Cyanide in the Sun and Other Stories of Summertime Crime edited by Martin Edwards

Cyanide in the Sun and Other Stories of Summertime Crime is one of the six books I brought with me on our recent trip to Prince Edward Island. I started it on the first day of autumn, which sounds like an incongruous time to be reading a short story collection with a summer theme. However, the stories are not only set in summer, they all feature characters on holiday, too. A fact I was not aware of until I had started reading. This collection turned out to be exactly what I wanted to be reading on my trip. 

Short stories are great for when you only have small pockets of time to read in. And I have to admit that while away I was so overly stimulated by the beautiful landscape and all of the day trips we had lined up, that I was not able to carve out as much time for reading. In what time I did have available, I was often a bit distracted. I still bookended my day with reading, but not for an hour or more at a time, which is what I usually do at home.

In this collection, I discovered lots of new favourites and I have a sneaking suspicion that this book will find its way into my suitcase on my next holiday.

“Kill & Cure” by Guy Cullingford (1958)

A crime writer suffering from nightmares is prescribed a fortnight holiday at a private hotel in Bunmouth. There he just seems to get accustomed to being away from his typewriter when something extraordinary happens with one of his fellow guests. This was humorous, shocking, and very well-told in just a few pages. What a great start to this collection!

“Day Excursion” by Wilfred Fienburgh (1954)

Short and cute scene with Sergeant Pockle on a train with a bunch of “day trippers returning home from Seagate”. All is quiet in the carriage when a little boy claims he spots the man who stole his mum’s purse earlier in the day. Really lovely scene-setting in this story. Despite its brevity we get a sense of Pockle’s humour and general personality, and the other characters are equally well-drawn. 

“The Secret of the Mountain” by C. Bobbett (1928)

A man has a fatal accident on a mountain in the Lake District. His wife, Mrs. Watson suspects it was not an accident, but that an ex-business partner of her husband’s, Mr. Kent, was in some way responsible. Travers, a Scotland Yard detective, investigates. Half the fun of this one is how Travers goes about his investigation and search for the proof of murder. The only thing that didn’t work for me was the framing device, which felt unnecessary and a bit confusing to my tired brain.

“Unlucky Dip” by Andrew Garve (1956)

This is a story that is as clever as it is short. And it is very short indeed. A man dies by drowning during his regular 7:30 a.m. swim, possibly as a result of a muscle cramp. But what of the bruising around his shoulders?

I loved the setting of this one. Just imagine living somewhere with such easy access to the sea that you could enjoy the luxury of a morning swim each day! The downside, of course, is the chance of meeting your death there.

“Quarrel at Sea” by Victor Canning (1956)

This is another one set by the sea. It relies on the victim’s watch to tell the story of time of death, but not in the way you may expect. I just loved it!

“The Holiday” by Ethel Lina White (1938)

I love the start of this one.

Nearly everyone in the small block of old-fashioned mansion-flats seemed to be going on holiday, with the exception of Charles Bevan.

Checked in his ambition to become one of Trenchard’s young men, for the past eight months he had been lying in a back ground-floor flat, which looked out into the well of the courtyard. He disliked reading, so had nothing to do but listen to the rush of bath-water down the pipes from six o’clock in the morning, and to watch the lights appear in the opposite building until the final eclipse. (61)

I assumed “Trenchard’s young men” had something to do with the military, but I had to look it up. Hugh Trenchard, 1st Viscount Trenchard (1873-1956) was important in the establishment of the Royal Air Force. So our man Charles Bevan was unsuccessful at becoming a pilot, which I suspect was a disappointment a number of men had to face during the First and Second World Wars.

But let me describe the premise…

What happens when a bank robber holds up in a woman’s apartment when everyone else on her floor is on holiday. This was a surprisingly touching story with a satisfying ending. I should not have expected anything less from Ethel Lina White. After all, she did write my second favourite British Library Crime Classic, The Wheel Spins. I have yet to read something by White I didn’t love.

“Even Murderers Take Holidays” by Michael Gilbert (1950)

This one shows the author’s sense of humour, as much as his sense of justice. It’s a really fabulous holiday read told from the perspective of Croft, a hired killer. At the beginning of the quotation below, he is describing the benefit of never having met his victims before they become “objects of his professional attention”.

Anonymity was one of the advantages of professionalism.

Nevertheless, there’s no denying, he sometimes felt the strain. And when you feel strain you need a holiday. A quiet holiday, with all business barred. A holiday beside the sea.

At random Croft had selected Blymouth, on the South coast.

The season was nearly over and the first gales of autumn were emptying the promenades and bringing down, with the yellow leaves, the prices at the many boarding houses. (82)

This is a perfect story to be reading at the end of summer or in early autumn. And I have to say, that I applaud his timing for a holiday. I much prefer autumn gales to the stiffling heat of the hot summer sun. But you just know that Croft is going to ruin his holiday when he suddenly finds himself on the job.

Several times, in the course of the ensuing days, Croft warned himself not to be a fool. He reminded himself of the old saying that you should never mix business with pleasure. A holiday was a holiday.

Worse, he was stepping outside his own strict line of business. But however hard he argued he could not argue away the tangible figure of five thousand solid, indisputable, Bank of England pounds.

For years he had been acting as an agent. Now was his chance to become a principal.

For years he had been removing unwanted persons in return for—what? A pittance, a salary. Here was the big money, waiting to fall into his hands. (83-84)

This story was so good! Gilbert just lines up all the pieces of this story so brilliantly. It’s full of an inevitability that is no less satisfying when the obvious conclusion comes to fruition.

“‘Mr. Bearstone Says…’” by Anthony Berkeley (1943)

This one kept me guessing right until the end, and it did not end up where I thought it would at all. A man dies while out for his morning swim, and his wife is near hysterical about it. But what of Mr. Bearstone, the ex-business partner of Mr. Hutton? What if Mr. Bearstone and his lover, Mrs. Hutton, were in cahoots? Of course it was possible, but the station sergeant, Roger, met Mrs. Hutton at a party in November 1939 and got the impression that she was a very silly creature. Now, some years later, the question is, could such a silly woman be trusted as an accomplice to murder? This was another goodie!

“In the Picture” by Nicholas Bentley (1956)

There is an atmospheric, almost Ripley-esque feel to this story. Two couples go to France for a holiday, but one of the members of the group has a plan to appease his jealousy towards his admirable wife. This was another short one, of which, there are a number in this collection. Normally, I gravitate towards longer short stories, but I have to say I found all of the stories in this collection to be really strong, and this one was no different. 

“And the Police Were Not Called” by Bernard J. Farmer (1951)

This is a cute little mystery featuring a police constable who is staying on holiday at a boarding house where missing five pounds goes missing. 

“Consider Your Verdict” by Anthony Gilbert (1956)

A woman, our narrator, meets a man on holiday. She makes herself sound wealthier than she is, because she wants to impress him. Meanwhile, he fails to mention he’s a conman. This was a fun one. Moral of the story… One should not tell lies! 

Side note… The conman is named Gil Arnott. I always get a bit of a thrill when I come across a my own last name (Arnett), even if it is a variant spelling and it’s just the character name of a criminal. Is anyone else like this?

“Crooked Harvest” by Shelley Smith (1947)

Nigel Armstrong, an antique dealer imagines himself rescuing a woman that he has recently met and fallen for. When the opportunity arises to save her from a crook he seizes it with unexpected results.

The opening made me laugh.

Nigel Armstrong wondered disconsolately why he had ever imagined that a quiet holiday in the country would be fun. It was dull, unbearably dull. No one to talk to, nothing to do but walk. He kicked an inoffensive stone along the lane. It wasn’t true that country folk were friendly, they were hatefully reserved and stuck up.

That adorably pretty Miss Brown, for instance. Her house was a stone’s throw from his, they saw each other daily, and yet he could not get into conversation with her. (129)

Nigel has basically described my ideal holiday, or life, for that matter. Countryside, dull, no one to talk to, and lots of walks. Add books to the list and you can sign me up. 

You will be glad to know that Nigel’s holiday does pick up quite a bit.

“Cyanide in the Sun” by Christianna Brand (1958)

The problem with having a favourite author is that you come to expect quite a lot from them. Christianna Brand is the author of my favourite British Library Crime Classic, London Particular, so I expected this one to be my favourite story in the bunch. It was not. Her book, Cat and Mouse, took me reading it a second time to really enjoy it, so perhaps I will have to give this one another go, too.

A serial killer who preys on random strangers stalks the seaside town of Scampton. The means of murder, cyanide in the food. The whodunit aspect was obvious to me from the start, so obvious I thought it could not possibly be them. The howdunit was much more interesting, but that it required an explanation dampened the punch. 

“The Fly” by John Bingham (1953)

A man dies while night fishing in Norway. It could be an accidental death, but Superintendent Wills, an experienced fisherman himself, thinks not. This story was short and smart. 

“A Holiday by the Sea” by Will Scott (1924)

Giglamps, a do-gooder tramp, and his new friend, Cheerful—who isn’t—catch a ride to Margate. There they find themselves on the trail of a pretty boy conman, and his band of thieves. This was such a fun one! Giglamps was such a character! I would love to read the collection of Will Scott’s short stories featuring this character, called simply, Giglamps (1924).

The passage I am about to share is a smidge spoiler-y, so skip it if that bothers you. But I had to share it because it’s such a great example of Giglamps’ voice.

“[I]t’s really remarkable the amount o’ good we done by comin’ to Margate for eight hours, although there’s all the cops in Kent lookin’ for us, although the only chance we had to bathe was in trouble. We never got no nearer the sea than the smell, but we done a mighty lot o’ good. Except to ourselves.” (183) 

Doesn’t he sound fun?!

“Two on a Tower” by Michael Innes (1956)

A tidy little story about a couple and a friend who travel together to Italy, with deadly results. Smartly worded, brief, with a strangely satisfying conclusion.

“The Summer Holiday” by Celia Fremlin (1983)

Celia Fremlin just writes the best crime fiction. This was tense, believable, but also completely unbelievable—if you know what I mean. Clever and deceptively simple. There is no mystery here, but with this much tension and atmosphere, it doesn’t need one. I loved it!

She would never have believed that widowhood would suit her so well. She would have said, if you’d asked her, that she was one of those unassuming, dependent little women who would be lost without a man to lean on.

And now here she was not feeling lost at all, not the least bit. It was amazing—and, in a way, rather disturbing. (191)

One of my favourite things about Fremlin’s writing is her ability to write women who subvert expectations. In this one, Emmy will stop at nothing to avoid going on holiday with her family, even if it results in the police getting involved.  

“The Summer Holiday Murders” by Julian Symons (1960)

My favourite of the bunch has to be this long, almost novella length story. It had great pacing, kept me guessing, and I suspected just about every character, but the culprit. 

One of the women on a coach tour is found drowned in a pool, having appeared to have fallen down some rocks and hit her head. It could have been an accident. But what about the copy of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes with the pages torn out that was found beside her? When a writer of detective stories who is on the tour researching his next book, inserts himself into the investigation things really start to heat up! It’s just so good! I really must read more by this author in future.

Like a cruise, there is something so sinister about a coach tour. All those people of various backgrounds in forced proximity with each other, being carted around for brief stops, and planned surprises feels like the prime scenario for crime to flourish. And flourish it does in this story!

I love how Martin Edwards signs off his introduction to this collection, not least because I read this book while on holiday. 

If you’re reading this collection on holiday, I hope you enjoy it—but keep your eyes peeled for sinister strangers prowling around your resort or hotel corridors, and if you’re travelling in a group, do watch out for your fellow passengers. They might not be all they seem… (11)

I must admit, it made me feel grateful that I knew who I was holidaying with quite well, and we only had two nights during which we would be rolling the dice with our safety while staying at a hotel!

Thank you to British Library Publishing for kindly sending me a copy of Cyanide in the Sun for review. As always, all opinions on the book are my own.

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The Eights by Joanna Miller

Joanna Miller’s debut novel, The Eights, was an absolute treat. I found myself trying to spin out the time I got to spend with these four women. 

It is 1920 and Oxford University has for the first time in its 1,000-year history admitted female students as full members of the university. In October, at the start of Michaelmas term, four young women move into Corridor Eight of St. Hugh’s College. They couldn’t be more different, but soon the unlikely quartet become the closest of friends. 

Not everyone is happy about women being allowed in the university and from the first day the foursome find themselves having to face opposition from a group of rowdy male freshers, who accost the women in the street as they walk to the Divinity School where they will be among the first women to matriculate at Oxford University. The incident leaves them all shaken, to varying degrees. But after a quick stop in a tearoom, they are refreshed and able to become better acquainted.

Beatrice Sparks has lived her life in the shadow of her famous suffragette mother. Oxford is her chance to finally become her own person, forge a new life, and make her own friends, something she has never had the opportunity to do, as she was an only child and did not go to school. 

Marianne Grey is making plans to abandon her course before her first day has started. The only daughter of a poor vicar, she cuts an unassuming figure in a secondhand academic gown and ill fitting shoes. A most unlikely person to have a secret so deep that it could destroy her Oxford dream if it were to be discovered.

After losing her brother, George, and her fiancé, Charles, in the Great War, Theodora Greenwood has arrived at Oxford in their place. Her mother doesn’t believe in higher education for women, but with all of the surplus women at least Dora might put her time at Oxford to good use and find a husband. Even Dora admits, “Had Charles lived, she would never have wanted to study at Oxford” (10).

Ottoline Wallace-Kerr hasn’t talked to her mother in two years, not since she refused Teddy’s proposal. Teddy is a good friend, but no. For thrill-seeking socialite Otto, Oxford is a cure to boredom. And if she is being honest, it's a way to escape the images that haunt her from her time nursing during the war. The only thing that “provides moments of absorption and calm” for Otto is mathematics (12). Eight is her favourite number. A good sign.

But they do not divulge their innermost secrets to each other all at once. Over the three terms that make up their first year at Oxford they slowly open up to each other. Some secrets run so deep that they are only revealed at the end of the year.

What first attracted me to this book was the time and place in history it is set. It was evident that the author did a lot of research in the writing of this book. I felt thoroughly immersed in the world. It is incredible how many rules were imposed on the women students that were not required of the men. And I loved the mentions of students Winifred Holtby and Vera Brittain, Agatha Christie receiving her degree, and Thomas Hardy getting an honorary doctorate. But what makes this such an endearing book are the friendships that form between these woman. Outside of living on the same floor at their college, these four would not likely have been attracted to each other. But the combination of living in close proximity, the common goal of getting an Oxford education, and the incident they experience just after meeting, all create the perfect circumstances to make their friendship not just believable, but feel natural and true.

I love this line from Beatrice, who starts off the year never having experienced friendship firsthand. She has, however, observed her mother with her plethora of friends. Something that Beatrice has wanted for herself.

She never imagined, though, that friendship involved so much mundanity; arranging to enter rooms together, sharing one’s daily timetable, lending and borrowing items. Not that she does not enjoy it, but mutual reliance and constant company are new concepts to her and sometimes she finds herself in desperate need of a moment alone — no doubt something her mother would consider a weakness. (43)

I appreciate Beatrice’s observations about the mundanity that often feeds friendship, and that despite her enjoyment in her new friendships, she recognises her need for alone time. Much later in the book, she expresses her concern to Otto that these feelings are not natural.

‘I do wonder if I am any good at it — friendship, I mean. It seems to come so easily to the rest of you. Sometimes I have to hide away in my room because I need to be quiet. As if I’ve eaten too much and feel uncomfortable and have to sleep it off. Is that very odd?’

Otto groans. ‘I do that all the time, you idiot. Friendship is like this quilt — cosy mainly, but it can also be utterly stifling. I can assure you, the need to escape is entirely normal.’ 

‘Oh.’

‘And for the record, you are very good at it — friendship.’ Otto takes a lace-edged handkerchief from her pocket and tosses it at Beatrice. ‘Now buck up and stop fishing for compliments.’ (290-91)

These women are never in competition with each other. They build one another up. They celebrate their wins, commiserate on their losses, and are there to lend a hand when needed. In the course of a year this group goes through a lot. Because this is set just two years after the Great War, they have all been affected by it in some way. None of them have come through the war unchanged, and most of them are dealing with loss.

One of the similarities between these four women are that they all have absent mothers. Beatrice’s mother has no use for Beatrice. When she is not busy with her causes, she is putting Beatrice down. Otto’s mother has been in America for the past two years, helping Otto’s horrible sister set up house. The two have not spoken since she left, because Otto’s mother won’t talk to her until she has left Oxford and accepted Teddy’s offer of marriage. Apparently, getting married is more important than one’s happiness. Dora’s relationship with her mother is probably the most ideal of the group, and her mother is only allowing her an education because it will put her in the path of young men. 

Lastly, Marianne’s mother died in child birth. At one point Otto comes back to the college drunk and asks Marianne if she misses her mother. Marianne puts Otto off. Despite Otto opening up to Marianne about her own mother, Marianne isn’t ready to share.

Marianne thinks about marching up to Otto and shouting in her face. I feel sick every day. I’m jealous when I see mothers with daughters. I feel like I’m half-finished, that I’m always waiting for something to happen, that I’m all alone. So, yes, you could say I miss her. (102)

It’s an emotional scene. While Marianne is the only one who does not know what it is like to have a mother, none of them know what it is to have a loving and supportive mother. None of them have been taught by their mothers about how to be friends with other women. Instead, they teach each other. And I just think that is so beautiful. 

I want to thank Kathryn (@_the_book_bug_) for bringing this book to my attention. After reading her review on Instagram I couldn’t get the book out of my head. A day later, I pre-ordered it. I’m so happy I did!

As I said earlier, so much was I enjoying my time with these women that I tried to spin out the reading of The Eights. When I finished—other than experiencing a sense of loss for not having these characters in my life anymore—I had this overwhelming need to know what happens next for these women. I do not often say this, but I would love to see a follow up book that picks up where this one left off. Perhaps, better yet, one that picks up at their degree ceremony. I’m dying to know how these women go on to light the world on fire, because I’m certain they do.

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!

Vera by Elizabeth von Arnim

Elizabeth von Arnim’s 1921 novel, Vera, is unlike anything else I have read by her. I’ve heard it suggested that it may have inspired Daphne du Maurier’s 1938 novel, Rebecca. I don’t know if there is evidence to back up this claim, but the two books are not dissimilar. Both feature young women who meet a man who has recently been widowed, and who they shortly thereafter marry. They honeymoon abroad and return back to England, but once they are set up in their husband’s spacious home, they are expecting their happily ever after to start. But it is there that things start to go wrong.

While in both books there is the suggestion that the young woman does not know the man she has married. In Rebecca, the focus is the young woman’s belief that her husband is still in love with his dead wife, that he is constantly comparing her to Rebecca. She becomes obsessed with living up to Rebecca’s memory to try to eclipse her in her husband’s heart. Of course, she is terrifically misguided in her assumptions, but I won’t say anything more or I will risk spoiling the book for the two people out there who have not yet read it. But despite the fact that Vera is named after the dead wife, the focus of this book is on the husband. 

I know I’ve already said this in part, but I’m going to repeat myself. Vera is so different from all of the other books I’ve read by this author, that it is hard to even compare this book to her others. If it wasn’t for the fact that the domineering patriarch is a common character in her books, I would have a difficult time believing Vera and The Enchanted April were written by the same person. As much as I love her lighter books, like The Enchanted April, I’ve always been more fascinated by what is in the shadows. That said, even for me, I found this book hard to read. From about the fourth page, you know something is wrong with Everard Wemyss. He is waving red flags with both hands, but Lucy Entwhistle is too blinded by grief over the very recent loss of her father to see anything but Wemyss’s love for her. Even when Lucy is briefly concerned by his lack of grief over his wife, who has died under tragic—and suspicious—circumstances, just two weeks prior to the two meeting, Lucy chooses to believe that he is keeping his grief inside and excuses his appearance of happiness as being a sign he is attempting to distract himself from his wife’s death. 

Lucy is not entirely alone in the world though. When Wemyss takes over the arrangements for Lucy’s father’s funeral, he contacts Lucy’s aunt, Miss Entwhistle. At first, she assumes Wemyss was one of her brother’s friends. Even so she cannot help but think how unlike her brother, Jim, Wemyss is. Once Lucy informs her about how she met Wemyss, Miss Entwhistle, is not surprised Wemyss was not a friend of Jim, but she is taken aback by how quickly Wemyss has inserted himself into Lucy’s life. Being an observant person, she suspects Wemyss’s feeling for Lucy before the two reveal their engagement. But as much as she tries to convince herself of the attachment being a suitable one for Lucy, she is worried. As hard as she tries to like Wemyss, she cannot. The man has two houses, and no children, who cares if he is old enough to be Lucy’s father? What does love know of age? But niggling at the back of her mind is Vera’s untimely death. 

How does a person fall out of the top floor window of a house by accident? That is the question. Wemyss was in his library, sitting facing the window directly below the window Vera fell from, and no one else was with Vera at the time. At the inquest, Vera’s maid related something that Vera had said to her, which steers the verdict away from accidental death to being left open, suggesting Vera died by her own hand.

Among the serious subject matter of this book, the suggestion of a man who has driven his wife to killing herself, or worse, has killed her himself, there is Elizabeth von Arnim’s humour. It’s a little darker in this one than any of the other books of hers I have read, (The Enchanted April, Father, The Pastor’s Wife, Introduction to Sally, The Adventures of Elizabeth in Rügen and her autobiography All the Dogs of My Life,) but it still creeps up in the most unexpected places.

In one scene, something Wemyss has said reminds Lucy of an unwanted proposal she once received, thinking of that moment, “she hung her head in shame”. Meanwhile, Wemyss, who is either ignorant of her discomfort or is not bothered by it, admires her.

Wemyss, not having his pipe in his mouth to protect him and help him to hold on to himself, for he had hastily stuffed it in his pocket, all alight as it was, when he saw her at the gate, and there at the moment it was burning holes,—Wemyss, after a brief struggle with his wishes, in which as usually he was defeated, stooped and began to kiss Lucy’s hair. And having begun, he continued. (44) 

Lucy’s reaction will likely not surprise anyone who has read Elizabeth von Arnim’s other novels. 

She was horrified. At the first kiss she started as if she had been hit, and then clinging to the gate she stood without moving, without being able to think or lift her head, in the same attitude bowed over his and her own hands, while this astonishing thing was being done to her hair. (44)

A reoccurring theme in Elizabeth von Arnim’s books is unwanted physical attention from men being forced upon women. It is often given a slightly humorous bent, but there is the underlying message that being touched by a man is an awful experience, one to be avoided, if possible, even with one’s husband. But this book gives a reason beyond simply the touching in and of itself being abhorrent. 

Death all around them, death pervading every corner of their lives, death in its blackest shape brooding over him, and—kisses! Her mind, if anything so gentle could be said to be in anything that sounds so loud, was in an uproar. (44-45)

Frankly, the episode gets more disturbing from there. Coming as it does so early in the book, I think it perfectly sums up what is to come. Wemyss aggressively forcing his ‘love’ on Lucy, while “death [pervades] every corner of their lives”. 

As I mentioned at the outset the focus of this book is on Wemyss, rather than his dead wife. However, we could read the line “death in its blackest shape brooding over him” being the spectre of Vera, there with them even then. In which case, she could be seen as the person who is looking out for Lucy, even when no one else is able. Vera’s portrait hangs in the drawing room, her belongings are still as they were on the day she died, even her library of books—heavy on the Brontë sisters and travel to far off destinations—all remain, as though Vera has just stepped in to the next room. 

The other thing I have heard said is that Vera is a less good Rebecca. From that I expected this book to get attempting to do the same thing as Rebecca does, the dead wife haunting the thoughts of the living wife until she is eaten up by jealousy. In Vera it is the dead wife’s death that haunts the thoughts of the living wife, not the woman herself. Lucy does not seem to be jealous of Vera in the least. The issue is that Vera has died in the house where Lucy is expected to live happily, where she is expected to ignore the horror of the woman’s death. And as Wemyss reveals himself to be so different from the man Lucy thought she had married, the tension grows. Now, do I think Rebecca is a better book. Yes. It happens to my favourite of all of Daphne du Maurier’s novels. One of my favourite novels, full stop. Du Maurier keeps to one theme, and writes the stronger book because of it. However, the level of tension in Vera actually made me feel physically sick. I found myself gripping the book, my shoulders hunched up to my ears, as though I and Lucy were one, trying to make ourselves small. Von Arnim does not stick to one focus though, making for a less cohesive story. But for atmosphere she gets full marks.

Give Vera a try if you are feeling brave, but perhaps pick a time when you are happy and rested. If you are already anxious or under stress, this book is not going to help.

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!

Stories for Christmas and the Festive Season by Various

I have been wanting to read Stories for Christmas and the Festive Season for ages. Published in 2022, this book is part of the British Library Women Writers series. A series that I am a huge fan of, as I'm sure you are aware if you've been on this blog for more than five minutes. I had been planning to save Stories for Christmas to enjoy closer to the end of the month. But after looking through the stack of Christmas books I had put aside to read in December, I found myself selecting this one. I’m sure having just finished another of the British Library Publishing’s short story collections, Who Killed Father Christmas? had something to do with it. I was craving another collection chock full of Christmas and festive cheer, and I was not disappointed.

The only dud in this collection, as far as I’m concerned, is the first story. I’ll explain why, and then we can get on with all the delights this collection has to offer.

“The Turkey Season” by Alice Munro

Even without the gross bits which were to be expected given this one is set in a slaughterhouse, I was not likely going to enjoy this one. Typically, I find Alice Munro’s stories to be a bit of a drag. There may be uplifting moments, but they tend to be few and far between. I studied many of her stories during my degree, and there is no denying there is plenty to discuss in her work, but I just could not warm to it then and I still cannot. This story was exactly as I expected it to be, though it does end on a festive and positive note, thought it is undermined by the rest of the story. If you want to skip to the happy festive part, turn to the last page of this one. 

“This Year It Will Be Different” by Maeve Binchy

Only in movies did a happily married mother of three suddenly call a family conference and say that this year she was tired of the whole thing, weary of coming home after work and cleaning the house and buying the Christmas decorations and putting them up, buying the Christmas cards, writing them and posting them so that they would keep the few friends they had. (23)

An overworked wife and mother of three quietly doesn’t prepare for Christmas, and, eventually, her family notices. I found this one very funny. Perhaps, because it was so true to life!

“General Impressions of a Christmas Shopping Centre” by E.M. Delafield 

Written in the vein of Diary of a Provincial Lady, and just as witty. I opens, “Christmas comes but once a year . . . General Impression, waxing stronger every hour, that even this is rather overdoing it.” (33) It made me want to pick up Provincial Lady, despite having only just reread it in November. 

“The Christmas Pageant” by Barbara Robinson

The Sunday school is getting together their annual Christmas pageant. It’s posed to be the same old thing they do every year. Nothing wrong with that. Only this year, the family of children who are infamous at Woodrow School for their bullying and general bad behaviour, have shocked everyone when they seem interested in taking part in the pageant. They only showed up to Sunday school once in a while after hearing from one boy that they got refreshments. 

Announcements were made in Sunday school, and Imogene Herdman dug me in the ribs with her elbow and demanded, “What’s a pageant?”

“It’s a play,” I said, and Imogene looked interested. All the Herdmans were avid filmgoers. One or two of them would create a disturbance at the front of the cinema while the others slipped in. Like professional criminals, they had the good sense to split up once they got inside, so the manager could never locate all of them and throw them out before the picture was over.

“What’s the play about?” Imogene asked.

“It’s about Jesus,” I told her.

“Everything here is,” she said. (41)

It’s just too funny! I love the snappy understated dialogue between the children. The whole time I was reading this one I felt like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Ticket for a Carol Concert” by Audrey Burton

“Mrs. Lorimer thought it would be easy to sell tickets for the carol concert in the village hall” (53). So begins Audrey Burton’s short story. We get the perspective of the villagers that are victims of Mrs. Lorimer’s sales pitch. This one was humorous and heartwarming.

“Snow” by Olive Wadsley

Olive Wadsley perfectly captures the magic snow in the moonlight can work on an unlikely couple. I read this one first thing in the morning, when I was very groggy and at my least impressionable and I was absolutely captivated. I see myself rereading this one just so I can luxuriate in its atmosphere again.

“’Twas the Night Before Christmas” by Kate Nivison

We get the perspective of a mouse in this one, and I am so here for it!

Round the tree, a few fallen pine needles were sticking in the carpet. The mouse avoided them. They smelt odd and tasted worse. Last night she'd climbed to the first branch, but there were only more needles and some kind of silver straw hanging all over it. It was no good for a nest, and there wasn’t a berry anywhere. But in the kitchen, there’d been a real feast—fatty crumbs of pastry, a currant or two and a half-eaten cream biscuit between the oven and the cupboard. Just thinking about it made her sit up and clean her whiskers. (81)

I have a soft spot for any book that has a mouse in it, so this story was such a joy to discover. I had to tamp down my squeals of joy when I was reading though, as at the time I was sitting in a waiting room. I just loved this one so much and if I was even a smidge more outgoing it would have been story hour at the medical practice!

I just have to share this sweet exchange between a wife and husband as they are preparing to sneak their children’s stockings into their rooms.

“Pass me up the mug and plate, love.” The woman gave a yawn.

“If I bend down once more today, my back will go.”

“Oh, leave them down there. We’ll have a good clear up in the morning.” He picked up the crackling stockings and felt their weight. “You’re good at this, you know,” he said. “I’m glad I married someone who’s good at Christmas.”

“Suppose we’ve got mice?”

 “A house like this wouldn't be complete without a moose loose aboot it. M’mm, you smell of warm milk and brandy and mince pie. Give us a kiss.” (83-83)

This whole story was so cute and cosy. A real delight!

“Christmas Fugue” by Muriel Spark

You can always trust Muriel Spark to turn things upside down and leave you sideways. I wrote my thoughts on this one right after I read it, only to discover that I couldn’t share any of it because it much too spoiler-y. What I can say is that this one will leave you with so many questions, and as many theories! One of mine was, ‘what did I just read?’. And you know, what? Whatever it was, I loved it. 

“The Little Christmas Tree” by Stella Gibbons

This one had all the magic of Rosamunde Pilcher’s “Miss Cameron at Christmas”. Rhoda, or Miss Harting as she has referred to by everyone in the story, moves to a cottage in Buckinghamshire and plans to spend Christmas alone, despite multiple invitations to spend the day with friends.

But when she had nibbled her breakfast, played Debussy's Footsteps in the Snow twice on the gramophone, stuffed her chicken and glanced more than once at her Christmas tree, whose bells glittered darkly against the snow, she found herself trying to feel happy, rather than feeling happy. (99)

That is, until, she gets a knock at the door and three children appear out with the snow with a story about a wicked stepmother that they are running away from. It’s lovely and it has all the makings of a fairytale. This was just the sweetest story of a woman living in a little cottage with a little tree in her window and the three children who appear at her door on Christmas Day, just as she is feeling her most lonely.

“The Christmas Present” by Richmal Crompton

This one is hilarious. It’s very short, so I don’t want to ruin anything, but it is so surprising and cute, and it ends on the funniest note.

“Christmas Bread” by Kathleen Norris

This one may just be the best, or at least, my most favourite story in the collection. It was made even more special by the fact that I have been hearing my dear friend, Gina, sing this author’s praises for a while now. After reading this story, I absolutely understand why!

Doctor Madison has plans to be preforming a surgery on Christmas Day. Her daughter, Merle, is to be left alone with the doctor’s secretary/governess for the day, as the doctor is a widow and a rift has come between her and her brother. But then a trip up to the attic to look for items to give to charity alters the doctor and her daughter’s Christmas. 

So then it was all Christmas magic, and just what Christmas Eve should be. Saunders brought the little closed car to the door, to be sure, but there he vanished from the scene, and it was only mother and Merle.

The streets were snowy, and snow frosted the wind-shield, and lights and people and the bright windows of shops were all mixed up together, in a pink and blue and gold dazzle of colour. (137)

It’s a beautiful and touching story about nostalgia, memory, and the power of forgiveness. Read it on Christmas Eve and perhaps you’ll experience your own Christmas transformation.

“Christmas in a Bavarian Village” by Elizabeth von Arnim

An English woman comes to Germany to visit her daughter and her family for Christmas.

A little subdued, I was led out of the station into a world of Christmas trees. In front of most of the houses stood a tree lit by electric light, and in the middle of the one wide street was a huge one, a pyramid of solemn radiance.

I felt as if I had walked into a Christmas card glittering snow, steep-roofed old houses, and the complete windlessness, too, of a Christmas card.  (151-152)

As the story progresses there a hint that times have changed since 1909 when the woman last spent Christmas in Germany. In Simon Thomas's informative and spoiler-free introduction we find out that this one is set in 1937, providing us with insight into why and how things have changed since the narrator last visited the country.

“Freedom” by Nancy Morrison

This one is not explicitly Christmassy. Set in a Swiss ski resort during a winter holiday, this story has the feel of a really good vintage Harlequin about it. Sylvia Grey is a beginner skier, and there is a scene that recalls to mind the skiing scene in The Bell Jar. This story is not at all like Sylvia Plath’s book. However, Esther and Sylvia do share one thing in common. You will have to read it to find out what that is. (It’s a bit fun that the heroine from “Freedom” and the author of The Bell Jar share the same first name. A coincidence I hadn’t realised until writing this review.) 

“On Skating” by Cornelia Otis Skinner

This is also not a Christmas story, but it is another winter sports story. The narrator and her friend are notoriously bad at sports, all sports, and have been since they were girls. One day, they pass a group of people skating on an outdoor rink, and think ‘that looks fun’, and the rest of the story is about their humorous efforts learning to skate. 

“Clap Hands, Here Comes Charlie” by Beryl Bainbridge

Instead of a Christmas bonus, Mrs. Henderson gets tickets to the theatre from her employer. She takes the family and the neighbours to see Peter Pan, and they have a very dramatic time of it.

“Pantomime” by Stella Margetson

Set during World War II, the wife of a lieutenant who is stationed in the area directs a pantomime with the aid of a local boy acting as assistant stage manager. The show is preformed at a recreation hut, for the enjoyment of the officers and local residents. It’s a touching and sweet coming of age story. And as most coming of age stories are, it’s also a bit sad.

“On Leavin’ Notes” by Alice Childress

A short and funny one concludes this collection. It’s about making, and keeping, one’s New Year’s resolutions.

What else can I say about this collection? I loved it! Skip the first story if you’re vegan/vegetarian/squeamish, and then enjoy! I will absolutely be returning to this one next Christmas. And let’s be honest, I’ve already read “’Twas the Night Before Christmas” a.k.a. ‘the mouse one’, twice! 

Thank you to British Library Publishing for kindly sending me a copy of Stories for Christmas and the Festive Season for review. As always, all opinions on the book are my own.

This blog post contains affiliate links for Blackwell's, which means I will make a small commission if you choose to make a purchase through this link. See Affiliate Disclosure at sidebar for details.

A Surprise for Christmas edited by Martin Edwards

A Surprise for Christmas is a delightful collection of twelve festive mystery stories. The stories come from a wide range of years, and they are all very different from each other. This collection was like diving into a box of assorted chocolates, and finding all of my favourites. Absolute bliss!

“The Black Bag Left on the Doorstep” (1893) by Catharine Louisa Pirkis

When £30,000 worth of jewellery is stolen from Craigen Court on Christmas Eve, private detective Loveday Brooke suspects an inside job. Before leaving the thief wrote, ‘To be let unfurnished’, across the safe door in chalk. Could the robbery have anything to do with a black leather bag found abandoned on a doorstep? Loveday thinks so, despite her employer’s cuttingly sarcastic remarks at the suggestion! Of course, she goes undercover to suss out the culprit. My one quibble is that I would have liked to have seen the resolution play out instead of hearing it retold by Loveday to her superior. But, overall, it is a fun one!

“The Hole in the Wall” (1921) by G.K. Chesterton

This story starts with the introduction of two men, one an architect, the other an archaeologist. We know from the off that Chesterton is going to entertain us with his sense of humour.

Lord Bulmer, in his breezy way, thought it natural to introduce them. It must be confessed that he was hazy as well as breezy, and had no very clear connexion in his mind, beyond the sense that an architect and an archaeologist begin with the same series of letters. The world must remain in a reverent doubt as to whether he would, on the same principles, have presented a diplomatist to a dipsomaniac or a ratiocinator to a rat catcher.

As well as being humorous, this is a wonderfully plotted story, set during a Christmas masquerade party at a house with a legend of a ghostly presence that haunts the grounds. Divine!

“Death on the Air” (1937) Ngaio Marsh

This one begins, “On the 25th of December at 7.30 a.m. Mr. Septimus Tonks was found dead beside his wireless set”. 

This is another one with an English country manor setting. Just the thing to read on Christmas Day. It reminded me of another short story I read at some point with a similar premise, but I can’t think of which one it was, so the connection must have been slight. If you have read this one and it reminds you of another story, please let me know. I’d love to solve that little mystery!

“Persons or Things Unknown” (1938) by Carter Dickson

At a Christmas housewarming party, a host tells a story that dates back to 1660 about a neighbour who “saw a man hacked to death with thirteen stab-wounds in his body, from a hand that wasn’t there and a weapon that didn’t exist.” But assures his guests, it’s fine. He has not put any of them in the room it happened in for the night.

Of course, we all liked the house. It had the most modern of lighting and heating arrangements, though the plumbing sent ghostly noises and clanks far down into its interior whenever you turned on a tap. But the smell of the past was in it; and you could not get over the idea that somebody was following you about. 

I loved the interweaving of the historical with the present day in this one. A creepy, atmospheric story, perfect for people who appreciate a Christmas ghost story. 

“Dead Man’s Hand” (1953) by E.R. Punshon

A snowstorm, a bag of diamonds, and a finger shot clean off. From the start, we know Jeremy Wells, gardener, chauffeur, and man of all work has just killed his employer up at the big house. What we don’t know is if he will get away with it. It sure looks like luck is going to be on his side! This one is good to the last line.

“The Christmas Eve Ghost” (1948) by Ernest Dudley

This one has a film noir feel to it, at the start, with a beautiful woman in distress coming to a private detective for help on Christmas Eve. Sophie Forrest runs River View hotel, which is described as “dark and dismal in its own grounds, the mist from the river swirling about its gaunt grimness”. Her husband was found in the river two months ago. He had been shot. And now she and his business partner, have been seeing the ghostly apparition of a Burmese dancer, said to haunt the hotel every year at Christmas time.

“Dick Whittington’s Cat” (1950) by Victor Canning

There is perhaps no setting I enjoy more for a story than one set in the theatre. Especially when it’s a mystery! A couple go to a pantomime, a “cat” falls from their balcony, and the woman loses her diamond bracelet. In part, I did see where this one was going. But it was still a very enjoyable short, short story.

“A Surprise for Christmas” (1956) by Cyril Hare

What starts with a cosy domestic scene of a family having just enjoyed an early Christmas dinner including turkey and plum pudding, ends with a surprise. Spoiler alert. It is not a good surprise! This one is short, yet packs a serious punch.

“On Christmas Day in the Morning” (1950) by Margery Allingham

A postman is found in the middle of a country road, lying across his bicycle. Given his fractured skull, it looks like he’s been hit by a car. The police just happen to have the perfect suspects already in custody. Two drunks who crashed further up the road. The problem is, the timing is all wrong. This one is sad, and all too believable, but brilliantly told.

“Give Me a Ring” (1955) by Anthony Gilbert

If all the other stories in this collection were mediocre, on the merit of this story alone it would still be a must buy. Thankfully, all of the stories in this collection are good, but I think this one is something special.

At a little over 80 pages, it’s more of a novella than a short story, and I have to admit that because of its length I approached this one with less enthusiasm than it deserved. But once I started reading I didn’t give another thought to the page count. Except maybe to thank the author for having the foresight to give the story the space it deserves! If “Give Me a Ring” had “Christmas”, “festive”, or “holiday” in the title, I feel sure it’s the story this collection would have been named after.

Anthony Gilbert is a pseudonym of Lucy Malleson. She also wrote as J. Kilmeny Keith and Anne Meredith, under which she wrote Portrait of a Murderer, which has been republished in the British Library Crime Classics series. She wrote sixty-five novels and at least sixty short stories. “Give Me a Ring” first appeared on 11 November 1955 edition in the Illustrated London News. 

I’d like to take this moment to say how much I love that British Library Publishing includes the date and publication in which the short stories in their collections first appeared. I feel that having that information provides the reader with essential context for the stories themselves within the history of the crime story as a genre. I also love that Martin Edwards shares a short biography of the author before each story, including the author’s noteworthy titles. So helpful for adding to your TBR!

Back to “Give Me A Ring”…

It was Christmas Eve and nearly five of the clock, but an afternoon less like the traditional ideas of the season would be hard to imagine. True, a little snow had fallen in the early hours, but this was rapidly churned into slush by the relentless London traffic and about mid-day a haze of fog began to spread over the city.

While out buying odds and ends on Christmas Eve, Gillian Hinde is disoriented in the fog and finds herself drawn towards a lit shop window. A most unlikely shop to find the perfect gift for herself.

The object in question was a ring, a quite ordinary setting containing a blue stone that glowed and sparkled as if it had gathered up all the light the fog had sucked out of the streets and flung it back with an unbelievable radiance.

Gillian is drawn into a dark plot that puts her, and her worried fiancé, through the paces. By the end, I couldn’t help but feel the couple certainly deserved to have a happy Christmas!

“Father Christmas Come to Orbins” (1963) by Julian Symons

Nothing says, “Happy Christmas!” like a holiday heist! This one is sharp, funny, well-observed, and just plain fun. A little edgier than the others in the collection, but no less enjoyable.

“The Turn-Again Bell” (1959) by Barry Perowne

The setting for this one is an 11th-century village church with a square Norman tower, and a churchyard blanketed in deep snow. There is a legend surrounding the church that once in the incumbency of each Rector, they would hear one of the church bells chime a single stroke at Christmas. The Rector would feel compelled to check to see who had rung the bell and find no one there, and no one else would have heard the bell ring. That Christmas would be his last.

The Rector left the church and headed for home. There had been a new, light fall of snow, under which the criss-crossing tyre-ruts were frozen hard. The night was clear and cold, the stars were bright. Trudging along, hands deep in his coat pockets, his shadow slanting on the snow, he was about halfway to the crossroads, when he heard a bell in the church tower clang once, loud and clear.

This one was chilling, beautifully described, and a heartwarming way to end a stellar collection.

Best enjoyed with a mince tart and a hot cuppa, A Surprise for Christmas would make a great read for December. There are a few short, short stories like one the collection gets its title from and “The Turn-Again Bell”, which could be enjoyed in between wrapping gifts and checking on the Yorkshire pud. I would save my favourite, the lengthy, “Give Me a Ring”, for when you’re up late on Christmas Eve waiting for Santa to appear.

This is a book I borrowed from my local library, but I enjoyed it so much that I’ve decided I must get my own copy in time for rereading it next holiday season.

War Among Ladies by Eleanor Scott

Expectation is a powerful thing. It alters your perspective, often imperceptibly. If reality does not match up with the figment you created, it can take some getting used to. Reality might even feel a tad disappointing, if only at first. That, I am afraid to say, was my experience reading Eleanor Scott’s 1928 novel, War Among Ladies. 

I had heard this book described as a school story told from the perspective of the teachers. And while this sums up the novel accurately, it misleads one into thinking this is going to be a bit of fun. Sure, it’s called War Among Ladies, but there are always feuds in school stories, with lots of fun to be had in between the tiffs, with field hockey or lacrosse practice, girl guides meets, midnight feasts, etc. I expected to find much of the same in this book, only with teachers having misunderstandings and disagreements on teaching methods and whatnot, but, overall, having a lovely time. Boy, was I wrong! Thankfully, once I managed my expectations, I started to appreciate this book for what it is, which is a novel that is a whole lot smarter than the one I had envisioned.

Besley High School for girls works on a graduation system, which means that the failure of a student in one subject makes for a fail overall. When even Miss Cullen’s best student fails the public examination, the other teachers are out for blood. Because it is not just the girls of this school that are judged harshly. The future of the teachers and the school itself, is at risk, if the girls fail their end of year exams.

"Oh, I don't expect it's as bad as you think, you know," she said with her nervous half-laugh. "May I keep this just for to-night, Nellie? I have a collection of papers, and I should like to copy this out to add to it." Nellie handed it over, quite willingly, but without enthusiasm. Miss Cullen recognised the difference from her usual manner and sighed.

"Well, cheer up, girls. I'm sure you've all done better than you think," she said as she turned away.

But it was a lie, and she knew it was; and the girls knew it too, and she knew that they did. For the paper was a modern one, and Miss Cullen taught by the methods of thirty years ago. The collection of papers was a myth, too; she wanted time, time to study those conundrums that demanded original thought and not the reproduction of textbooks. Not that it mattered now. Nothing could help her. She had failed, and she knew it; and she also knew that, for her, failure meant—the end. (42)

Things go downhill from here for Miss Cullen. Because there is nothing to be done. There is no retraining plan in place for teachers to update their methods, and there is no option for most of these women to do anything besides teaching. Certainly not for Miss Cullen, who is so close to retirement, but not close enough to retire early as that would mean losing everything she has put into her pension. Getting another placement is not an option for many of the other teachers either. For what school will hire them if their last job was at a school so notorious for its poor performance it had to be closed?

It would have been good if I had read the back cover copy of this one before reading the book. It would certainly have set me straight on my whole “fun school story” expectation. The last line on the back cover of the newly republished edition best describes this novel, “This is a quietly devastating novel about the realities of life for single working women in the 1920s and the systems that failed them”.

The devastation may be quiet, but it is all but relentless. It was the relentlessness of this book that made it a difficult read for me. I don’t intend that to be a criticism. Although, it does sound like one. What I mean is that it is hard to be in the mood to read about someone who has reached the end of the line and is out of options. You cannot really hold it against them when they are willing to do what they have to to ensure their own survival, but it does not exactly endear them to you either.

Miss Cullen’s colleagues go to the Head to request her dismissal and Miss Cullen feels as thought it is only a matter of time before she is asked to leave. So she writes a letter to the school inspector. 

She signed it with a distinct feeling of pleasure. It was, she told herself, true—true in every word. No one could deny what she had written. All she wanted was justice, impartial justice, and that she would never get, either from her colleagues or the Head... And she liked the tone of the letter, it seemed to her to be both independent and courteous, warm and yet restrained.

She felt a glow of triumph, almost of virtue, as she dropped that epistle, heavy with the fate of the school, into a pillar-box. (116)

It is difficult to feel that an injustice is really being done to Miss Cullen. Her students are doing abysmally in her subject. Still, I found myself feeling very sorry for her, as does one of her fellow teachers. Viola Kennedy, who is in her first year of teaching, approaches the start of school with all of the naive optimism that one would expect of someone who is eager to educate and inspire their students. However, before too long teaching, and all the profession entails, begins to wear on her. Her head is a sea of questions concerning things she has no control over.

Like most of her profession, Viola was fast losing her sense of humour and proportion. She felt that these questions filled the whole horizon, so that nothing else, no question of State or religion or personal relationship or anything whatever, was of the smallest importance in comparison. […] Suddenly she realised, for one sickening second, the tortures that a bad disciplinarian (Miss Cullen, for instance) must feel when she dreads, not for an instant, but for hours every day, the coming of a new day. ... How perfectly horrible. ... (153)

Viola Kennedy and Miss Cullen are in contrast to each other. For one, as Simon Thomas points out in the Afterword, Viola is never diminished to “Miss”. She retains her first name throughout the book. Viola, who is young and is just starting out in teaching, still has options. One of her fellow teachers recommends that she get out, before teaching has left its mark on her, and while she still has the option to marry, and, as we might imagine, before Viola's identity has been completely overshadowed by "Miss Kennedy" and she is Viola no longer. In comparison, we are lead to believe that Miss Cullen, even as a young woman, never had the option of marriage, or a life outside of teaching.

Still, this book is not without glimmers of light, and my favourites are those moments of optimism that Viola finds while in the natural world.

Viola felt that touch of excitement that the romantic young often know with the coming of misty evenings—that sense of adventure, of suspense almost, of a dream coming true, as if something were suddenly to be revealed....

She turned into the wet grass. How still it was in the hushed, dewy field, shrouded in the autumn mist. How remote it was from the lights and sounds of the town. How real, how true, it was in its chill aloof silence. She stood and listened to her own hushed breathing. Softly, like a magic bell, the church clock sounded. It was like the prelude to adventure. ... 

With a sigh she realised that that note of enchantment was no more than a call back to the world of duty. She walked on up to the school. (180)

Viola is able to find some respite in nature, and contemplate the possibilities of her future, because she is of the “romantic young” who still have adventures and dreams within their grasp. While at the end of this quotation, Viola is brought back to the “world of duty” by the church bell reminding her of the time, there is the suggestion that she could travel along the line of wherever those tantalising asterisks are headed, instead of answering the call to go back to school.

It is these glimpses of future possibilities for Viola that kept me reading, despite how much Miss Cullen’s narrowing future was causing me worry. 

I am so thankful I pushed through my discomfort! This book provided a perspective of what teaching was like for women in 1920s that I had not been exposed to before. The throughly researched Afterword provides a helpful explanation of the systems women would have been up against at this point in history.

Thank you to British Library Publishing for kindly sending me a copy of War Among Ladies for review. As always, all opinions on the book are my own.