Stories for Mothers and Daughters - A British Library Women Writers Collection

I used to start reviews of short story collections saying something like, “I don’t normally gravitate towards short stories”. But I can’t make that claim anymore. In less than a year I went from someone who almost never read short stories to someone who loves them. I enjoy sitting with a short story and knowing that I will be able to find out what happens in the end without staying up past my bedtime. I love that short stories can act as a snapshot, capturing a moment in time. They aren’t required to take us on a sweeping journey, but they might. And they might just capture a woman ironing clothes, while being a million miles away in her thoughts, or a mother and daughter going to the cinema, or a woman wandering her home and missing her daughters. Stories for Mothers and Daughters is full of small moments, big emotions, and the complicated relationships between mothers and daughters. Apologies for the length of this review. I tried to be brief, but there are 16 stories in this collection, and apparently, I had a lot of things to say about them.

“Week-End” by Richmal Crompton (1931)

A woman waits in expectation for her two daughters to come home for the weekend. They bring two friends with them, and basically create chaos in their mother‘s life while they’re there. She says that neither of her daughters is like her, as she had hoped. They don’t enjoy quiet time, and they certainly aren’t bookish. They remind her of her husband, Bruce. It is clear she loves her daughters, but she gives a sigh of relief and smiles when they are gone and her home is quiet again. I can’t say I blame her. The group of four girls together sound more wild than a bunch of monkeys. They also sound very young indeed. They certainly cannot be old enough to be working in an office, but then maybe that’s because I identified with the mother!

“Maternal Devotion” by Sylvia Townsend Warner (1947)

Very amusing story about a woman, Cordelia Finch, who has all of her unwanted suitors sit with her mother. 

“I’m always alarmed when I see people plunge into gardening. Still, if your mother enjoys it ... Besides, there is the Fifth Commandment. I read right through the Ten Commandments the other day, and I was surprised to find how many of them I agreed with. But it would have saved a lot of talk, as well as being much lighter to carry, if Moses had just boiled them down to one compact little commandment—‘Thou shalt not interfere.’ I knew a Mrs Prothero who was perfectly devoted to gardening, and one day when she was being shown around a friend’s garden she saw a weed and tried to pull it up. It happened to be a tight-rooted wolfsbane, and while she was tussling with it, something snapped and she went blind in one eye. Could you have a plainer warning against meddling?” (14)

By the time her mother is through talking their ear off, they are running for the hills. Too funny! 

“The Value of Being Seen” by Inez Holden (1945)

This story is about Daphne, a reluctant debutant. Forced to go to dances night after night, by her mother with the expectation that Daphne be seen, because according Daphne’s mother being seen is the most important thing. But no one sees Daphne. 

She seemed to be seeing hundreds of eyes, which had no separate existence simply a mass of eyes like caviare among noses; they did not seem to be anyone’s specially, they were only a great number of eyes, liquid and dead. So this was her first dance. Her mother’s words about the value of being seen came into her mind, but these eyes did not seem to be looking at her. They seemed to be looking, not at anyone or anything, but only looking. (21)

It is not just that they don’t notice her, it’s as though they cannot actually see her. And eventually she becomes a shade. This interesting story has a spectacular ending, one I’ll be thinking about for some time. 

I really enjoyed the writing of this one and was wondering why the author’s name sounded so familiar, when I realised that’s because I have two of her books on my shelves, Blitz Writing and There’s No Story There. I have not read them yet, but they had been on my wishlist for a while and when I heard that Handheld Press were closing their doors, they were two of the ones I purchased. After reading this sample of her writing, I’m even more excited to get to them.

“Psalms” by Jeanette Winterson (1998)

This one is about a woman who tries to get a job as a tea-taster. Goodness! Who wouldn’t want that job?! She has to fill out a questionnaire, at the end of which she is asked to write about the experience she considers the most significant in the forming of her character. She writes about how when she was little her mother wanted to get her a pet. There’s the impression she would have liked a dog or even a ferret, she already has an imaginary bunny named, Ezra. But her mother decides a tortoise is the best choice. 

“Why don’t I call it Ebenezer?” (I was thinking that would match Ezra.)

“We’re calling it Psalms because I want you to praise the Lord.”

“I can praise the Lord if it’s called Ebenezer.”

“But you won’t, will you? You’ll say you forgot. What about the time I bought you that 3-D postcard of the garden of Gethsemane? You said that would help you think about the Lord and I caught you singing ‘On Ilkley Moor Baht ’at’”

“Alright then,” I sulked. “We’ll call it Psalms.” (31)

And the girl reads to the tortoise from the Psalms everyday. The tortoise seems to be fulfilling its purpose. She learns large chunks of the Bible and she wins all the competitions in Sunday School. This is a funny, odd story and another one that I don’t quite know what to make of. It’s also another one where the mother and daughter seem to be, if not entirely at odds with each other, there is a lack of understanding between them. But as you can tell from the bit of dialogue, it is a very humorous story, indeed. If you are unfamiliar with the song “On Ilkley Moor Baht ’at”, you can listen to it here, and find the lyrics here. By the time worms part of the picture, I was in stitches. 

“The End of the Fairy Tale” by Maude Egerton King (1911)

A normally absent and neglectful mother, who usually leaves the care of her five-year-old daughter to her nurse, ends up putting her daughter to bed when her evening plans get cancelled at the last minute. The daughter is clearly starved for motherly attention, which made me think that the mother was selfish and self involved, but as the story goes on, there’s a suggestion that there is more to it than that. There is perhaps some sort of societal expectation that she has allowed herself to be caught up with instead of investing herself in her daughter’s life. Her husband is away in South Africa, and there is the suggestion of an affair, which takes up her attention, as a man calls at the house, interrupting her time with her daughter. I found this one both touching and sad.

“The Pictures” by Janet Frame (1951)

A mother and daughter go to the pictures. While they’re watching the film, they seem to be on the same plane, both enjoying themselves. “The little girl laughed. She clapped her hands and giggled and the woman laughed with her. They were the happiest people in the world” (50). But when they leave, the mother is thinking about having to return home to the boarding house where she lives alone with her daughter.

And the woman thought of going up stairs and putting the little girl to bed and then touching and looking at the daffodil in the window-box, it was a lovely daffodil. And looking about her and thinking the woman felt sad.

But the little girl in the pixie-cap didn’t feel sad, she was eating a paper lolly, it was greeny-blue and it tasted like peppermints. (53)

There is something so heartbreaking about this one. The disconnect between the mother and daughter in this last snapshot, compared to when they are laughing in the cinema is poignant.

“The Silver Cloak” by Winifred Holtby (1937)

A seamstress, Annie Moorcroft is given a silver cloak from one of her clients. On her way home, she imagines the effect the dress will have on her life. As a young woman of 36, who still looks young, she feels the dress will help her look good for when men come to court her daughter, Katie, who is just coming of age. But when Annie shows the garment to her daughter, Katie seems downcast and sulky, and isn’t nearly as excited as Annie expected her to be. It occurs to Annie that her daughter is jealous of her. Jealous of the dress.

I have mixed feelings about this story, because I just think of all the times that mother sacrifice more than they should. The incident with the garment could have been a learning experience for the daughter, who in my opinion is a bit of a brat. Mothers deserve to have nice clothes too! The daughter is always well dressed, in clothes her mother has made for her. She does not need another dress, and the silver cloak was given to the mother, after all. But I think the story is meant to point to the small sacrifices mothers make for their children every day. 

“History Again Repeats Itself” by E.M. Delafield (1929)

Theodosia invites her friend Alex, and two others to her parents’ house for Christmas. While Alex is not her boyfriend, they have been going around together for the past year. Theodosia has come to think of him as more than a friend though, she has not yet admitted it to herself. Upset at seeing Alex get along so well with Marjorie, one of the other friends invited for Christmas, Theodosia confronts him. She accuses him of being in love with Marjorie, and she surprises both of them when she ends up in tears. Her mother saves Theodosia from embarrassment. Theodosia and her mother do not quite understand each other, they are not quite at odds, but Theodosia does think she knows better than dear mummy. Theodosia is young and perhaps not quite so worldly, or superior, as she had thought. I appreciated how her mother quietly, and firmly guided her daughter when she saw she needed help, but otherwise leaves Theodosia to figure things out for herself. E.M. Delafield’s writing is always a treat. Full of humour and observant of her characters’ flaws, while displaying the foibles that often result with wit and understanding.

“Mothers and Daughters” by Frances Gray Patton (1952) 

Emily and her sister, Belle, chat by the fire one cold March evening while waiting for Emily’s daughter, Laura, to come home. Feeling comfortable, Emily confesses that her daughter is remote, cold, and hostile towards her (84). She immediately regrets saying something so horrible about her own daughter. But Belle brushes it off. Then Laura comes home and Belle sees firsthand how Laura is with her mother. Once Laura has left the room, Belle admits,

“I see what you mean. She doesn’t care for you very much at the moment. You’ll have to trust to time.” She smiled ruefully. “It’s like Mama used to say when we were broken up about something that couldn’t be helped. ‘Don’t struggle, lie down and let the waves beat over you.” (96)

Not bad advice, but Emily feels the need to confront her daughter and what results is enlightening. I had to share this quotation, because I think the author does a great job of showing the gap in sentiment that mothers of teenage daughters must bridge.

“As soon as the conversation gets meaningful you make a wisecrack. You retreat. Why, you haven’t even noticed how beautiful the world is tonight.” She took her mother by the arm and drew her to the window. “Look!”

Emily looked. Her house was on a hill, and across the road, where, the land began to fall away, stood an elm tree, large and symmetrical. Below the tree were rooftops of houses that seemed to form a flight of giant steps going down in the darkness. Tonight, in the ice storm, the elm was a great sequined fan and the ridgepoles were penciled silver lines.

“Doesn’t it make you want to cry?” asked Laura.

“No,” said Emily. She felt too tired and baffled for anything but the simple truth. “Not except when I think how slick the roads will be in the morning.” (99)

This one ends on a surprisingly light note, with Emily understanding Laura’s “problem”.

“The Shadow of Kindness” by Maeve Brennan (1965)

I found this one to be touching, and a bit sad. Mrs. Bagot has sent her children off to a relatives farm for a month. 

[T]here were other things she was going to do, but these preparations, which she had already memorized and timed to the minute, still left her with nothing to do for a month but look forward, and she knew a grown woman should have more life of her own. Even if she had children, a woman should have a life of her own that would stand up when the children were out of the house for any length of time. She knew that. It was not right to let yourself get so lost in your children that you could find no trace of yourself when they were gone. What would she do when they grew up? Of course, it was silly to think of it; not silly—morbid. She was letting her imagination run away with her. She would make herself a cup of tea and cheer herself up. The tea would cheer her up. Still, she did not move. She continued to stand by the big window looking out into her garden. (103-104)

It’s the first day without her children and she is at a loss, and more than a little lonely, but she finds comfort in an unexpected place.

I especially enjoyed the beautiful descriptions of the garden and the interiors of Mrs. Bagot’s house. The children’s bedroom come alive when Mrs. Bagot is confronted with the unfamiliar, or should I say, she sees the familiar from a different perspective. And there is a dear dog, a white terrier named Bennie, a big orange cat named Rupert, and small black cat named Minnie. We know Bennie is a very good dog, because he doesn’t kick up a fuss when greedy Rupert checks Bennie’s bowl for stray morsels of food. A story with a dog is just about guaranteed to be a favourite of mine, as this one is.

“Rose-Coloured Teacups” by A.S. Byatt (1987)

This story is like a snapshot in time, or times. I normally love description, but the large chunk at the beginning of this one was a bit much for me. I felt my attention wain by the second page, and I fear if I had come across this story in a magazine I would have moved on. However, I did appreciate how Byatt showed how people see their experience of a place as being the definitive one. Again, pointing out the disconnect between the generations and the gaps that must be bridged for understanding to be realised. 

“Love is Not a Pie” by Amy Bloom (1993)

I stood and looked and then backed out of the bedroom. They hadn’t moved, the three of them breathing deeply, in unison. What was that, I thought, what did I see? I wanted to go back and take another look, to see it again, to make it disappear, to watch them carefully, until I understood. (139)

The story begins with the funeral of Ellen and Lizzie’s mother, but much of it is set during summers past spent at their cabin. Told from Ellen’s perspective as a young girl, I think Bloom does a great job of capturing the thought process of a child when they have seen something they don’t quite understand. This one is sad, but also really lovely.

“The Battle-Field” by Phyllis Bottome (1934)

Thirty-five-year old, Madeline Writtle has always been delicate, but after her sister’s death she becomes worryingly ill. Eventually, she winds up in a sanatorium for consumption, where the doctor works as much on her worryingly co-dependent relationship with her mother, as he does on building up her physical health. The writing remains fairly light throughout, but the undertone is quite dark. 

“I Stand Here Ironing” by Tillie Olsen (1961)

A woman ruminates about her daughter Emily’s upbringing after receiving a call from the girl’s school. The mother has to go out to work when Emily is eight months old, the father has left, and the mother is 19. Later, Emily gets the measles and the mother is encouraged to send her daughter to a place where she can recuperate, which sounds more like a prison for disadvantaged children than a rest home.

It took us eight months to get her released home, and only the fact that she gained back so little of her seven lost pounds convinced the social worker. 

 I used to try to hold and love her after she came back, but her body would stay stiff, and after a while she'd push away. She ate little. Food sickened her, and I think much of life too. Oh she had physical lightness and brightness, twinkling by on skates, bouncing like a ball up and down up and down over the jump rope, skimming over the hill; but these were momentary. (173-174)

Heartbreaking. Moving. And I can imagine that a lot of single mothers at this time without independent means were forced to make similarly heart-wrenching choices. 

“The Stepmother” by Mary Arden (1928)

A teacher at a boarding school for girls becomes engaged. She settles down to her new life with her husband, and all seems well enough. But life is complicated by her stepdaughter, who she only meets after she has married the girl’s father, and does not want to have anything to do with her stepmother. Then a little girl who was a favourite of hers at the boarding school writes asking if she can stay for part of the school holiday. This story is about the complicated role of being a stepmother.

“My Mother” by Jamaica Kincaid (1983)

Short, poetic, and figurative. The mother-daughter relationship is mythologised in this powerful collection of vignettes. At first, I thought this was going to be my least favourite story in the collection. And then I read this…

My mother reached out to pass a hand over my head, a pacifying gesture, but I laughed and, with great agility, stepped aside. I let out a horrible roar, then a self-pitying whine. I had grown big, but my mother was bigger, and that would always be so. (201)

How well Kincaid has captured the complicated struggle between the urge to have agency over one’s own life and the power of one’s mother. Then this part just about bowled me over…

My mother, while caressing my chin and cheeks, said some words of comfort to me because we had never been apart before. She kissed me on the forehead and turned and walked away. I cried so much my chest heaved up and down, my whole body shook at the sight of her back turned towards me, as if I had never seen her back turned towards me before. I started to make plans to get off the boat, but when I saw that the boat was encased in a large green bottle, as if it were about to decorate a mantelpiece, I fell asleep, until I reached my destination, the new island. When the boat stopped, I got off and I saw a woman with feet exactly like mine, especially around the arch of the instep. Even though the face was completely different from what I was used to, I recognised this woman as my mother. We greeted each other at first with great caution and politeness, but as we walked along, our steps became one, and as we talked, our voices became one voice, and we were in complete union in every other way. What peace came over me then, for I could not see where she left off and I began, or where I left off and she began. (203-204)

She does not tell how she trusted this mother with a changed face, after her mother turned her back on her. Alas, there is hope here. Hope of new beginnings, understanding, and love, despite all the hurt that gets intertwined over time.

Admittedly, I was unable to enjoy this collection with the same abandon as I did Stories for Summer and Days By the Pool, which came out last year in the British Library Women Writers collection. The mother-daughter relationship is too fraught with landmines to really get comfortable for any extended period of time. But, perhaps, I am bringing too much of my own experience to my reading, and to this review. As a whole Stories for Mothers and Daughters was less fraught with emotion than I was expecting, I held my tears until the final story, but I suspect if you are a mother or a daughter you will find these stories either more or less relatable than I did. There is some fabulous writing in this collection. I suspect Jamaica Kincaid’s “My Mother” is one that will take up residence in my thoughts and the depths of my heart for some time.

Come to this book for the writing. Stay for the emotional exorcism. And if you are not a mother or a daughter, this book provides a glimpse of the many complexities of mother-daughter relationships. 

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

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Lessons in Crime edited by Martin Edwards

As soon as I heard about this collection of mysteries set in academia, I knew I had to get my hands on a copy. Lessons in Crime contains 15 short stories that span just shy of a century of crime writing. There are stories set in day schools, boarding schools, elite universities, and in adult education centres. Inside this book you will find stories by well-known writers of crime fiction, like Arthur Conan Doyle and Dorothy L. Sayers, and a few you might not have heard of before, like Miriam Sharman, whose story “Battle of Wits” most certainly did not aid me in falling asleep when I read it before bed. Although, I tried to savour it, I absolutely inhaled this collection. Thank goodness for rereading. 

“The Greek Play” by H.C. Bailey (1932)

Mr. Fortune and his wife have been invited by her goddaughter to a performance of Antigone being put on by her school. Commonly thought of as the girls equivalent of Eton, this elite school, populated by girls of the gentry, has recently started accepting scholarship students, much to the disgust of many of the students, not to mention the snobbish adults connected with the school. One girl in particular has been having a pretty rough time of it, which is why the goddaughter has invited “the Cherub”—as she refers to Reggie. She senses that something is brewing, though she doesn’t know what, but she wants to Reggie on the spot when the pot boils over.

“The Adventure of the Priory School” by Arthur Conan Doyle (1904)

Sherlock Holmes is called to the north of England to investigate the disappearance of the son of the Duke of Holdernesse from his school. It is very clever but there is a lot in the way of explanation from someone other than Watson. We are meant to assume Sherlock has already figured out and I just found the conclusion a bit clunky.

“The Missing Undergraduate” by Henry Wade (1933)

Detective Inspector John Poole is called down to Oxford to investigate the disappearance of an undergraduate. Having attended Oxford himself, he knows his way around and heads straight to St. Peter’s College. The investigation takes him all over Oxford and London coming to an unexpected, and eventful, climax. I loved this one!

“The Gilded Pupil” by Ethel Lina White (1936)

“The essential part of this tale is that Ann Shelley was an Oxford M.A.” (115)

Ann Shelley takes the position of governess to a millionaire’s 15-year-old daughter, Stella. Stella is unruly and unwashed, but with an above average intelligence. This one was smart and fun. Stella, Ann, and Ann’s old governess prove their wits against a gang of baddies. So good!

“Murder at Pentecost” by Dorothy L. Sayers (1933)

Montague Egg, wine salesman, insert himself into a conversation he overhears between two Oxford men. After which he asks the way to Pentecost College, where he plans to make a sale. One of the men, Radcott, informs him that the master of the college has been murdered. In this one we see some of the inner workings of the Oxford colleges. While, I am a fan of Dorothy L . Sayers’ Lord Peter Wimsey stories, Montague Egg does not feel like a caricature—as I hate to admit—Wimsey often does.

As someone who has spent a lot of time in academic libraries trying to get work done, while being driven to distraction by loud talkers, I found this part particularly funny. 

“Prove it, if you like. Take my gown, toddle across to the Bodder, march straight in past the showcases and through the little wicket marked ‘Readers Only’, into Duke Humphrey’s Library; do what you like, short of stealing the books or setting fire to the place and if anybody says anything to you, I’ll order six dozen of anything you like. That’s fair, isn't it?”

Mr. Egg accepted this offer with alacrity, and in a few moments, arrayed in a scholar’s gown, was climbing the stair that leads to England’s most famous library. With a slight tremor, he pushed open the swinging glass door and plunged into the hallowed atmosphere of mouldering leather that distinguishes such temples of learning.

Just inside, he came upon Dr. Moyle in conversation with the doorkeeper. Mr. Egg, bending nonchalantly to examine an illegible manuscript in a showcase, had little difficulty in hearing what they said, since like all official attendants upon reading-rooms, they took no trouble to lower their voices. (145)

I love that idea that a person could just swan their way into the Duke Humfrey’s Library. Too fun!

As a side note, the correct spelling of Duke Humfrey’s Library appears to be with an “f”, not a “ph” as it appears in the above quotation. However, the library is named after Humphrey of Lancaster, 1st Duke of Gloucester (1390-1447). I have no idea why the spelling is different, but I would love to find out. Perhaps, I need to devote more than five minutes researching it.

“Randolph Hall” by Michael Gilbert (2000)

This one reads like a very well executed children’s adventure story. After a suspected attempted break-in at Ranulph Hall Preparatory School for Boys, three school boys Colin, Ivo and Drew—who refer to themselves as the CID—decide to take matters into their own hands. There is a gun fight between the boys and during a second break-in. When the school calls in their lawyers, to make certain it is lawful to shoot as burglars. Soon it is discovered a famous diamond that went missing 15 years ago is thought to be hidden somewhere in the school. A hunt to find the diamond commences, so it can be returned to its rightful owner before the baddies put in another appearance. 

“The Field of Philippi” by E.W. Hornung (1905)

A group of Old Boys return to their school for the Founder’s Day festival. Among the festivities is the Old Boy’s Match, and one of the Old Boys who will be playing in the match is a professional cricket player. I know next to nothing about cricket, but you do not need to know a thing about cricket to enjoy this story. This has all the elements of a boarding school story with old resentments—which get resolved by the end—sneaking out of the dormitories, and pulling one over on the Head. I loved that this is another one from this collection that does not have a murder and to be honest the plot reminded me of something that would happen in a P.G. Wodehouse story. The mystery is light, heartwarming, and just good fun.

“Lesson in Anatomy” by Michael Innes (1946)

This one was fairly bonkers. Fun, but bonkers. At Nessfield University, Professor Finlay’s final anatomy lecture of the year is known for getting a bit wild. Known for being an excellent teacher, it is only in the final lecture that he gives into his flair for the dramatic, and the students do enjoy playing up to it! 

For the lecture was at once a festival, a rag, and a genuine display of virtuosity. It took place in this large anatomy theatre. Instead of disjointed limbs and isolated organs there was a whole new cadaver for the occasion. And upon this privileged corpse Finlay rapidly demonstrated certain historical developments of his science to an audience in part attentive and in part concerned with lowering skeletons from the rafters, releasing various improbable living creatures—lemurs and echidnas and opossums—to roam the benches, or contriving what quainter japes they could think up. On one famous occasion the corpse itself had been got at, and at the first touch of the professor’s scalpel had awakened to an inferno of noise presently accounted for by the discovery that its inside consisted chiefly of alarm clocks. Nor were these diversions and surprises all one-sided, since Finlay himself, entering into the spirit of the occasion, had more than once been known to forestall his students with some extravagance of his own. (196)

It is not just the setting of this one that is ridiculous, the motivation for the crime is… let’s just say, odd. It was a fun read, but I think I would have enjoyed it more if the conclusion had not felt so far removed from the initial premise.

“Dover Goes to School” by Joyce Porter (1978)

This one has a slightly disorienting beginning. 

Detective Chief Inspector Dover was a creature of habit. Whenever he entered a room he made a point of selecting the most comfortable-looking seat and heading straight for it. On this occasion, as he waddled across the threshold of the large old-fashioned bathroom at Skelmers Hall College, he was not embarrassed by choice.

The rim of the bath was definitely out and he didn't fancy the three-legged stool. That left only one place where 241 pounds of flab could be safely deposited, and the Chief Inspector sank gratefully onto the oval of polished mahogany. That flight of stairs up from the ground floor had taken it out of him. (221)

I think we can imagine where Dover is sitting. The question is, why are we following this man into the bathroom? And why does it appear that he is merely there to hang out? As well as providing some insight into Dover’s character, this next part explains things for us.

It was Inspector Howard’s first encounter with members of the prestigious Murder Squad and he was understandably somewhat diffident. Still, a man had to do what a man had to do. He cleared his throat. “Er—excuse me, sir.”

Dover’s mean little eyes opened slowly and balefully. “What?”

“Your—er—feet, sir.”

“What about ‘em?”

“They’re resting on the—er—body, sir.”

Dover glanced down and with ill grace shifted his boots back a couple of inches from the corpse that lay sprawled, in pyjamas and dressing gown, over the bathroom floor. “Thought you were supposed to be telling us what’s happened,” he observed nastily. (221-22)

And that about sums up Dover. He is a fairly awful individual who takes as much pleasure in being unpleasant to his suspects as he does in his food and drink. Oh, and in his cigarettes. After smoking his colleague’s on the way to the scene, he has no qualms about absolving a woman from suspicion who he is about to interview when she offers him the rest of her pack.. 

Enough about Dover. Although, his presence does dominate this story, I shall try to put him to the side. 

A man is found strangled in the bathroom of Skelmers Hall College, an Adult Education Centre. As the victim is a well-known building contractor and a County Councillor, not to mention a massive flirt, there are a number of suspects, basically everyone who was in the college overnight, in fact.

I cannot say I grew to love Dover over the course of this story, but I did enjoy how disagreeable he was to everyone around him. And he does get his collar in the end, so he’s not a complete idiot either.

“When the Deaf Can Hear” by Malcolm Gair (1959)

This one was very short, so I don’t want to say too much. Some money is missing from a locked room at a school, known as the Turf Room, which is part of the cricket pavilion. Only a small group of students who had access to the Turf Room knew of the money. A detective is called in by the headmaster, who is particularly disappointed in the events because of his fondness for cricket.

“Low Marks for Murder” by Herbert Harris (1973)

This one is very simple. George Faraday, the languages master plans to kill the headmaster of the school, Dr. Theodore Whittington. Faraday is having an affair with Whittington’s wife, Rhona. But it is not just his passion for Rhona that motivates Faraday. The man fancies being given the position of assistant head, which Whittington has put a stop to, not because he suspects Faraday is having an affair with his wife, but because he simply does not like the Faraday. And as Faraday plants to kill Whittington, I would say he shows very good judgment.

There was a surprisingly racy part in this story, which I would not have expected to find in a British Library Crime Classic. However, it is perfectly suited to crime fiction of the seventies and section I found surprising was merely one sentence long.

“The Harrowing of Henry Pygole” by Colin Watson (1974)

Two boys in sixth form plot a practical joke to get back at one of the boys in their form, Henry Pygole.

Henry Pygole was one of those people who make cleverness offensive by wrapping it up in humility. There was always a sort of dubious smile on his face, as if he knew he was going to make a balls-up of whatever happened to be on hand at the moment. He didn’t, of course. He came tops. Time after time. In everything. But he forever had that droopy, self-deprecating air.

One remembers particularly how diffident dear Henry looked on the afternoon of the inter-house tennis finals. That was the day when Sweet and I decided that something would have to be done about him. (276)

This story did not at all go where I was expecting. It was fabulously shocking.

“Dog in the Night-time” by Edmund Crispin (1954)

This was a clever little mystery. Still grieving her father’s death, Ann Cargill asks her professor, Gervase Fen, Professor of English Language and Literature at Oxford, to accompany her in the opening of her father’s safe. Her father’s solicitor died before getting the grant of probate of the will, and Ann’s uncle, who been made her guardian, has also been made administrator of the estate in her behalf. 

“I’m probably being several sorts of a fool,” said Ann, as soon as they were settled with glasses in their hands. “But here goes, anyway... I don’t know if you know anything about my family, but my mother died years ago. I’m an only child, and my father—well, the important thing about him, for the moment, is that he had a passion for jewels.

“Jewels weren’t his business. They were his hobby. And two or three months ago he sank an enormous amount of money—about three-quarters of his capital, I should think—into buying a single diamond that he’d set his heart on, a huge thing, quite flawless.” (295)

Don’t you just love the idea of someone’s “hobby” being jewels?! And not just researching jewels, but buying them! Like I said at the outset, this one was clever.

“Battle of Wits” by Miriam Sharman (1967)

Told in just one scene, this is a thrilling story that could have come straight out of a Hitchcock film. A father calls on the headmaster of his son’s former school after his son has been expelled. I read this right before bed and I can tell you I have never felt less sleepy while reading when horizontal.

“The Boy Who Couldn’t Read” by Jacqueline Wilson (1978)

It’s the first day of term after the Christmas holiday, and Mr. Croft decides to go easy on the 2As by reading to them from Enid Blyton’s The Mountain of Adventure. But David Bates prefers spending the time surreptitiously reading a book on astronomy. When Mr. Croft catches David, the teacher is most unpleasant, telling the boy to stop pretending, everyone knows he can’t read. With 10 minutes left until the end of class, Mr. Croft asks the children to draw a picture based on the story. Everyone but David hands one in, and Mr. Croft is none too happy about it. 

If you are sensitive to stories about children being treated poorly by adults, or just generally treated unfairly, this might be a hard read. But I assure you, it all turns out right in the end. 

This is my first time reading anything by Jacqueline Wilson. I know she is popular for her children’s fiction, and this story was so gripping that I feel like her other writing must be equally well-done. If you are reading this and you have read any of her novels, please let me know if there are any you can recommend.

And that is part of what makes me love these short story collections from British Library Publishing. Both the Crime Classics and the Women Writers series have such great collections of short stories. I always come away with at least a couple authors to bookmark for further discovery.

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

*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!

The Ghost Stories of Wilkie Collins edited by Xavier Aldana Reyes

I hope you all had a relaxing and fun festive season and a very happy New Year! We watched a lot of Christmassy movies, read as many seasonal books as we could, and ate just the right amount of sweets to keep us going. Well, we might have overindulged a touch! We had a lovely white Christmas, then a big melt with a ton of rain, but by New Year’s Eve the temperature dropped and snow fell across the countryside like a dusting of icing sugar. And it has snowed here every day since. Twelve days and counting! What a great excuse to curl up with a hot cup of tea by the fire and dip into some ghost stories. That is, right after you have exerted yourself outside with a brisk walk, of course! 

I had not read anything by Wilkie Collins since reading The Moonstone for a Victorian literature class in uni. I remember it was a favourite of many of my classmates, which surprised me, because I wasn’t blown away by it. However, when you are taking five English courses, all of which have you reading a minimum of one assigned novel per week, plus reading the current research, and writing essays, not to mention going to lectures and seminars, sometimes it can be hard to find joy in what you are reading. I always gravitated towards the novels I read before I started uni, but I’m guessing that had a lot to do with how I read before I started university. There was no rush to get through a book. I read in my leisure, and even when I was reading a weighty tome, it was for leisure.

So, as I said, I had not read any Wilkie Collins in a while, and what a shame that is, because I absolutely loved reading this collection. I grew up reading Charles Dickens, so the language of Collins, a contemporary and friend of Dickens, felt like slipping on a favourite sweater that had got pushed to the back of the drawer and forgotten. What a joy to find the sweater still fits!

“The Last Stage Coachman”

Originally published in 1843, this story was haunting and a bit scary. The narrator comes across an inn, which would have been used in the days of the coach, but has since become derelict. He is bemoaning the loss of the coach in replacement of steam trains, when he spots a coachman. But the coachman is changed of yore. Altered by his fate, the coachman’s clothes hang off him in tatters. His face is lined, and his expression changed. This coachman is not smiling in greeting anymore. 

The story provided me with a perspective of the advent of steam trains that I had not considered. The fact that people might actually mourn the loss of the coach isn’t something that had occurred to me. But I found myself thinking about the changes to rural areas when a highway is put in, diverting traffic away from the smaller communities and their businesses, causing them to have to close up in favour of these big box stores that open just off the highway. The same thing must have happened when the rail lines were put in. This was a great start to the collection. It made me very excited for what was to come.

“Nine O’Clock!”

This is a chilling story about a family prophecy. First published in 1852, but set on June 30, 1793 when a prisoner awaits execution by guillotine. The Girondin party in the first French Revolution are to be taken out to make way for the Robespierre and the Reign of Terror. Many of the prisoners, laugh and joke and make light of their impending doom, even going so far as to place bets on what time they are to die, as a way of dealing with the serious nature of what is to happen in the morning. But one man, Duprat, stands apart. He is serious but calm, and his good friend Marigny asks him why. This was such a compelling story. Sucked me right in!

“Mad Monkton”

First published as “The Monktons of Wincot Abbey” in 1855 in Fraser’s Magazine, this one made an appearance in the collection The Queen of Hearts in 1859, under the title “Brother Griffith’s Story of Mad Monkton”. But whatever you want to call it, at just under 70 pages and divided into four chapters, this one feels more like a novella than a short story. 

Told from the perspective of a neighbour we hear the story of a mysterious family who keeps themselves apart from the rest of the community. It’s rumoured that there is a strain of madness that runs through the family. So when the last surviving son leaves the country to look for the body of his recently deceased uncle, who he was all but a stranger to him and not a particular favourite of anyone, by all accounts, everyone thinks he must have succumb to the madness of the Monktons. The fact that he has recently become engaged to a young woman in the community, only adds to the strangeness of his departure. But he insists he must find his uncle’s body before he can marry. The narrator, this neighbour, ends up helping the man find his uncle‘s body. 

It is terrifically creepy, gothic, disturbing, and I found myself, like the narrator, questioning Monkton’s sanity. I really enjoyed this one. It is a highlight of the collection, as far as I am concerned.  

“The Dream-Woman”

This one was first published in 1855 under the title “The Ostler” in Household Words, then in 1874 it was expanded to appear in The Frozen Deep and Other Stories. A lot of these stories have a frame narrative which, for the most part I don’t think is necessary to the integrity of the story, however, in this one, I think the frame adds to the atmosphere of the story. A doctor is called to a rural area. Once his errand is finished he looks for someone who can give him a ride, as his horse has hurt himself. Calling at an inn, he asks if there’s someone available. The landlord tells him his regular person is out, so they will have to wake up Isaac. 

“Wake up Isaac?” I repeated; “that sounds rather odd. Do your ostlers go to bed in the day-time?”

“This one does,” said the landlord, smiling to himself in rather a strange way.”

“And dreams, too,” added the waiter; “I shan't forget the turn it gave me, the first time I heard him.”

“Never you mind about that,” retorted the proprietor; “you go and rouse Isaac up. The gentleman’s waiting for his gig.” (104)

The narrator’s interest is peaked, as he thinks this ostler, Isaac, could be an interesting medical case. And so we find out the story of how Isaac came to be at this working at this inn and why he sleeps during the day. Let me tell you, he has good reason to be afraid of sleeping at night! 

This one was unsettling and creepy, in the best way. Like “Mad Monkton” and some of the other stories in this collection, the story has a sort of inevitability to it. I read a lot of mystery novels and short stories, which tend discredit the possibility of the supernatural being to blame in favour of a human cause, so it is a rare treat to read something like this that entertains and even encourages those what-ifs.

“The Dead Hand”

The darkness forced his mind back upon itself, and set his memory at work, reviving, with a painfully vivid distinctness the momentary impression it had received from his first sight of the corpse. Before long the face seemed to be hovering out in the middle of the darkness, confronting him through the window, with the paleness whiter, with the dreadful dull line of light between the imperfectly closed eyelids broader than he had seen it—with the parted lips slowly dropping farther and farther away from each other—with the features growing larger and moving closer, till they seemed to fill the window and to silence the rain and to shut out the night. (141-142)

I don’t want to share too much about this one because I think the story spins out very nicely and is especially effective when you know very little about what is going to happen. Here’s the premise… A man arrives in a town in the middle of race week and there are no rooms available to rent for the night. He is desperate and is on the brink of thinking he will have to sleep outside, when he finds an inn far off the beaten with a bed available. Immediately agreeing to the price the landlord stipulates, he finds out too late that he will be sharing the room with a dead man. First published in Household Words in 1857 as “The Double-Bedded Room”, this one was thrilling, really well executed, and nothing like what I was expecting. 

“Blow Up with the Brig!”

I have an alarming confession to make. I am haunted by a ghost.

If you were to guess for a hundred years, you would never guess what my ghost is. I shall make you laugh to begin with—and afterwards I shall make your flesh creep. My Ghost is the ghost of a Bedroom Candlestick. (155) 

So begins “Blow Up with the Brig!”. It has a humorous beginning, but by the end, you see the man has good reason for being haunted by a candlestick. As with all of these stories the tale l is spun out in such a way by the teller that there’s an inevitability to the conclusion. But this makes it no less creepy, terrifying, and exciting to read. It was first published in 1859 as “The Ghost in the Cupboard Room” in All the Year Round. 

“Miss Jéromette and the Clergyman”

“The Clergyman’s Confession” is the title this one was first appeared as when it was published in Canadian Monthly in 1875. It opens with our narrator reading a collection of famous trials that has been recently published, when his brother, a clergyman, recognises the case he is reading. 

“You don’t mean to say you know anything about the Trial?”

“I know this,” he said. “The prisoner was guilty.”

“Guilty?” I repeated. “Why, the man was acquitted by the jury, with the full approval of the judge! What can you possibly mean?”

“There are circumstances connected with that Trial,” my brother answered, “which were never communicated to the judge or the jury—which were never so much as hinted or whispered in court. I know them—of my own knowledge, by my own personal experience. They are very sad, very strange, very terrible. I have mentioned them to no mortal creature. I have done my best to forget them. You—quite innocently—have brought them back to my mind.” (171-172)

Part murder mystery, part ghost story, this story is creepy and again has a sort of inevitability to the ending. I really enjoyed it, though it was quite sad.

“Mrs. Zant and the Ghost”

This one dates to 1885 when it was published in Harper’s Weekly, under the title “The Ghost’s Touch”. What a strong story to end on! Unlike many of the stories in this collection, which have a rural setting, this one is set in London with the inciting incident occurring in the middle of the day in Kensington Gardens. But it is no less unsettling for it! Mrs. Zant is haunted by the ghost of her dead husband. He seems to be trying to warn her about someone, but Mrs. Zant is hesitant to believe the ghost. This one was a favourite of mine and the perfect one to end on. And it is probably one of the safer stories in this collection to read before bed!

Many of these stories are set in the autumn months. Although, “Mrs. Zant and the Ghost” is different in this regard, too, as it is set in April. Ghost stories can be enjoyable any time of year, but I think the cooler months are when I favour them the most. Curling up with this one during the long winter nights with the wind whistling outside, I found to be particularly atmospheric.

All of the publishing dates and original story titles can be found in Xavier Aldana Reyes’ insightful introduction. I thought it might be helpful to include that information in my review for anyone who is trying to figure out if any of these stories can be found in other collections.

It is hard to believe that six months ago, I did not gravitate towards short story collections and now I get so excited when I get my hands on one. In the past year I have read nine collections, eight of which happen to be published by the British Library, and all of which I thoroughly enjoyed. I have read a lot and consistently my whole life, so I thought my reading taste was fairly unchangeable. Apparently, not!

I had such a great time reading Wilkie Collins’ ghost stories that it has me eyeing my old copy of The Moonstone. It might be time to give it a second chance.

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Thank you to British Library Publishing for kindly sending me a copy of The Ghost Stories of Wilkie Collins* for review. As always, all opinions on the book are my own.

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Who Killed Father Christmas? edited by Martin Edwards

When I read A Surprise for Christmas last month, I discovered that if you love both mysteries and Christmas you really cannot go wrong with one of the Christmassy short story collections from the British Library Crime Classics series. Reading Who Killed Father Christmas? only confirmed this for me. The collection contains 17 stories spanning from 1911 to as recently as 1995. The stories start strong and end on a high note. Some are heartwarming, others are poignant, all contain a crime set at Christmas. 

“On the Irish Mail” by Garnett Ratcliffe (1931)

Such a fun and snappy story to open the collection. On Christmas Eve, Dick Fenton rushes to catch the mail train from Euston station to make it home to his parents in Dublin by Christmas morning. The train is busy with holiday travellers and partway through the trip one of the five men sharing Dick’s compartment announces he is Detective Sullivan and he’s here to arrest Jim Dawson, he knows he’s here, because he recognises a case that has been reported stolen by a bank worker, so he might as well give himself up. But without a description of the thief it looks like Dick, the priest, the old man, and the affluent businessman, who are sharing the compartment, are all going to be held up for questioning at Holyhead. That is, unless some sort of Christmas miracle occurs!

“The Christmas Thief” by Frank Howel Evans (1911)

Two young men of 16 and 17 years old, who are friends from school and are both down on their luck, walk along the Embankment on Christmas Day and spot a man getting attacked by a couple of roughs. What ensues is a story of espionage and adventure with a heartwarming message at the centre of it.

“The Christmas Spirit” by Anthony Gilbert (1952)

I had high hopes for this one because this is the same writer who is responsible for my favourite story in the A Surprise for Christmas, “Give Me a Ring”, and while this one was much shorter, it did not disappoint. A couple visit a secluded pub in East Anglia over Christmas. From the first, the husband is curious about the pub’s namesake, The Green Girl.

We glanced instinctively through the uncurtained windows; and saw an enchanted world. A moon rode in a sky as smooth as soap; stars prickled, even the snow glowed. I believe if the ghost appeared then no one would have been surprised. (66-67)

“Among Those Present was Santa Claus” by Vincent Cornier (1952)

A retired Scotland Yard inspector is hired to play Santa Claus at a large house in the Cotswolds. John Burnicle suspects he was hired more for his experience at detecting than his acting skills. Lord Betwode has experienced a number of robberies over a period of time, which means it must be someone within the house or a close friend committing the thefts. Inspired by the burglaries, Lord Betwode organises a fake burglary each Christmas to entertain his guests. Interesting choice, Lord Betwode. This one is very fun, a bit unsettling at times, and has a heartwarming conclusion. 

“Gold, Frankincense, and Murder” by Catherine Aird (1995)

Henry Tyler, who works in the Foreign Office in Whitehall, pretends not to be looking forward to spending Christmas with his sister and her family, but secretly he is very much looking forward to it. Too bad he doesn’t get much of a break while he’s there. This one was very fun! It had the feeling of a village Christmas with all the eccentric characters one would expect, and a little murder to keep the holiday interesting. 

Also, how have I not heard of Catherine Aird? She was born in 1930, and stands out among the writers usually contained in these short story collections from the British Library as she is still alive, and still writing detective fiction. If anyone has read any of her books, I’d love to hear about your experience in the comments!

“Secrets in the Snow” by J. Jefferson Farjeon (1942)

On Christmas Eve, a train gets stuck in a snowdrift and a woman determined to make it to a house party sets off after one of her fellow travellers into the snow. This one was atmospheric, just the right amount of unsettling, with a dash of frivolity and a poignant conclusion that—days later—I’m still thinking about. 

In the introduction to this one, Martin Edwards points out that this one has a similar start to one of the author’s novels, Mystery in White. I’m looking forward to reading that one even more now.

“Who Killed Father Christmas” by Patricia Moyes (1980)

The mother snatched her up, and— with that sixth sense that mothers everywhere seem to develop—interpreted the incoherent screams. "She says that Father Christmas won't talk to her. She says he's asleep." (132)

Yes, he’s asleep. That’s it… Set in the toy department of a large store, the regular Santa Claus is off sick and a replacement has showed up for work. I’m not sure what this says about me, but I was more unsettled by the image of a bunch teddies getting ripped open than by the murder. This one was good, if a bit traumatic for me!

“Death at Christmas” by Glyn Daniel (1959)

Who doesn’t enjoy a Christmas ghost story? I know I do! This one is set on Christmas night at Oxford or Cambridge. In an effort to conceal his identity, the don who is narrating the story won’t tell us which one. An academic setting, a spooky setting, and a woman that once vowed to haunt her husband just might be keeping that promise. I was absolutely captivated by this one. A deliciously unsettling tale!

“Scotland Yard’s Christmas” by John Dickson Carr (1957)

Detective Superintendent Robert Pollard of New Scotland Yard has a tricky case on his mind and his fiancée is none too pleased when he brings his work home—or at least to Toyland. He could at least pretend to enjoy taking her six-year-old nephew to see Santa Claus! But really, how could two people in different parts of London both suddenly vanish from inside a telephone box? No wonder the man was distracted! I was dying to know, too. This one is a delight from start to finish.

“The Bird of Dawning” by Michael Gilbert (1956)

The beginning of this one caught my attention, as it does such a good job of preparing us for a lavish setting.

“Speaking as your solicitor,” said Bohun, “It sounds an impossible assignment. But speaking as a man, it needs no argument to get me down to Vambrill Court for Christmas. Sir Hubert’s reputation as a host has reached even my ears. Wasn’t he the man who said, ‘Turkeys are old-fashioned, but there’s nothing wrong with a well-boiled peacock’?” (169)

Soon we find out that Bohun’s client, politician John Craven, has asked his friend to help him investigate a financial dishonesty within their host’s business. I did not see the conclusion of this one coming at all. Although, I feel that I should have. I’m choosing to believe that is a sign of the author’s genius, and not my lack of! 

There is a poignant part in the story when, after a rich dinner, the host has a moment of reflection. 

He walked across to the window and pulled back the heavy, swinging curtain. Outside the moon was riding in glory. The snow had stopped falling and the frost had laid its iron fingers on the world.

“When I was a boy,” he said, “I could remember each Christmas on is own. Each one was distinct and separate and each had its own glories. Now, I'm afraid they seem to blur and run together. I wonder if I shall remember this one.” (174-75)

Despite the fact that we know a murder is to come,—which will of course make this Christmas memorable—I thought that on its own this is a beautiful moment.

“The Christmas Train” by Will Scott (1933) 

Jeremiah Jones is charismatic and charming, and you aren’t quite sure if he’s going to help you out, fleece you, or both! As the title suggests, this one involves train travel which I’m always a fan of reading about. Jones, is akin to Simon Templar a.k.a. The Saint, a comparison I doubt I would have made myself, making me once again very grateful to Martin Edward’s concise insights that introduce each story. 

“The Grey Monk” by Gerald Verner (1934)

Monk’s Abbey had pretensions to beauty even when seen under the leaden sky of a winter’s afternoon. Built of grey stone it stood and had stood for centuries in two hundred acres of heavily wooded ground, its rugged line softened by the trees that clustered round it. A hundred yards from the main entrance the ruins of the original building were visible—the hint of broken wall, the remains of an arch like a broken question mark… (207)

I love the images in this one. A butler is shot dead at night by the ghostly apparition of a monk. Oh, and of course, the house is full of guests staying for Christmas.  

“Who Suspects the Postman” by Micheal Innes (1958)

A priceless antique vase goes missing at a Christmas party. The dress code is fancy dress, and everyone is a suspect, including the postman. Short, sweet, and vividly described. 

“Herlock Sholmes’ Christmas Case” by Peter Todd (1916)

This Sherlock Holmes spoof was hilariously entertaining, the style was spot on, and was a joy to read. However, I think you would have to be at least slightly familiar with the characters and the trajectory the Sherlock Holmes stories take—even if you had only watched the tv show—to fully appreciate this one. Also, I had to stop reading the character names, because I was stumbling over their wrongness and getting distracted. But! It was worth the effort, as I found it very funny.

“A Present for Ivo” by Ellis Peters (1958-59)

This collection could not have ended on a stronger note. This story is heartwarming and sweet, but also has action and adventure. For school teacher Sara Boyne, this holiday includes gunfights, a car chase, a stolen fourteenth century manuscript, a children’s party, and packages hanging on a tree.

Generally, I gravitate more towards novels than short stories, so I may be a bit biased when I say that this one was my favourite of the collection, as it was also the longest. If you read this collection, you will have to let me know if it was your favourite, too!

I think I can safely say that my new addiction are these Christmassy short story collections from British Library Crime Classics. Finishing this book was bittersweet, because now I don't have any more of them left on my shelves to read. I’m feeling withdrawal symptoms at the moment and wondering if I have any other Christmas books kicking around that will ease the discomfort. I do have another Christmassy British Library Crime Classic left to review though, so stay tuned!

Thank you to British Library Publishing for kindly sending me a copy of Who Killed Father Christmas? for review. As always, all opinions on the book are my own.

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.