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Betty in the Wild: The Mid-western US

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I'm off on a big road trip around the USA, staying with a few Bettys as I go.  Here are a few snaps from part one of the trip.

I started out traveling from my home in Washington, DC, to Betty JoDee's home in Pennsylvania.  She has a lovely, sunny corner in her manse where she can sit quietly and do her embroidery while the children play around her feet.  This little workbasket holds her threads and yarns.  (Probably -- it's not like I'm going to look in it.)












Next up:  Detroit.  I loved Detroit, and plan to go back to get a look inside the art institute there, which is gorgeous on the outside.  That's in the Midtown neighborhood; Downtown has Tigers Stadium (and Lions, but I didn't feel like walking extra blocks in the wrong direction) and an Alpine-style pub/restaurant that felt Austrian enough to make Magic in Vienna a reasonable choice.

Ironically, MinV is one of the few with no pets.
Here are a few tigers for Cordelia & Charles.

The Millenium Bell - I love public sculpture.
More Salzburg then Vienna, really





















Then I was off to Chicago, where Sarah and Hugo enjoyed the view from my friend's high-rise apartment (most Betty heroines are, I know, at least a bit squeamish about heights, but not Sarah Ann if I recall aright.)


Serendipity brought me to the Lyndon Bridge in rural Illinois, over the Rock River.  It was threatened with demolition, so people from near and far chipped in to preserve it.  Donors got metal plaques affixed to the bridge's wooden planks.  Most just said the donor's or honoree's name, but some went farther.

The bridge now connects a swathe of cornfields to a smallish residential cluster, edged by cornfields.
Jenny & Eduard climbed at least one tower to be together.


Elk Horn, Iowa, is home to the not-exactly-world-famous Danish windmill. Beatrice and Oliver visit Copenhagen!

Windmill
Scale model of windmill




















Plus they have an electric-car charging station!



Iowa City is mostly just home to the University of Iowa, and surrounded by... cornfields!  I went to the semi-Amish village of Kalona for the fall festival in a very light drizzle.  The talent show featured many teen and pre-teen girls in spangled leotards -- would Betty approve?  The Amish were not wearing leotards.

Not a fraternity house; a sorority house.  Never While the Grass Grows is perched on a not-quite-empty soda bottle I had to travel to find; Pi Alpha Phi takes its landscaping seriously.
A housing co-op.  I did not live in anything like this in my student days.
Home to the world-famous Iowa Writers' Workshop.
For sale at Kalona Visitors' Center, and really beautifully made.
My route did not take me through Nebraska, but tried to keep me on the Iowa/Nebraska border.  I wasn't having any of that nonsense, so sidetracked a bit to the mighty Missouri River and across it.  Sarah Ann danced on the bridge at Avignon, so I tried a few steps on this bridge -- with all the self-consciousness of a middle-aged woman jigging for trans-continental truckers in the middle of not much of anywhere.




The mighty Mo and I are buddies of long standing.
















Betty van den Betsy goes to Washington...

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...Washington State, that is.

I was fortunate to be one stop on Betty van den Betsy's Grand Tour.  It was a short visit, as she had to leave my house at 4am in order to get to the airport.
That's it, I'm firing my photographer!
Betty van den Betsy brought a friend...Miss Pettigrew...
...and Cheeses of the West!
Dr. van der Stevejinck and I have been working on a project since late August.  We purchased an old (let's call it 'vintage', shall we?) caravan and have been tearing out some water damaged boards, ripping out some truly nasty pink carpeting, rewiring, etc, etc, etc...

It will probably take at least a couple more months of work before it's all done on the inside, but Dr. van der Stevejinck was determined to take it out somewhere this fall, before the weather got too cold and wet.

...so I made a quilt...

...and off we went.  But not too far.  We drove about 35 miles north of our home and pulled into a conveniently located KOA .
Why am I bringing all this up?  The name I chose for our sweet little 1971 Aristocrat is
Ogre's Relish!  I don't even care that I have to explain it to practically everyone...it just makes me smile.  I plan on printing up a short excerpt from Cassandra By Chance - the part about why her niece and nephew call a place Ogre's Relish - and hang it on the wall.
anyway...
the first after dinner course we had in Ogre's Relish was a cheese board (see picture of cheeses above)...courtesy of Betty van den Betsy.
The End.

Once For All Time--Reprise

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Dear Bettys,
I have some not altogether good news.  The Founding Bettys have been feeling for a long time that the time has come to put a period on the end of The Uncrushable Jersey Dress.  
The blog was started a year into my parenting of my fourth pledge, The Demon Baby of Bethany, and came along at just the right time.  As I weathered those first years of ear infections, croup, angry teething and general ill humor (he's a delight now, Bettys--mostly), the structure of having to read a book each week, write about it intelligently, produce doctored pictures, churn out other content and so on, was a balm to my frayed nerves and an opportunity to stretch myself creatively.
Needing to hop on the phone so often with my sister, Betty Debbie, was another dividend.  As we worked on this all-consuming project together (please allow me this amount of sentiment) our hearts were knit together.  It is no accident that my fifth pledge and her share middle names. 
And The Great Betty?  How I have come to love her!  What an amazing woman with such an interesting life story.  What nerve to reinvent oneself as an author so late in the game.
Our supporters have been numerous.  First it was just our husbands who were enormously encouraging about something that lesser men might have seen as just a time suck.  Valiantly toting paperbacks on vacations, propping them up for our Betty in the Wild photos...Being slightly ignored if it was Wednesday night and we had a huge deadline to meet the next morning...Having passages read aloud to them...They were the best of men through it.  
And you readers.  Sister Bettys.  We did not expect your awesomeness.  Betty Magdalen will always hold a special place in the history of TUJD as our very first and most enthusiastic supporter.  Spats over heroes and heroines and turbans and whole novels (I'm looking at you, Betty JoDee.) have been enormously fun.  Betty Debbie and I feel as though we've found real friends here.  That you meet in small groups all over the country for tea and Betty is lashings of whipped cream. 
So, what does this all mean?
It means that we will finish our reprise posts (fewer than 10 left) and then we'll write a final post and then we won't produce new posts. It means that Betty Debbie will still check her blog email and the comments sections will still be open and lively (we hope).  It also means that when I want to talk Betty, I'll be taking that to the The Uncrushable Jersey Dress Facebook page.  (You are more than welcome to join me there.)
We love you, Bettys!
Love and lardy cakes,
Betty Keira (who is now donning her kevlar jacket and jumping behind barricades)

The title of this week's pick is less than memorable. A lot less. There are a few things about Once For All Time that stand out. A very few. The most memorable bit for me is when the hero goes to France to pick up a couple of dead relatives for the heroine. Scenes like those tend to stand out.

Clotilde Collins + Bruce Johnson = an engaged couple who are not destined to make it. Why? Let me count the ways...
  1. Clotilda is a long tall glass of water...one inch taller than Bruce.  Not. Good.
  2. Bruce is ambitious...read 'money hungry'. Clotilde's dad has promised to help Bruce buy himself a practice when the two get married.
  3. Bruce is...well...not cool.
  4. Did I mention that Clotilde is way too hot for a guy named Bruce?
It isn't that Clotilde is too tall,
it's that Bruce is too short. 
There's one more reason for those crazy kids not to make it,  unfortunately:
  1. Clotilde is either blind as a bat OR
  2. Dr. James-I'm Half Dutch-Thackery is shy to the point of being tongue-tied?
Yes,  there's a hot R1/2DD in the offing. Clotilde and Dr. Thackery have been working together for three years.  THREE YEARS.
Twice a week x 52 x three years = 312 cups of coffee (and biscuits) = 0. All those ward rounds and cups of coffee have led to, well, nothing.

Meanwhile, Clotilde's parents have been on vacation in Switzerland...unfortunately, on the way home, they both come down with a serious case of Death By Car Crash in France.

Dr. T has plenty of time for jibba jabba...
with Clotilde.

Poor Clotilde...it's a good thing she has Bruce for help and comfort...oh wait, no she doesn't. He can't be bothered...he's too busy. Dr. T comes through like a champ and even goes to France to pick up the bodies. He's here, there and everywhere. Helping with the arrangements, driving Clotilde back and forth, taking her out for meals, going to the funeral. When he's not there, he's sending messages via Bruce to Clotilde. Bruce, being Bruce, isn't bothering at all with visiting or relaying messages - after all, there's no bottom line, financially speaking.  Especially after the terms of the will are disclosed. In the grand tradition of Neels Estate Planning, Mummy and Daddy Collins have died insolvent.

Bruce dumps Clotilde.  Like we didn't see that one coming. Dr. T is there to pick up the pieces...again, saw......it......coming......

What follows is a lovely look at James wooing the clueless Clotilde.  She needs broad shoulders to cry on? Check. She needs someone to secretly buy the family home? Check. She needs a night out dining and dancing? Check. He's there through thick and thin.

James introduces Clotilde to his younger sister Katrina.  Katrina is a handy sibling to have around - not only does she go shopping with Clotilde (instant bonding over retail therapy), she can be relied upon to invite Clotilde to visit Holland for a few days before Christmas - James can bring her over when he comes.  A trip for two to Holland? It's time for a little kissing!

Sadly, Dr. Mary Evans would never
be a real contender for the title of
Miss Wales.
Meet the Grandparents! Grandma likes Clotilde, but she unintentionally murks up the waters a bit by telling Clotilde that I'm glad James has decided to marry at last. Which is a surprise...but doesn't fill Clotilde with dismay. A day or two later Katrina mentions that James has fallen for someone at St. Alma's.  Again, no dismay...until Clotilde starts wondering if it might be Dr. Mary Evans, the little Welsh tartlet...she of the padded bra and permed hair. What a tearing shame! Ah, our girl is concerned for James.  That's a start.

Back at St. Alma's, Dr. Evans is quick to imply a deeper  relationship with James than is strictly justified. If there happens to be a birthday party for one of the other doctors, Dr. Evans implies that she and James will be meeting for drinks together.  Clotilde is not alone in disliking Dr. Evans.  One of the other nurses goes so far as to call her a very unflattering name.

Clotilde has really been enjoying having James around - so when he's gone for a week or two her spirits lag - but she really doesn't feel she can ask around to find out where he is or how long he'll be gone (hospital gossip being what it is and all)...When James walks into her office unannounced it's suddenly rainbows and unicorns and fluffy bunnies. Dang, she's in love. And now Clotilde is wondering who the mystery woman is. The mystery woman that James plans to marry. Is it Dr. Mary Evans??? You can bet next month's mortgage payment Clotilde is going to keep an eye on the little harpy.

All this new found love and angstiness does give Clotilde the push she needs to make a change. Time to put in her notice at work.  She just knows that she won't be able to work around James and...[insert name - possibly Mary Evans]...
A sweet good-bye...or is that hello?

Christmas...James has no gift for her this year - because he can't give her her what he'd like.  What would he like to give her? Hmm. I'm guessing an engagement ring, the deed to her old home and a great big sloppy one...but the time is not quite right. Well, it's not right for the first two, but he does manage to give a pretty good 'farewell salute' to Sister Clotilde Collins. 

Soon after, James  is ready to clear some things up - and perhaps propose?
  1. Mary Evans? There is not now, nor has there ever been anything between the two of us.
  2. Your house? I hold the deed.
  3. My darling.....
RING! Yes, it's a hospital emergency - which serves no discernible purpose besides bumping up the page count. A wedding party with food poisoning. Just go with it.

Proposal Part II:
  1. (Stroking her wrist with his thumb) Now where were we?
  2. Oh yes, you finally fell in love with me...I was afraid I was to be cast in the role of  'good friend' forever.
  3. I've loved you for a long time - since before you and Bruce became an item.
  4. Kiss....
RING! Interrupted again!

Proposal Part III:
  1. Drive down to his folks home in Dorset.
  2. Find a quiet place in the garden with NO PHONE.
  3. Will you marry me? We'll live in London and go down to your old family home on the weekends with the kids and....
  4. Whoa, cowboy! I haven't said yes and we're already talking kids?
  5. Marry me?
  6. There's nothing in the world I'd rather do.
  7. We need to make up for those three wasted years....
The end.

(slightly gratuitous Richard Armitage,
as if there could be such a thing...)

Rating: I love how James is able to make Clotilde smile, giggle and laugh. I like the way we get to watch the natural progression of Clotilde's regard for James...respect, friendship, liking THEN love. My biggest gripe is that I'm not fond of the "I fell in love with you before you started dating your fiancee, but didn't say anything until after he dumped you three years later" plot device.  I wouldn't mind it so much if the Great Betty ever let him give us his reason for waiting. This is not the only book in the canon with this plot device (see Heidelberg Wedding or Fate is Remarkable).  In the end, Once For All Time is pretty solid. I appreciated the break from the long string of MOC's that I've been reading. While never quite reaching it's full potential, I found it a nice little comfort read. What to rate it? I'll give it a boeuf en croute (which seems to be my fall-back rating) - partly on the budding romance, and partly on the strength of Mary Evan's padded bra.
Food: chicken in a basket, vol-au-vent financiere, tournedos, Saute Massena, sherry trifle, smoked eel, roast pheasant with vegetables, with a gigantic and very ornate ice cream for dessert. Globe artichokes in a piquant sauce, lobster Newburg, mushrooms with chopped truffles, Waldorf salad, Ananas Fiona, angels on horseback.
Fashion: Long silver-grey jersey with sequins on the jacket, wool dress and fur jacket, brown and coral patterned silk jersey. Dress for the hospital ball: pale grey silk dusted with silvery stars. Mary Evans wears a green dress with a lot of sequins, far too skimpy and low necked.

Betty in the Wild, Wild West

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South Dakota cornfield, with Beatrice and Oliver.
The journey continues -- when last we saw our heroine, she was ball-changing (that's a dance step, I clarify for what Betty Ross calls the "dirty Betties" amongst you) along a bridge spanning the Mighty Missouri River to connect one small town in Iowa to another small town in Nebraska.  Next up:  South Dakota, which I count as part of the West as I ran over a tumbleweed in that great state.  South Dakota is cornfields and prairies and wind that apparently used to drive settlers insane in the 19th century.  And if I remember correctly, it's where Laura Ingalls Wilder spent the bleakest years of her childhood.  It is also home to Mt. Rushmore, but Betty Debbie did BitW there already, so I stuck with the flatlands for my photo.


The Iowa-Nebraska line
As a reminder, this is what the Mighty Mo looks like as it carves through the Middle-west.  Sarah Ann is my go-to heroine for bridges, as she danced on the one in Avignon.  For reasons unexplored by any competent psychiatrist and completely hidden from my conscious brain, I am a huge fan of the Missouri River.  So, when I saw a sign by the interstate highway, somewhere in Montana, advising me of the proximity of the Missouri Headwaters State Park, you betcha I took that exit.

The Missouri River forms near Three Forks, Montana, where the Madison, Jefferson and Gallatin Rivers meet to create their massive progeny.  Wikipedia has an interesting entry about the headwaters, describing Lewis and Clark's naming logic (this part is accurate, or at least consistent with signs at the park) and claiming controversy over whether the Jefferson ought really to be called the Missouri, thus ensuring the Mighty Mo's claim to longest-river-in-North-America-hood; under the current nomenclature, the Mo and the Miss contest that title.

Headwaters!  Source of riverine wonderfulness!
Beatrice and Oliver (on sign) prefer small, quiet hotels.  The Gallatin for them!
The park also contains the few remnants of the once-thriving town of Gallatin City II.  (They moved Gallatin City I a few miles after it became obvious that steamboat anchorage was better downriver a bit.)  People apparently once complained about the noise coming from the still standing, but barely, Gallatin Hotel.  It seems an appropriate choice for Hilltop Tryst, in which our hero and heroine are put off by the palatial-ness of the Excelsior Hotel Ernst in Cologne.

Of course, the UK flag is also red, white and blue.  Humph.
Okay, true confessions:  as I explore this magnificent country (I have not been listening to the news much at all, so the country seems more magnificent to me than it might to those of you more tuned in to current events at this point.  Or is that a shoal?), I find myself occasionally reflecting on The Great Betty's seeming aversion to, well, America and Americans.  Many English of her generation shared the prejudice, and hers seems to moderate with time, but still.  Part of me thinks, "Stuff it, Betty!" every time I hold up a book in front of a glorious landscape or magnificent monument or darling little house.  So when I saw the red, white and blue cars lined up in the park parking lot, I couldn't resist a little patriotic snapshot.

My hotel - not Romantik, just groovy.
I left Montana and almost immediately turned into Spokane, Washington to spend a night.  Spokane is a revelation, as Betty Beth, who lived there for several years (lucky duck) will tell you.  I didn't know anything about it and spent so long wandering 'round it that I got myself stuck in Seattle traffic at evening rush hour and held up dinner at the van der Stevejinks's.  (Did Dr. v.d.S. get anything to eat that night?!?)

So I know some people complain about the hip-ness factor in the PacNW, Austin and maybe some other places.  I thought of my Spokane hotel as more groovy than hip, but then I'm neither so I may have that wrong.  It has a theme, like all 'boutique' hotels, and that theme is the arts, such as romance-novel-writing (although they pay a lot more attention to music and painting).

It has amusing touches like a polyurethane and chrome pod chair, cushioned in silver lame (like a Veronica pantsuit!) and suspended from a chain outside the lobby, so the chair swings and swivels (though not too much, as it's anchored by another chain to the ground).  Very cool.  Plus they gave me a gift certificate for a free second drink at their artisanal cocktail bar.  I offered my second drink to the desk clerk, as I'm not a big fan of two cocktails on a Tuesday evening even if I'm not driving, but the desk clerk doesn't drink much alcohol at all.  No petrol-flavored drinks at the Sapphire Lounge, by the way.

On Wednesday morning I walked around this small city, and became besotted with it.  No falling in love -- I'm with Detroit for now -- but definite infatuation.

Who rode a funicular on Madeira?

C'mon, Betty.  It's a great country.














The Palm Court Hotel seems a place Cordelia & Charles might stay.
















Spokane River rapids -- they helped build a nation.



After I finally tore myself away, I started west toward Seattle.  An hour or two into the drive, I was thinking that Washington state has the most boring landscape I'd encountered in 3,000 miles.  Literally around the next bend -- well, shut my mouth right up.  The Columbia River was suddenly, dramatically before me, its steep cliffs plunging into the deep ravine, and a beautiful 'scenic overlook' all laid out and ready for picnicking and picture taking.  Washington state is sublime.

Not boring!  Got it!  Thanks for clarifying!

Upcoming Reprise

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Monday, October 14th
An Independent Woman
Three sisters, manor house fire,
heroine's foray into entrepreneur-ship.

An Independent Woman - Reprise

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Let's talk greeting cards.

Julia Gracey, besides being an expert needlewoman, writes verses for greeting cards.  An Independent Woman is actually the second book in the canon that has a character in the greeting card industry.  Mrs. Pagett (Marrying Mary) designs whimsical Christmas cards.

I am actually one of those old-fashioned people who send greeting cards.  Not necessarily as often as I think I should, but I am generally pretty good about sending birthday cards and Christmas cards.  I have been known to buy Christmas cards up to a year in advance (well, I did...once...), but then, I have fairly simple and somewhat specific requirements for Christmas cards.  Here they are:
  1. Absolutely must be beautiful. 
  2. Well crafted (let's not talk about the year that I made and sent Christmas cards - only to find out that the special glue I used ...um...failed.  The cards reached their recipients in pieces.  I was mortified and vowed never to make Christmas cards again!)
  3. Prefer (but do not require) a good religious scene,(Madonna and child, wise men, shepherds...)- but only if the first two requirements are met. I can also be swayed by a cards with a vintage vibe. 
  
It occurs to me as I'm writing this, that I really should start keeping an eye out for this years Christmas card.

Birthday cards are a whole 'nother kettle of  fish.  They require a different set of parameters:
  1. Must be humorous, but not crude in any way.  This is hard - and each year it seems to get more difficult.  When I do find funny/not crude cards, I will often buy two - one for me to send, and one for Doctor van der Stevejinck to send to someone in his family.
  2. Really, #1 covers it.
How hard can it be to write funny/not crude cards? I mean really...
The sun is shining, the morning crisp,Fall is in the air.To the dentist I am heading today,....er...something, something, rare.
Sadly, it looks like I don't have what it takes to write humorous cards.  But since I really do have a dentist appointment this morning, I'd better get going.

-Betty Debbie
Jack Kennedy famously said, of a diplomatic trip to France, 'I am the man who accompanied Jacqueline Kennedy to Paris, and I enjoyed it.'  Time magazine quipped, of the visit, 'There was also that fellow who came with her.'  Dear me.  An Independent Woman was doomed in my estimation to be known as the politician I had to glad-hand in order to get to vivacious elan of The Little Dragon.  At least that's how I remembered it...

(* This clever metaphor breaks down, I understand, over the fact that JFK was not just 'Good-looking for a politician.' (Talk about the soft bigotry of low expectations...) but very nearly actually handsome.)

...attach the bottom to the top.  Iron.
Julia Gracey is on the floor with a curtain trying to magic a lovely/passable evening gown out of it using no money, no time and probably wrestling with one of those gorgeous vintage Vogue patterns that assumes she took four years of Home Ec. in high school. Happily, Julia is a top-notch needlewoman and she's not going to let a little thing like shoddy materials get her down.
Her sisters, Ruth and Monica, are beautiful and a little helpless and often leave all the crushing, spinster-ensuring details in life to Julia (moving them to their home in London, hooking up the phone, paying the bills, showing a little cleavage to the butcher so they can get cheap cuts...etc.) while they busy themselves with little jobs and little romances. Monica has George the Vicar and Ruth has Thomas the Doctor and Julia...Julia has the booby prize.  What else would you call Oscar the Junior Executive at a greeting cards firm?
A knock on the door won't interrupt her work--and work it is.  She'll have a job turning this tatty fabric into anything worth wearing and all the cat hair will have to be...
'It looks like a curtain.'
That's Professor Gerard van der Maes, 36, come to drop off a package for Ruth from her Thomas.  He's handsome and larger than life and there she is, grubbing on the floor with a paper pattern.  
And his was not a passing comment.  (Well, it was to him.) It somehow manages to be a mandate on her life, her circumstances, her miserable excuse for an 'admirer'...She hates him.
Editorial NoteI hated her instant antipathy the first time I read it but this time I tried to understand her feelings a bit more.  When I was in high school my backpack broke.  Instead of asking for a replacement (our family motto might have been: Use it up, wear it out, make it do or do without.), I employed a strappy airplane carry-on bag to do the job.  I lacked the elan to carry off really quirky fashions but it sort-of looked right. Things had been going along nicely for a week when a boy in my German class said, 'Is that an airplane carry-on bag?'  That's all he said.  No teasing, no nothing.  I was mortified--In a way only a self-involved teenager can be when they think everyone spends all their free-time thinking about the social mis-steps of their peers.  I loathed that boy.  Such are the feelings of Miss Julia Gracey.
A short time later finds our heroine stepping out of a taxi in front of a hotel in the Drapery.  She looks well--well enough for Oscar and a room full of greeting card sellers (her co-workers.  Her job is writing verses for the inside of the cards along the lines of, 'Gee, I think that you're so sweet and I'm sorry we couldn't meet.  Hope you had a lovely day.  That is all I want to say...'  (Top of my head!)).  It's just too bad that the Professor with his Panzer division of What-Not-To-Wear camera people are waiting in the lobby.  'I can't say I agree with Oscar about your dress, but then I know it's a curtain, don't I?'  He was sorry the moment he had said it; for a moment she had the look of a small girl who had been slapped for no reason at all...   
He wants his own face slapped is what he wants.  Can I even begin to list the depth of caddishness in that remark?  Not properly.  Sufficient to say that the dinner he takes her out to afterward doesn't come anywhere near to making up for that.  The night isn't a total loss for her.  She's dumped Oscar (which bodes ill for her continuing employment but well for her future happiness) and ate really well.  
Attempting to write 'humorous' 
cards would be difficult but writing 
LOLCats cards would be impossible...
Sure enough, a short time later she receives her pink slip in the mail along with a short note explaining that the firm will be following market trends into the upsetting land of Humorous Cards.
Her sisters both get married.  (I know I'm skipping great swaths but it isn't as interesting as it could be.)  So, Julia has to:
  • Arrange and execute two weddings. (A task that has her swimming in sausage rolls)
  • Find lodgers who don't smoke, drink beer, drive by Brighton or give her the heebie-jeebies. (Very difficult post-1985.)
  • Nurse her sister back to health from the brink of...a low-grade fever.
Ruth has the flu which is always hard but...um...she has no responsibilities.  Her husband can look after himself quite well.  There are no little nippers playing King of the Hill on her abdomen.  There is no angry boss demanding TPS reports...(Do I sound irritated?  I once had a vicious 24 hour flu that attacked on the very week my youngest son discovered stairs.  Mijnheer had a code dump that night.  The only way to prevent death was to park the ottoman in the doorway, flop down on it (while my eyeballs blazed way in their sockets), let myself act as a human jungle gym and pray for death...Any one of you could probably tell a similar tale.) Julia goes along as a companion, making fast friends with Gerard's old Nanny (who has the gift of Second Sight where her former charge's matrimonial prospects are concerned), and then returns to London and sells her house.  What?  Why would she do a thing like that?  It's her only asset!  See, Ruth wants a down payment and Monica wants central heating...I know.  They don't make her do it.  They don't even ask her to do it.  Still, they do plenty of talking behind her back (listeners never hear any good of themselves) and the whole thing bugs me.
The Professor, returned to England just in time to do a spot of rescuing, asks her to go to Holland to watch the cottage (which already has a gardener and a daily woman) while Nanny is in the hospital.  So off Julia goes to Holland!--to put fresh flowers around the cottage and visit the hospital (for this she draws a salary!).  She meets Gerard again who, despite being awfully in love with her, still can't manage to be pleasant and courteous. Here, I have fashioned a dramatization of that event.
Mothers and wives first.  Shapely spinsters to follow...
She returns to London determined to forget him.  He returns to London and chains himself to his desk in a futile effort to keep his hands off her.  (This is when, for me, it finally gets good.)  He allows himself, once he has achieved an air of casual disinterest (three weeks of deep meditation finally pay off!), to go to her and ask for a night out.  For his pains (all the climbing down off the RDD pedestal the world has mounted him onto and the carefully studied nonchalance), she hands him his hat.  No I can't go.  I'm leaving London. No, you may not have my forwarding address...  She's all but burned down her house and brushed away her tracks.  But Gerard (In a part I love.) pours over back-issues of Lady to figure out where she is.
Speaking of burned down houses...The manor house that she works at catches fire.  Gerard flies up (he's a pilot! Discuss.) and I was hoping he'd manage to pull her from the burning roof but alas, some hours later he muscles his way past an officer with the 'My future wife was here' routine and bundles her out of the area and back to Ruth's.
Whatever else was going wrong, knitting would make it right.
From here she decides to rise from the ashes as a small business owner.  (They get a lovely date or two as well.) And I really like this part; Julia scouts locations, consults a solicitor, dips into her capital (from selling the house), rents a shop, orders from wholesalers, and organizes fittings and furnishings in no time at all.  That she is desperately lonely she does not consider.  That she doesn't want to own a woolen/embroidery shop doesn't come into it. She's going to do it...and for a minute (until you realize that this is a Betty Neels book and there's not a prayer she's going to make it) you really believe she will.
The takings are slim and though Julia's organizational talents are savant-level, her marketing talents are nil.
Gerard, anxious for her to succeed but antsy to make her his, lets her have three weeks (he has a biological clock set at three weeks, okay?) and then appears out of nowhere amongst her woolens. He takes her off to Stourhead (another Official Betty Neels Pilgrimage Site?  I think so.) and they enjoy a magical day of near-perfect amity. 
The knock on her door in the wee hours of the next morning herald a new dawn of Interdependence for them both.  He's come to ask her to marry him at last.
The End  

Rating:  I remember really not liking this one--for reasons I could not wholly articulate, mostly revolving around the fact that Julia, the alleged Independent Woman, seemed like nothing of the sort.  But after this much closer reading (which is not how an ordinary read, getting the overall vibe and missing the details, would go) I am prepared to admit that the book is nowhere near as objectionable as that.  It's a nicely written if sad book; Julia spends her time wishing that she and Gerard could just get along with one another (but not really striking the right kind of sparks off of each other), Gerard spends his time saying exactly what pops into his mind (which you should never do until after the wedding...) and there are some tantalizing dead-ends (he had a heartbreak a year ago which provides the entire foundation for his grumpiness toward women (which we never hear about!) and a woman with a first and last name is supposed to be chasing him at the hospital (but we never see hide nor hair of her).  Also, the actual number of days the two spend together are very small.
But Julia is quite plucky--she organizes her sisters into wedded bliss, finds gainful employment (who would have expected a fire?), and marshals her resources into a failing start-up. With a few more years of grinding perseverance (which she is entirely capable of) she could be the next Steve Jobs of her own Woolen/Embroidery empire! What a shame Betty Neels had her already marked down for occupational ruin! 
I think I'm also a bit bummed about the failure of the set-up to materialize.  Three sisters of marriageable age living together--it sounds like a great fairy tale--but the two sisters get bundled away with all the romance of a load of laundry.
Still, The Great Betty was, like, ninety when she wrote it and there are some wonderful moments, particularly post-DR from the hero's perspective.  (Is that as mind-blowing to you as it is to me?) 
So, this is somewhere between a Madiera Cake and a Treacle Tart for me (way, way up from the Tinned Soup of my memory).  In other words...the book is passably handsome...for a politician.

Food: Cheese souffle, sole Meuniere, cornflakes (so she can become wand-like), steak pie, sausage rolls for the first wedding, Kaas broodje, buttered bread and tea, new potatoes, lamb chops, roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, game soup, roasted parsnips, lemon tart, potato crisps in a hot bath and a stone, cold egg because her temporary landlady is a shabby-genteel Machiavelli.

Fashion: She fashions a curtain-dress, wears a magnificent shawl, and a pleated skirt with a tweed jacket. A pair of elderly trousers and a turtleneck sweater make him fit the Dutch cottage he owns.  She wears a denim skirt and buys (just in case!) a high-necked and long-sleeved amber silk chiffon dress over a silk slip.

Upcoming Reprise

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Monday, October 21st.
A Summer Idyll
Petrol-flavored drinks, Leather-clad biker, unwanted houseguests.

Betty in the Wild: Alaskan Interior

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Fairbanks, Alaska, seems to like to bill itself as the 'Farthest North'... whatever. Farthest North Bridge Club, Farthest North Girls Scouts Council and Harley Davidson Farthest North Outpost are three quick examples from the interwebnet.  It gets way chilly in winter, as low as 60 degrees below zero on the Fahrenheit scale, which I believe equates to about -50 degrees Celsius.  Gracious, that's brisk!  However, as one bartender who'd only been living there since June, and hence had experienced nothing colder than around the freezing mark told me, "It's a dry cold."

If you ask me, Fairbanks is worth a visit.  It has a hot springs resort, a strong possibility of a Northern Lights sighting and some great places to hike.  It also has:

A corporate lobby with a display of native artwork, including the bag made from a moose's bladder on the left in this photo;










A group of statuary celebrating the contributions of American and Russian pilots, male and female, to the Allied victory in World War II, including plaques describing elements of those contributions in some detail (one thinks of The Great Betty's contributions at moments like this); and






A very nice coffee shop where you can get afternoon tea, consisting of a large mug of tea made from a bag and a slice of excellent pumpkin bread.



Plus, if you head outside of the town's main area, you might see a moose.  If you are worried about missing your flight, you might not take a photo with your distance lens, nor add a Betty book to the scenery.  Ah, well.



A Summer Idyll--Reprise

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Good Evening, Bettys!
 Aunt Kate of A Summer Idyll is sure a piece of work.  She's a baddie of epic proportions.  I mean, sure, she donates all of her estate to charity but to specifically mention a young relation (you know, the one who showed up for the cool hand on the fevered brow routine in your hour of dire necessity) only to cut her out of it is in poor taste.  And The Great Betty did NOT do poor taste (unless it was to point out that some of our heroines had a crummy wine palate).
Anyway, as long as we're on the subject of unexpected wills, what would you imagine any of our heroines would do with a sudden windfall? (And don't say buy a wild horse and live depressingly alone in the country all winter.  That's taken.)
 Love and lardy cakes,
Betty Keira

For some reason, the plot to A Summer Idyll is very easy for me to remember:
  • Phoebe Creswell (22) is a nurse in training.
  • She's been on a few dates with Houseman Basil even though he is flashy and she is plain.
  • Basil takes her to a party wherein she drinks something that tastes like 'sugared petrol'
  • Basil ditches her so that he can go clubbing
  • Phoebe runs into him at the hospital a couple of days later, he insults her, she slaps him silly. It's official, I like her.
She considers dropping out of her training and starting again at a different hospital, but before she has time to put that plan into effect, Aunt Kate calls Phoebe's boss and demands that Phoebe come and take care of her in her time of need.

Dr. Pritchard channels his
inner stalker.
Phoebe is under no illusion as to how fun this will be (not at all), but it solves her problem rather neatly, so she heads off to Woolpit (yes, Woolpit) the very next day. Aunt Kate makes Attila the Hun seem warm and cuddly.  She has a 'young whipper-snapper' of a doctor.  Dr. George Pritchard (32) may be hot and Phoebe may be plain, but that doesn't stop him from falling for her. She likes him quite a bit, but that's all - as far as she's concerned, he's way out of her league. He, on the other hand, has taken to watching for glimpses of her out his surgery window.

And then Aunt Kate dies.

Even though Phoebe was her only living relative, even though Phoebe was the only one to come and nurse her in her final days...Aunt Kate leaves all of her worldly possessions to charity.  All.  She does mention Phoebe in the will...just to reiterate the fact that Phoebe is to get nothing. No. Thing.

For some reason Basil the Houseman shows up on the doorstep the day after the funeral. Phoebe shuts the door in his not-as-handsome-as-Dr.-Pritchard face after informing him that Aunt Kate didn't leave her any inheritance at all, including the house. Dr. Pritchard watches from his surgery window. Gears are turning in his head - if Phoebe isn't to live in the house, where will she go?

With a few weeks grace period (before the house is sold), Phoebe arms herself with some nursing magazines and starts writing application letters. Before the spit is dry on the stamps, Dr. Pritchard proposes! Editor's Note:I'm going to give him a pass on this MOC. He's in love and doesn't want her tangled up in nurses training somewhere else, possibly far away.

"Thank you George, you're a saint!"
He divulges the fact that he's 32 years old, half-Dutch and his first name is George. Hmm. George.  That brings to mind another guy named George. St. George. You know, that guy who killed a dragon. George Pritchard is not called upon to kill a dragon, but he does wallop a leather-clad biker who is stealing the silver and threatening Phoebe with a flick-knife. Yes, a flick knife. Best fight scene in a Neels, ever. Phoebe even gets a kiss.

Did I mention the implied future conjugal relations? George suggests that they take it slow and get to know each other for a month or so...
Phoebe: After we're married?
George:Yes. I'm quite sure we'll be a happily married couple pretty dang soon.
Happily married couple? George is sure thinking ahead. He proves his foresight again when they go shopping in Cambridge. He practically shoves her into an expensive lingerie shop and tells her to buy three of everything. He's got a twinkle in his eye (probably their firstborn...if you get my drift).

They are married by special licence.
Is there such a thing as too much pink?
Not in Neeldom.

Maybe it was the way he encouraged her to buy unmentionables...maybe it was his heroic gesture in regard to the violent biker...whatever the reason, Phoebe starts imagining a future in which they share the big bedroom at the back of the house.

Two days after the wedding, things start going south.  I mean east. They head off to Holland for 10 days.  They should have gone to Stourhead...relationships are forged and strengthened at Stourhead. Stourhead. Word.

What's that strange hissing sound? It's a snake in the grass named Corina. Corina. I can't say enough bad things about Corina. She monopolizes George - acts like she's his one and only. She flings herself on him at every opportunity. What does George do about it? Nothing. He passively allows Corina to push his brand-new wife away.  It's Corina who puts the beginning seeds of doubt in Phoebe's mind, but I blame George for allowing those doubts to fester.

The one good thing about the trip to Holland is that Phoebe realizes she's in love. And with that realization begins to allow George's cousin, Kasper, to flirt with her. Aargh! I just get frustrated at the amount emotional manipulation going on here. Phoebe is fascinated by Kasper - and blushes whenever his name comes up.  Like she has a guilty secret - which she doesn't! She does cast her good sense to the wind and encourages Kasper a tiny bit when George allows himself to be monopolized by Corina. Again.

A few badly chosen words and Kasper is invited to visit them in Woolpit, come June.

Woolpit(!) is lovely in early summer, George and Phoebe are settling in and finally starting to get to know each other...when here comes Kasper! Oh, and he's brought Corina with him. With enough luggage to stay a month! 

Corina does her best impression of a wolf hunting down a straggling caribou and goes after George with unparalleled single-mindedness. Gone is any chance for Phoebe to have time by herself with George.  Corina has dug herself in for a long spell of trench warfare. Phoebe fights back with strict breakfast hour rules. Seems kind of weak in the face of Corina's blatant artillery, but that's all she's got.  Luckily for her the village of Woolpit experiences it's own little measles epidemic. Corina and Kasper flee the scene.

Time for a happily ever after? No, George suggests that they should drive up to London and have dinner (and dancing) with Corina and Kasper. Phoebe prays for someone in the village to need some urgent medical attention...a fractured femur would be providential. Too bad for Phoebe that the entire village happens to be disgustingly healthy and un-accident prone. The dinner is just as bad as she thought it would be. Corina once again monopolizes George...she is left with Kasper...again.

Back in Woolpit things start to get back to normal...Phoebe sits around knitting, George reads the paper and takes naps in the sun when he's not working. I can see them sliding into Mr. and Mrs. Barcalounger.

Phoebe has time to contemplate the state of the union...now that Corina was gone there would be time for her to get closer to George. She had no idea how to go about it - because she had no sexy little tricks. (To quote The Princess Bride, "I do not think that means what you think that means...")

Time now for a happily ever after? That would just be silly...because just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water, it's The Return of Corina.

Not every book in the Canon has an unforgivable line...but many do. In A Summer Idyll it's when George asks Phoebe to apologize to Corina.
Corina was perched on the rent table, with her legs swinging. That she had been talking about Phoebe was obvious from the look of triumph she shot at her as she went into the room. She said at once in a little girl voice: "You see, George, how cross Phoebe looks. She doesn't want me to stay - she said she hadn't invited me..."

He looked up briefly: "You've already said that, Corina, and I'm quite sure that if Phoebe did say that she didn't mean it. My wife would never be inhospitable to our guests." His voice hardened. "And if she did, I'm sure it was inadvertent and she'll apologize."

Corina then proceeds to stay and monopolize George FOR A WEEK!!! She is finally dislodged by a quartet of poisoned kiddies and a missed trip to Cambridge.

After George FINALLY escorts Corina off the premises, all's well that ends well.
"Happen they be in love?"
"Happen they are." Mrs. Thirsk smiled broadly. "And high time too."


Stourhead.
A couple of laps around the lake would give
those crazy kids enough time to sort themselves out.
The moral of this story? Visit Stourhead first!

Rating: I really really like the first half of this book - which made the second half much less enjoyable. The second half could have benefited from more bikers and less Corina. I liked George much better in the first half when he was actually doing something.  Once he and Phoebe get married, he turns into just about the most passive hero in Neeldom. He allows Corina full reign to do her worst...public kissing, private rides home, monopolizing a newlywed, etc. His seeming approval of Corina's actions is what drives Phoebe to  allow Kasper to flirt.  Drove me crazy. Of course Phoebe doesn't help matters along by inviting Kasper to visit. I'm as baffled as Phoebe when George says, "I was always under the impression that a girl knew when a man was in love with her - you're the exception to the rule." Really? Did he read that in a book? A girl knows when a man is in love with her? How was she supposed to know? 
The first half of the books is a Queen of Puddings for me.  The second half merely rates a Cheese Board.  I'd say it averages out to a helping of Mince Pies
Food: A drink that tastes like sugared petrol, tiny sausage rolls, tiny vol-au-vents, smoked salmon on slivers of brown bread and butter. Aunt Kate has fish in milk, egg custard and coddled eggs. Mrs. Thirsk is famous for her rabbit stew with dumplings. For her first dinner party, Phoebe makes watercress soup, ribs with little cutlet frills covering the charred ends, saffron rice and pavlova. Mrs. Thirsk prepares lunch that includes tomato soup, lamb chops and a 'green salad ice cream' for afters. I couldn't find any recipes for green salad ice cream. I'm wondering if it was a punctuation error. 
Fashion: green jersey separates bought at the January sales, worn with a velvet jacket - it was the wrong outfit to wear to a party where all the other girls were wearing slinky black dresses with deep vee necklines and no backs worth mentioning.  A grey wool dress that did nothing for her, a dull brown dress that wasn't any better. Shopping trip to Cambridge where she not only gets a load of new lingerie, she also gets pink satin high heel bedroom slippers.

Upcoming Reprise

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Monday, October 28th.
The Little Dragon
Diabetic patient, deliberately spilled coffee, and lies...lots and lots of lies.

Betty in the Wild: West Coast, USA

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So, back from Alaska, where apparently I missed an anonymous Betty, I found Seattle awaiting my return with all kinds of delights in store.  First, my 80-something godmother is living in a high-rise for the elderly with sweeping views of Lake Washington.  I gotta get me some of that, though I suppose when the day comes I may feel a pang.

That's Bellevue over on the other side of the lake -- stay tuned.  Cruise ship somewhere to south.

Betty Ter Ophetmeer moved to Seattle in the 50s, in her 20s, after seeing a travelogue on the Pacific Northwest at an East Coast US movie theater.  She took a train west and checked into the YWCA, got a job and a home and a husband and five sons, in more or less that order.  I gave her Betty Beth's cast-off Cassandra by Chance to leaven her usual reading of Flannery O'Connor and Langston Hughes and such.  She reports enjoying it and finding another Betty book somewhere around the place.

Note fog.  More in a minute.  Cassandra may stumble into a lake given the low visibility; Benedict is not troubled by fog.
Right!  Betty Beth!  We met in Bellevue for dinner, and she gave me the scarf you see below and a bag o' books to distribute as I see fit.  Army Betty, I'll be home in a week or so.

Cocktail is mine, all mine, and I had to eat the extra brandied cherry so Betty Beth (l) would not risk driving Mr. Beth's car while under any sort of influence due to wheels.  Wheels within wheels, that is.

 Did I mention that, Seattle being Seattle, on my first morning there we had a torrential rainstorm, with the unusual added feature of lightning and thunder, and that on my second morning there the fog was so thick I could barely see my balcony railing?
Lake Washington, out there lurking.  Look out, Cassandra!
Lovely visit.  Betty Debbie could not join the Betty dinner because she puts family first or some such thing -- how Betty of her -- and she had a son visiting whom she hadn't seen in two years.  A great big grown-up boy like that; how much could he have changed?

In case Olivia needs a fall-back occupation and likes the look of the PacNW, as who would not?
But southward ho, and Betty Keira is next to provide a bed for the night, a fab dinner (rub the potatoes with olive oil and roll in kosher salt before baking; oh so yummy) and a charming family.  Plus, I met Betty Kylene!  Squee!  But none of us had the presence of mind to snap a pic.

The Demon Baby having declined to do the honors, we used the camera auto-timer.  The book is A Summer Idyll, as it features the worst house guest ever, which I am not.  Though awfully good at inviting myself...
Betty Keira recommended heading more-or-less straight west before turning south along the Pacific coast, and she spoke with authority.  That route took me to the Tillamook Cheese Factory.

Not Gouda, but probably cheddar, as in Gorge.

I choked down an ice cream in Cordelia and Army Betty's honor.
 I'm pretty sure this is an Oregon ocean view, but it might be northern California.  Either one is well worth a visit if you have the chance.  The Oregon ones especially are chilly and windy enough that someone might propose to you there.
Octavia's cruise ship off to the west somewhere.
This is definitely a California beach, and those are elephant seals unless Betty AnoninTX says otherwise.
Amabel and Oliver visit the seashore, though he doesn't propose there.  In Betty's yet-to-be-discovered 136th novel, they show up as crossover characters, with an abandoned seal pup in the back of the Bentley.

 A random river in California, except this one gets a roadside scenic viewpoint, unlike most.

Gijs's first wife ran off with an American!  Maybe to a random California river!
Santa Barbara, California, is a great place for unsuitable girlfriends and former fiancees to find better matches, or for unsuitable first wives to meet untimely ends.

It is always summer in Santa Barbara!  Big Slice, Tishy!  Plus, those dark dots are frogmen.  Why do no Betty heroes scuba dive to the rescue?

Random stranger in Santa Barbara agrees to pose with Tishy and Jason.  He little knows...

Former Army Corps of Engineer turned civilian builder of Anchorage parking garages, now resident in Seattle.  You see how it all ties together?




The Little Dragon - Reprise

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Twenty-eight years ago this morning I was lying in a hospital bed, while Dr. van der Stevejinck was holding our third child.  I scanned this picture this morning as proof.  Proof that Dr. van der Stevejinck must have been a child prodigy because NO WAY does he look old enough in this picture to be the father of three children. Also, why did I never insist on having a hairbrush on hand so that I could tart myself up a bit before pictures?  Missed opportunities, that what I say.  
I'm not missing an opportunity to post a gratuitous picture of Prince George along with his doting parents.
Kate Middleton, Prince William Bought Baby Prince George a $2,350 Stroller

Speaking of pictures, sometimes I forget to really take a good look at the awesome cover art on these older books from the canon.  Betty Barbara made a comment about this one having a 'disembodied head'...and yup, there it is.  

 When Betty Debbie and I sat down to divvy up reviews there were a few titles that we fought over. Caroline's Waterloo was hers, Winter Wedding was mine, The Little Dragon was...Elbows might have been thrown, Bettys. We both love it.

Constantia Morley, 26, has to recite the Hippocratic Oath backwards, forwards, standing on one leg, in Latin, in one continuous burp, in a house, with a mouse, here and there, anywhere...to daily prevent herself from lifting her patient, Mrs. Dowling, a gilded, diabetic butterfly earthworm, and pushing her over the ledge of the window to meet her death some three stories below.  So, yeah.  You might say the job is no peach and she escapes when she can.
It is on one of these smiling-so-hard-her-cheeks-hurt excursions into the city that she comes across Mrs. Dowling's doctor who is speaking with Jeroen van der Giessen, 39.
So, they go on a speed date.
Forest, trees, etc...
Sure, there's no timer or basket of pretzels or hoards of anxious singles but in less than two minutes she knows that he has a battered sheepskin jacket and a more battered Fiat (which all indicate that he's still paying off his student loans) and he knows that she is cheerful and charming and The One for him.
Over the course of the next couple of weeks, he manages to annex her scant half-days, filling her lonely hours with the liveliness of a houseful of children (three--on loan from his sister) and the invigorating joy of each other's company.  (That's a main vibe from this book.  They are bursting with good humor and mutual appreciation.)  They meet for tea at his house--a magnificent old mansion...owned by a relative. (Constantia paints in the details--he's an elderly Uncle with more money than sense.) In no time they are firm friends even if Constantia has a bit of a one-track mind on the subject of The Unrelenting Awfulness of Rich People (maybe she's writing a thesis).
The only doggy-doo-doo in this paradisaical garden is Mrs. Dowling--making her pungent accusations ('You're out to get him.') and biting insinuations ('Him--he hasn't any money.').
Editorial NoteMrs. Dowling is the reason, for me, that the whole plot works.  While it is no surprise that her disagreeable nature (even in the face of outrageous luxury) exacerbates Constantia's irritations with wealthy people (thus supplying the reason for all of Jeroen's subterfuge), she is also the reason (I think) that Constantia fails to see Jeroen in a romantic light.  Over and over again she crudely twits Constantia about chasing Jeroen--putting the ugliest construction on the relationship--so that it isn't any wonder that Constantia responds by defending her good, noble and passionless FRIENDSHIP.  She is so busy insisting that it isn't the crass relationship of Mrs Dowling's fevered imagination that she fails to allow any romantic feelings to cross her mind.  
Finally, the caramel chocolates hit the blood stream (so much more tasty than 'the rubber hits the road', no?) and Mrs. Dowling has a diabetic tantrum (sure it's a medical possibility...) and fires her nurse.  (When she says, 'I shall go into a coma,' you really wish she would already.)  Well, you know the rest.  Constantia with the broken purse straps in the ghetto...
Enter Jeroen with a really lovely idea.  
She decamps to his house and plans to take some of the crushing work load off of his daily help.  (How does that woman keep everything clean and cook for a sizable group each day?)  She is worried that she'll be another mouth to feed.  (Okay, if you have major problems with this plot than I'll hand you a little bone:  I agree that it is silly beyond permission that she thinks he is that poor based on an old coat and an affordable car.)  She and Rietje (the cook) get along like a house afire and Constantia potters around, making beds, getting the children off to school and feeling (for the first time in a long time) as though she isn't a rootless orphan.  Sealing the deal, he teases her gently about being a kindly little dragon in his home.
Editorial NoteI know, here, some Bettys will take issue with my conclusion but I'll refer you to my handy chart.  (See right.) 
Jeroen is quick to assure her that she will meet the awesome uncle whose sumptuous bounty she enjoys eventually and allows her a few details about him.  'He's a rather lonely man...'
Eventually her passport is found, causing no small degree of consternation to the Professor. (Oh, did I forget to mention that?  So did Jeroen.)  And you feel really sorry for him.  There he is with the love of his life acting like a Donna Reed-ian prop and mainstay and he's got Rietje and Tarnus (Oh, did I forget to mention him?  So did Jeroen.) ferreted away in the garret like members of the Dutch Resistance (coming out at night to scour the mansion from top to tail) and he's weaving a carpet of lies that could cover the ballroom floor.  It's a wonder that he doesn't take to smoking.
So he does what any red-blooded male would do--he proposes a marriage of friends (not of convenience--she doesn't need to stay in Holland anymore and he won't need help with the kids for long but he doesn't want to let her go and he's not going to rush her into future-tense conjugal relations).  After a remarkably short dithering time (like two minutes!) she agrees.
They travel to England.
Editorial Note:  I generally don't like thetiny don't-invite-the-family weddings of Neelsdom but in this case it's enormously thoughtful.  He has a massive family (she has none) and she's in a foreign country.  He asks her to name the church and they get to skip the awkwardness of having the chapel filled with his family and his friends and no one at all for her.
While there they have a darling little honeymoon.  He takes her out to a fabulous hotel and wines and dines her and drags her into an expensive boutique.  She's terrified that it'll wipe out his bottom line while he is relieved to finally let go a little bit (restraining himself mightily from endowing her with all his worldly goods).
'And thank you too, Jeroen, for quite the nicest wedding day any girl would have.'
Her hand was in his and just for a moment his grip was so fierce that she winced...
I imagine that he had to duct tape himself to a chair leg all night to prevent himself from flinging himself at her.  

Life as a married woman is delightful and she soon meets Jeroen's sister Gina (one of the most likable siblings in the canon), mother of the kids, and more of his other relatives, all of whom are 'completely uncurious'. Things float along like this for a bit, the lies are piling up like sausages at a beer-fest and they do a spot of comradely first-responder-ing at a whirlwind-struck factory...you know, just your standard getting-settled-into-married-life faire.
And then one day, after being married less than a month, they attend a dinner party hosted by the kind of woman who only reinforces Constantia's feelings about the Dread Wealthy.  She corners the new bride and begins an inquisition.  My, how lucky you are. (Yes, she is. Constantia knows she loves her husband by now.  Being crushed by him during the whirlwind knocked some sense into her.) You have snagged a baron.  And he's a m...Gina dumps her coffee down the woman's back in a move that, to a shocked Constantia, was clearly intentional!  (I nominate her to come to every family reunion I have to attend...ever.)
You'll need a stiff drink after I tell you I'm loaded...
There isn't a fight.  When Jeroen gets his bewildered and angry wife home he takes his medicine like a man:
Yes, I am a baron.
She was going to say millionaire.
Her hurt is beyond anything a yelling match would solve and so she dashes upstairs to cry her eyes out and pack her clothes. 'You let me shop and answer the telephone and dust and put the children to bed...'
It helps that as she strives to write an appropriate 'Liar, liar pants on fire' letter the next morning he is surelybusy in his surgery.
But he isn't...and don't call me Shirley.  He has a partner.  (Oh, did I forget to mention that?  So did Jeroen.)
His castle of lies comes crashing down and in the rubble a new truth rises like a phoenix from the ashes.
The Baron is occupied.
The End

Rating:  Though I understand that it doesn't find favor in all quarters, I really, really love this one.  It's got a great title and a memorable plot line.  Granted, the grand mansion of our novel is constructed on a flood plain of lies (wicked lies) but if you can swallow the fact that their relationship is built on a tissue of falsehoods and also believe the reason for them, then you're good to go.  (Which I do and I am.)
Friendly dragon?  Why, yes.
The principles have such an affection and appreciation for one another--it drips off the page practically (don't dribble)--and I'm one of those that think that his repeated use of 'dragon' is an endearment of the most personal kind.  (He can't call her sweetheart and darling so this will be the next best thing.) A very close reading bears out that she never takes exception to the name and it's always delivered with grins and smiles and good humor all around.  (So if you want to go a few rounds of fisticuffs on the grounds that it's unforgivable and always insulting to call a woman 'dragon' then I'm afraid your beef is with The Great Betty and not with me...)
Anyway, it's a great novel that rarely has to stoop to the contrivances of flinty-eyed, bony-chested tartlets flinging their arms around the hero or some flirtatious long-hair mucking up the landscape to provide drama.  (Instead, we get every moment of tightrope-walking as the well-run household has to make its machinery invisible that has all the makings of a very British bedroom farce.)
Lashings of Whipped Cream for me.  (It's easily in my top five.) Go ahead and rip away in your most well-bred way, dissenting Bettys. 

Food:  Mrs. Dowling becomes very disagreeable over not being allowed to consume Vienne snitzcels and eclairs, ODs on a box of chocolates with caramel centers and is anxious to have escalope of veal ('followed by a diabetic coma,' responds Constantia...).  Constantia thoroughly enjoys the substantial teas at Jeroen's home with bread, butter and jam.  She compares Jeroen's Moselle to her aunt's parsnip wine, and enjoys (post-marriage), lobster soup, millefeuille.

Fashion: Jeroen's old sheepskin jacket and beautifully tailored suits.  Constantia wears a Marks and Spencer sweater, a brown corduroy pinafore dress with a pink woollen blouse, a sapphire velvet skirt with matching waistcoat, and her wedding dress is an 'already owned' tweed dress with a new hat (which I think she limits herself to so that she could pay for Jeroen's wedding ring--which I just adore her for), he pops for a pale coffee jersey skirt and blouse and a crepey and pleated dress (his words) in dim strawberry.  She also gets a pearl grey (I love that on this blog I don't have to remember which way American's spell grey/gray and that either way I do it will be correct.  (Yes, I know it's American/gray.)) organza dress with tiny pink embroidered flowers and a little white mink jacket.

Cooking With Betty

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Betty Anonymous sent us an email this weekend - and now I want to go buy some raspberries and whipping cream and stroopwafels!


Stroopwafels

Went to a different supermarket, yesterday, and what did I see? Stroopwafels! So today, Betty A. polished off very creamy raspberry ice cream, home-made, and stroopwafels!!! I would have shared with you, Bettys, honest, I would.

Raspberry Ice Cream

300 g / 10 ½ oz           frozen raspberries
200 g / 7 oz                 whipping cream (fluid oz = same difference)
100 g / 3 ½ oz             sugar (scant ½ cup)

Process with your food processor or hand blender.

For frozen yogurt substitute yogurt for whipping cream

I microwaved the stroopwafels for a few seconds.


Upcoming Reprise

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Monday, November 4th
Hilltop Tryst
Veterinarian locum (turned stalker), pretend engagement, chasing a burglar down the street while wearing a dressing gown.

Hilltop Tryst--Reprise

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Dear Bettys,
If I may steal from my original discussion thread:
 When Beatrice has to pack in a hurry to leave Great-Aunt Sybil's,  she throws her odds and ends into plastic bags...'A plastic bag!" exclaimed Great-Aunt Sybil. 'Must you, Beatrice? In my day, no young lady carried such a thing - why have you no luggage?'...I shall give you suitable luggage for your birthday".
I send the little pledges off to overnight with Grandma van Voorhees toting their belongings in plastic bags.  I can see that it pains her--offends her ideas of a lovely childhood memory-to-be.  But, in fairness, the 4th little pledge will probably have need of a plastic, semi-fluid-retentive bag when be totes his belongings back to Mother.  
Love and lardy cakes,
Betty Keira



I remembered really not liking Hilltop Tryst...it was among one of the last Betty Neels I read.  I couldn't remember what exactly bothered me about it, so I approached it with some trepidation last week. Thankfully, it wasn't nearly as bad as I thought.

Beatrice got to the hilltop a little too
early on Midsummer's morning.
Beatrice Browning (26 going on 27) and Oliver Latimer (35 - ish) meet on the morning of Midsummer's Day. It's love at first sight for him...like at first sight for her. She's a tall gorgeous glass of water - looking for a tiny bit of excitement...which she doesn't see in the placid Dr. Latimer.

Beatrice's life is anything but exciting. Instead of training to be a veterinarian like her father, she is his assistant. Lots of on-the-job training, but no room for advancement either. Her lack of career leaves her open and available to take on such mundane jobs such as 'Acting Companion' to Great-Aunt Sybil - who she is not fond of (the feeling is mutual). Great-Auntie should probably have been set adrift on a convenient iceberg years ago, but failing that, she spends her time bad-mouthing her family and medical professionals. After a visit to a noted cardiologist in London (that would be our boy Oliver), a suitable companion is found. Or rather, a suitable companion is sent. Oliver just so happened to know someone.

Papa Browning, the village veterinarian, has a heart attack. It's sure a handy and convenient thing that Oliver is a cardiologist. Oliver suggests to Beatrice that she hire a locum. It's really a shame that he doesn't know a handy vet who happens to be at loose ends for a few weeks, because, well, you'll see.

The agency sends a man. I suppose we must call him a man, although he is more closely related to the reptile kingdom.  Think of a snake with opposable thumbs.

Colin Wood, he of the showy yellow sports car with lots of luggage, several tennis rackets and a set of golf clubs.
Colin Wood, young and exciting. Danger, danger, danger...(I'm saying this with a fake Australian accent).
Colin Wood, sniffing around the veterinary practice account books.
Colin Wood, plotter of mercenary marriage to the unsuspecting Beatrice...until she overhears the Phone Conversation O' Doom wherein he outs his true mercenary motive for chatting up Beatrice.
Colin Wood, stalker extraordinaire.

Papa Browning takes on a new partner. NOT Colin. Colin stays on in the village - much more handy for his new hobby - stalking Beatrice.  It gets so bad that Beatrice can barely stick her nose out the door. What's a girl to do? Oliver suggests a pretend engagement! Beatrice demurs - what will his fiancee think? What fiancee, you ask? Yup, there isn't one, it's that hoary old plot device wherein the hero states he plans to marry soon...zzzz.

Colin practically attacks Beatrice in the middle of the village - Beatrice is saved by Oliver - whom she calls her 'fiancee'. Oliver assures Colin that the announcement will be in the Telegraph the very next day. Which it is.

Oliver invites Beatrice to go on a two-week lecture tour with him (and his assistant, the delightful Miss Ethel Cross).
Colin has taken to writing impassioned letters to Beatrice. Beatrice is so over him by this time - the letters don't even mean anything to her.

Lecture Tour O' Liking or Great Hotels of Europe. Two weeks at the finest hotels in Utrecht, Cologne, Copenhagen and Brussels...Just as Oliver drives away from dropping her back at her house - finally, finally! Beatrice realizes she's in love - but since she has endowed Oliver with an imaginary fiancee, there's nothing she can do about it.

Chasing burglars was just a way to let off
a little excess steam, after all, she couldn't
bring herself to chase Oliver.
Great-Aunt Sybil's suitable companion has to take a week off for a family emergency. Beatrice is press-ganged into being an acting companion again. A day or two before she's due to go home, she wakes up and finds a robber stealing the silver...Beatrice chases him down in her dressing gown - Oliver providentially drives by and knocks him down for her (I'd wager Beatrice could have done it herself, after all, she was gaining on him). Great-Aunt Sybil is deeply mortified that Beatrice stooped to running around in public in a state of 'undress'. Oliver doesn't want to hear anyone give his fake fiancee a bad time, so he hustles her back to the family home.

If she wasn't already in love, two weeks of forced Oliver Drought would have certainly make her heart grow fonder...as it is, she's in such a muddle about her feelings for him, the faux engagement, his imaginary fiancee and life in general that she scampers into hiding the next time she hears the gentle purr of his Rolls. Two can play the sneaky game...Oliver pops up unexpectedly and asks her why she hid. Em-bar-ass-ing, much?


Sorry Colin, the better man is going to win this time.
The Return of Colin. Like yesterday's split pea soup, Colin won't stop repeating. He's also stepped up the stalking to include cornering her in her own house and accusing her of having a fake engagement (true) AND being in love with Oliver (true)...and then telling her that when she marries him, he expects a partnership, a good salary AND a decent house. Oliver rides in on his white charger and routs the reptile once and for all.
Time to wrap it up:
  • Visit to Aunt Polly in Cornwall (a whole 3 pages worth).
  • Kissing on the street.
  • Takes her home...thorough kissing in front of the whole family. Muddled thoughts for Beatrice.
  • Proposal on the hilltop where they met. 'I promised myself when we met that one day I would ask you to marry me on this very spot...'
The End.

Miss Ethel always wore her little black
number when she received her employee
of the month award.
Rating:  I'm pretty sure the reason I didn't like Hilltop Tryst before had to do with how monumentally thick Beatrice seemed.  She meets a great guy, then falls for a weasel, then has to get over the weasel, THEN falls for the great guy. Ugh. On closer reading I'm willing to cut her a little bit of slack.  Yes, she's still pretty (very) thick, but she'd been fending off the feeble advances of the local doctor's son for years  - I get the impression she wants a little more zip in her love life, and her first impression of Oliver is that he's pretty un-zippy. Along comes Colin - he's a flash in the pan, but a charmer - in the smarmy, insincere kind of way.  Beatrice is side-swiped by his flattery, and nearly falls for it.  It takes her longer than I felt was strictly necessary for her to get over Colin - especially when he shows his true colours so boldly (and badly). I do love a few of the bit players - Great-Aunt Sybil is fabulously awful (but we've seen her type before), little sister Ella is fun (but we've seen...etc...). Miss Ethel Cross is one of my favorite characters, but considering her limited word count, that doesn't speak too well of the book. All things considered, I found this book both better and worse than I remembered.  Better, in that I understood Beatrice a little more, and worse, in that it takes quite a while for not much to happen. Madiera Cake for me...
Fashion: My favorite outfit, by far, is the 'little black number' worn by Ethel Cross. Beatrice wears a pale rose wild silk bridesmaid dress to her sister's wedding while Oliver is 'wearing his morning coat as if he was in the habit of doing so frequently...it was certainly not hired from Moss Bros.' Blue linen dress and little jacket, pale pink cotton dress with a demur collar, dark blue one piece swimsuit.
Food: Bacon, eggs and mushrooms for breakfast, ham on the bone and potatoes in their jackets, pork pies, duchesse potatoes, strawberry tart, lettuce soup (???), grilled sole, fresh fruit, peach tart, brioche.

Upcoming Reprise

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Monday, November 11th
Fate Takes a Hand
Flower shop girl, orphaned cousin, secondary love story.

Betty in the Wild: Southwestern Desert

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Having introduced Tishy to that nice man in Santa Barbara, I threw Alexandra into the sinkhole of garish, smoke-heavy, pedestrian-unfriendly Las Vegas, first stop in a desert tour.

She only nipped into the casino to assist a pregnant woman...

Penny Bright ran off to Vegas.

Then I forgot to take any BitWilds around Sedona, but this is what it looks like without the book:



Somewhere between Albuquerque and Lubbock there are road signs for The Blue Hole.  That sounds enough like The Blue Pool that I took the short detour.  And kinda wished I hadn't...

Third-most-boring tourist attraction on the list I keep in my head.
There were a few scuba divers in it, at least.
The Blue Hole is 81 feet deep, 60 feet wide and maintains a water temperature of 61 degrees Fahrenheit.  Oh, how wonderful.  Apparently.

Fate Takes a Hand - Reprise

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I spent last weekend in San Francisco, visiting my eldest son and his wife in their new home.  Well, it's new to them.  It was actually built in 1906 - right after the big earthquake.  They purchased the home right around Christmas of last year.  Stay with me here...
Max and Sophie enjoyed the view from the front porch, but were dismayed when they found out that they would have to spend the weekend sitting on the floor.
Both my son and his wife are hard working computer-y types and are able to afford to live in a nice neighborhood in an expensive city.  

Dr. van der Stevejinck and I loaded up our great socking Bentley minivan with our two youngest sons (ages 18 and 22) plus air mattresses and bedding for the entire crew. Because my eldest and his wife are new to home ownership, I didn't mind bringing our own sleeping arrangements.  My son did mention we should bring chairs.  "Chairs?" I said to my husband, "I refuse to haul chairs 800+ miles. Each way." 

Yeah.

Had I known that my son and his wife only have TWO pieces of furniture in their house, I would definitely have tossed a couple of camping chairs in.

One of the things that I really love about books like Fate Takes a Hand, is the housekeeping details.  Even the most destitute of orphans can manage to have a table and chair or two.  Sure the chairs might be wobbly (especially when sat upon by vast RDDs), but they have them. 

The Heir's home does share something in common with Lally's - the historical angle - no exterior improvements without the planning commission's go ahead.  Lucky for him he already has bathrooms.

-Betty Debbie



We had to shoot a pack mule.
The Founding Bettys, donning their tasteful Pith helmets and explorer monocles, ventured forth and were lucky enough to get their hands on the original Betty Neels novel outline!  (We traded one demon baby, our pinky fingers and three gold fillings for what you're about to read.)

Working title: The Doctor and the Hot Flower Girl (Call agent and demand Harlequin stop slapping my novels with bland and taupe-y titles!)

HeroineEmily Haven't I done that already?  Eulalia Warburton.  (To sound more au courant they can call her Miss Lally...There, publishers, I'm throwing crumbs to your hip-hop generation.)
DebitsLimp  Squint  Evil brother  Homelessness, Elderly retainer (I'll call her Trottie!), Care of orphaned cousin (Precocious but not treacle-y 8-year-old...Bobby (too American!) Peter)
Assets: Built like a brick-house, loads of money,  loads of familymarketable skill-set, arranges flowers, willingness to work, spine like honed steel

HeroBrian Churchill (No.  Eureka!  I have it!  This time he's Dutch.) Fenno van Linssen
Debits: Short,  Skinny,  Bad Career (He's a junior executive at a greetings card firm...), Small-minded and bony-chested fiancee (Sarah (Much too nice-sounding. I want something that says, 'I lop the tops off daffodils in the springtime because they look happy.'Ursula)
Assets: Deeply romantic nature, enduring honesty, willingness to lie like a trooper, a libido, likes children, has cash
Eulalia, flower shop girl by day, 
Goddess of Spring by night

Set-Up: Simple (and plain gorgeous) flower shop worker struggles to maintain financial solvency while lashed to the rocks, waiting for the Kraken to devour her.  (Ha!  I kill me.) Trottie is a pensioner, fruit of misspent youth cousin Peter is an orphan and Eulalia has a sweaty-handed gentleman follower a lease that's about to expire.  What next?!  Fenno walks into the shop and asks for flowers--red roses definitely not red roses for his fiancee.  Sparks fly (figure out a way to imply that he's looking at her body without being tacky enough to say 'body') and a palpable attraction is beaten into submission by her irritation at his coldness and his gobsmacked shock (which reads as coldness) at finding Persephone working in retail.

Conflict: When Eulalia delivers the flowers to Ursula (I'm thinking of an anorexic version of that hard-eyed villainess in the Disney picture...but less smiley and more willing to slap the parlor maids.) a minor row ensues.  Fenno visits the shop again and again (he's never said it with flowers before) so that he can observe her artfully arranged...er...arrangements (Too explicit?). Eulalia twits him about what a fractious man he must be to need so many flowers and never guesses that his motives are inclining to wickedness.  Peter contracts loprosy  runs away gets a broken arm (caught in a protest rowdy curb-hopping bikers) and so needs a doctor.  Fenno!  He goes above and beyond the call of duty, making house-calls, having them over for tea..And it all works very well until Ursula (receiving yet another unwanted flower offering from Fenno via Eulalia) screeches out that (well, how do I put it?)...Fenno has been picking flowers in Eulalia's garden.  (Oh dear, we'll have to tone that down for publication. It's a mite smutty.)  So, Eulalia tells her where to get off.
50,000 Pounds!

Beam-Ends: Eulalia gets a promotion and a medal fired.  Fenno, nursing a terrific sense of guilt (and passion--but tastefully!), throws Ursula over and proposes a MOC to our heroine buys her a house!  (Note to self: Remind my publishers of my substantial fan base and remind them, too, that this isn't the part where the RDD buys himself a mistress. Leave that to the Harlequin Blaze stable of tarty writers...)

Beam-Ends x2: Eulalia entrenches herself happily in her home town, swallowing the solicitor's lie about a deceased great-uncle and the one thousand ten thousand fifty thousand pounds!  She gets a rabbit and a cat for Peter and plans a flower shop with cautious optimism.
But all is not well in Eden.  Victor, a local lad lately returned from the outer reaches of hell America, tries his arm with the fair heiress.  Trottie breaks her leg.  Fenno fixes both Trottie's leg and Victor's wagon. 

Muddy Waters: Eulalia meets a hooded stranger named Deep Throat in a parking garageoverhears the village drunk mention a Bentley-driving stranger. Eulalia, having obtained five A-levels in her salad days, is no fool and quickly tracks down the kernel of brandy-soaked truth at the bottom of the barrel.  She travels to London and lays her case before Fenno.  He bought her a house!  Are there quid pro quos? (Too tarty?)  Fenno, sure he loves the fair maiden, offers her a proposal contingent on his getting out of an entanglement with Ursula (page count!) shakes it off, dismisses her fury and makes her spend the night.  (Be sure to mention chaperones.)  

He sends your girl flowers, you send his diamonds.  
He buys your girl a house, you get his in a clinch.  
THAT'S the Chicago way!
Notes: Trottie won't have a home if Lally gets married so develop a secondary romance for her with Dodge, Fenno's accountant butler.  Also, clear up the mess with Ursula--have Fenno catch her in the arms of a demon from the darkest corners of the underworld an American...from Chicago!

Filler: Fenno invites Peter to Holland where Eulalia meets his evil and insecure aunt delightful mother and gets the Indoor/Outdoor House Tour of Anticipatory/Implied Conjugal Relations.  Her humiliation over finding out she owes him her home and 50,000 Pounds is not to be mentioned.    

Resolution: Home once more.  Fenno waits until Dodge takes Trottie off for a spot of snogging the day and then makes a short (if to the point) declaration of undying love. He promises to install Eulalia in an upscale London condo with open duct work and an industrial finish his garden oasis in the city, serve her several Cordon Bleu meals a day and await pledges of her affection.
Page Count Neither Exceeded or Skimped: The End

Rating:  The biggest issue I take with this book are the names.  Miss Lally (which I kept intentionally mis-reading as LAY-lee instead of LAL-lee so that it wouldn't seem quite so bad) and Trottie (which any way you slice it sounds like a mix-breed Labrador with a case of the runs) are difficult pills to swallow.  Still, they're just names and I found the rest of the book really charming.  Though written in the last few years of her career, La Neels hardly seems like she's flagging (would that I could be a tenth as awesome). 
This is a Boeuf en Croute or maybe even higher--I read this when my husband was out of town and it's all I can do in those circumstances to keep the kids from sharpening sticks and circling helpless neighbors with tribal cries of 'Kill the Pig!' Anyway, just when I'd get going on the book I'd be interrupted with all manner of Lilliputian catastrophes. ( I know it's a great book when I'm more than usually annoyed that I have to put it down and know it's a Beans on Toast if I'd rather deep clean the oven than pick it up.)
But in blue...
I loved the secondary love story, adored Peter and wanted to pop Ursula in the nose myself even though, as it turned out, she had every reason to be suspicious about Fenno and that gorgeous flower girl.

Food: Banana sandwiches and Marmite and orange squash are her meals with Peter.  Trottie doesn't trust fish on Mondays.  They make cheese sandwiches, Madeira cake, and when Fenno does his spot of Good Samaritanism he has a ploughman's lunch of bread cheese and beer.  More refined meals include lobster bisque, chocolate pudding, and chicken a la king.  Adorably, Trottie and Dodge court while making cucumber sandwiches and scones.

Fashion: She wears a navy dress in the flower shop.  Fenno changes from country tweeds to sober grey suiting after popping out to the country to BUY A HOUSE.  Eulalia owns a small-brimmed velvet hat and Ursula unwisely dons a bright blue dress cut very low 'which was a mistake, for her figure was what she described as boyish and the dress did nothing for her flat chest.'  Cough.

Upcoming Reprise

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Monday, November 18th
The Doctor's Girl
Black eye, caddish Cousin Charles, trip to Brighton.

The Doctor's Girl--Reprise

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I think this cover is just as cute as can be.
Good day, Bettys!
 "Oh," you're thinking.  "This is the one with THAT surname."  The one that I can't help but say in my head 'Fuhforde'.  So, I looked it up:
Last name: Fforde
This ancient name is of Anglo-Saxon origin, and is one of the earliest topographical surnames still in existence. The name derives from the Old English pre 7th Century "ford", ford, a shallow place in a river of water where men and animals could wade across. The term was used as a topographic name for someone who lived near a ford. Topographical surnames were among the earliest created, since both natural and man-made features in the landscape provided easily recognisable distinguishing names in the small communities of the Middle Ages. In some cases the modern surname may be locational in origin, deriving from one of the many places named with the Old English "Ford", such as those in Herefordshire, Northumberland, Shropshire, Somerset, and Sussex. The modern surname can be found as Ford, Forde, Foord, Foard, Forth etc.. On March 2nd 1589 Izabell Forde and Henry Embertonn were married in St. Giles Cripplegate, London, Sir Ambrose Forde was knighted at Leixlip, County Kildare, by Sir George Cary, the Lord Deputy, on August 2nd 1604. The first recorded spelling of the family name is shown to be that of Bruman de la Forda, which was dated 1066, in the Book of Winton, Hampshire (included in the Domesday Book of 1086), during the reign of King William 1st, known as "William the Conqueror", 1066 - 1087. Surnames became necessary when governments introduced personal taxation. In England this was known as Poll Tax. Throughout the centuries, surnames in every country have continued to "develop" often leading to astonishing variants of the original spelling.

It made me wonder what sort of topographical surname I would have if I were in need of one.  Possibilities include Mintfield, Riverside, Greenspace, Butte, and Powerlines...depending upon which home at which time.  What would yours be?

And here's a link to the discussion thread.
Love and lardy cakes!
Betty Keira


The Doctor's Girl was one of the very last Betty Neels stories to be published.  The Venerable Neels was in her 90's at the time! As far as I could tell, there were absolutely no references to Holland, no Dutch doctors, the heroine was not a nurse...what kind of Neels is that?  A sweet little gem, that's what kind. I wouldn't recommend it as an introduction to the works of Betty Neels - but as a little postscript, it's just fine.

Miss Mimi is peeved to learn that, no, Dr. Fforde will not
 write her out a prescription for three gin and tonics.
Loveday West (24) has a soul sucking job. There's just no way to sugar coat the pill that is Miss Mimi Cattell.  Rich, spoiled and nasty would easily make it into a list of top ten descriptors of that she-devil. Shrewish also. Upon waking up with a stuffy nose, the wealthy harpy demands that her doctor make a house call.  Her regular doctor must be used to such antics, but since he's off playing golf for the week, she'll have to make do with his partner.  Dr. Andrew Fforde is a tall drink of medicinal water...but he's not her cup of tea. He doesn't coddle her. Not even the teeniest bit.  Loveday considers him 'a man after my own heart'.
After a day  spent lounging in bed swilling gin and tonics, Mimi disregards Dr. Fforde's advice and goes out on the town with her friends. Her drunken homecoming in the wee small hours is typical - Loveday is required to haul Mimi's inebriated person up the stairs and into bed. A few days later Loveday breaks a vase and Mimi wallops her a good one - giving her:
  1. A doozy of a shiner.
  2. Her marching orders.
  3. No references.
  4. All of the above.
The black eye proved to be a
hindrance to finding gainful
employment.
Loveday is not only out of work, she's also homeless. Thank goodness for Mrs. Branch (the cook?) who happens to have a sister with rooms to let, and abandoned cats ready to be adopted. Jobs are not forthcoming for a girl with few skills who looks like she's been knocked around. Loveday finally goes to the hospital to have her eye checked. Dr. Fforde happens to catch a glimpse of her - and dismissing patient confidentiality as a thing of nought, finds out Loveday's address and work status .
When Miss Priss (Dr. Fforde's secretary) has a family emergency, Dr. Fforde has to resort to a temp agency's offering, which in this case is a giggler with no common sense.  We can't have that! Dr. Fforde now has a perfect excuse to visit Loveday.  He can not only offer her a job, but also a tiny flat. Loveday is refreshingly un-uppity about him showing up and gladly accepts the job and the new home.

Loveday daydreams about the man of her dreams. Interestingly enough he bears a striking resemblance to Dr. Fforde.

Meeting new people! The lovely (and nice) Mrs. Seward drops by the office to see Andrew (Dr. Fforde) 'Margaret - this is delightful,' says he, and with that, Loveday imagines a romance between the two.

Brighton! Where engaged men can date other women
without that pesky danger of being found out!
Romance of another kind finds Loveday.  Dr. Fforde's younger cousin Charles stops by the office.  He's quick to chat up the mousy little receptionist.  A couple of dates later (at places that Charles is sure not to see any of his crowd - including a trip to Brighton!) and Loveday starts glowing with happiness. Dr. Fforde observes this happiness with a niggling sense of unease.  Why is she happy?  Long story short? His caddish cousin Charles is engaged to be married in a couple of weeks time, he's is having one last fling.

Loveday is somewhat crushed when she hears about the upcoming nuptials - but she wouldn't be if only she knew that Dr. Fforde is head over heels in love with her - but he can't see what she would see in him.  He honestly believes he's too old for her, she believes he's at least dating Mrs. Seward...

Now that the make-believe romance with Charles has ended, Andrew starts to make some tentative moves of his own.
  • Invitation to his place. Meet Mrs. Duckett the housekeeper and a little lame dog which they name Bob.
  • Another invite to his place...this time Andrew pumps Loveday for information about her family. It is discovered that she has a long lost great-aunt living in Buckland-in-the-Moor whom she doesn't remember ever meeting.
To sweep or not to sweep?
The information about the long lost aunt is soon very helpful. Miss Priss (the long lost receptionist) is coming back to work and needs the little flat.  As soon as is humanly possible, Andrew drives down to Buckland-in...etc. and meets the aunt.  He explains everything - including the fact that he loves Loveday and would like to sweep her off her feet - should she be so inclined to be swept. Great-Aunt tells him that she was under the impression that Loveday was a modern career girl and since she's not, Loveday is welcome to stay.

Andrew gives Loveday a week's notice at work and suggests that she go and stay with her aunt. That's all well and good...but then the thought of not seeing him shakes her down to her toenails. Yup, she's in love.

Andrew insists on driving her down to Great-Aunt Letitia's - and spending the night in the village so as to be able to have more time with Loveday. He's not sure why Loveday has been stiff with him - then he mentions his family - including his sister Margaret. So, that was why she'd pokered up. Two obstacles out of the way...first Charles and now Margaret - the only obstacle left is that pesky age difference.
Call me Andrew.
I've always called you Andrew inside my head. 

A week alone with Great-Aunt (and her cats) and then a lovely ending.
She ran to the door and flung it wide as he reached it and went into his arms...
All that's left is some kissing and a promise to marry him just as soon as he wants - 'today if we could.'
Aunt Leticia...reflected that she would give them the silver pot which had belonged to her great-great-grandmother for a wedding present.
The end.

Is it me, or does the cover
art for An Ordinary Girl
look suspiciously similar?
Rating: Perhaps there should be a different rating system for novellas.  The same plot devices that drag on and on in longer books are given a much shorter shrift (is that a word?) - which can be quite a good thing. The Doctor's Girl isn't a perfect book by any means, but it has a fun hero and I adore the very end  - abrupt though it may be. For me it earned a Queen of Puddings (but that is partly due to the relief I felt at being able to read the entire book in the car between running errands all morning). I'm not saying that it's fabulous (for instance why did Loveday let the horrible Mimi get away with assault?), but it's a nice little slice of Neels - the perfect length for reading during Saturday morning errands.
Food: She eggs a lot of eggs and egg based dishes (such as omelettes), rice pudding, milk pudding, beans, Charles takes her out and plies her with cream cakes. 'Mrs. Duckett's teas were like no other: there were muffins in a silver dish, tiny sandwiches, fairy cakes, and a cake thick with fruit and nuts.'
Fashion: We have pretty thin pickings here. A middle-age appropriate navy blue wool crepe, and 'a plain sheath of a dress, and well cut, although the material from which it was made was cheap - but the colour was right: a pale bronze which gave her hair colour and flattered her eyes'.
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