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Thoughts From Kent – On Charles Dickens
by Louie D. Oakden (BAPA),
Shortlands, Bromley, Kent, England
The road that Charles Dickens knew so well leads from London to Dover – the Dover Road – and is the great highway famous in literature and history. It is a road Dickens saw much of in his tramps between London and Gad’s Hill. With my father I have seen many places in London associated with Dickens. Then as I left childhood we took the ways into Kent, all close to my home. We have wandered round the byways of Rochester where the figure of David Copperfield lurks by the bridge. On Dover Road passed the Dorrit family & other familiar characters.
By coach we visited the hamlet of Cooling, and the Church on the Marshes where the five lozenge-shaped tombstones sacred to the memory of Pip’s five brothers were seen. The tombstones gave Pip the impression that his brothers were born on their backs with their hands in their trouser pockets. Actually there are thirteen little tombstones, ten in one row & three more behind. All belong to the Comport family, an unlucky family, for all the children died in infancy, including nine more buried in Halston churchyard nearby. Ague caused their death, a prevalent disease in marshes, which has now disappeared.
I remember Kent, as did Alfred Jingle of Pickwick Papers, “Kent, sir, everybody knows Kent, apples, cherries, hops and women.”
I have digressed from my intention of remembering my introduction to Dickens, but it is a memory that is deeply imprinted. It happened in an old Georgian house in Russell Square which was the first home of the National Union of Teachers. (Mr. Pickwick’s attorney, Mr. Perkins, had a home in Russell Square.) Below street level in a large room I met the President of the N.U.U., Sir James Yoxall, an educationalist, writer and a man who loved children.
I was ten years old & a book worm. I was taken down the stairs by my father & as I went into the room I looked with excited wonder at the shelves of books that lined the walls from floor to ceiling. Outside the window I could see ferns growing in the space below ground level. A few snowflakes fell from a murky brown sky. Inside, a huge coal fire burned in an old-fashioned wide barred grate. Sir James smiled and asked, “Have you come to sample the new books?” His merry gray eyes twinkled. I liked his wavey brown hair & brown goatee beard. He had a quiet voice & understanding manner.
My father, the legal adviser, left us to interview a client and I was left to browse among the books. Sir James on each occasion I went into his room, gave me several books. On that day he handed me two abridged editions for children of The Old Curiosity Shop & Oliver Twist, and asked me to let him know how I liked or did not like them. With my two Dickens books went three nature books. It was a wonderful day.
So opened my life into the world of Charles Dickens, a great event. It was Christmas eve, & Christmas Day was very happy. In the morning the four girls from next door came in & shared my crackers & received small gifts from the decorated tree. Dinner followed with the lavishness of other Christmas days. Then came for me the charm of the afternoon. In a small arm chair by the fire I opened the stiff covers of The Old Curiosity Shop. Within an hour I was surrounded with a patchwork of characters brought to life by a master writer, and I was lost in my book until tea time. Dickens had become my friend.
At twelve years old I had read several more of his books and was beginning to realise how he interposed scenes from life, and with an outspoken pen exposed the social conditions of the early nineteenth century. Thru his revelations improvements were made. Dickens became my hero, a man who cared for people. After I read his life I realised he had incidents in his love life that took away some of the gilt. I dismissed my thoughts because he did so much good for mankind.
For my top class prize I chose A Tale of Two Cities, and mother bought me The Pickwick Papers. In the latter book there are fun, pathos and good stories.
Sixty-two years have passed since my introduction to Charles Dickens. The books are on my book shelves, old, well worn, with print that is small & trying to old eyes. There they will remain to be read at intervals with complete enjoyment and satisfaction.
My Friend – Bransby Williams
by Fred E. Bolt
The Chestnuts, Rose-on-Wye, Herfordshire, England
In a copy of The Dickensian dated June 1955 is an account of the birthday dinner, when the guest was Charlie Chaplin, & in his speech he referred to the late Bransby Williams, I quote: “I saw a very handsome gentleman, imitating characters from Charles Dickens. Mr. Bransby Williams is not here tonight, I am sorry, but I understand he is a little under the weather.” (Chaplin was then with a troup of clog dancers at Empire Music Hall, Glasgow.)
When I first saw Bransby, he was performing those sketches from the works of the master on the stage of the old Alhambra Theatre, Loicester Square. Dickensians may remember his wonderful quickchange from character to character – from comedy to tragedy, his shock of black hair, his muscular frame, as sitting before a mirror, he removed grease paint and wig, making up again from evil Fagin to genial Mr. Micawbor, from Pickwick to Carton.
I thus got to know Bransby, and getting permission, went back stage to his dressing room of the Moorish-like theatre, which staged, with other artistes, the Great Como whose magic, with live animals which vanished at command, kept packed audiences gasping – but I digress.
At this time I was running an all-boys dramatic society, picked from a clever lot of youngsters at the school where I was then a form-master. I told him about my boys & asked his permission to use his name as President. He was very interested and agreed at once. We were performing Oliver Twist (I took part as Bill Sikes.)
To my surprise, I received a telegram, handed just before ‘curtain up,’ it was from B.W. “To you and your boys, all wishes for success tonight. Should like to be with you. – Bransby Williams.” I read it before the curtain and the boys gave an excellent performance that night, or so the local press recorded.
We produced A Tale of Two Cities, hired costumes & wigs from Clarkson, & had photos of Fox Film, Ltd. As these were display size, helped our club a lot.
I met Bransby next at Streatham where he was giving David Copperfield. It was a matinee, & a small section of boys & girls started to chat & exchange seats. Bransby halted the action of the play and came quietly to the footlights & spoke to them, telling them that people had come to enjoy the play, so would they allow him to continue by being quiet. Thus he appealed to them & silence reigned. No shouting for silence – only gentle words.
Then I saw him at Bath Theatre Royal, this time in Great Expectations, he playing the old convict. Once more I was invited round back-stage, but how the old trooper was showing his age. He seemed depressed & tired, saying, “You know, Bolt, people don’t seem to appreciate Dickens nowadays. Look at the poor audience this afternoon. I expect it will be so all the week.” I could see tears in his eyes, but he cheered up when his lady secretary said, “Show Mr. Bolt your watch.”
In his hand was a gold timepiece, “There, my boy, look at the inscription. That was presented to me by George V himself. I was giving private turns to the Royal Family at the palace.”
I cannot find whether any biography of B.W. was published, but I recollect some years ago a series of articles, written by himself on his acting life, appeared in one of the Sunday editions, I believe, of Reynolds Newspaper, with photos. My own cherished photo, signed by Bransby Williams, is dated 1952.
I am sure if Dickens has met Bransby, he would have taken his hand in fellowship for the delineations of his brain-children. Perhaps they have, who can tell? – but in another, more peaceful world.
Sinclair Lewis, A Second (But Second-Rate) Dickens
by Harold D. Ellis,
Gen’l Del., Wrightwood, Calif. 92327
Sinclair Lewis, American author and Nobel Prize Winner, often declared that Charles Dickens was his favorite author. The Dickens influence was apparent in his work. In a review of his first novel, Our Mr. Wrenn (1914) the New York Times found it “imbued with a spirit & feeling that derived from Dickens.” Following publication of Main Street, (1920), he became “the American Flaubert, the American Dickens, the American Balzac.”
His earliest acquaintance with Dickens was probably by way of the books in his father’s library. During his high school years he began his own book collection. His early acquisitions were Nicholas Nickleby (Dickens), Kim (Kipling), and Kenilworth (Scott), by the three writers he later named as favorite authors of his youth.
In later years he committed much of Dickens to memory & could recite portions of his books for hours at a time. On one occasion when Stephen Longstreet was driving him to an appointment, Lewis began to recite from Pickwick’s trial. Longstreet stopped the car and parked while Lewis recited for an hour without pause. They never got to their destination.
Lewis often mentioned that he was among the very few writers, like Dickens, Shakespeare, and a few others, who contributed terms & words to the English vocabulary.
In the view of the biographer, Mark Schorer, “for all his remarkable resemblances to his beloved Dickens in biographical & temperamental traits as well as in the nature of his artistic effort, Lewis differed sharply in the first in that he lacked Dickens’ habit of self-searching, and in the second in the consequent depth and density of his novels. But like his master, Dickens, he created a gallery of characters who have independent life outside the novels… characters that live now in the American tradition itself.”
Dear Charles Dickens: (A Letter to the Past)
by Dorothy Cunningham
Flint, Michigan 48503
How many of your novels had I read prior to sitting down with Little Dorrit? None. Therefore, in all probability, you will deem it highly presumptuous of me, a rank amateur, to criticise the product of an author of such magnitude as yourself, but criticise it I do. (The prerogative of any reader, is it not, my dear fellow?)
“Read something by Dickens, then relate how he, as an author, impressed you,” suggested my editor. Accordingly, I journeyed to the public library where I discovered Little Dorrit sitting between Our Mutual Friend & The Old Curiosity Shop. I paroled the young prisoner & conveyed her to my domicile. She occupied two & one half weeks of my highly valuable time.
In order to meet our publication deadline, I had hoped to select a volume that I could peruse, digest, & enjoy within a limited period. Alas, my search proved futile, inasmuch as each of your books appeared to be just as lengthy as another. Hence, the first criticism I have of you, is that your novels are, in short, too long.
Furthermore, it is evident by your choice of words, that you wrote for a more highly educated segment of the world’s populace than that of which I am a member. Reading Little Dorrit was, for me, like attempting to reach your homeland by wading across the Atlantic Ocean. The story was, in a number of places (if you will pardon the expression), over my head.
And now, lest you conclude that I consider Little Dorrit entirely objectionable, allow me to assure you, straightaway, that such is definitely not the case. Stories of love & self sacrifice are always very beautiful, and pathetic too, since those who are the most sacrificing are all too often the least appreciated.
The plot, in my opinion, is a masterpiece of mystery and intrigue. Also, I perceive in you, an excellent understanding of human nature, for had the characters been created by me, they would not have engendered the thoughts and motives with which you supplied them.
Moreover, you are a humorist of the greatest magnitude, for I delighted immeasurably in the pompous snobbery of Dorrit and Son, the problem of Barnacle’s monocle, young Sparkler’s Alpine rigidity, and Mrs. General with her prunes and prisms.
In conclusion, let me state, that as a woman, I greatly appreciate the fact that your narrative is completely void of the lurid language & obscene situations so prominent in much of my century’s literary output. Indeed, sir, I am sure that were you to observe this obnoxious mess of refuse, you would not only turn over in your grave, but spin interminably.
Have you noted that in this epistle I have endeavored to copy your marvelous style? Imitation being the sincerest form of flattery, you should be well pleased.
And now, until we meet in realms celestial, I remain, your twentieth century friend and critic. Fare thee well.
Second-Guessing Dickens
by Willametta Keffer
Shady Acre, Roanoke, Virginia 24014
Dombey and Son was written in 1846. In the year of 1845 there was published in England an eight volume set of books on Lives of the Queens of England by Agnes Strickland. In February of 1969, while reading Dombey and Son, I was looking thru some old books when I discovered Volume Four of that set; this one is concerned with the life of Elizabeth I of England, & since I read everything I can find about her, I began to dip into it and presently found myself reading the two books alternately. I was astounded to find myself reading a part of the plot of Dombey and Son in the Life of Elizabeth.
Unquestionably no one suggestion is responsible for the story; the idea had long been in Dickens’ mind & the originals of many of the characters have been identified. But his long and involved stories required many sources; he was receptive to everything, & his genius turned all to good account. Nevertheless, the parallel I discovered seems almost to be good enough to have served as the catalyst to coalesce the ideas churning thru his mind. The final missing ingredient, perhaps.
Dombey and Son works out a moral. The pride of Dombey is humbled into the dust; he has an accomplished & loving daughter whom he first ignores & then heartily dislikes; he has a son whose birth causes the death of the mother. His love & ambition is centered in the son, but the son’s love and devotion is for his older sister, Florence. The mutual devotion of these two children is beautiful. The son, Paul, was ‘born to die’ and Florence becomes the heroine of the story so that Dombey and Son really becomes Dombey and Daughter.
Elizabeth I was an older and discredited sister of Edward (later Edward IV) who was the son of Henry VIII & Jane Seymour who died at his birth, and the devotion of Edward and Elizabeth matched that of Paul & Florence. In both cases the children are separated for a time, to their mutual distress. And in both cases the boy is to die – Paul at 10, Edward at 15, after which the sister is neglected. In Elizabeth’s case she is practically imprisoned; in Florence’s she becomes a runaway, unsought.
I immediately consulted the man acknowledged as an authority in this country on Dickens – Jim Walsh – especially as he was responsible for my re-reading Dombey and Son. He had loaned me a book (Dickens at Work by John Butt and Kathleen Tillotson, Methuen & Co., Ltd., London 1957) which has beguiled me into re-reading all the Dickens books it discusses. I thought Jim showed a certain reluctance to accept whole-heartedly my ‘discovery’ even tho I did not make the mistake of a young man who sent Jim Walsh a fan letter, informing him brightly, “You will be interested to know that Dickens’ unfinished story, The Mystery of Edwin Drood was completed by a man from this area to whom the ending was dictated thru a medium, & experts say the style of writing proves that Dickens dictated it from beyond the grave.” Naturally, Jim was highly amused since he had even written an expose of this fraud in his Hobbies department, and commented that there was no similarity of style that would fool any but the most uninformed or credulous.
Jim did say, however, that at this period of his life Dickens was a wealthy man and would very likely have been able to afford a first edition of the Lives, and he was interested in English history.
But the parallel – and in places the very wording – of the two books filled me with the pleasure of a discoverer, and if it isn’t a fact that Dickens may have plotted the main thread of Dombey and Son from the lives of Edward and Elizabeth, it certainly should be!
The Showcase
Being a presentation of the talents of members of the United Amateur Press (UAPA/A) edited by Wma. Keffer, Shady Acre, Roanoke Virginia 24014
Special Dickens issue, to be in BAPA bundles also, with articles by: Fred E. Bolt, Dorothy Cunningham, Harold D. Ellis, Willametta Keffer, and Louie D. Oakden.