Diana Athill continues her series of memoirs by painting a portrait of a time gone by: the 1940s, when travel was by ship and train rather than plane and, of necessity, slower and more reflective.
A FLORENCE DIARY
Diana Athill
Granta
By WILLIE CAMPBELL
Diana Athill's series of memoirs always delight, with her perceptive descriptions of life and her role in it, her gentle wit and polished turn of phrase giving the reader a sense of immediacy and presence in the author's experiences.
This offering contains all we might expect and, in addition, a portrait of a time gone by: the 1940s, when travel was by ship and train rather than plane and, of necessity, slower and more reflective.
Athill (at the age of 30) goes on a two-week visit to Florence with her cousin Pen, who she says "could hardly be more different'' to herself, but yet they "travelled together as comfortably as a pair of old bedroom slippers''.
For Athill, travel was always to somewhere abroad. She seems blessed with cousins who have houses or jobs in foreign countries and can be relied upon to be hospitable.
The late 1940s is, of course, a time of release and relief after the wars, and so the travel has an added dimension of celebration.
Athill's mother asks her to keep a diary so here it is, a record of physical and psychological reactions and insights in a fortnight journey to Florence from Britain.
We have comments on the travel conditions (no sleeper in the train; prepared to sleep sitting up), sensory shifts: "all countries have their smells, enjoyable for simply being theirs'', encounters with other travellers, her pleasure in connecting with strangers.
By her last day she notes, "I find that I have hardly put in anything that we've done'', so we then get a virtual roll call of churches, galleries, bakeries.
But before long, the reaction to and commentary on experiences come back into focus, because "people's descriptions of beautiful things are always useless''.
She recalls a holiday which she'll never forget and which didn't have one unenjoyable minute. "Everyone says `it must have been marvellous, you look as though you've been enjoying yourself so much'.''
Athill carries the reader into the enjoyment and provides a rewarding and stimulating mix of nostalgia and refreshment.
Willie Campbell is a Dunedin educator.
