Cornflower Books

Friday reads: Chewing the Cud

    I've been reading Dick King-Smith's autobiography Chewing the Cud, a book of great charm and good heart. It's a concise account of his life, with particular emphasis on his years as a farmer - excellent in the care of his animals but, by his own admission, having no head for business. His writing career started late but was nonetheless stellar, culminating in his Guardian Children's Fiction Prize for The Sheep-Pig, the book which became the hit film Babe.

    What is evident on every page of his memoir is Dick King-Smith's amiability, good humour, positive outlook, and joy in small things, and a such it was a great pleasure to read. Also, what dog person could fail to be taken with Dick's dachshund Dodo (above)?

Rambling, whimsical and picturesque

    Following on from last week's post on the Walter Scott Prize for Historical Fiction, I've been down to Abbotsford, Scott's Tweedside home, described by him variously as "rambling, whimsical and picturesque".

    This is his study, and interestingly it has no river view to distract him, but instead looks out on the entrance courtyard (above).

     The library,

"the most important and most complete writer's library anywhere in the world".

    Landseer's portrait of Scott's terrier Ginger,

and at the door, a likeness in stone of his beloved deerhound, Maida.

    If you visit Abbotsford, be sure to take an audiotour; there is more than one to choose from, but I found the version narrated by 'Scott himself' very interesting. Also, go early if you can - I was there just after opening and had the house almost to myself, but the coach parties were thronging the adjacent visitor centre by the time I left mid-morning.

Plum and friend

    Mr. C., Wodehouse fan that he is, found this picture of P.G. and dachshund in Blackwell's on Saturday. I was elsewhere in the shop at the time but when he showed it to me I went and bought my own copy. It was on a stand with many other writers' portraits, all grim, dour, miserable, tormented-looking souls to whose pictures I wouldn't give house room; Plum and Jed, however, are welcome on my desk - thank goodness for smiley people who write cheery books!

    Here's a gallery of writers and their dogs by photographer Jill Krementz.

Writers' houses (and a dog)

    If you've visited here for a while you may know that there is an occasional post on the subject of writers' houses. Today's is all thanks to Miranda's lovely blog which pointed me in the direction of artist Amanda White and her Writers' Houses series of collages, many of which are available as cards or inexpensive prints.

    Being immersed in Beatrix Potter just now (and being a lover of rain) I couldn't resist this card of Beatrix at Near Sawrey, 'Passing Showers, Hill Top 1905', but there are many other lovely ones, and a calendar, too.

    Thanks again, Miranda!

    Before we go, here's an addition to the as yet sparsely populated Writers' Dogs archive: Beatrix in 1913 with her favourite collie Kep, who of course appears in The Tale of Jemima Puddle Duck and does sterling work regarding the fox.

Writers' dogs - Will Self and Maglorian

    I believe this very appealing little Jack Russell is called Maglorian, and his 'man' is novelist Will Self. You can see more of Maglorian here and here, 'talking' about the Man Booker shortlisted Umbrella in which, as you'll see if you look at the second clip, he may have had a paw.

    Other writers' dogs may be found here, and Will Self will be appearing (though most likely without Maglorian - boo!) here.

Writers' dogs

   

    We have posts here on writers' portraits and their houses, but a letter in the paper this morning prompted me to start a new category for a bit of fun: writers' dogs (though if you're very good to me I might stretch it to include the odd cat).

    Here's the text of this morning's letter which is from Mr. Graham Chainey of Brighton:

"Only two people could tame Wessex, Thomas Hardy's snappy terrier [see this article]. One was Hardy, the other was T.E. Lawrence, or Private Shaw as he was in 1923 when he first visited Max Gate, Hardy's home. According to Nellie Titterington, the parlour maid: "Wessex was very fond of Lawrence, who could pat him and speak to him and had a wonderful power over him." While everyone else trying to retrieve something dropped on the floor would be bitten, Lawrence would not.

When the dog died, Lawrence told Mrs. Hardy: 'Few dogs appeal to me, but Wessex gained my very definite respect.'"

    There's a great deal more about Wessex in this post and this one (on famous Fox Terriers) from which you'll see that he was quite a character, though no dog of mine would be allowed to get away with some of the behaviour which Hardy evidently tolerated, but as Claire Tomalin says in her biography Thomas Hardy: The Time-torn Man, Wessex was one source of the tranquillity the writer found in later life, so perhaps we'll allow a little indulgence.

 

    Edited to add:

    Mr. C. has just emailed me to say that Emily Bronte's mastiff, Keeper (that's her own drawing of him), joined her funeral cortege then slept outside her empty bedroom for the rest of his life. That's so sad!

    Thanks to this post I discover there is a book on the subject: Shaggy Muses: The Dogs Who Inspired Virginia Woolf, Emily Dickinson, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Edith Wharton, and Emily Bronte.