Miss Read - Summer at Fairacre - Care to Visit Back in the 1930-40s?

One of the reviews appearing in the first pages of the book, Miss Read, commented that if you were a fan of The Waltons, then you would enjoy Miss Read. This put me on the alert since much time had passed since I had watched a few of the television shows which featured "John Boy," as a writer. Well, you can guess that when I saw the name Miss Read, I thought it related to her activity. But then realized that that was the name of the author! Then I discovered that Miss Read is actually a schoolmistress in the book as well as the principal and that there is an entire series which started in the 1950s... Actually Miss Read, as the author was a pseudonym and wrote about her own life. She died in 2012 at 98, but her two series are still a well known and beloved.

While thinking about writing about the book, suddenly the village of Brigadoon came to mind. Do you remember that story where a small village would only appear every 100 years and then would disappear. At that point, I was thinking, well, I might read one of the series, say, every 100 years or so? Seriously, it is set back before most of us now living was born and the setting is of a small village or town. If I tell you that the school room only has two rooms, does that explain my trepidation? Even "my" grade school had four rooms! LOL

But, once started, it is rare that I don't finish a book. And I was certainly glad I did. Remember that I had just spent considerable time reading, thinking and writing about three non-fiction books. I needed a break and could not find any cat cozy mystery books on my Kindle which I usually use to escape from reality... And, frankly, I needed to do just that! Do any of you use books to escape your reality? I find it the best solution to clear my mind about what is happening in today's world of chaos, prejudice and violence.

And one of the most amazing attributes of the series is the fine-line sketches of everyday life for Miss Read...Here she is in school... 

‘Look at it in the peace of your own home,’ advised the vicar. Perhaps my consternation was writ large upon my face. In any case, Gerald Partridge, though vague in many ways, is remarkably sensitive to other people’s feelings. I stuffed it into my jacket pocket. ‘I always think,’ said the vicar, changing the subject with aplomb, ‘that you have one of the finest views in Fairacre.’ He gazed across Mr Roberts’ young corn to the massive bulk of the downs on the sky-line. ‘So do I,’ I told him. 

‘“I will lift up my eyes unto the hills: from whence cometh my help,”’ quoted Mr Partridge. ‘You know I find them as much comfort as the psalmist did. They put our own petty affairs into perspective.’ ‘Absolutely,’ I agreed. ‘Like ducks.’ ‘Ducks?’ ‘“From troubles of the world I turn to ducks, Beautiful, comical things, sleeping or curled . . .” The rest escapes me but I’ll look it up for you.’ ‘I should appreciate that,’ said the vicar gravely. ‘Ducks or downs, we all need to gather comfort where we can, and I find a great deal in remembered fragments of writing.’ 

A breathless five-year-old rushed up to us. ‘Miss, one of them Coggs kids has been to the lavatory on the lobby floor.’ ‘That,’ I told her, ‘is what is known as a contradiction of terms, but I’ll come at once.’ ‘In that case,’ said the vicar, ‘I must let you return to your duties.’ 

He departed, I thought, with unnecessary haste, and I went to find the floor cloth. What with one thing and another, I had forgotten Mrs Partridge’s missive until I was rummaging for a handkerchief in my jacket pocket, whilst waiting for the kettle to boil in my peaceful kitchen. Out fell the envelope and up surged my misgivings again. I read it while I sipped my tea. After suitable greetings the letter continued: ‘My dear friend Hazel Smith is trying to raise some money for the Save The Children Fund in Caxley, and is organising an evening meeting which is going to be billed as “Our Children”. ‘She is asking several speakers to say a few words and then to answer questions from the floor. I know she has a local magistrate who will talk about the juvenile court, and a most eminent educationalist, as well as a local doctor who specialises in children’s ailments—a paediatrician, I believe is the correct word unless I am confusing it with something to do with feet, or even worse—but a very nice man indeed who once was on TV in one of those upsetting medical series. ‘I took the liberty of mentioning your name to her and she may get in touch to see if you would be a member of the panel. 

Perhaps you could talk on young children in school? Or children’s literature? Anyway, I do so hope you don’t mind my mentioning you to her. You would be so good, and I know you would love Hazel. ‘There would be a cold buffet and wine after the meeting, and a chance to get to know a great many people who are really caring about the young, just as you are.’ She was mine affectionately after three pages. 

‘Oh lor’, Tibby,’ I said to the cat. ‘Now what do I do?’ But that unfeeling animal continued to wash his face vigorously, callous to the sufferings of his mistress. With this awful prospect before me I spent the evening in a fine state of dithering. My first instinct was to turn down the proposal with a flat refusal. I had no wish to turn out for an evening in Caxley, and a downright antipathy to my unknown panel members...

Over my supper of scrambled eggs I had pored over the television programmes for the evening. I was offered a nice half-hour or so of open heart surgery, in glorious technicolour, no doubt, an interview with survivors from a pit disaster, a discussion by drug addicts about their problems, or another on the subject of abortions. ‘Well, Tibby,’ I had said, putting aside the paper, ‘I think we’ll play that old record of Jack Buchanan’s, and get on with the P. G. Wodehouse book from the library.’ All in all, we had a splendid evening. 

Very soon I began to pick up points which suggested to me that Miss Read and I could have been very good friends! LOL In writing of a visit from the vicar, my own most favorite scripture was used during the conversation... Plus, as we see Miss Read remembering a letter she recently received, she was quite sure that she had no desire to be a part of the panel. Yes, as an introvert, I do tend not to enjoy having to speak in public. And, also like Miss Read, she does it anyway because it would be worse to try to figure out some excuse that really would be some version of truth...

And then there is the fact that she has a cat who she talks to and even talks back when the cat ignores her. Only to continue to talk on...aloud, as if the cat needed to know what she was thinking... Consider then, in this book and maybe others, her friends are always trying to marry her off, while Miss Read also continues to profess that she is really not concerned about it...

The plot? Well, everybody is all adither because Mrs. Pringle, who is the very efficient school cleaner, who is always complaining about this or that, has taken off, claiming that, perhaps, she might not return... And everybody in the little village is trying to help Miss Read in finding somebody, at least temporarily... Characters are added as interviews and trials take place for the position. Oh yes, there is another reason Miss Read and I are alike...Miss Read cares little about how her house looks but does have the money to pay for cleaning services which had, unfortunately, been done by Mrs. Pringle... What was Miss Read to do about her own cleaning!? I could put myself in her shoes as she forced herself to get some things done...

In the meantime, readers hear alot about her garden, where, of course, she also talked about her favorites of peonies and irises, both of which are mine also! Indeed comparing what flowers she had in her garden versus mine was an ongoing bit of trivia that I found quite enjoyable.

Time is spent reading poetry or listening to the phonograph

‘They’ve completely vanished in the mists of time for me,’ I confessed. ‘But which poems did they recommend for sheer desperate longing of the beloved?’ ‘One plumped for that little sixteenth-century verse: Western wind, when wilt thou blow, The small rain down can rain? Christ, if my love were in my arms And I in my bed again! 

It is harrowing, isn’t it?’ ‘Hits the nail on the head,’ I agreed. ‘But what did the other one suggest?’ ‘He was all for “Night and Day” by Cole Porter, and after we’d played it on their portable gramophone about ten times that afternoon we were inclined to agree.’ She tapped ash from her cigarette and rose. ‘Well, I must be off...

Well I did enjoy Cole Porter and Night and Day that continued to be popular as big band music! And actually found a hymn that I'd never heard before

The earth was warm and friable, just right for scattering poppy and marigold and larkspur seeds to take their chance of providing summer colour in the gaps in the border. The air from the downs was soft and soporific, so different from the usual fresh breezes that buffet us, in all seasons, in this area. I had my tea in the garden, relishing all these delights, and watching Tibby rolling on the gravel nearby. If only one could have more of this blessed solitude, I pondered, just enjoying the simplejoys about one, when ‘every prospect pleases’, how good and loving and noble one would be! But the hymn continues: ‘And only man is vile’, I recalled, which reminded me that I must tear myself away from my miniature Eden, and go to visit Mrs Pringle, my personal serpent, and get the interview over. 

The lady opened the door a matter of two inches, and from what I could see of her stern visage, I fully expected her to slam the door in my face. However, she pulled it open and invited me to step inside. I felt like Daniel entering the lions’ den, but tried to appear calm.

~~~

I admit that I thoroughly enjoyed how the issue with Mrs. Pringle was solved. And, all in all, it was a pleasant time to spend several hours. I even went out to buy another (I think I found this one sale) and saw the price for the ebook was about the same as we pay for top nonfiction and fiction writers... I then decided, Nah...I didn't enjoy it "that much..." But if you are pining for the historical life in good ole' England, well, you decide...look around, costs range from $1 up...

God Bless 

Gabbie

Travel to Lesotho, Africa, In L. A. Forbes Tales of Deceit...

By 7:00 the next morning, the seven thousand foot valley was already flooded in sunlight, everything freshened from yesterday's downpour. Before leaving for school, Lucy checked up on her older brother Thabo, who was recuperating in another rondavel on their compound. She smelled dagga. His sudden appearance back in Malikeng last year was traumatic for Lucy and her sister, Grace. Barely recognizable, Thabo stubbornly resisted going to the medical clinic until the local sangoma said there was nothing more she could do. Now he had the equivalent of a small pharmacy of meds to take, and smoking dagga made it easier to cope.
Raised garden beds of carrots, beans, chard, mustard, tomatoes and squash, plus ripening peach trees, filled the fenced-in property. Lucy's prized spiral aloe, transplanted long ago to her rondavel garden, just finished its long bloom, signalling a new year.
Lucy came back to Malikeng, her natal village, three years ago after completing university and student teaching in Maseru, the capital of Lesotho. She thought city kids were disrespectful and unruly, and Maseru was hectic and noisy. Her students in Malikeng came from four local villages in the remote Lesotho mountain valley. For the most part, they were polite and well behaved.
~~~

Spiral Aloe: 

 Deceit in Lesotho

 Africa's Mountain Kingdom

By L. A. Forbes

Sarah had come to Africa as a volunteer in the Peace Corps, but it had been mainly because she had become restless after a breakup with her boyfriend as well as weary of her her public health work... She had never heard of Lesotho as, I am sure, many of us had not.

The young women grabbed their notebooks and
 chalk and went to their classrooms.
The public school was a four room,
one-story, concrete-block building on a hectare
 of land. There was no electricity, just lots
of north-facing windows. Gravity-fed,
piped-in mountain water was more than enough
 for the students, kitchen, orchard and vegetable
 gardens. It was a dramatic setting. The surrounding
 Drakensberg mountains, which extended through Lesotho
 and South Africa, reached ten thousand feet around
 the valley and were emerald green in summer.
Upper slopes were covered with reeds, ericas (heathers),
 proteas, succulents and wild flowers. The valley floor
was loosely divided into four villages, surrounded by
 intensely farmed fields of maize, beans and millet.
Some fields extended up the mountain slopes. Land
 ownership was privately held and passed down
 through families, rarely changing hands.
Their school went through grade nine.
~~~

As you can see from the pictures, it is a beautiful country, although with few conveniences. She had left her Albuquerque home because it was getting too big--quite a change though, wasn't it?

She would be helping {in a small fictional town much like those there} with an AIDS education program, but had little experience in preparing for such an activity...But the people she met were all very friendly, especially Lucy and others teachers with whom she would be working.

I found it interesting that the secrecy and unwillingness to face AIDS was just as prominent there as it was in the U.S. For me, my thoughts was that because it was so prominent in the world that everybody should be anxious to learn what to do... Because it was so closely aligned with sexuality, however, part of the issue was racially concerned, thinking that any help would require abstinence and thus fewer births, a desire of white people...

Sarah spent much time just getting to know the people in her location and then began to travel to other villages, so that soon she was known and recognized and somewhat accepted.

She had taken the time when she first got there to have a local woman teach her the language beyond what she had already learned through the Corps' program. Lucy had chosen a well-known woman who also made the joala, a local beer, for the small bar that they had built next to their home...

Sarah found that the children were very anxious to interaction with her, especially when they visited her in her home, a rondavel that had been provided by the leader of the tribe where she was staying...

They were amazed that she would have the place for just herself, so many immediately volunteers to live with her, which she had to nicely refuse...but she soon had to be involved with them in all aspects of living within the village and she delighted to getting to know everybody...

I want to stop here and point out that the author did live and work in the area and still lives in the country. To me, this was an important part of reading and absorbing the story line. In my opinion, you see, the tales of deceit are hidden within the story which is written almost like a folk tale that is past down through the generations. It is about the lives of the people living in the area and there was, for me, an underlying attitude picked up by the author, somewhat like it would have been presented to her as she was settling in to work...

You see, the deceit is not what we in the United States might think of as we consider the word...

It is about doing what you have to do to keep on living!

Death and dying are accepted as a natural part of that living. Those who had been involved sexually with others did not normally think about using a condom to prevent AIDS. If the woman didn't mind whether she got pregnant, then requiring a condom seemed an interference in their lovemaking... There are two young men in the book--one was a player, one was just a guy who was away from home and lonely, with little to do... Readers get to know both very well. Thabo has been diagnosed, but he came home and with help has been on medication and is doing better. Thabo after talking with Sarah and his family, decided to help with the prevention program, being willing to honestly share with them about what he had and was now going through.

Growing and selling daga was done by many of those who had the land. Regular planting would occur, but then, the dagga, marijuana, which grew well in the area, was planted in between the other rows. There were mining jobs in other parts of the country, but this required that the men be far away from home and their families for long periods of time. Allowing daga to be planted on their property and getting a portion of the profits was a small deceit, I am sure, for many who needed to be home and were willing to take the risk...

Toby was the main man dealing with those who purchased the dagga. But he was also a player, going after as many females as he wanted, even getting at least one pregnant and merely telling her to have it aborted. That she didn't then became only her problem. He thought about helping her financially, but never got around to it. He was a busy man who had recently bought a hot vehicle and was routinely offering to help people, using it for delivering supplies to the schools for instance. The teachers were grateful since their previous loads never came or were never completely filled...due to the taxi drivers... They were not making as much now since these special jobs had "paid better..."

Many of the town's men spent much time and money at the local bar but nobody but the one who made this brew knew it was a "special" recipe, which helped bring the men back! On the other hand, it was the same woman who collected herbs and other materials used in place of medicines, such as the Spiral Aloe, hidden now, to allow growth, because the men had sold off most of what was found in the hills...

        Aloe Polyphylla, or Spiral Aloe, grows in the wild above 2000 meters (6600 feet) in the mountains of Lesotho in southern Africa. Spiral arrangements of leaves can be counter- or clockwise. It's often covered in snow in winter. Considered endangered. This gem, which thrives in harsh mountainous terrain, is a perfect metaphor for the hardy Basotho, the people of Lesotho. 

Many of us routinely deceive in small or large ways. Toby, for instance, had not been willing to be tested, so that when his girlfriend got pregnant and they found her to be infected, he was caught--even then he hadn't gone...

So when this book suddenly closed, it made perfect sense to me... A man had died in an accident; neighbors were happy that it hadn't been one of the buses or taxis with many people... When disease and death arrives from something as vital to life as our own sexuality, it forces many to make choices--some of them are deceitful... What would you do? There are "real" examples within this short story. What would you do if you needed money to buy food or educate your children?

L. A. Forbes gives readers much to consider. Some people in America have similar situations...Do you try to help or call the law on those who cannot make enough for food for their children?

Thanks to the author for sharing about the lives of those living in Lesotho and other similar villages in Africa...Individuals interested in travel, world events, or personal life drama should consider this one!




GABixlerReviews

About this author

I've had a peripatetic existence, by choice. I grew up in Montana, graduated from UW, Seattle in archeology and worked in The Philippines with Asian ceramics dating from the 10th to 19th centuries. From there I traveled independently to Tibet, China, Burma and Vietnam, often seeing places just opened to foreigners.

Next chapter was in southern Utah starting and running a successful business in Moab for seven years. I still love the Colorado Plateau area. From the southwest my husband and I moved to Lesotho, southern Africa and taught small business and HIV/AIDS prevention for two years. We've travelled into Zambia, Mozambique, Botswana, Namibia and all over South Africa.

I've resided in South Africa since 2004. I teach ESL (Cambridge CELTA certificate) and maths, working mostly with rural schools. The intense politics and disparities, coupled with stunning people, make RSA an amazing place to live.

I self-published "Spiral Aloe: Deceit in Lesotho, Africa's Mountain Kingdom", a work of fiction about that beautiful country.

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