Elgar wrote of his Variations: “The Enigma I will not explain — its ‘dark saying’ must be left unguessed.” One theme – endlessly talked about – and fourteen variations on it. Each variation was the result of a parlour game between Elgar and his wife, Alice.
He’d played the theme to her, which he described as ‘nothing much, but something might be made of it’. He then proceeded to improvise how it might sound played either in the style of – or in tribute to – their closest friends. Between then and publication in 1899, the ‘enigma’ legend was added. Scholars have long since decoded the half-disguises to the various ‘friends within’ each movement, but the name and indeed the very nature of the central enigma itself endures.
Death in Leamington is also a mystery and an enigma, a ‘detective novel’ set in the genteel English midlands’ town. The murder of an elderly foreign visitor sets off an intricate chain of events (and further gruesome deaths!). Foolishly or maybe puzzlingly I chose to base the fifteen main characters on the original sources of Elgar’s own variations.
The easy ones are hopefully obvious: Eddie (‘E.D.U. — Elgar himself), Alice (C.A.E — Elgar’s wife); Hugh (H.D.S.-P — one of Elgar’s best friends) and Inspector Hunter (the best known of all — Nimrod). Others are a little more contrived: Richard Baxter — Eddie and Alice’s neighbour (R.B.T. — a rather colourful Oxford professor who the eagle-eyed among you may also have spotted as the young hippie Dickie Baxter in my latest novel Letters to Strabo); WPC Penny Dore (Dorabella) and Dan the Bulldog (the dog that falls into the water half way through variation G.R.S). The rest I will leave you to guess i.e. Pearl the Singer’s connection to variation ‘Troyte’. Only one variation is still in dispute that of the true identify of ‘Romanza’, fittingly so also in my story.
I’ll finish with the rest of that Elgar quote: “…further, through and over the whole set another and larger theme ‘goes’, but is not played…the chief character is never on the stage.”
Book III Part I – The Iberian Peninsula
“The first division of this continent towards the west is Iberia, as we before stated. The greater part of this country is but little fitted for habitation; consisting chiefly of mountains, woods, and plains covered with a light meagre soil, the irrigation of which is likewise uncertain. The part next the north, which borders on the ocean, is extremely cold, and besides its rugged character, has no communication or intercourse with other [countries], and thus to dwell there is attended with peculiar hardship.” Strabo, Geography Book III, Chapter I
Bilbao at that time was not the most obvious destination for a young guy in search of adventure; but it was the one place I’d been offered on that exchange program. The center of the Basque region, the city was depressed; shipyards and steelworks struggling to compete with the Far East. There was an anarchic despair to the place deepened by the local team’s catastrophic defeat by Juventus that summer. Although Bilbao was not as unfit for habitation as Strabo’s text implied, it was still a relief every time the sun lit up its gray Atlantic walls.
I’d arrived in Spain less than two years after Franco’s death; a period of great political change. There were crucial elections that June which gave folk hope of a second, hopefully democratic, revolution. But there was also a strong local separatist movement. That cocktail was exciting enough for a young man in search of adventure. I experienced it first-hand when the riot-police fired gas on a crowd I was drinking with.
I met Françoise during a visit to the local Gallery Lazarus. A young artist called Mikel Díez Alaba was exhibiting his Japanese-inspired paintings and causing quite a stir in the local press. I’d been recommended to see the exhibit by my Spanish friends. Reluctantly I did. As I’ve said, I was somewhat stunned when that gorgeous woman accepted my cheesy pick-up line. I panicked about where to take her. But luckily she knew…
MFA167775 Green Summer, 1864 (gouache on paper) by Burne-Jones, Sir Edward (1833-98) gouache on paper 29×48.5 Private Collection English, out of copyright
One of the themes of my novel Love in Lindfield is the possible identity of the woman that Charles Eamer Kempe once tried to propose to. He remained a bachelor but it’s said that in proposing once, his stammer was so bad, the lady finished his sentence in a different way and he never dared try again. One of my long-shots is Georgie Macdonald or Lady Georgiana Burne-Jones as she is better known, later the wife of the pre-Raphaelite painter Edward Burne-Jones. She was one of four sisters born to a Birmingham Methodist family; the others married the painter Edward Poynter, the future PM Baldwin and a certain Mr Kipling (not Rudyard, but his father). She is pictured above in two images by her husband, one a portrait, one with her sisters and below as the model in the picture King Cophetua and the Beggar-Maid. She first met Charles Kempe when he was assisting Morris, Burne-Jones and Rossetti on the Oxford Union mural.
Georgie was the rock right at the heart of the pre-Raphaelite movement, but she was an accomplished artist in her own right too, and a Trustee of the South London Gallery and was one of the first women to be elected to a parish Council: Rottingdean, near Brighton in Sussex, the village next to Ovingdean where Kempe was born. There’s a story that I love about her concerning when a mob surrounded her house in Rottingdean at the time of the siege of Mafeking and she had to be rescued by her nephew Rudyard after she’d put out a feisty protest banner: “We have killed and also take possession.”
There’s speculation about whether she had an affair with William Morris, he was certainly a great admirer, and her husband something of a philanderer. But Georgie, herself, seems to me to have been very much her own woman. My speculation about the early meeting with Kempe is just that, although she does write favourably about the impression he made on her. Somehow, I think she might have been just what he needed in a wife but her heart was by then already taken.
Grace King wrote “The past is our only possession in life”. She was born in New Orleans in 1851. Her family had an aristocratic background but was impoverished by the American Civil War. Grace King eventually found her living in writing; among her subjects were other women who had been put in the same situation. Her first novel Monsieur Motte (1888), brought her to the attention of the Hartford Literary set including Samuel Clemens (Mark Twain). I am in her debt as she provided the link between Twain and Frederic Church the painter. Her descriptions of her visit to the Clemenses in Hartford: “Life with them followed the simplest and most practical lines. Worldly deviations and social complications were ignored…the two daughters [Susy and Clara Clemens] were the more entrancing of characters I have ever met in my life. They were both beautiful in every way;” and later her visit with them to the Church’s mansion in the Catskills in 1892: “Could anything in nature be more beautiful;” form a key part of my story. After her visit to “Orlana” as she called it, she set off to explore Europe. I also included a description of her visit to the Bibliotheque Nationale in Paris in a later chapter and sneaked a reference to her visit to Warwick Castle into Death in Leamington as well! Thank you Grace King.
The Greek scholar Strabo lived at the time of Augustus/Tiberius and is often known as the Father of Geography thanks to his major work The Geographica. He originated from Amasya, now in North East Turkey. Although this major work was extremely comprehensive and based on both his own travels and those of many others, it was rarely used until Latin and then Greek editions were made in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. The first English translations appeared in the mid-nineteenth century.
It’s a copy of the first 1854 Hamilton edition, owned by Frederic Church the American painter, that inspires Finn, our protagonist, to make his own journey around the Mediterranean. On a visit to Olana, Church’s amazing Moorish palace in the Catskills, the archivist Eve shows Finn the copy given to Church by his wife for Christmas in 1879. It’s a reference in this volume to Olane: “one of the treasure storehouses on the Araxes river,” that inspired the original choice of the name Olana for the Churches’ home. Eve’s letters to Finn during his travels: her Letters to Strabo, form the spine of the ensuing love story. In a way, I guess they might also have been called her Letters from Olana. Given ensuing events, Strabo certainly had a lot to answer for…
Elephants play a thematic role in my second novel Death in Leamington. The death of businessman Arish Nariman who grew up watching these beasts in the timber jungles of Sri Lanka leads to a full-blown murder investigation. The location of the “elephant wash” where the circus owner Sam Lockhart reputedly bathed his elephant troupe in the River Leam is a further link. And the gruesome fate of Nariman’s murderer is a final reminder to the reader that “elephants never forget”.
Love in Lindfield is based on the life of Charles Eamer Kempe, the Victorian stained glass painter, who lived in our village. He never married but suffered from a debilitating stammer. There’s a great story in his biography that Kempe confided to his disciple, John Lisle, “that there had been only one woman in his life, but that, stuttering out his declaration , the lady had kindly helped him out — with quite the wrong interpretation of this intention — he never had the pluck to try again.”
I took this as a challenge to identify the various women he knew that this might have referred to. One of my favourite candidates is Frances Wolseley, pictured above. She was an amazing woman in her own right, starting a school for lady gardeners near Lewes. Although they were separated by a generation, they spent a lot of time together and even if the relationship never matured they were certainly soul-mates. You’ll have to read the book to find out who the other candidates were!