that I found it jarring each time I came across it. As I was reading I thought that the point might be to get the reader to better imagine themselves in a character’s shoes in moments of high emotion. But now that I’m not sure that its intended purpose was not to be jarring. It grabbed my attention every single time, causing me to pay special attention to those moments. Perhaps, that was Sally Carson’s intention. After he loses his job, Moritz asks of Lexa, “I wonder how much courage you’ve got, Lexa” (54), because he anticipates that things are going to get much harder for them. As Laura Freeman points out in the preface, the reader keeps asking themselves the same thing throughout the book. I think using the second person forces the reader to do this in specific places in the narrative, but without it, we would still be asking ourselves how much courage we have.

Sally Carson wrote two sequels to this book, The Prisoner (1936) and A Traveller Came By (1938). While Crooked Cross does have a definitive conclusion, it does end in the summer of 1933 when something momentous happens to the Klugers, and the second book is said to pick up in August of the same year. I am very much hoping Persephone will republish the other two books in this trilogy. 

I had a hard time figuring out how to approach reviewing this book. I can’t tell you this book is cosy, or lovely, or will make you feel good. But if you want to read an important book that will make you think, that presents a perspective to which you might not otherwise be exposed, that is terrifically well-written, then you should read this one. Book of the year material, this is.

This blog post contains affiliate links for Blackwell’s. As a Blackwell’s Affiliate, I may receive a small commission, at no additional cost to you, if you decide to make a purchase through one of the links on my website. I recommend Blackwell’s because I use them myself. This helps support me in sharing—what I hope is—valuable content. Thank you for your support!

Yoked with a Lamb by Molly Clavering

It has been a while since I reviewed a book that wasn’t a mystery. I realise that probably makes it appear that mysteries are the only things I read, which could not be further from the truth. Generally, they only make up a third of the books I read. The rest is mainly vintage children’s books, historical fiction, classics, and middlebrow fiction from the first half of the twentieth century, mainly from the interwar period. Originally published in 1938, Molly Clavering’s Yoked with a Lamb falls under the last category. 

After having now read four of Molly Clavering’s books, Touch Not the Nettle, Susan Settles Down, and Dear Hugo, I have spotted a few things they have in common. Evocative descriptions of the Scottish countryside, a dependable woman who has the makings of a fine spinster, an unfriendly or rough man who makes a bad first impression with said woman, (conversely she might make a bad first impression with him,) small community dynamics where the gossips mill never stops, and a scandal or two to keep things interesting. All that said, these books might be starting to sound a bit formulaic. Read one and you’ve read them all. Perhaps you would not be too far wrong if it was not for Molly Clavering’s impeccable writing. Her characters never diminish into caricatures. While we do tend to have a spinster-ish woman at the forefront of these books, I have never felt like I was reading the same character again and again in her books.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me tell you about Yoked with a Lamb…

Andrew and Lucy Lockhart and their children are returning to the town of Haystoun after leaving in a blaze of scandal several years ago when Andrew ran off with another woman. Andrew’s cousin, Kate Heron, has been enlisted to get the house in order in advance of the family returning and generally smooth things over between the couple. But as Andrew and Lucy haven’t seen each other since Andrew left, Kate certainly has her work cut out for her. Between drunken painters, locking people in closets, and unexpected—and very much unwanted—guests popping in, Kate seems to have a talent for getting into the funniest of scrapes. This book is full of misunderstandings, gossip, and the promise of romance, just like the other Clavering books I have read.

Molly Clavering has just the loveliest sense of humour, which she passes on to her leading female and male characters. They aren’t afraid to laugh at themselves or at a situation. 

Kate, after making a rather unsuccessful attempt to remove the grime of her journey, groaned and sprang out on to the almost empty platform. ‘It’s a great pity, she thought ruefully, ‘that I am such an untidy traveller. In books there’s always a tiresome heroine whose most salient feature is her band-box smartness even after a trip across the Sahara. I wonder how those fragile young women do it? I know what I'd look like if I had crossed even a small desert. A dilapidated sand-bag!’ (24)

I am with you Kate! 

There is plenty of situational humour to be found in this book too. On one occasion, Kate takes Andrew’s son, Henry, and his dog, Virginia, to the cattle show, which the characters simply refer to as “the Show”. Virginia, being an excitable puppy runs off, to wreak havoc with the ladies outside of the refreshment tent doing the washing up. She snatches a dishcloth “so well-used that Kate felt faintly sick at the sight of it”.

She gave her treasure a last regretful shake before dropping it, and toddled back with a careworn expression to her master.

“Naughty girl,” said Henry in loving tones. “Isn’t she sweet, Kate?” But Kate’s horrified gaze was riveted on the fat woman, who, without an instant’s hesitation, had seized the dish-cloth from the grass where Virginia had left it, and begun to dry glasses with it at top speed.

“Henry,” said Kate faintly, “do let’s have lunch quickly, before they start using the washed-up plates and things. With luck we may get ones that haven’t seen those tubs and towels.”

“I expect,” said Henry, hastening his steps obligingly.

“That they’re every bit as dirty in hotels and restaurants.”

“Very likely,” retorted Kate. “But at least I don’t see them doing it there!” (113-14)

This book is full of funny moments like this one, accompanied by clever dialogue. But Yoked with a Lamb is more than just a humorous bit of fluff. Molly Clavering tackles the subject of how a marriage can survive infidelity and shows that it takes more than simply loyalty to one’s partner to make a marriage work. A happy ending is a given in Molly Clavering’s books, but it’s the ever entertaining journey that will keep me coming back to these books again and again. This book makes for cosy, safe, feel-good reading. And while it is not a book that is going to stretch your brain too much, it is smart, fast, and terrifically well written. Who wants their brain stretched, anyway? It sounds most painful.

I have been reading this book along with my friend Gina House, who blogs over at babsbelovedbooks.blogspot.com. We’ve read a couple of Molly Clavering’s books together and we always have such a lovely time discussing them. I inevitably share my favourite description of nature and Gina always focuses on the domestic scenes. It’s great fun!

I have to give a word of appreciation to Elizabeth Crawford’s insightful introduction. It is always a treat to read get to know the author of a book that I have just enjoyed. It gave me a little tickle to discover that Molly Clavering was born on the same day as me, 23 October, be it 82 years earlier. 

You might be able to tell from some of the photos that my copy of Yoked with a Lamb has a little white sticker on the bottom left corner of the cover. That is because it is a library book. I am lucky enough to have a library close by that allows each patron five book requests per month. Five per month! That is 60 books per year! I get to request books for them to buy and if it has been published in the last three years and is available from one of the distributors they use, they buy it. Just like that. It’s a bit nuts. I am ever so grateful for all of the Dean Street Press books they have added to their shelves at my request. All forty books, and counting! I would love to one day own all of the Furrowed Middlebrow books. I am working on it! But in the meantime, it is beyond wonderful to have a library willing to supplement my supply.

As a couple of issues of The Scribbler are shown in my photos, I want to say how sad I was to hear that the March 2025 edition is to be their last. I was late to the party on this fabulous magazine that reviews vintage books, but I can tell you my wishlist has grown exponentially since acquiring my first issue. The editor, Shirley Neilson, is also behind the independent publisher Greyladies, who republish out of print books mainly by authors who are better known as writers for children. You can still order back issues of The Scribbler from their website. Wishing Shirley and her husband all the best in the days ahead. 

This blog post contains affiliate links for Blackwell’s. As a Blackwell’s Affiliate, I may receive a small commission, at no additional cost to you, if you decide to make a purchase through one of the links on my website. I recommend Blackwell’s because I use them myself. This helps support me in sharing—what I hope is—valuable content. Thank you for your support!

A Mind to Murder by P.D. James

For some reason, I rarely allow myself the luxury of reading books in a series one after the other, back to back. I don’t know why that is. I certainly don’t have anyone dictating my reading besides myself. I don’t even participate in a lot of buddy reads or book groups because I know that as soon as I have to read a book I immediately lose all interest in it. That is to say, my reading time is my own, and for once I acted like it. As I mentioned in my review of Cover Her Face, I started reading the second book in P.D. James’s Adam Dalgliesh series, A Mind to Murder, immediately after reading the first. It felt like the biggest indulgence, and I enjoyed every minute of it.

Superintendent Adam Dalgliesh is at an autumn sherry party given by his publishers in celebration of the third reprint of his first volume of poetry. I failed to mention in my review of Cover Her Face that as well as being an officer of the Criminal Investigation Department of Scotland Yard, he is also a poet. The fact gets a mention in that book when someone involved in the murder investigation upon being introduced to Dalgliesh asked him if he is Adam Dalgliesh the poet. Dalgliesh’s poetry writing does not play a part in that book, nor does it in this one except to place him across a square in London from Steen Psychiatric Clinic, the site of our murder. 

The body of a woman has been discovered in the basement of the private clinic with a chisel through her heart and a carving made by one of the patients in art therapy resting across her chest. The victim, Miss Bolam, administrative officer of the clinic is not a well-liked person, which means just about everyone is a suspect. Still, this murder should be a cinch for someone of Dalgliesh’s calibre to solve. He has not yet had an unsolved case, a fact that I found very surprising when I came across it. Then I reminded myself that this is a work of fiction. It seems equally unbelievable that someone with Dalgliesh’s track record would—apparently, for the first time—doubt his ability to solve a case. I expect we are supposed to believe that a smartypants doctor from the clinic is most likely the murderer. But I found Dalgliesh’s doubts and his concern that the killer would strike again a bit contrived. Unless I missed something—always a possibility—there was no indication at that point that anyone else’s life was in danger. Of course, there is the possibility that we are just supposed to assume that Dalgliesh knows something, or at least suspects something, that we do not.

The next three paragraphs reveal something that happens at the end of Cover Her Face. I don’t reveal anything to do with the murder in that one, just something minor relating to Dalgliesh’s personal life. If you have not yet read Cover Her Face and would prefer to preserve your reading experience I would recommend skipping the next three paragraphs.

SPOILERS AHEAD! Consider yourself warned...

I may have been a bit hasty in saying that Dalgliesh’s career as a poet has nothing to do with the story except to put him conveniently close to the site of a murder. It also puts him in the way of Deborah Riscoe, who readers of Cover Her Face will recognise as the daughter at Martingale, the manor house where the parlour maid was murdered. At the end of that book, we were left with the distinct impression that Dalgliesh and Deborah fancied each other and perhaps something may have come of it had the circumstances been different. Well, here Dalgliesh gets his second chance. Deborah is working at Dalgliesh’s publisher, Hearne and Illingworth, doing shorthand, typing, and “general dogsbody,” as she puts it (16). They just get to talking when Dalgliesh receives a phone call from Scotland Yard. Dalgliesh excuses himself saying he won’t be a moment, but knowing that he won’t be returning to the party (18).

He did not see Deborah Riscoe again, and made no effort to find her. His mind was already on the job ahead and he felt that he had been saved, at best from a snub and, at worst, from folly. It had been a brief, tantalizing, inconclusive and unsettling encounter but, already, it was in the past. (20)

In a way, this brief insight into Dalgliesh’s personal life feels a bit tacked on. These glimpses into his yearning for a romantic partner quite literally bookend the main story line, the murder. But I think the intention here is to show that Dalgliesh only allows himself to “indulge his thoughts” when he isn’t occupied with the job (18). In Cover Her Face, it is only at the end of the book, after the murder has been solved and the murderer is in custody, that we get any indication of his interest in Deborah Riscoe as anything other than a suspect. We see the same pattern here, and I wonder if it continues throughout the series with Deborah and Dalgliesh crossing paths. It does seem a possibility with Deborah working for Dalgliesh’s publisher. I would love to see Dalgliesh progress and grow over the course of the series, and settle down with—if not Deborah—then someone else. Because as it stands, he does not seem to have much in his life besides the job and his writing. His first book of poetry appears to be a success, so there is always the possibility that he could write full-time when he retires from the Yard. But I don’t think that would be enough to keep the demons at bay. Because although he does not appear to dwell on the loss of his wife and son, he does give off the impression that he is just managing to keep is grief in check.

I am a great one for complaining about something and then completely skipping over the positive, which is what I fear I have done in this review. But I assure you, despite what felt to me like a contrived build up in tension by making Dalgliesh doubt his abilities, overall I really enjoyed this book. Set inside a private clinic with the suspects limited to the people inside the building at the time, this one feels a lot like another manor house mystery. Being situated in London, instead of in the countryside, it is different enough from the first book without completely taking us out of the safe confines of the closed circle mystery. I really loved that A Mind to Murder is set in October. The air is crisp. The nights are closing in. And there is something both unsettling and expectant about the month of Halloween. Anything could happen. October is my birth month, so I may be a tad biased. However, autumn just feels like the right time of year for these books to me. I took a glance a the third book in the series, Unnatural Causes, and found that it starts in October as well. Perhaps P.D. James was of the same mind.  

This blog post contains affiliate links for Blackwell’s. As a Blackwell’s Affiliate, I may receive a small commission, at no additional cost to you, if you decide to make a purchase through one of the links on my website. I recommend Blackwell’s because I use them myself. This helps support me in sharing—what I hope is—valuable content. Thank you for your support!