"Oh, there's Angus at the bottom of the platform,"
she exclaimed. "My little lad—how he's grown! But who is the lady with him
carrying a violin-case? And where's Wincy? John, your eyes are stronger than
mine. Where is Wincy?"
"Yes, that's Angus," her husband said, turning
around. "Looks fit, doesn't he? Who's the lady with him? Why—bless my
soul!—the lady with him is Wincy."
…
Wincy looked sideways at her mother. No, that wasn't the way
she had expected her to look. The features were the same, but sharper, as
though someone had put accenting lines into a drawing.
Now That April's There begins in early
1944, with the return of Angus and Wincy (Winifred) Turner to their parents in
Oxford, following several years of evacuation to the U.S. They've had an
extraordinarily happy time away, staying with the Hilliards ("Uncle Bill
and Aunt Polly") in Belmont, Massachusetts, a small town outside of
Cambridge (Oxford vs. Cambridge, get it?). Bill Hilliard was a professor at
Harvard, as their father, John Turner, is at Oxford, though Uncle Bill's
interest in child psychology and enjoyment of creative activities with the
children sets him as much apart from Professor Turner's standoffish intellect
as Aunt Polly's easygoing, affectionate nature sets her apart from the stiffer,
chillier, and undoubtedly more exhausted Rachel Turner, who is often rushing
around in aid of the W.V.S. and has traditional views of the behaviors of
children. Thus, the changes in physical appearance made clear in the early
passages, quoted above, turn out to be the tip of the iceberg of the efforts,
by parents and children alike, to convert each other to the perspectives and
behaviors each believe are correct.
Among
other things, Wincy is now 15 and has come to consider herself more or less
grown up, a position with which Rachel disagrees. She also shocks her parents
with her outspokenness (Uncle Bill believed teenagers were old enough to
express opinions about the world; the Turners beg to differ) and what might be
called her "loose ways"—i.e. publicly hugging Hank, a young friend
from Belmont who is now in the Army, when he pays a surprise visit to Oxford,
and happily planning to go on the river alone with Francis Quelch, the teenage
son of one of her father's colleagues. Meanwhile, 8-year-old Angus starts
wetting his bed because of the anxiety of readjustment, which horrifies Rachel,
who isn't exactly receptive to Wincy's psychology—particularly the suggestion
that she doesn't make Angus feel that
she loves him:
"English people of good taste do not display their
emotions," Mrs. Turner said. Having settled the argument, she left the
garden.
Needless
to say, at first the balance clearly seems to tilt in favor of the American way
of doing things, and in all fairness it probably stays at least a bit slanted
in that direction. But it is also true that there is gradually something of a
melding of cultures that leaves both a bit more nuanced and perhaps more suited
to an England dramatically changed by the war.
Wincy's
surprising liking for shy, idealistic Francis—despite his terrible, overbearing
mother who is manipulating and manuevering to get her husband appointed the
next Warden of St James's College—makes the more romantic bluster of Hank lose
some of its shimmer. The practical skills that the children have learned from
the Hilliards—helping prepare and clean up the meals, repairing ragged
electronic devices that can't be replaced in wartime—come in very handy for
their overworked mother and absentminded father. And even that slightly
indecent, tackily American psychology Wincy is always going on about may have
its professional uses for Professor Turner…
Neumann/Newman
(the spelling of her name seems strangely variable—it's "Neumann" on
the copy of the book that I read, but is usually given as "Newman" in
online resources, so who knows how she herself actually spelled it?) was an
American Quaker whose religion often informed her work. From what I've read
about her, she had the reputation for being a bit preachy in her novels, of
which Now That April's There was her
first.
Another
author I enjoy, Elfrida Vipont, also a Quaker, apparently has a similar
reputation, though I don't find her so, but the two authors do have in common
that all of their main characters are well-meaning and kind-hearted, perhaps a
bit idealistically so. For the most part, I didn't find Now That April's There preachy either—with one glaring exception.
Wincy becomes friends with the current Warden's daughter, and at one point asks
her about whether Brits follow psychology at all. The response is too
deliciously ludicrous not to quote:
"Well, no," Daphne said at length. "English
people don't bother their heads about that sort of thing as a rule, though before
the war, when there wasn't so much to do, some scientists did. But we don't
have to worry much about complexes. We dispose of that sort of thing at
birth."
Wincy looked up in astonishment. "At birth?" she
asked, incredulously. "But how can one? I mean, one hasn't even got the
complexes yet."
"Baptism," Daphne explained in her gentle voice, but
not as though she were talking to a child. "Baptism rids people of
original sin and leaves them free to go about the business of life. It's much
more expedient than psycho-analysis. I understand it takes years to rid a
person of complexes, and even then they may return."
It was a new idea, and quite good, Wincy considered. She wasn't
sure. If only she could have learned more about psychology before she left
America—she realized now that she didn't know enough to help in even a simple
argument like this.
Now,
it is certainly true that within the novel itself it is psychology, not
baptism, that saves the day, so I'm not at all sure Neumann is speaking for
herself when she presents Daphne's ridiculous viewpoint. But there's still the
fact that Wincy considers the idea "quite good" rather than giggling
uncontrollably or gazing at Daphne pityingly, but perhaps she's just too polite
for that. At any rate, I didn't let this passage trip me up too much, and I had
a wonderful time with the book overall. Plus, I found it an interesting
portrayal of some of the issues resulting from long-term evacuation of children
and therefore well worth reading.
I
think this novel first hit my radar because someone on the D. E. Stevenson
discussion list recommended it (ages ago, of course—it takes me forever to
follow up on any lead). Which leads me to think that perhaps a few of you have
actually read it? If so, what did you think? Preachy or entertaining?
