|
EVELYN WAUGH NEWSLETTER AND
STUDIES Vol. 41, No. 2 Autumn 2010 |
|
Improbable as it might seem to a
loyal nephew that Lord Lovat—MacShimi of the Fraser Clan, proud heir to
Beaufort Castle (that focus of Old Roman Catholic culture) and ‘dashing’
scion of celebrated generals—could be portrayed as a ‘horrible hairdresser,’
it is in fact very likely that Trimmer/McTavish reflects Lovat. And no
one will doubt that Waugh drew the portrait in revenge for Lovat’s ‘kicking
him out’ of the Commandos. The motto of the Scots Guards is ‘Nemo me
impune lacessit’ (‘No one attacks me with impunity’): Lovat therefore had
to punish the insulting portrait. And the Lovat family maxim—‘Hit
them hard, hit them often and always below the belt’[3]—ensured
that the punishment meted out would be extreme. Hence the amazingly
vituperative, and almost purely fictional, counterattack on Waugh in Lovat’s
memoir, March Past (233-36). Is Trimmer/McTavish
a caricature of Lord Lovat? Some people ‘in the
know’ have always believed that Trimmer ‘was’ Lovat, especially in his
temporary shape of McTavish. Ann Fleming—the socialite gossip—teased
Waugh: 'May I have permission … to imagine that Trimmer McTavish is Lord
Lovat?'[4] More authoritatively, Sir
Robert Laycock, for many years Lovat’s commanding officer, writing to thank
Waugh for a specially bound copy of Officers and Gentlemen, asked:
‘Have you sent bound copies to Shimi, the Hairy Highlander and poor Colville
(or was it Colvin?)?’[5] Lt Colonel
Colvin is universally regarded as one of the ‘models’ for Major Hound in Sword
of Honour; but does some other character in the novel reflect ‘Shimi, the
Hairy Highlander’? In 1978 Alan Watkins, while making other
identifications, said that ‘Trimmer … is based on Lord Lovat, with whom
[Waugh] did not get on.’[6] And Auberon
Waugh stated that Lovat ‘had been ridiculed as “Trimmer” in the war trilogy.’[7] On the other hand,
readers (like the present writer) with no direct knowledge of the principals
have tended to deny the identification, for man and character are at opposite
ends of the social and heroic scales. Lord Lovat won the DSO at
Dieppe: ‘Saw the film at Combined Operations Club,’ Waugh wrote. ‘Shimi
Lovat did brilliantly, the only wholly successful part of the raid.’[8] By contrast, the ‘classless’
Trimmer—a.k.a. Gustave, the ladies’ hairdresser; a.k.a. Captain McTavish, the
leader of ‘Popgun’—is an incompetent coward. Professor David Wykes puts
the case for doubt: ‘[The identification] is certainly not deducible from the
book itself … Waugh’s son presumably relied on information from his father….
But the dissimilarities are so huge that if Waugh intended Trimmer to
be identified as Lovat he can only have failed to plant clues that would lead
that way.’[9] Understandable as are
these hesitations, I will nevertheless argue that Waugh did ‘plant clues’
that would lead to Lovat’s being recognizable in Trimmer/McTavish. Colleagues or
friends probably saw in Trimmer, qua Trimmer, reflections of Lovat not
evident to others. Nevertheless, others may speculate about seeming
hints. The ‘devastatingly good looking’[10]
Laird often attracted praise like ‘film-star,’ ‘matinee idol’ or ‘upper-class
Errol Flynn.’ Are Trimmer’s sexy good looks meant to mirror a
down-market quality in Lovat’s? Throughout March Past, Lovat
either delights in his troops’ singing or insists that they sing. Is
this why Trimmer incessantly croons? Professor John Wilson believes that
Trimmer’s ‘trucking about with raised hands in little shuffling dance steps’
whenever jazz is playing (Sword 52) corresponds with Waugh’s
description of Lovat as a ‘Palais de Dance hero.’[11] But explicit
parallels between Trimmer and Lovat occur only when Trimmer temporarily
morphs into McTavish. After being ousted from the Halberdiers, Trimmer
takes his mother’s name, McTavish, joins a Highland regiment, becomes an
officer and is left behind when the regiment deploys to Iceland. In full
Highland regalia, Captain McTavish and his detachment then undertake the
defence of Mugg. While on leave posing as a major, McTavish is quizzed
by a senior officer from his regiment and, to avoid exposure, transfers to
the Commandos (Sword 317-19, 340-54). Lovat began the war
in the Lovat Scouts, a Highland regiment raised by his own family.
However, after many previous provocations, he finally abused his
commanding officer at a staff meeting and was given the choice of ‘a transfer
(in other words the sack) or facing a court on a charge of insubordination’ (March
171). Lovat chose ‘the sack.’ The Lovat Scouts then deployed to
the Faroe Islands, close to Iceland. Abandoned, Lovat found his way to
the Commandos, where his Highland dress became famous. The parallels
can scarcely be coincidental. Both Trimmer and Lovat are (a) ‘chucked
out’ of their original regiments, viz. the Halberdiers and the Lovat Scouts;
(b) both belong to Highland regiments that leave them behind when deployed to
the Iceland region; and (c) both find a haven in the Commandos.
One might ask
whether McTavish’s generosity with travel vouchers is meant to parallel Lovat’s.
By joining the Commandos, McTavish leaves his troops in Army limbo. To
buy their silence, he sends them ‘on leave’ and ‘empties his book of
travel-vouchers’ (Sword 358). This profligacy might recall the
fact that Lovat several times created public rows and incurred reprimands by
freely handing out travel-vouchers. On one such occasion Brigadier
Antony Head wrote to Lovat’s commanding officer enclosing Lovat’s ‘rude’ and
‘insolent’ explanation of his conduct: ‘I am annoyed with one of your temperamental
prima donnas in the shape of Lovat … the Commandos have plenty of enemies and
it is merely providing them with welcome ammunition if the Commanding
Officers decide to flout all conventional procedure, and, having done so, to
explain their behaviour with rudeness which, in a more rigid HQ would be
considered insolence.’[12] But the most
calculated identification of Lovat with McTavish is surely found in the
‘Operation Popgun’ episode in Sword of Honour (387-91, 418-29).
‘Popgun’ is a cross-channel raid, led by McTavish, and it seems to take
its inspiration from ‘Operation Abercrombie,’ a cross-channel raid led by
Lovat. Both raids turn out fiascos but are nevertheless lauded in the
press; both leaders receive the Military Cross; both are employed in wartime
propaganda. To be fair to the
Commandos and other soldiers engaged in cross-channel raiding, When Laycock was
campaigning in The Brigade now
seems chiefly interested in the production of cinema films and the
entertainment of Wrens. Their small operational commitments are being
treated with alarming negligence. As you know, it was decided that the
various small parties involved were to come under Brigade for training and
detailed planning; the indifference and neglect shown by Shimi … has caused
grave concern to the planners here [at Combined Operations HQ].[14] It is perhaps fair to say that ‘Operation
Popgun’ fantasticates these charges of ‘neglect’ and obsession with
publicity. But I would argue that its most important inspiration is
‘Operation Abercrombie,’ led by Lovat. Despite the extraordinary
keenness of the troops involved, which shines through their first-hand
accounts, ‘Abercrombie’ and ‘Popgun’ have much in common. Rationale and Scope: ‘Popgun’
is invented to save Hazardous Offensive Operations (HOO)—a fictional version
of Combined Operations—from being disbanded. General Whale, Director of
Land Forces (DLF), is summoned to a War Office committee to hear the death
sentence. Desperate, he plays his only trump cards: ‘Ministry of
Information … civilian morale … American opinion.’ Outpointed, the committee
grants a reprieve. But Whale must now make good by ‘mounting a
successful operation and calling in the Press.’ The operation he
chooses is ‘Popgun’ and only McTavish is available to lead it (Sword
387-91). The operation proves farcical. But Ian Kilbannock, HOO’s
Press Officer, portrays it as a triumph and McTavish receives the Military
Cross (Sword 418-29). ‘Abercrombie,’ led
by Lovat, was intended to boost Dominion morale by allowing Canadian troops
to go into action with British Commandos. Its stated aim was to
reconnoitre German defenses around Hardelot (a village close to Boulogne),
take prisoners and destroy installations. Official accounts and
newspaper reports starkly conflict with the recollections of
participants—differences that historians must adjudicate. For present
purposes it will suffice to rely on the reports made to the Combined
Operations Recorder by Captain J. P. Ensor, commander of the Canadian forces,
and by Lt A. D. C. Smith, Adjutant to Lord Lovat,[15]
supplemented by other first-hand accounts reprinted in John Parker’s Commandos.[16] This operation was also a fiasco, but a
journalist who went with the troops wrote a laudatory report using the
Kilbannock method, and Lovat received the Military Cross. ‘Neglect’ and
False Starts: McTavish’s preparation for ‘Popgun’ is of course derisory.
A sergeant ‘makes a successful, trial explosion’ but when repeated in
front of observers ‘one of the men is incapacitated’ (Sword 419).
The party then embarks on the raid but has to turn back because of mines. A
second attempt is made. Lovat’s preparations
for ‘Abercrombie’ included full-scale rehearsals of the landings. But
avoidable errors caused them all to fail. One rehearsal had to be
aborted because it intruded into an out-of-bounds high-security area.
Another took place on a ‘beach’ that turned out to be waist-deep bog.
On other occasions the boats towing the landing craft ran aground.
Nothing daunted, on 19/20 April four landing craft set off for France
towed by a motor gunboat. But under tow the landing craft shipped water
and close to the French coast one of them overturned. Lives were lost
(estimates vary from two to thirty). A second attempt was made on 21/22
April. “—-
security!” When McTavish’s batman deserts, security is
‘compromised.’ Alerted to this, DLF HOO retorts: ‘— security!’ and the
party embarks for the second time. ‘Abercrombie’s’ security was more
severely compromised than ‘Popgun’s.’ A ‘regatta’ atmosphere marked the
first departure, and the rescue of survivors under lights close to the French
coast gave the enemy spectacular warning. Cancellation was expected but
did not eventuate. ‘Brought to the
wrong place’: ‘Popgun’ aims to demolish a structure located
on an island. But the captain of the submarine ferrying the raiders
confesses: ‘I seem to have lost your bloody island.’ Later, after the
island has been ‘found,’ the raiders go ashore only to discover that they are
on the French mainland (Sword 421-24). ‘Abercrombie’ also had
bizarre ‘navigational problems.’ The raiders were to go ashore at two
spots: British Commandos north of Hardelot at Red Beach, Canadians south of
Hardelot on White Beach. In the event, after a major last-minute
correction, the British Commandos arrived only a mile from their destination.
But the Canadians were brought, not south of Hardelot as planned, but
well north of the Commandos, many miles out of their way. Worse, their
landing craft became separated and circled about in the mist in search of
each other until a rocket ordered return. Lovat says that the Canadians
became ‘stuck on a sandbank’ (March 269), which is not true. The
Canadian commander was furious at having been ‘brought to the wrong part of
the coast and … separated.’ He blamed faulty compasses and the ‘junior
and inexperienced officers of the RNVR.’ Shambles: Landed
in the wrong place, ‘Popgun Force’ degenerates into pure farce.
A dog barks and McTavish lets off his revolver. A ‘broad woman’
appears at a door and fires a shotgun. McTavish ‘bolts’ for the beach.
Anxious to leave at once, he must wait by the boat for his sergeant,
who is missing. At the appointed time the sergeant (Waugh loved
sergeants) calmly appears, having blown up the railway line (Sword
422-27). ‘Abercrombie’ was
strangely similar. Having landed unopposed, the Commandos crossed the
beach to the sand dunes where they encountered a small group of Germans
(estimates vary from two to seven). After an exchange of fire, during
which no one was hurt, the Germans fled. A party in search of a radar
installation reported killing a German. A larger demolition party under
a sergeant reached a searchlight battery and cut through the surrounding
wire; but before charges could be set off, Lovat prematurely fired the rocket
signaling return. Although he never admitted it, Lovat had been
panicked by naval gunfire into believing the Germans were attacking on the
ground. And just as McTavish waits fretfully for his sergeant, so Lovat
had to wait impatiently for his searchlight party. Publicity: Ian
Kilbannock’s citation for McTavish’s Military Cross cunningly elevates a
fiasco into a feat of arms. One illustration of the technique must
suffice. After the ‘broad woman’ fires her shotgun into the night, the
terrified McTavish flees back to the boats, ‘teeth chattering’ with cold and
fright. The citation praises McTavish’s ‘exemplary coolness under
small-arms fire’ (Sword 429). The publicity for
Lovat’s ‘Abercrombie’ was more than usually deceptive, perhaps ‘under the
instruction of Mountbatten,’[17] perhaps
because ‘dashing Lord Lovat’ was directly involved. The popular press
simply lied—‘Canadians Land in France’—but the quality press used the
Kilbannock technique. The Times, the most sober, ran a news item
and a report by the Special Correspondent who went with the troops.[18] The news item, ‘Landing near Boulogne: A
Reconnaissance Raid: Every Man Safely Back,’ begins bathetically: ‘Every man
returned with his equipment from a Commando raid near Boulogne which lasted
two hours.’ But the next sentence creates a radically misleading
impression: ‘German troops, who were completely surprised, were driven back
and the defences were penetrated over a frontage of 800 yards…. The
German troops holding the coast were driven back before the advance of our troops.’
Given that the only Germans ‘surprised’ were a party of two to seven who fled
and one soldier who resisted, statements like ‘German troops … holding the
coast were driven back before the advance of our troops’ could be the model
for the McTavish citation. The report of the
Special Correspondent, ‘Enemy Completely Surprised: Commandos Led by Lord
Lovat,’ mentions Lovat so often as to seem a personal puff. It is full
of ‘colour’—‘blackened faces,’ ‘we could have faced withering machine gun
fire’—but the basic distortion is the same as that in the news item: ‘By now
the raiders had gained the initiative, and until the withdrawal the Germans
were always fighting where they were compelled to. “We penetrated the enemy
defences over a frontage of 800 yards,” said [Lord Lovat].’ Again, the
impression created of British forces dictating the terms of engagement to
organized German resistance is blatantly
untrue. Lovat’s account of
‘Abercrombie’ in March Past is modest, but not modest enough. He
plays it down as ‘an overrated affair,’ whereas the reports cited above (with
prominent photographs of ‘Major Lord Lovat’) radically falsified it. He
claims that ‘No. 4 Commando [carried out] all of its objectives’ (March
269), although the Operation Order specified, inter alia,
‘demolitions’ and ‘taking prisoners,’ which did not occur. Lovat does
correctly admit that ‘the awards handed out [he won the Military Cross] were
undeserved.’ At the risk of further
provoking Sir Charles Maclean and dismaying cautious scholars, I can only say
that, on the evidence, McTavish is indeed a caricature of Lord Lovat.
Of course Trimmer’s primary function in the novel is not to guy Lovat,
but to counterattack aggressive People’s War propaganda. Nevertheless,
Waugh did turn Trimmer into the Highlander McTavish; and he did ensure that
McTavish, like Lovat, was left behind when his regiment went off to Iceland.
What other motive could he have had for giving McTavish the same
history if not to indicate that he was caricaturing Lovat? Then
again, it is fair to say that ‘Abercrombie’ became ‘Popgun,’ because in both
operations the preparations were botched; the first attempts were calamitous;
the execution was bungled in similar ways; Alice-in-Wonderland reports using
the same propaganda methods turned both bungles into triumphs; and both
leaders received an undeserved MC. And finally the spoof comes to a
pointed close when McTavish, now promoted to colonel, is ‘officially [re]named
Trimmer’ because ‘the Minister decided there were too many Scottish heroes’ (Sword
540).[19] Notes |
|
Poems from A Handful of
Dust The Point of You Mrs Beaver
came to mind,
Still
current,
Really
dreadful thing to say,
Waugh
(the subtle moralist)
A
keen nose for business-- A
keen nose for a bargain-- A
keen nose indeed-- The
Snout.
Her scars The
fleur de lys, Tudor roses, The
old stone fireplace, The
wrought-iron spiral staircase, * The
Great Hall *
Mrs
Northcote,
The
Last of Tony Trapped
in the Amazonian rainforest,
Trapped
with Mr Todd,
Trapped,
trapped. |
|
A Neglected Address: 25 Adam Street In his Diaries for 6 July 1928, Evelyn Waugh writes that “Our honeymoon came to an end” and specifies that he (and presumably his wife, Evelyn Gardner) “Spent the following week at Hampstead,” undoubtedly his parents’ house. That would have occupied their time through Friday, 13 July. On Saturday, however, Waugh writes that he “Returned to 25 Adam Street.” He does not explain whether or not She-Evelyn accompanied him, and it is possible that Waugh went alone to work on a “wrapper for novel for Chapman & Hall” and “proofs of Decline and Fall.” He at least seems to have spent ten days there, from Saturday, 14 July, to Monday, 23 July. Then he “left 25 Adam Street and came to live at 145 North End Road” (Diaries 295), his parents’ house. Waugh also gave “25 Adam Street, Portman Square” as his “Town Address” to Anderson & Sheppard, the tailors. His card can be viewed at Newsletter 39.3. None of Waugh’s biographers mentions 25 Adam Street, though Selina Hastings does say that Waugh had a flat near Robert Byron in Portman Square (175). Christopher Sykes claims that He-Evelyn and She-Evelyn stayed at “Harold Acton’s flat which he put at their disposal” (84), but Acton did not live in Adam Street, and Waugh’s Diaries do not refer to any such arrangement. All the biographers assume that Waugh and his wife moved in with his parents after the wedding, though the Diaries clearly indicate a brief interval at Waugh’s flat. Adam Street is now Robert Adam Street, renamed to distinguish it from other Adam Streets in London. In a 1930 article entitled “Address Snobbery,” Waugh noted that “London is full of these misleading addresses.” Robert Adam Street runs east off Baker Street to the brick wall that encloses the Wallace Collection. Across Baker Street to the west is Portman Square. Waugh apparently moved to Adam Street to pursue Evelyn Gardner, who had moved from 54 Sloane Square to Montagu Square, just west of Portman Square (Alexander Waugh). These moves explain why He-Evelyn and She-Evelyn were married at St Paul’s, Portman Square: in the Church of England, one marries in the parish where one resides. Robert Byron’s letters provide some perspective on the relationship between He-Evelyn and She-Evelyn. Byron moved into 6 Adam Street in May 1928: the house was “most charming,” and the rent was “not too cheap” at Ł2 15s. per week (98). On 7 June 1928, Byron noted that “Evelyn Waugh has come to live opposite—Evelyn Gardner is living on the ground floor at Upper Montagu Street—so they both spend all their lives here—as their own rooms are so disgusting.” According to the postman, Adam Street was “so improper that during the recent election none of the candidates dared canvass it at all” (Byron 103). On 25 June, two days before the Evelyns’ wedding, Byron found his duties to be “really too awful—I have to fetch Evelyn Gardner to the church and I know she won’t come” (103n). She did come, but neither party was fully committed to the marriage, and it collapsed a year later. After the divorce, Byron received a letter from He-Evelyn, who was “still paying for the furniture in the flat [in Canonbury Square] now inhabited by the other Evelyn and [John] Heygate.” Byron considered She-Evelyn “quite harmless and the most irresponsible person in existence,” but he also believed that they had “both behaved abominably” (169). St Paul’s, Portman Square, was a rather low church that displayed placards asking “ARE YOU SAVED?” (Hastings 175). Waugh described his wedding: “A woman was typewriting on the altar. Harold [Acton] best man. Robert Byron gave away the bride, Alec [Waugh] and Pansy [Pakenham] as witnesses” (Diaries 295). Martin Stannard claims that “no one was typing on the altar. The vicar was typing his Sunday sermon in the vestry” (154). The source of Stannard’s information is unclear. Acton wrote that he appeared, “in the guise of ‘best man’, at a secret wedding in a Protestant church off Baker Street.” To Acton, She-Evelyn seemed so “overcome … that she could scarcely bring herself to breathe the words ‘I do’” (202). Alec observed that “She-Evelyn appeared to giggle when He-Evelyn promised to endow her with all his worldly goods” (187). Evelyn Waugh provides more background in a letter written on 16 December 1929, when he stayed at the Spreadeagle Hotel in Thame, where Charles Ryder dines with Anthony Blanche in Brideshead Revisited. Addressing the editor of the Daily Express, Waugh commented on an “enthusiastic account of the cordial welcome … at St Pauls Church, Portman Square.” Waugh recounted his own experience: I was living last year in St Pauls parish
and went to Mr Holden’s church to be married. Although the address is
rather imposing the parish for the most part lies among side streets
inhabited by comparatively poor people. The fees charged for marriages vary
slightly from church to church but are usually somewhere about a pound or
thirty shillings. In many poor districts they are less. The fee
demanded by Mr Holden was five guineas. I asked the reason for this and
was told ‘Why people come from all over England to hear Mr Holden
preach’. I replied that my interest in Mr Holden was entirely confined
to his priestly office; this seemed a new point of view. Eventually I was told I could have the
curate for three guineas. This incident is completely accurate & seems to give an interesting sidelight upon the spirit behind many extensively advertised evangelical churches. I cannot imagine a cordial welcome of this sort in a Roman Catholic or Anglo-Catholic church. John Stuart Holden (1874-1934) was vicar of St Paul’s, Portman Square, from 1905 until his death. The curate’s “moustache, heavy black boots and cockney accent made the bride giggle” (Hastings 176). As Waugh would write in 1930, “Address Snobbery” is “the most inaccurate guide to income” and “social importance.” Waugh’s disenchantment with the Church of England evidently contributed to his conversion to Roman Catholicism in September 1930. In his Diaries, Waugh does, however, state that he “preferred St Paul’s and Boulestin,” where Harold Acton had given them a “wedding breakfast” (Memoirs 202), to “Charles Drage’s wedding. St Margaret’s [near Parliament] and Claridge’s [a distinguished hotel] (295). A Bibliography of Evelyn Waugh adds that this letter was “probably never printed” (Davis 50). In 1929, Waugh had published only Rossetti and Decline and Fall, and he was perhaps not yet famous enough to command the attention of the Daily Express. In February 1930, however, Byron noted that “Evelyn’s book Vile Bodies he says is making him rich and famous” (169). St Paul’s, Portman Square was built in 1779 but torn down in 1970 and rebuilt, ironically, in Robert Adam Street, where Waugh used to live. The church became a Chapel of Ease in the parish of All Souls, Langham Place in 1988. There one can view a portrait of John Stuart Holden. The interlude in Adam Street is not very important in Waugh’s life or work. It does show, however, how ardently he pursued Evelyn Gardner. It also shows that Waugh prevailed upon an Oxford acquaintance, Robert Byron, to further his romance, though he and Byron were never close friends. Waugh’s experience at St Paul’s, Portman Square also seems to have encouraged him to convert to Roman Catholicism. If she returned with Waugh to 25 Adam Street, and if his rooms were really as “disgusting” as Byron thought they were, She-Evelyn may well have had second thoughts about her marriage. On the other hand, if Waugh went to 25 Adam Street by himself for ten days, She-Evelyn may well have grown bored and lonely. In either case, the time spent in Adam Street probably did not strengthen the marriage. This project is not yet complete. I would like to obtain photographs of St Paul’s, Portman Square and 25 Adam Street. I would also like to learn the identity of the curate who married He-Evelyn and She-Evelyn. His name may be in the records of the London Metropolitan Archives. I plan to visit these sites on my next trip to London, but perhaps someone else can beat me to it. Works
Cited |
|
Abstracts of Japanese Essays on Evelyn Waugh,
1981-1987 Obayashi,
Mikiaki. “Evurin Wo oboegaki--Furaitoke to Kurauchibatsukuke” [“A Note
on Evelyn Waugh--The Flytes and
the Crouchbacks”]. Feris Jogakuindaigaku Kiyo [Bulletin
of Ferris University] 16 (1981): 41-58. Suzuki,
Shigenobu. “Kindai no fuushika Evurin Wo--Suibouki wo chuushi ni” [“On a
Modern Satirist, Evelyn Waugh--A Study of Decline and Fall”]. Kyoto Sangiodaigaku Ronshu
[Acta Humanitica et Scientifica Universitatis Sangio Kyotiensis] 11
(1982): 77-93. Hariu,
Susumu. “Kagami no kuni―Evurin Wo no Suibouki ni tsuite”
[“Through the Looking Glass―On Evelyn Waugh’s Decline and Fall”]. Hakuoh Daigaku Ronshu [Hakuoh University Journal]
1 (1987): 1-17.
Hariu,
Susumu. “Shissou to Seishi―Evurin Wo no Kegareta Nikutai ni
tsuite” [“Dash and Stillness―On Evelyn Waugh’s Vile Bodies”]. Seijo bungei [Seijo University Arts and
Literature Quarterly] 120 (1987): 384-98. |
|
The “Real” Charles Ryder Eludes Us Once Again In response to two letters I wrote, one on March 25, the second on April 28, 2010, concerning some elusive source-material for Brideshead Revisited, came a reply from a man regretfully informing me that my first letter arrived shortly after the addressee, his father, passed away on March 28 at age 89. The letter was signed “Charles W. Ryder, III.” Charles Ryder III and his recently deceased father are the son and grandson of Major General Charles W. Ryder, American commander of forces in both the North African and Italian campaigns during World War II, after whom, it might be supposed, Evelyn Waugh named the narrator-hero of Brideshead Revisited. In my letters to Mr. Ryder, I asked if he could tell us anything about Waugh’s reason for “immortalizing” his father in his famous wartime novel. Did his father ever cross paths with Waugh and Waugh’s commanding officer Robert Laycock? Charles Ryder III wrote, in his letter dated May 13, 2010,
“Unfortunately, neither my brother nor I can shed any light on any connection
between my grandfather and the character in Brideshead Revisited.
It was never a subject of conversation that I can recall with my parents or
grandparents.” Charles Ryder II was a major general in his own right
and a West Point graduate. He served in World War II, Korea, and
Vietnam. |
|
Reviews |
|
Wealth
of Details The real interest and very great value of Byrne’s book lies in the wealth of details: a key to the argot of Eton, alma mater of Sebastian and Anthony Blanche as well as Hugh, Harold Acton, and Brian Howard; the densely interwoven fabric of kinship among the upper and upper-middle classes; the careful description of the stained glass in the chapel at Madresfield (obviously the model for that at Brideshead), far too biographical and complex for the casual visitor to understand; testimony by people known to have known Waugh, in far more detail than I have seen elsewhere, as well as spear-carriers like the man who collaborated with Waugh on a film scenario in 1931. This material gives a fuller and clearer picture of this period in Waugh’s life than, as Byrne argues at the beginning, in “‘cradle to grave’ narratives.” That clarity is somewhat dimmed by the book’s lack of documentation. Every careful reader will keep asking, “Where can I find this?” and sometimes “Who said that?” Not that she has necessarily distorted her sources; I can testify that Byrne has made fair and effective use of details about Waugh’s revisions of Brideshead. But I know where they come from.
There are some mistakes. The heroine of Graham Greene’s The End of
the Affair is not named Helen. Baron Corvo was certainly, in fact
almost incredibly, homosexual but never, despite his pretension, ordained a
priest. Waugh was far less devoted to Gothic Revival architecture than
Byrne asserts, and though Hetton Abbey in A Handful of Dust may
obviously be modeled on Madresfield, that was not necessarily a good thing in
his view. And while that novel may contain private jokes from the
Waugh-Lygon intercourse (in the original sense), there are, as Joseph Heller
says in Catch-22, a lot of funny things not going on. There is
no evidence that I know of that “The Temple at Thatch” began with a chapter
in the form of a film script, as does “The Balance.” Waugh returned to
Abyssinia not to do research for Scoop but to be able to complete Waugh
in Abyssinia. And Byrne’s claim that Waugh falsified the Layforce
diary for the Cretan debacle would, as Donat Gallagher has shown repeatedly,
prompt a gleeful Waugh to file an action for libel.[1] This last is an odd failing for a writer whose secondary purpose, after disclosing the non-secret, is to reveal “the real Waugh” rather than the snob and misanthrope of popular conception. So is her claim that “His emotional and intellectual development ended in 1945” on the grounds that he lost touch with the modern world and that “his writing afterwards is retrospective.” This dismisses some very fine work, including parts of Helena and The Ordeal of Gilbert Pinfold and most of Sword of Honour in which he wrote at least as well as, though differently than, he ever had. It’s as if Byrne is implying that without Lygons, the quality of Waugh’s fiction suffers. Of course, by 1945, Brideshead had been written, so there are no more parallels with the Lygons to discuss. Moreover, Waugh’s relationship with the Lygons had become somewhat attenuated by new circumstances and, in his case, family ties, and that weakens, annoyingly, Byrne’s dramatic arc. The truth is, as people age—writers too—their lives tend to get duller and less subject to the kind of upheavals that Waugh had used to good effect in his early novels. Despite these shortcomings, infinitesimal or invisible to most readers, judging from early reviews, this is a lively and carefully textured account of Waugh, the Lygons, and the world in which they moved. Anyone hoping to interest friends and relatives in any of these topics should urge them to read Mad World.
|
|
Genuine
Literary Promise One of the writers who early recognized JMR’s talent was Evelyn Waugh. JMR broke into the literary marketplace when Cyril Connolly published two of his stories in early numbers of Horizon in 1940 and 1941. These were written while he was serving in the army, where his difficult personality was proving a barrier to advancement, as in whatever employment he tried in the civilian world. To help his literary reputation, JMR wrote to Waugh in 1942 asking him, somewhat rashly, to provide a critical assessment of his writing. Waugh reportedly responded with a “flippant letter telling Julian to wait until he’d died.” Unfortunately, neither of those letters seems to have survived.[1] In a letter to Rupert Hart-Davis (his editor at Jonathan Cape, considering publication of a collection of JMR’s stories), dated 27 August 1942, JMR mentions that “Evelyn Waugh wrote me very nicely” about one Horizon story, not quite what Willetts reports Waugh to have written. In a letter to John Lehmann, editor of Penguin New Writing, dated 15 September 1942, JMR cited Waugh’s approval and urged Lehmann to include some of his stories. Jonathan Cape did publish a collection of JMR’s stories (The Stuff to Give the Troops) in 1944. Two more story collections, a novella and a novel followed from 1945 to 1947, an impressive output for a new writer. JMR also engaged in other writing during the war and postwar years, with reviews and articles in TLS and scripts for the BBC.[2] In addition, he collaborated with Dylan Thomas on documentary film scripts for Strand Films, financed by the Ministry of Information. After the war, JMR fell into a pattern of continuous movement, one living space and girlfriend after another, much time (and money) spent in the watering holes of Soho and Fitzrovia, with never enough to live on. He applied to the Royal Literary Fund for support, aided by Waugh, who on 4 July 1950 wrote the following letter:
On 15 October 1955 JMR sent another letter to Powell mentioning that he had attempted the Waugh parody after an extract of Officers and Gentlemen had appeared in London Magazine (252-53). That would have been the June 1954 issue (“Apthorpe Placatus”), before JMR sent his first letter on the subject. The second letter mentions having received from The Listener a review copy of the “new Waugh” (Officers and Gentlemen). JMR’s review appeared on 14 July 1955 (75). It was a favorable and thoughtful assessment. JMR’s reservations related to Waugh’s plan, announced on the O&G dust-wrapper, to dispense with the third volume of his war trilogy. According to JMR, this truncation of the series would leave many characters stranded and underdeveloped. JMR also preferred the first half of O&G, which is written “in the author’s happiest vein,” to the second half (the evacuation of Crete) “since continuous narrative is less suited to Mr. Waugh’s talent than the elliptical, impressionistic method that he formerly favored.”[5] JMR does not seem to have reviewed Waugh’s later work or to have produced the projected parody. The latter would have been interesting, to judge from his other parodies, and it is unfortunate that it was never completed. JMR was immortalized in the character of X. Trapnel, who appears in the later volumes of Anthony Powell’s A Dance to the Music of Time, published after JMR’s death. Waugh, an avid admirer, was also dead by the time those volumes appeared. We might otherwise have heard more from Waugh about his connections with JMR, either in reviews or correspondence with Powell. Notes |
|
Two
Further Points First, although I am familiar with some of the more obscure material he covers (e.g., Beverley Nichols’s novel Crazy Pavements and, through Charles Linck’s dissertation, journalism about the Bright Young Things), I was struck by the ease and grace with which Taylor blended diverse materials into a compelling narrative. Second, and more generally, Taylor avoids doing what many of us, understandably and necessarily, have done in our commentary on Waugh: make him the center of a much broader narrative. Instead, Taylor places him, accurately, at first on the fringes of the circle and later among the earliest to dissociate himself from its excesses and general spirit, if not always from some of its members.
Otherwise, I second Manley’s views and recommend the book to those interested
not only in Waugh but also in the period when he began to flourish. |
|
The
Ghastly Light of Television The Waugh segment lasted about four to five minutes (the
average length for most segments). It followed interviews of P. G.
Wodehouse and clips from BBC TV dramatizations of his novels. The Waugh
segment opened with a voiceover describing him as a disciple of Wodehouse but
noting that, unlike Wodehouse, Waugh parodied and satirized privileged
circles and sacred institutions. The first clips were from his film The
Scarlet Woman. Scenes from his 1960 BBC TV interview on the Face
to Face series followed, intercut with excerpts from a much later
reminiscence by the interviewer, John Freeman, probably made at the time of
the 1987 rebroadcast. Contemporary critic and novelist D. J. Taylor
briefly introduced a selection from the 1964 Monitor interview
conducted by Elizabeth Jane Howard. Taylor expressed puzzlement that
Waugh had agreed to another interview after having professed his distaste for
public appearances, but both Waugh in his letters and Howard in her memoirs
explain that Waugh did it for the money. As an added inducement, the Monitor
producers allowed him to vet the questions before the interview. There
were no excerpts from dramatizations of Waugh’s works, nor were there any
extended commentaries on his work. Other writers receiving similar coverage included E. M.
Forster, Elizabeth Bowen, Barbara Cartland, Jean Rhys, Robert Graves, T. H.
White, Christopher Isherwood, Aldous Huxley, George Orwell (who worked for
two years at the BBC writing and reading broadcasts, none saved in the
archives, if they were ever recorded), and Graham Greene (who agreed only to
sound recordings even for TV programs). There were also brief films of
H. G. Wells and G. K. Chesterton and a sound-only interview of Virginia
Woolf. The second episode, “The Age of Anxiety: 1945-1969,” began
in 1954 with the publication of Lucky Jim, Lord of the Flies,
Under the Net, and The Fellowship of the Ring, a watershed
in the British novel after the hiatus of the war. The program dealt
with the Angry Young Men through interviews of John Braine and Alan Sillitoe,
as well as Kingsley Amis. Immigrant novels were briefly mentioned.
The spy novel appeared in interviews of Ian Fleming and John Le Carre,
science fiction in interviews of John Wyndham, Anthony Burgess, and J. G.
Ballard. These two genres were linked to the anxiety of the Cold
War. Finally, the last ten minutes focused on feminist novels in
interviews of Doris Lessing and Margaret Drabble. Despite the
publication in this period of Brideshead Revisited (his most popular
novel) and the war trilogy, as well as Pinfold, Waugh was not
mentioned, effectively relegated to the pre-war period. To be fair,
other writers covered in the first episode received similar treatment.
George Orwell, for instance, achieved fame only in the post-war period
with publication of Animal Farm and 1984. The third episode, “Nothing Sacred: 1970-1990,” was the
weakest. Despite the availability of more raw material, it covered
fewer novelists. It continued to examine the feminist novel in
interviews with Fay Weldon and Angela Carter, who seemed rather hard core,
and Jeanette Winterson, who offered more circumspection on Mrs. Thatcher than
most writers have provided. Clips from Booker Award dinners indicated
how television has made some writers into celebrities. Most of this
episode was devoted to Martin Amis (The Rachel Papers and Money),
Ian McEwan (The Cement Garden), and Salman Rushdie (Midnight’s
Children and The Satanic Verses), who each made several
appearances in multiple contexts. James Kelman (The Bus Conductor
Hines) and Hanif Kureishi (The Buddha of Suburbia) served as
examples of working-class and immigrant novels. Malcolm Bradbury
appeared more as critic than novelist. David Lodge was nowhere to be
seen. The BBC has posted on its archives page what appear to be
complete versions of several of the interviews excerpted for the series: http://www.bbc.co.uk/archive/writers/.
Unfortunately, the two BBC TV interviews of Waugh are not posted as of
this writing, though extended versions of interviews with other writers from
the Monitor series are available. I queried the BBC Archive
through e-mail: they wanted to include the two Waugh TV interviews in the
archive posting but had not yet been able to obtain permission from the Waugh
estate. Negotiations were continuing. Note |
|
Teresa
Cuthbertson, 1907-2010 Born Teresa Jungman and known as “Baby,” she attracted Evelyn Waugh, who proposed marriage in 1933. She gave him the “raspberry” (Letters of Evelyn Waugh 81). In 1940, she married Graham Cuthbertson, and they had two children, a son killed in 1965 and a daughter who survives. Teresa’s elder sister Zita James passed away in 2006, also at the age of 102. “Teresa Cuthbertson,” her obituary, appeared in the Daily Telegraph on 11 June 2010. Paula Byrne published “The Last of the Bright Young Things” in the Daily Express on 17 June 2010. Hugo Vickers wrote “The Jungman Sisters, Part I” and Part II for the New York Social Diary. |
|
Introduction
to Bruno Hat |
|
Waugh
on Joyce |
|
Waugh
and Orwell |
|
Boot
Meets Brown |
|
Brideshead
on Kindle |
|
Decline
and Fall in Foyle’s War |
|
Waugh
the Collector |
|
The
Waughs of Midsomer Norton |
|
Mad
World in New York Times |
|
A
Friend of Waugh’s |
|
From
Waugh to Hitchens |
|
Link
to Love Among the Ruins |
|
From
Television to Radio |
|
Evelyn
Waugh, the Song |
|
Evelyn
Waugh Club |
|
|
|
Evelyn
Waugh Society |
|
|
|
End of Evelyn Waugh
Newsletter and Studies, Vol. 41, No. 2 |