Shopping

If you need an I Love (heart) Mr Darcy magnet / wrapping paper with matching tag / poster of a smouldering Colin Firth, then the Museum shop is the place to come. There has even been a request for I heart Mr. Darcy wallpaper. The shop always smells nice - maybe from the polished floors, maybe from the locally-sourced lavender which has been plaited into ‘wands’, maybe from the smells of new and old books, or maybe from some magical combination of it all. Today the card reader bit of the till was down - it’s currently being fixed - because last night’s storms brought a six hour power cut to the village. But despite the weather, visitors keep arriving. Now is probably a really good time to visit the Museum - it’s much quieter than in the summer and you may find that you have it almost to yourself. You could also come to do some of your Christmas shopping. You can visit the shop without paying to go into the Museum if you are in a hurry.
I’ve wondered if it would be possible to do all of my Christmas shopping here. I got a little stuck when I came to my brother-in-law, Keith. He certainly doesn’t heart Mr. Darcy. My husband suggested buying Keith some Jane Austen post-it notes and crossing out “Jane Austen” and writing Arsene Wenger on each one... But actually Keith is an excellent gardener, so I could probably find something here for him. There are plenty of things to do with gardens in the shop.
I am fascinated by the whole Behind The Scenes At The Museum thing. I love learning about how it all works. The most popular things in the shop are, unsurprisingly, biographies, books and postcards. Ann (House and Shop Manager) keeps a collection of rare and out of print books, and gets calls from all over the world. Somebody recently bought a set of rare editions as a 21st birthday present for his daughter. It’s vulgar to say it, but £650! I would heart somebody who did that. The worldwide Austen industry - the books, the movies, the adaptations etc. etc. - must generate billions. Of this only a tiny fraction comes to the Museum, though film and tv companies do sometimes donate things. (Anne Hathaway’s bluey-green dress is here.) There aren’t huge mark-ups in the shop either. Ann also told me that she tries to keep some things that are unique, made only for Jane Austen’s House Museum.
For £1.50 you can have A History of England by a partial, prejudiced and ignorant Historian (complete with her sister’s illustrations). Another big seller is a book of Hugh Thomson’s illustrations for Pride and Prejudice (a mere £2.50). There are duck feather pens dyed all colours (or from very exotic ducks) for £1.50. These are secretly biros - much less messy than the real quills (£4.75) which you can buy either au naturel or with steel nibs. There are pleasingly heavy glass inkwells in jewel colours (£15) too. One of my aunts has a phobia about feathers. I think the lavender hand cream might be better for her. Or perhaps The Jane Austen Cookbook (£9.99) (which is really more The Martha Lloyd Cookbook) and gives you recipes for delights such as Almond Cheesecakes, Mrs Fowle’s Orange Wine, Spruce Beer and Solid Syllabubs. Though as my feather-fearing aunt is a vegan, she wouldn't want to know about Forcemeat Balls or A Harrico of Mutton…
For Celeste, my newest niece, I’m going to buy the gorgeous old-fashioned teddy. He is jolly tall and has an extravagant bow made from the limited edition silk that matches Jane’s pelisse. He’s only £9.95. You can choose from cravats (huge demand?) scarves, bound journals and Pure Little Bags Of Fragrance (£6) in the same silk. It’s made by Whitchurch Silk Mill - another of the local businesses that Ann likes to buy from. Actually, that bear might be for me.
It is odd, this whole museum shop thing. What is it makes us long for a lavender bag or a glass inkwell? I guess we just are hoping to go home with a little bit of magic in our pockets.

Ungiven Gifts

Another crazy windy day at Chawton, nothing like Anne Elliot’s ideas of the season when she is contemplating where she should go when Kellynch Hall is let
“…Anne, though dreading the possible heats of September in all the white glare of Bath, and grieving to forgo all the influence so sweet and so sad of the autumnal months in the country ….”
I love that “influence so sweet and so sad of the autumnal months”. There was nothing sweet about the weather last Saturday which saw was the first of my writing workshops here. We were in the lovely new Learning Centre. The wind howled. Occasionally the lights dimmed, and at one point a light dusting of new plaster fell onto the table where people were working, the result, I suppose, of a particularly savage gust penetrating the new roof. The Learning Centre stood firm, though, and there were no casualties. 12 people came, people with roots in Brazil, Germany, South Africa and Scotland, as well as Hampshire. They all seemed to have a good time and certainly wrote plenty. I loved meeting them.
One of the exercises (and I know that this is a standard of creative writing workshops) was on creating/developing a character by writing about his/her possessions. As well as the whole Museum, and Jane’s gorgeous pelisse (autumn colours), we had The Handling Collection for inspiration. Unpacking it is like unpacking the Christmas decorations. Everything is wrapped in tissue paper (or less picturesque bubble wrap.) There are impossibly narrow white kid gloves (the leather feels like mushroom peelings) and a stretching tool that looks like a pair of chopsticks, mourning brooches and rings (one, to fit a tiny finger, was for Sir Francis Austen), a fan carved from horn (the colour something like the plastic of those tortoiseshell hair clips) and another that is, I think, ivory. Regency accessories were terribly dainty, the fans and parasols are tiny. There are seals; one has a carnelian handle, one is a bird and one is a dog. There is a heavy black locket which opens to reveal two woven ovals of hair. There are buckles and lace collars… so much treasure.
What would their owners think if they knew this stuff was now at Jane Austen’s House Museum? And what of the elephant, the goats, the horned beasts that were the original (and doubtless unwilling) donors of some of these articles?
Some of the objects, a candlestick for instance, are well used. Some must be treasured things, carefully kept, whilst some, like some of the gloves, look as though they were never worn. Perhaps some of the things that survive and are donated to museums are things that people didn’t much like, the sort of things that end up at the back of a drawer - The Unwanted Gifts. I have a box under the bed, I know lots of people do, and there are things in there, not so much unwanted gifts, though there are a few of those (a plastic gravy boat with integral strainer, a china tree for hanging your rings on whilst you are washing up) but also things I have bought as presents and not yet given to anybody. Will the gravy boat (with integral strainer), the Dennis the Menace pencils (the party bag spares), the Make Glitter Pictures kit, and the lavender-scented teddy that you warm in a microwave be part of somebody’s Handling Collection one day, exhibits in a museum of ungiven and unwanted gifts? I hope not!

What Am I Doing Here?

Well, I’m sitting in the Reading Room, which is jolly cold, today being foggy and Novemberish. The floorboards in this room are mostly original, about an octave-stretch wide, and settled in gentle waves. Nobody could be good at marbles in this room. I’m told that the chill of the cellar sucks the heat from the room away, but as with the rest of the house, there is nothing at all spooky here. Each morning and evening members of staff go through lovely rituals of waking up the house and putting it to sleep. Shutters are opened or closed, exhibits illuminated or put to rest in darkness, flowers placed on windowsills or returned to the stone sink. This stone sink is backstage in a lovely little utility room, not big enough to be called a scullery. It makes me think of the scene in Rebecca where the narrator finds the dogs’ leads, wellingtons etc and puts on old mac, and then finds, horribly, a handkerchief with the initial R. By the way, there is (not horribly at all) one of Cassandra’s handkerchiefs upstairs.
But apart from admiring sinks and having a lovely time, here are some of the things I’m doing or about to do.
1. Writing Workshops. First one on Saturday - Creating Characters. Come and spend the day writing in this most inspiring of settings. Further workshops in February, March, and April.
2. Competition for Schools. Aims: (i) to celebrate 200 years since Jane Austen arrived at the cottage and (i) to encourage local young writers. We’ll be asking for a 200-300 word opening of a novel. Three age group categories for key stages 3,4 & 5 (that means secondary school and sixth form.) Closing date 1st March. Cash prizes! Details will follow on the website. I’m hoping to visit some local schools in the new year to talk about this.
3.Writing Group. First meeting is Wednesday November 25th at 4.45pm. If you’d like to belong to a supportive group of fellow writers, to share work and ideas, and give each other constructive criticism, please do come along. We’ll meet in the Learning Centre, probably fortnightly.
4. Reading Group. Would you like to belong to a Book Group? We’ll be looking at contemporary and classic fiction, maybe biography, whatever members are interested in. I know that there’s already an excellent reading Group at Chawton House Library - we won’t duplicate what they are doing. First meeting at 4.45pm on Monday November 30th.
5. General Lurking Around. The great pleasure of being here - peering at things, seeing the changes in the garden. (Brave marigolds battle on - the fig has lost its leaves.) When the stewards are short-staffed I pretend to be one of them and sit in the drawing room to welcome visitors. Blog Joke Spot: My son, Eddie (aged 9), watching football on tv with his Dad, noticed all of the stewards in their high-visibility jackets. ‘Who are those men, Dad? And why are they all called Stewart?’
6. Writing A Novel. Oh yes, that.
7. And this blog. I have never had a blog before and am so pleased that some people (many of whom have far more beautiful & clever blogs) are reading it. Thank you. But I don’t know if you can count writing a blog as an actual activity. I think it is meant to be more of an incidental thing.

Strange Things Seen On The Way To The Museum

1. In the rough grass by the roadside where the bus stops was a soldier’s helmet - green plastic, quite possibly Early Learning Centre - but with the camouflage netting missing. It was there for a few days, but now has disappeared, perhaps reclaimed by its small owner.
2. A pretty girl eating Pringles - the tub is purplish-brown, denoting Texas Barbeque flavour. She gets off at The School of Art in Winchester. How could anybody eat Pringles (Texas Barbeque flavour or otherwise) at nine o’clock in the morning?
3. Badger poo. A mess of berries on the path by the Chawton roundabout. I had seen this stuff before and thought that it might be something fox-related. I learnt from Chris Packham on last week’s Autumnwatch what it really is. Mind the road, you badgers!

What Do Writers Wear?

One of the first things that you’ll see if you visit the Museum is a copy of a morning dress (not a mourning dress). It’s displayed on a dressmaker’s dummy just beside the steward’s chair in the drawing room, like a headless presiding angel.
This is what the label says:

Morning Dress
Morning Dresses were worn for breakfast, which was eaten around 10am. These gowns were usually easy fitting and white in colour, worn with no corset for comfort and made from cotton or linen.


The dress at the Museum is made from soft ivory-coloured heavy cotton, and it does look comfortable. We know that Jane Austen was an early riser. She was the keeper of the tea and coffee (precious commodities that were kept in a locked cupboard), and she used to play the piano before other people were up. The 1810 square Clementi piano in the drawing room at the Museum isn’t Jane’s, but is “probably similar to the piano Jane bought after arriving here”. It has a gorgeous soft tone, nothing like the much-loved old warhorse that my 12 year old daughter bashes out The Can-Can on when she decides to get up early (or when one of her brothers is watching something that she doesn’t like on tv).
I imagine Jane wearing a soft morning dress when she was writing. I suspect that those early hours before the daily round of visits etc. were precious to her, the hours before she had to put on a corset and adopt her public persona. I think that writers today often wear some approximation of pyjamas when they are working. One needs to be warm enough (warm socks are a necessity) and to have nothing distracting on - no itchy tights or stiff collars. I remember envying Jo March in Little Women her “scribbling suit”. I’d have loved a bluey-black overall/pinafore kind of thing - the sort of garment that you wipe your nib on.
Some writers claim to write standing up and/or naked. I could never be one of those. In the novelist’s strange life, it would be easy to slip into 24 hour pyjama-wearing. In the brief period when I was only writing and didn’t have a proper paid job, I would often wonder if people could tell the difference between my so-called pull-ons and pyjamas. (The people who shopped from the same catalogue doubtless could.) I used to aim to abide by what I called The Pringle Principle, whereby if Alexandra Pringle, my editor at Bloomsbury, suddenly came to the door, I wouldn’t die of shame because of what I was wearing. (I aimed to abide by it, but I didn’t. I guess I was conscious of being on the slippery slope to wearing sweatpants, and trying to stop the inexorable downwards slide.) If you live in Southampton, there is a tiny chance that people will drop in on their way to France/The New Forest/ The Isle of Wight, but of course she never did. My mother’s German publisher has actually done this to her twice - it can happen - but so far Mum hasn’t been in.
At work, at The University of Southampton, it is easy to tell the Archaeologists from the Modern Linguists. I think that, sadly, I’m more in danger of being mistaken for one of the former than one of the latter. My sister, a painter (and a glamorous one) depressed my mother by telling her that it was obvious which people at a literary party were publishers and which people were writers.
I couldn’t help laughing at a recent report of Martin Amis and Will Self sharing a stage, each wearing the armour of a leather jacket, though I can quite understand wanting to don a carapace before taking the stage. I have a denim jacket that I used to wear all the time, though I’ve gone off it a bit; I’ve started to wonder if it looks like a big girl’s blouse. I wouldn’t mind having an Invisibility Cloak instead.
Meanwhile, I’m at the Museum today, wearing velvet (well, actually velourish) trousers and a cardigan and scarf. I don’t think it’s very far from these trousers to sweatpants. The people who work here all always look lovely, and I don’t feel smart enough, but then I suppose that I never feel smart enough.