A Bachelor’s Comedy by J.E. Buckrose

After I enjoyed J.E. Buckrose’s novel The Privet Hedge, my friends Kirsty and Paul bought me a few other of her novels. She’s one of those writers who could so easily be a Persephone or a Virago, but has yet to be rediscovered. I’m hoping to keep reading and find one that could be good enough for the British Library Women Writers series – or, rather, which fits all the criteria. Because I think A Bachelor’s Comedy (1912) is really good, but the protagonist is a man so it doesn’t fit the Women Writers series.

Here’s how it opens…

This was no comedy to those most concerned, of course, for comedy is like happiness – directly a person knows he is in it, he is out of it. Tragedy, on the other hand, can only touch those who do not take themselves seriously enough.

No man, however, could take himself more seriously than did the Reverend Andrew Deane as he travelled down alone in a third-class railway carriage to his new living of Gaythorpe-on-the-Marsh.

You might need to dispense with some of the stereotypes that come into your mind straight away. Reverend Andrew is not some white-haired, kindly old man – he is fresh from theological training, in his 20s, and quite unsure how to take up his position leading a rural parish. At the same time, he has a certain bullishness. He doesn’t want to show weakness to this new flock, and is keen to get their respect as soon as possible. No more being called ‘Andy’ by people who can’t see him as a proper, responsible grown up.

One of the first things he wants to do is fire the gardener, on the advice of the churchwarden who gives him a lift from the railway station.

“Those Petches are none of ’em models. They don’t seem to know when they’re speaking the truth and when they aren’t. And young Sam drinks a bit too. No, I can’t really advise you to keep him on.”

“I shall certainly not do so after what you tell me,” said the new Vicar, sitting very erect. “I have the strongest feelings about the households of the clergy – they should be above reproach.”

Of course, these fine resolves don’t hold up when Reverend Andrew is faced with the Petches themselves. Sam Petch is one of my favourite characters in the novel. The churchwarden’s assessment is accurate, and Petch doesn’t think twice about lying if it will get him out of trouble – is that alcohol on his breath, or is it that his coat has been cleaned with spirits? – but is affable and generous in his turn. He is prepared to respect and help Reverend Andrew where he can, and his deceit and laziness don’t seem to factor into his own interpretation of the equation. Reverend Andrew tries to get Sam Petch to give up alcohol by making a pact to give up his favourite thing in return – butter. This has the effect of spreading rumours around the village that the new vicar is eccentric… and Sam doesn’t really think beer counts as alcohol, so doesn’t have much effect on the gardener.

Reverend Andrew often finds that his ideals aren’t born out by the real life of a parish priest. There are some funny moments – such as his bidding for an ornately ugly sideboard that his housekeeper has to sell, intending to give it as a present. It won’t fit in her new, smaller home, so he reluctantly ends up having to have it in ‘safe keeping’ for her. Buckrose is very good at finding the genuine emotion of silly moments like this. In a Wodehouse novel, it would be a sprightly knockabout moment. In A Bachelor’s Comedy, it is certainly amusing, but we also feel the pathos of the situation – and the awkward frustration that a good deed has not gone quite to plan.

At the auction, Reverend Andrew was almost outbid for the sideboard by a young woman – who later turns out to be a local called Miss Elizabeth Atterton. It is instantly obvious that they will fall in love… and, of course, the course of true love never did run smooth. Not least because everyone expects her to marry another man in the village, including the man himself.

As I wrote in my thoughts about The Privet Hedge, I think Buckrose is more enjoyable and interesting when she is talking about village life and all its myriad relationships than when she is writing about romance. But it’s also true that I tend to find romantic storylines a bit tedious in general. I certainly enjoyed Reverend Andrew’s enamoration with Elizabeth to be more engaging than the love affair in The Privet Hedge, but I still think it was less engaging than all the rest of the book. (Though, at the same time, I was cheering them on as the novel drew to a close.)

What I’m trying to say is – Buckrose is fresh and witty when she writes about shirking workers, gossipy neighbours who flit comfortably between friend and nemesis, chaotic village events, and all the other things that make up the eternal patchwork of village life. She is perfectly capable when writing about romantic love, but less original and less vibrant. Though it is a nice change for a vicar to be a feasible romantic hero in a novel – and, indeed, unusual for a vicar to be a hero at all, and one who doesn’t fall into any stereotypes. Some of the sweetest moments were when he thought back across the centuries to a previous incumbent, also a bachelor, and considered him a brother.

Overall, this is a real delight of the sort of well-written, amusing domestic novel that is often being rediscovered. Maybe J.E. Buckrose will be the next rediscovery, and I’m glad to have more of her books on my shelves to try.