Things I love...#183363

I finished Hons and Rebels today. I found it completely modest and without artifice, unlike Diana Mosley's claptrap. In fact, parts of it made me want to re-read "A Life of Contrasts", but I don't think I could handle it at the moment. I need a Mitford break. But I'm not taking too much of a break, just a detour to Evelyn Waugh's "Vile Bodies". I think.

Jessica MItford ends the book with the her husband Esmond Romilly leaving to go to war at the age of 22 (I think), which would put her at 23. At this age already she had lived two or three lives of normal people.

I found the very brief mention of the death of her four month old daughter (Julia, though she never mentions her by name) particularly poignant- I have a four month old daughter, asleep in her cot, right now. She describes the dreams that Esmond and herself had for the baby, that she would be free of the restraints that were placed upon themselves as they were growing up, of nannies and governesses, and that she would be surrounded by intelligent, interesting people. We have the same dreams for our own little girl, that she is free of the religious indoctrination and prejudices that were forced upon us as children, and that she is free to pursue anything she wants to pursue. She describes their joy at watching her grow- learning to smile and catching her feet with unsteady hands- the very same thing M and I do every day. However, through partial ignorance on the part of a baby nurse and herself, mother and baby both come down with a horrible case of the measles and mother recovers, only to find baby at death's door in an oxygen tent. She struggles on for a few days, and dies. How awful. They flee to Corsica to attempt to, in any way, recover from the terrible shock.

This story is told, amongst others, with consummate grace and poise, not flowery or trite in any way. I have often noticed, in the autobiographies of women, that events like this are placed alongside wars and political intrigues with equal emphasis, which is where I believe they belong too. The death of a baby is more of a tragedy than the death of Eva Braun, for so many reasons. And, for me, made all the more real by my living, breathing, perfect baby, just ten steps away.

So well done, Jessica Mitford, on recreating your heady youth. I think I read somewhere that she has since written a follow-up to this book, describing her departure from Communism. I'll dig it up one day, but not today. For now, it's Arcade Fire and watching my baby sleep.