Home Again

I was away from the tartlets for a week, the first time in ten years, and at the start I kept searching for them: "Where are they? Oh yes, I forgot, 5000 miles away, in the Middle East, with their father..."
My parents in Ireland said, "Stay with us! You'll be lonely in that old farmhouse by yourself..." But I wasn't lonely, not a bit. The silence was seductive. The first proper silence since Maud was born. No children's voices calling "Mummy Mummy." No air conditioning - it makes such a racket. No television, or wireless. I love the silence. I could get used to it.
I didn't realise I was missing the children until the descent into Bahrain. I thought I wasn't thinking about them. Then I pictured them standing with Nick in Arrivals and I suddenly burst into tears. Because I was going to see them again - noisy, attention seeking, opinionated little beasts that they are.
The man sitting beside me gave me his hanky. He thought I was crying because my holiday was over. He was right. I was crying because my holiday was over. But they were tears of joy.

It's Over!

Look how nervous I am in this photograph! This is me before I went to give my amusing and motivational speech at my old grammar school Prize Day. It was very formal and solemn. The teaching staff wore robes. I was on spotlit stage with an audience of 500 in front of me, and a big screen to one side showing a close up of my (heavily made-up, terrified) face. I was introduced as "Miss Dunlop, the author."
When I got up to speak the chairman of the board of governors whispered, "Just remember, you're among friends."
I think it's the nicest thing anybody has ever said to me.
My voice stopped shaking after the first couple of minutes.

Speech day

I spent yesterday in Belfast preparing for tonight's amusing and motivation speech. I did this by having a makeover at the MAC Counter in Debenhams. I said to the lovely woman painting my face: "What on earth am I going to talk about? None of my career choices have ever been academic and the grammar school I went to is very academic..."
And she said, "What you have to remember is that not everybody wants to be a doctor or a lawyer when they grow up. I have a degree in fine art, but I happen to like painting people's faces. A good education is easily carried and nobody can take it away from you."
Thank you MAC! You have given me the closing paragraph of my speech.
"I have a degree in Agricultural Science (!) but I happen to like writing popular fiction - and they say it's not work if you love it..."

Humidity

Finally, after a fortnight of Swine Flu hysteria, the tartlets are going back to school. Hurrah! But why is this photograph hazy? Because the humidity was so ghastly this morning the lens of the camera misted over the second we stepped outside. As did my sunglasses. And I had to use windscreen wipers.
If you look closely you'll see the girls in ankle socks and leather shoes, in 50 degrees - it's school rules. Also, if you could see me behind the camera, I was wearing long sleeves and long trousers because it's Ramadam.

Birthday Party

10 year old girls are still children - I'm very happy to report.
I was expecting pre-teen posturing, and a disdainful refusal to play 'baby' party games...
Instead they wore party hats and played Musical Statues. They had an egg and spoon race, and an egg and spoon race in (my) high heels and an egg and spoon race while balancing a book on their heads. And Pass the Parcel, and Musical Chairs and a Treasure Hunt and every one joined in, even sophisticated Emma who prefers Amy Winehouse to Hannah Montana.
They ate popcorn and crisps and ice-cream and jelly and birthday cake.
Before they went home they said, "Thank you very much for having me. I had a lovely time."

Last Train From Liguria

LAST TRAIN FROM LIGURIA
Christine Dwyer Hickey
I’ve been waiting all summer to read this because I didn’t want to have to hide in the outside toilet with the door bolted; it’s the only place I can get any peace when the kids are off school. Now, hurrah, the holidays are over, and I was able to lie at my length on the sofa, with a pot of tea and a packet of biscuits, and gobble up Last Train from Liguria.
In the gripping opening scene, Edward, a violent drunk, wakes up from a stupor to find his sister lying dead in a pool of blood. “The sight of her blood. That so much could be contained in one body. Even a body as big as Louise’s.”
Without doubt, Edward has killed her yet he feels no remorse. His only thought is for himself - how can he save his neck? So he runs for his life to Italy, where he finds work as a music teacher to Alec Lami – the nervy, shy little son of a wealthy Italian aristocrat and his beautiful Jewish wife. Edward can safely hide behind the high walls of Villa Lami. If he stays sober and diligent and keeps out of trouble he knows he’ll never be caught. It’s not much of a life, but it’s better than being dead.
Meanwhile, reserved, repressed spinster Bella lives with her widowed father in London. Bella’s father is ready to remarry; he wants Bella out of the house. Without her consent he finds her a job in Italy, as governess to Alec Lami. When she protests he tells her: “Oh Bella, I’m so seldom home, you know – between the hospital and my other commitments – well, let’s be honest my dear. It’s you. You who are always alone.”
Villa Lami is in Liguria, on the Italian Riviera - lucky Bella has landed on her feet! She soon settles into the household, and makes friends with Alec and Edward. And even better, Alec’s control freak mother is never around; in true aristocratic style she provides for her son financially, but virtually ignores him. So for six years Bella and Edward act as his surrogate parents without ever becoming romantically involved with each other. (I was a bit sceptical about that to be honest – a lonely young couple cooped up in a house for six years together and no sex?)
These are turbulent times. Mussolini is in charge of Italy and gradually, like an insidious rot, he introduces anti-Jewish laws. Before long the domestics are afraid to work in Villa Lami; a polite letter states that Alec is no longer welcome to study at his posh, private school. As Europe creeps closer and closer to war, Alec’s (Jewish) mother disappears; suddenly it becomes terribly important to get Alec and his new baby sister smuggled out of Italy.
Except that Edward can’t leave Italy for risk of being caught and hanged for murder...
The strength of this marvellous novel is that Christine Dwyer Hickey does not allow us to get bogged down in shock factor details about the awful treatment of Jewish people in Europe in the 1930s. Fascist Italy and Hitler’s Germany simmer menacingly in the background but this is a story about ordinary people – good, bad, ugly, warts and all – forced to make courageous decisions. I was so proud of Edward when he got on that last train out of Liguria, to help Bella escape with the children.
Christine Dwyer Hickey is from Dublin. Her last novel Tatty was heaped with critical acclaim and shortlisted for loads of literary awards. I liked Tatty well enough, but I think Last Train from Liguria is a far more enjoyable read. It brims with colour and texture; it bounces along at a furious pace, and the writing is only gorgeous.
*
VERDICT: A bold and brilliant novel – compassionate but never sentimental.

9l11

Just like when Kennedy was shot, I remember exactly what I was doing when New York was attacked eight years ago. I was living in Botswana. I had two very small children. There was one children's television programme every day - Teletubbies at 3pm. My friend Jenny was visiting with Angus. We were drinking tea, and the children were lined up in a row on the sofa watching Teletubbies.
The programme was interrupted to show amateur video footage of an aircraft flying into one of the twin towers. The voice over was in some language I didn't understand and at first I thought it was an accident. And I was rather peeved that Teletubbies had been interrupted.