Abbey Girls Blog

Gentle Readers, I apologize for the sound of crickets for the last couple of weeks—there are several reasons for my radio silence.

The first is, frankly, job stress—during the lockdown, my employer offered an early retirement plan that many people enthusiastically accepted and, of course, they did not rehire. Now that the job market is heating up, others are leaving in droves, and those of us left behind are struggling to fill the void. After working two people’s jobs all day, I am disinclined to move the couple of inches from my work computer on my dining room table to my home computer on my sofa and produce deathly deathless prose. But I guess I’m going to have to get over this, because the situation is only going to get worse, not better, and I don’t want to stop writing.

The second reason is that, as many of you aficionados know, there is only one more volume in the Abbey Girl series to go, and I have been dragging this out deliberately. I hate to leave the Abbey World! I have greatly enjoyed my Abbey Girls project, writing about each book in reading order and foWherecusing on the elements of the folk-dance world that Oxenham describes so well. I have been immersed in this world for a long time, first reading and puzzling over the books for many years and then drafting the essays for some time before I even started blogging. I liked the discipline of the sequenced reading and writing, and Oxenham’s world gave me great pleasure and comfort during a trying time.

Well, I don’t think I’ll ever be quite done with EJO—after all there are another fifty books in her oeuvre, some of which have loose connections to the Abbey World, and I haven’t read them all yet. Many of these other books also have folk dancing references, which was the main thing that brought me to EJO in the first place, though I have stayed with her for additional reasons. So I’m sure I’ll have occasional EJO posts in the future.

I have several new projects in mind that some of you Gentle Readers may find interesting—and some will not, and will bid me farewell! Alas and adieu and thanks for your company.

The first project is that I have been translating back into English the first French translation of Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility: Raison et Sensibilité; ou, les deux manières d’aimer (Reason and Feeling, or, the two ways of loving). Produced in 1815 by Swiss-French Isabelle de Montolieu (1751-1832) and without Austen’s knowledge, it is, as de Montolieu calls it, a “free” translation—meaning that she changed up quite a lot, especially the ending. She may thus have the honor of being the first person to write fan fiction! It is an important book not because it is a good translation—it’s not good and, in particular, it’s not funny—but it is still used today without attribution which explains why Austen has not been popular with Francophone readers.

There are 52 chapters in this book, which would theoretically, if both you and I have the stamina, take us through a year of weekly posts. I have to conquer some WordPress formatting issues before this project can begin, however. Also some fear. Zut! It is a big project.

Where I am likely to turn more immediately is another reading challenge that might appeal to EJO fans—the Barsetshire novels of An almost exact contemporary of Oxenham, Thirkell (1890-1961) wrote romantic and satirical books about English country and county life in the fictional county of Barsetshire originally created by Anthony Trollope. She published 28 books in this series—slacker! only 28!—and her stories take her from pre-war England through the war to the challenges of post-war life. I came to these books when I was quite young—my mother collected them—and they formed my first source of information about life in England pre- and post-World War II. Thirkell is funny, clever—and a terrific snob. Further, unlike Oxenham, who rarely let the real world impinge on her characters, Thirkell expresses the confusion and sometimes despair of the upper class coming to terms with significant social change. She is quite the social historian, albeit from one point of view. It will be interesting to visit Barsetshire with her, although again I am a little anxious—will the novels hold up? It’s been about thirty years since I’ve read them. (Dear Reader, since I penned that last sentence, I have been galloping through the novels and I will say that they are just as enjoyable if not more snobbish than I thought. We’ll have some fun!)

There is nothing in these two projects for my folk dance-oriented readers, I’m afraid, though I have some projects in mind for you further down the road, God willin’ and the crick don’t rise. So if you don’t stay for this part of the journey, check back farther along the road!

Next week I promise to discuss the last book in the Abbey series, Two Queens at the Abbey. Soon thereafter, I’ll start with Angela Thirkell’s first Barsetshire novel, High Rising (1933). We’ll meet Mrs. Morland, Thirkell’s avatar, who, to support herself and her four sons, writes the successful mystery series about a fashionable dress designer, Madame Koska. We’ll also meet another character said to be modeled after the humorist and writer E.V. (Edward Verrall) Lucas, the brother of Perceval Lucas, who was one of the four young men on Cecil Sharp’s demonstration morris team who were killed in the First War.

So, like playing the Seven Degrees of Kevin Bacon game, it really all does come back to folk dancing!

Published in 1953 and set in May 1936 through February of 1937, Abbey Time, A Dancer from the Abbey is a rather disappointing addition to the canon; EJO would publish four more novels (three retrospective Abbey books and one Wood End installment) before her death, but her powers were waning. While the plot gallops along reasonably enough, the characters are rather flat, and a reader who started with this book might not care to find out anything more about the Abbey world. Oxenham’s grasp of the world of professional ballet is weak to nonexistent, and she sensibly does not try to take us on-stage, at least in this installment, but this deficiency—compared to her intimate and enthusiastic involvement with Camp Fire, the Guides, and folk dancing—removes a lot of the color and verisimilitude—and fun!—from the story.

However, this installment is notable for EJO’s own explanation of her career as a writer for girls. Mary Devine encourages Rachel, who has sold several short stories, to write a novel for girls, explaining that:

“I’ve never dared to think that I could help grown-ups; I doubt if I could even amuse or interest them. But it has seemed worth while to try to influence girls and children for the good, by amusing them and catching their interest. Girls are the grown-ups of the future. They may keep something of what is put into them while they are fresh and receptive. I’ve believed that it is more worth while to write for them than to try to write novels.”

This is clearly Elsie Oxenham explaining her long and prolific career.

There is almost no folk dancing: Jen pipes the tune of Shepherd’s Hey and Damaris dances an undescribed ballet sequence to it, and the older Queens dance Hunsdon House and Newcastle for their visitors (Nanta Rose stepping in for Rosamund, who Shouldn’t Be Dancing Right Now).

And why ballet? It doesn’t seem like something Elsie Oxenham would have been innately interested in—perhaps her publishers suggested it. In 1937 Noel Streatfeild published her first novel, Ballet Shoes, which was very popular (I loved it! Still do. Just re-read it and watched the recent movie version of it: quite good!) When we first met Damaris Ellerton in Maidlin to the Rescue (1934), there was no mention of her having taken ballet lessons; apparently this begins to be explored in Damaris at Dorothy’s (1937) and delved into more deeply in Damaris Dances (1940). While EJO could have deflected Damaris off into her initial projected career as a bee-keeper, she was sufficiently at loose ends enough to be crammed into the role of prima ballerina. I think that what this shows us is not that EJO was adept at writing about the world of stage dance, because she wasn’t, but that she was brilliant at developing plausible back-stories and interconnections for her characters.

Plot Synopsis (Contains Spoilers)

Brian Grandison, son of the famous composer of ballet music John Grandison, has come to the Abbey to meet injured ballerina Damaris Ellerton (stage name: Mary Damayris). It is the day after the crowning of Lady Rosalind Atalanta (Nanta Rose) as Lavender Queen. He meets Benedicta (Blessing, Bennyben) Bennet working in the Abbey garden and she tells him that Damaris has regained her strength and “position” (here EJO means, I think, “turnout,” but does not use that technical word) and will return to the stage.

We briefly see Lady Jen: she is concerned about her shy, nine-year-old daughter Rosemary (Brownie), who is going to school for the first time. Nanta Rose pairs Rosemary up with a shy younger girl, Hermione, who turns out to be the daughter of Queen Clover, now a widow with a baby on the way. In helping Myonie, Rosemary overcomes her shyness. There is a rather sweet sequence in which Lady Rosamund and the Earl tell Rosamund’s half-brother Roddy why he is not the heir to Kentisbury, and map out his future plans as Admiral of the Fleet.

Rachel Ellerton is sad to see Damaris go back to the stage, but she cannot leave her beloved Abbey. Damaris and Brian grow close: there is a little suspense as to whether Brian might be attracted to Blessing, but it is quickly resolved, and Damaris and Brian get engaged. With the stakes high—marriage means giving up dancing, although here EJO suggests that if the husband were a dancer too, it might be managed, and this idea of a two-career family is extraordinarily rare in the canon—Damaris has some conflicts; she wants to show the world that she has regained her ability before she leaves it forever and does she love Brian enough for this? She has a wildly-successful three-month run in her signature ballets, beginning in February 1937—her debut will create the crisis in the next installment. She will then leave to marry Brian and go to his rock garden in Yorkshire; he wants to be a market gardener, and she suggests that they sell lavender—

—here one has to question the ability to grow commercial quantities of lavender—or, really, any lavender at all!—in Yorkshire. I had always thought of this as a South of France type of flower—

—and all ends happily. Rachel is “married” to the Abbey as its Abbot: Jen even gives her Ambrose’s gold ring, as if she were a nun accepting convent life Rachel’s novel is accepted, and she will use the pen-name Rachel Damayris. Lady Rosamund has her sixth baby: Geoffrey-John.

https://allisonthompson.blog/2021/05/16/1914/