Library

Love books!
Would love to have these stairs and library!

Contemporary Staircase design by New York Interior Designer Glenn Gissler Design

The Detective and The Sugar Bag

I grew up reading detective, or mystery, novels.

Every year, my father would bring home the new Agatha Christie, as well as any oldies that we didn't already have. My mother also grew up reading Agatha Christie, so I guess it was already in the dna.

Of all the different authors/books we had, and still have, I think Margery Allingham's, and her "people" — gentleman detective Albert Campion and the all — are my favorites.

Sometime in the early sixties, my father found and started buying Allingham's detective novels; I still love them. Every once in a while, I'll go on a binge, a marathon, and read them in chronological order, or whatever order.

Being true to their period, and of a time and and age that basically doesn't exist anymore, and of another country, many a times I come up against expressions and... things that I know nothing of, but have had to wing it in my imagination.

So, much to my surprise, a little while ago looking through a catalog of vintage miniatures, one mystery was solved! My thanks to Google!

     The soft light spread feebly over the small room, making the bed a pool of colour in the dark surround. On it, stretched diagonally across its wide expanse, was sleeping a sandy man. His compact and powerful body was fully clad save for his jacket, and his cheek was cradled against his shirt-clad arm. He had removed his shoes, and his feet, in discreetly checkered socks, were folded over one another on Minnie's print dress for the party.
     'Tonker!' Minnie stood staring at the apparition. 'When did you come back? Tonker wake up.'
     He opened one eye, as blue as a sugar bag, and smiled with singular sweetness.
     'Hullo, Minnie darling. I'm having a zizz.'
     'Tonker! What have you done with the child? Where is he? Tonker, wake up.'
     A delighted giggle behind them settled the main problem. Rupert, with Choc behind him, came in from the larger room whose fresh decorations Emma had displayed so proudly earlier in the day.

— page 70

     Mr Campion caught a glimpse of popping sugar-bag eyes as Tonker fielded this gift from God.

— page 123

from: The Estate of the Beckoning Lady, by Margery Allingham, my well-loved, dog-eared Macfadden paperback edition, 1972.    © 1955 by Doubleday & Company, Inc.

Sugar-bag Blue

A Wrinkle in Time

‘Wrinkle in Time’ author L'Engle dies at 88

When I read the title of the article (linked above), I rememebered right off the bat the name of the author, Madeleine — something a bit remarkable nowadays with my memory usually soooo bad.

Together with the name, a flood of girlhood memories, of being immersed in books, and this one of my favorites.

And it's funny, because just the other day, the image of the scientist mother cooking dinner in her lab, much to the dismay of some of her family, came to mind, and I was trying to remember from which book it came...

Nothing to Do?

From the summer I spent with Aunt Terry and Uncle John in Connecticutt, when I was thirteen.

Nothing to Do
--- by Shel Silverstein

Nothing to do?
Nothing to do?
Put some mustard in your shoe,
Fill your pockets full of soot,
Drive a nail into your foot,
Put some sugar in your hair,
Place your toys upon the stair,
Smear some jelly on the latch,
Eat some mud and strike a match,
Draw a picture on the wall,
Roll some marbles down the hall,
Pour some ink in daddy's cap ---
Now go upstairs...
... and take a nap.

--- Cole, William. Beastly Boys and Ghastly Girls, 1964

From this book, a treasure, from Aunt's library.

Tubby... ... ...

My sister gifted me with a little book, A. A. Milne's When We Were Very Young, of 1924, the 1961 edition — lovely!
The delicous illustrations, or "decorations" as is written on the cover, are by Ernest H. Shepard.

In it I found a poem with a very present day subject, even though nearly 100 years old, concerning a little bear who later on become famous as Winnie-the-Pooh.



Teddy Bear

A bear, however hard he tries,
Grows tubby without exercise.
Our Teddy Bear is short and fat
Which is not to be wondered at;
He gets what exercise he can
By falling off the ottoman,
But generaly seems to lack
The energy to clamber back.

Now tubbiness is just the thing
Which gets a fellow wondering;
And Teddy worried lots about
The fact that he was rather stout.
He thought: "If only I were thin!
But how does anyone begin?"
He thought: "It really isn't fair
To grudge me exercise and air."

For many weeks he pressed in vain
His nose agaisnt the window-pane.
And envied those who walked about
Reducing their unwanted stout.
None of the people he could see
"Is quite" (he said) "as fat as me!"
Then, with a still more moving sigh,
"I mean" (he said) "as fat as I!"

Now Teddy, as was only right,
Slept in the ottoman at night,
And with him crowded in as well
More animals than I can tell;
Not only these, but books and things,
Such as a kind relation brings—
Old tales of "Once upon a time,"
And history retold in rhyme.

One night it happened that he took
A peep at an old picture-book,
Wherein he came across by chance
The picture of the King of France
(A stoutish man) and, down below,
These words: "King Louis So and So,
Nicknamed 'The Handsome' " There he sat,
And (think of it!) the man was fat!

Our bear rejoiced like anything
To read about this famous King,
Nicknamed "The Handsome." There he sat,
And certainly the man was fat.
Nicknamed "The Handsome." Not a doubt
The man was definetly stout.
Why then, a bear (for all his tub)
Might yet be named "The Handsome Cub!"

"Might yet be named." Or did he mean
That years ago he "might have been"?
For now he felt a slight misgiving:
"Is Louis So and So still living?
Fashions in beauty have a way
Of altering from day to day.
Is 'Handsome Louis' with us yet?
Unfortunately I forget."

Next morning (nose to window-pane)
The doubt occured to him again.
One question hammered in his head:
"Is he alive or dead?"
Thus, nose to pane, he pondered; but
The lattice window, loosely shut,
Swung open. With one startled "Oh!"
Our Teddy disappeared below.

There happened to be passing by
A plump man with a twinkling eye,
Who, seeing Teddy in the street,
Raised him politely to his feet,
And murmured kindly in his ear
Soft words of comfort and of cheer:
"Well, well!" "Allow me!" "Not at all."
"Tut-tut!" "A very nasty fall."

Our Teddy answered not a word;
It's doubtful if he even heard.
Our bear could only look and look:
The stout man from the picture-book!
That "handsome" King—could this be he,
This man of adiposity?
"Impossible," he thought. "But still,
No harm in asking. Yes I will!"

"Are you, " he said, "by any chance
His majesty the King of France?"
The other answered, "I am that,"
Bowed stiffly, and removed his hat;
Then said, "Excuse me" with an air,
"But is it Mr. Eduard Bear?"
And Teddy, bending very low,
Replied politely, "Even so!"

They stood beaneath the window there,
The King and Mr. Edward Bear,
And, handsome, if a trifle fat,
Talked carelessly of this and that ...
Then said His Majesty, "Well, well,
I must get on," and rang the bell.
"Your bear, I think," he smiled. "Good-day!"
And turned, and went upon his way.

A bear, however hard he tries,
Grows tubby without exercise.
Our Teddy Bear is short and fat,
Which is not to be wondered at.
But do you think it worries him
To know that he is far from slim?
No, just the other way about—
He's proud of being short and stout.