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Time and Time Again, by James Hilton.
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Another work of a much beloved author that sounds as if one must have read it, due to the title, but leaving one without a clue as to truth of that. Begins enjoyable enough, with humour and more.
And one discovers the genesis of Hilton's perhaps most well known work here, accidentally:-
"The school was then in charge of old ‘Chips’, who had been summoned from retirement to plug a hole in the wartime shortage of masters. Chips ran things with a benignity that made Brookfield more than tolerable to several boys who might otherwise have found it unpleasant."
"Goodbye, Mr. Chips" is arguably more famous than Hilton's iconic Lost Horizon, if only because of its being shown to schoolchildren.
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Hilton this time delves into world of a junior level diplomat and his memories, Cambridge and London and Gloucestershire, WWI and post WWI. In 'So Well Remembered' Hilton had a mill worker's son marry the mill owner's daughter, who left him to marry second son of a Lord; here, it sort of mirrors the set-up, in thst a second son of a knighted man, with some landed property and gentry status, is courting a London suburban lower middle-class daughter of a park superintendent, in the flashback.
"‘Good God,’ Weigall interrupted, ‘who cares about class nowadays except smart fellows like Bill Peters? He’s a snob in reverse—one of these days he’s going to make that miner’s cottage business pay off like a bonanza. Whereas you and I, Andy, are stuck in between—we weren’t born at Blenheim or Chatsworth on the one hand, and on the other hand we didn’t starve in tenements or pick crusts out of gutters...We just come from country homes with bits of land and families that go back a few centuries without having collected any titles or riches on the way...Well, that’s not quite true in your case, your father has a knighthood, but I gather he earned it, which is bad...I tell you, Andy, in the world I see coming our background—yours and mine—is going to be a pretty fair handicap. We’ll be the excluded middle—if you’ll pardon a logician’s term. So prepare to defend yourself, not Lily. She’s all right. She’ll sleep well tonight—she hasn’t our worries. You look worn out, by the way. Why don’t you get to bed?’"
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A while ago - specifically, February 05, 2016 - attempting to write about books I'd read over half a century and loved, but uncertain of titles, I'd written:-
"I wonder if this is the story I remembered for its gentle wafting of music through a tale that begins with a train accident, and a man from first class compartment who goes repeatedly into lower class compartments that are worst hit with fire, saving many people in the process, and not stopping even when he was repeatedly told to care about his own safety.
"Love and music wafts gently through the story of two ill fated souls that met too late, and all they had was a mutual realisation that they loved each other.
"When later I found that a piece of music I had been listening to stayed on in my head like a fragrance that I could not identify - and it turned out to be the composer mentioned in this story, even if perhaps not the exact same piece, it was not a surprise, but a confirmation - I had begun to listen to the music because of reading this amongst others and had been listening to various composers for a couple of years, and then found this music remaining with me, subconsciously.
"But I am only guessing that this is the title - that it was this writer, I am sure."
Now, I'm certain this isn't the one, but am unsure if I did read this decades ago. And before the turn, one feels almost certain one didn't - but then comes the unexpected turn that is still a horror, but somehow not as unforeseen as it ought to have been if this were the first time one were reading this, and one almost knows the next turn one expects.
And when it comes, one knows it's another work of Hilton, read and forgotten, except like a faint perfume that lingers.
"Charles felt rather sick. ‘All right...so you pulled it off. You’ve been clever, I admit that. It’s an odd thing to prove to me on the day I’m supposed to become a man—that life’s full of wormholes and that you know how to find them...never mind, though, I’ll admit that also. But now I’ve got a disillusionment for you. This career of mine you talk of—this career—this—this...’
"His eyes were riveted by something else on the table before him. It was a telegram, addressed to Charles at Beeching, from his college tutor.
"HEARTIEST CONGRATULATIONS ON OBTAINING NOT ONLY FIRST IN TRIPOS BUT YOUR THESIS ALSO CONSIDERED SO GOOD STRONGLY RECOMMEND SUBMISSION FOR THE COURTENAY PRIZE..."
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About this point, one is reminded also of another work of the author, but here the protagonist is innocent and more, in the separation he suffers from his early young love - unlike in the other work, one involving a medical student.
And there are bits such as -
" ... He sometimes found things he agreed with in the unlikeliest quarters—a remark, for instance, by D. H. Lawrence—’Let there be a parliament of men and women for the careful and gradual unmaking of laws.’"
Which, added to other details such as the fire drill and letters to Times, make one wonder if the author was sketching someone he knew well, even if not long. This impression grows as Hilton gets deeper into WWII years, which he brings a vividness despite his keeping it between diplomats, generally upper strata and so on; London blitz was suffered by most residents, after all, even if specifics weren't identical.
" ... She found a job with the local authority, arranging shelter for bombed-out families; in this she became an instant success and (to Charles’s dismay) quite invaluable. Sometimes when they both returned to the flat, she from the Town Hall and he from his varied duties in Whitehall, it was long past midnight. Then if there was no raid they could have a meal of sorts and a few hours’ sleep before morning took them to work again. It was hard, and amidst these compulsions, to remember that they were financially well off—hard, and also, as a rule, irrelevant. Money was still the lubricant, but it was not the driving power of this new kind of life; it conferred a few small privileges, but no large immunities. ... "
This universality of experience, of travails and tragedies of WWII years is further brought home, subtly, but nevertheless with a strong identification for the reader, subsequently, and one wonders just how much of it all was autobiographical for Hilton - for, with all the wonder of similar strongly bringing the protagonist home to the reader in his much better known works, they still remain a tad remote.
The final twist brings another well remembered turn and helps one sum up the work, if one wished, as story of a bright but truly modest man who missed his generally expected chances to rise due to no fault of his, but achieved sudden limelight due to being chosen by a defector as someone 'simpatico' to come to when surrendering.
"He felt that so many things had happened before, even though far differently, and the thing to do was perhaps just to sit by the window for a few minutes and remember how."
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April 19, 2021 - April 23, 2021.
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