Barbara Pym on Various Topics

Been threatening a post about Barabara Pym for some time and as I have nothing else to carry on about I think the time must be ripe. In the middle of Less Than Angels right now and felt sure that everyone would appreciate knowing what she has to say first about tea, especially as Matt brought something strange up this morning, with a sort of fruity scent…

Esther Clovis had formerly been secretary of a Learned Society, which post she had recently left because of some disagreement with the President. It is often supposed that those who live and work in academic or intellectual circles are above the petty disputes that vex the rest of us, but it does seem as if the exalted nature of their work makes it necessary for them to descend occassionally and to refresh themselves, as it were, by squabbling about trivialities. The subject of Miss Clovis’s quarrel with the President was known only to a privileged few and even those knew no more than that it had something to do with the making of tea. Not that the making of tea can ever really be regarded as a petty or trivial matter and Miss Clovis did seem to have been seriously at fault. Hot water from the tap had been used, the kettle had not been quite boiling, the teapot had not been warmed…whatever the details, there had been words, during the course of which other things had come out, things of a darker nature. Voices had been raised and in the end Miss Clovis had felt bound to hand in her resignation.

and about reading difficult books

It was the same with books and programmes in the wireless. There were the books they felt they ought to read and which they sometimes put down on their library lists; but they were secretly relieved when each time they went to get a book the librarian handed out yet another novel. For if by any chance she should produce that heavy work of politics or literary criticism it never happened to be the right time for reading it; it was not suitable for a weekend or a holiday or a hot summer or cold winter afternoon. And so it came about that, like many other well meaning people, they worried not so much about the dreadful things themselves as about their own inability to worry about them.

and, from Jane and Prudence about Anglicanism

When she had finished her breakfast and read the Sunday papers, she took up a volume of George Herbert’s poems which Jane had once given to her. The book opened to a poem called Hope, and she read:

I gave to Hope a watch of mine; but he
An anchor gave to me.
Then an old Prayer-book I did present;
And he an optic sent.
With that I gave a vial full of tears;
But he, a few green ears.
Ah, loiterer! I’ll no more, no more I’ll bring;
I did expect a ring.

It puzzled and disturbed her and she lay quietly for some time, trying to think out what it meant. Yet she was comforted too and it reminded her of Jane and Nicholas, Morning Prayer and Matins and Evensong in a damp country church with pews, and dusty red hassocks. No light oak chairs, incense or neat leather kneelers. Perhaps the Anglican way was the best of all.

and also

One’s life followed a kind of pattern, with the same things cropping up again and again, but it seemed to Jane, floundering about among the books, that the question was not one that could be lightly dismissed now. ‘No; thank you. I was just looking round,’ was what one usually said. Just looking round the Anglican Church, from one extreme to the other, perhaps climbing higher and higher, peeping over the top to have a look at Rome on the other side, and then quickly drawing back.

That’s probably enough to be going on with. I must press forward reading and reading until I find “Life’s difficulties are often eased by hot milky drinks such as ovaltine” because I know it’s there, and patience is really what’s required.

Have as enjoyable a day as you would wish.