My dear friend Emily and I often watch sitcoms together – we have recently named ourselves ‘sitcommoisseurs’ – but don’t really share a taste in reading. But you know who does largely share my taste? Emily’s relatives – her mum and, as it turns out, her late great-grandmother. Mrs S very kindly thought of me when divvying up the library of her mother, which included books from her grandmother – who was a fan of O. Douglas. I’ve only read one but I really liked it, so gratefully received a little pile of them (thanks v much!) – and over Christmas I read The Proper Place (1926).
As I’ve mentioned before, househunting and moving house are things I love to read about (even though they are a world of anxiety in real life), and the opening pages of The Proper Place are all about it – which is why it was the one I got off the shelf.
The Rutherfurd family are leaving their family seat in the Scottish borders with its twenty bedrooms, no longer able to live up to such grandeur because they are so diminished in size: there are now only three Rutherfurds: Nicole (sprightly, cheerful), her orphaned cousin Barbara (realistic, wry), and her mother Lady Jane (resigned, dignified). They have lost relatives in World War 1, and must start anew – Nicole displaying bright optimism about their future and Barbara, if not dour, then not delighting in the prospect.
“How many bedrooms does that make?”
Mrs. Jackson asked the question in a somewhat weary tone. Since her husband had decided, two months ago, that what they wanted was a country-house, she had inspected nine, and was frankly sick of her task.
The girl she addressed, Nicole Rutherfurd, was standing looking out of the window. She turned at the question and “I beg your pardon,” she said, “how many bedrooms? There are twelve quite large ones, and eight smaller ones.”
They were standing in one of the bedrooms, and Nicole felt that never had she realised how shabby it was until she saw Mrs. Jackson glance round it. That lady said nothing, but Nicole believed that in her mind’s eye she was seeing it richly furnished in rose-pink. Gone the faded carpet and washed-out chintzes; instead there would be a thick velvet carpet, pink silk curtains, the newest and best of bedroom suites, a rose-pink satin quilt on the bed.
The new occupants are from the nouveau riche – Mr and Mrs Jackson, leaving their community in Glasgow to buy their way into the aristocracy, in the hope that it will be a bright new future for their son. Mrs Jackson is disarmingly realistic about her own shortcomings and how unlikely it is that she’ll fit into her new life, making sacrifices for that adult son (who is fond of her but not all that engaged). The meeting of the Rutherfurds and the Jacksons is not the clash of cultures that you might think – Douglas is amusing, but not at characters’ expense. Mrs Jackson is eager, Lady Jane is kind. There is pain and anxiety on either side, but not immeasurably.
The title comes from a Hans Christian Andersen story that I’m not familiar with – to quote the novel: “at a dinner-party, one of the guests blew on a flute made from a willow in the ditch, and behold, every one was immediately wafted to his or her proper place. “Everything in its proper place,” sang the flute, and the bumptious host flew into the herdsman’s cottage”. I’m not sure how relevant it ends up being, because there is no moral attached to these characters’ house moves, though they are certainly changing places. There is even a suggestion at one point that the Jacksons and the Rutherfurds will swap houses, though the Rutherfurds instead move to a harbourside house in Kirkmeikle, Fife. It’s the sort of downsizing that is a house far beyond anything I’ll ever live in, of course. (You can see where it was based in Katrina’s investigative post!)
Much of the novel looks at this new community – including (somewhat surprisingly) Simon Beckett, who was recently climbed Everest and is writing a book about it. Very little that happens among this new throng of characters is of especial note, but it is all the gentle, enjoyable happenings that are so fun to indulge in reading about. Nicole is such a lovable character, helpfully offset by Barbara’s clear-sightedness, that it was all good fun.
We don’t see as much of the Jacksons later in the book, but I think I preferred those sections. Mrs J’s anxieties about her position, together with a certain over-the-topness, made for good-humoured comedy. And the families do meet again, as Nicole and Barbara sequentially go back for visits – these were my absolute favourite sections, as it was the meeting of the families that I thought worked best. Happily for me, there is a sequel (The Day of Small Things), which I can keep an eye out for.
(I had to skip a few pages of Scots dialect, but far fewer than when I read Pink Sugar.)
Others who got Stuck into it:
“Unputdownable & with characters I care about. I loved the feeling of gentle melancholy that is evident in so many books of that post-war period.” – I Prefer Reading
“O. Douglas is a very fair-minded author; she always allows her characters the grace of a deep enough glimpse into their lives and thoughts to allow us to place their words and actions in full context; something I fully appreciated in this story.” – Leaves and Pages
“Her books are as sweet as home-made toffee, but they’re always mixed with sadness somehow, which makes these comfort books of hers more true to life.” – Pining for the West
We had a bit of a longer break over Christmas, but we’re back and raring to go with a post-Christmas discussion about whether or not we like giving books as gifts and receiving books as gifts. Which transforms into giving vs receiving at some point. We’re nothing if not flexible.
