The greatest pleasure of feeling a bit under the weather is picking reading material to match your frail state. No weighty tomes or complex sentence structure here please! Just straightforward storytelling that will capture an invalid’s attention without wearing them out.
Enter Ten Way Street by Susan Scarlett.
Scarlett (the penname under which Noel Streatfeild wrote a dozen light romances – see previous reviews of Under the Rainbow, Babbacombe’s, and Pirouette) is always reliable in these circumstances and Ten Way Street fitted my mood perfectly. Wrapped up with blankets and with a constant stream of tea to keep me hydrated, I fell into the undemanding story with pleasure.
Ten Way Street is the London address of Mrs Cardew. Better known by her stage name of Miss Margot Dale, Mrs Cardew is a genius in the theatre but a tyrant at home where her three children (Meggie, age 12; Betsy, age 10; and David, age 7) are at the mercy of her self-obsessed whims. Having pulled the children out of their day schools after clashing with teachers, Mrs Cardew has engaged newly qualified governess Beverley Shaw to take care of them.
For Beverley, used to the pleasant but austere orphanage where she grew up, the Cardew household is a shock. The children have been brought up as accessories to their mother and are dressed up and trotted out to show off in a way that boggles her mind. They are used to fur accessories, exquisite clothing, and caviar. What they are not used to is an adult who cares about them. Beverley, of course, is that adult.
Streatfeild wrote often about actors and their world, inspired by her own decade-long acting career, and she was rarely kind. Mrs Cardew is all things horrible but, for most of the book, seems at least plausible. It seems sad but realistic that she would prefer to spend her time lavishing attention on male callers rather than her children, or that she would have little patience with childish ailments and insecurities. The household exists in a state of nervous exhaustion, ever sensitive to Mrs Cardew’s unpredictable moods, and the strain shows on everyone – especially the children. But they are all quick to excuse her for she is, when the mood strikes her, a Genius on stage.
Beverley, however, doesn’t think Genius excuses Mrs Cardew’s behaviour towards her children. In best governess-school style, Beverley sets out to get the children on a proper diet (no more gorging on caviar) and on a proper school schedule (no more jetting off to dress fittings if she can help it). She gives them what they need – attention and discipline – and, to the surprise of absolutely no one, they slowly turn from obnoxious brats into completely normal, lovable children.
An admiring witness to this transformation is Peter Crewdson. Invalided back to England after contracting black-water fever in Deepest, Darkest Africa, Peter is a young biochemist who has inadvertently become the object of Mrs Cardew’s very determined affections. Originally a friend of the children, Mrs Cardew “stole” him from them (something they are resigned to – this is not the first time their mother has stolen one of their male friends) but he still manages to break away to the nursery to visit them. Which is where he meets Beverley. Naturally enough, the two sensible young people fall in love but all is not well. How will Mrs Cardew react when she discovers the governess has stolen the man she loves? And how can Bevelery even think of leaving the children who are just beginning to blossom under her care?
The ending is extraordinarily melodramatic but, after a few scuffles and a runaway attempt, all is resolved in a neat happy ending. It’s not great literature but it is exactly right for a reader with a head cold.
Let’s start in 1948 with the instantly forgettable Pirouette by Susan Scarlett. Scarlett was the pen name under which Noel Streatfeild wrote a dozen light and extraordinary gentle romances. They are all formulaic and trite but generally enjoyable. Unfortunately, this one was just trite and formulaic. It’s the story of Judith Nell, a young ballerina (and young means very young – only 18), who has just been offered a big professional break. At the same time, her boyfriend accepts a job in Rhodesia and asks her to marry and go with him. In the background are discontented ballerinas – one of whom is more than happy to go out dancing and drinking (and who knows what else’ing) with Paul while Judith struggles with her decision – and young men who see no future in England, only in Africa. As we know, that’s not going to end at all well for anyone. There are class struggles, career struggles, and familial struggles and yet it all manages to be quite dull. The only good thing about it is the portrait of Judith’s family and how all its members struggle because of Mrs Nell’s stage mother ways. It’s a bit overwrought but essentially good, especially the conspiracies that spring up between the other members of the family as they try to out manoeuvre Mrs Nell.
And in the entirely satisfactory category of “frothy and forgettable but enjoyable” we have Every Frenchman Has One by Olivia de Havilland. First published in 1961 and 
On Friday afternoon, I returned home after work to that most delightful of things: a package of books. A few weeks ago, I shamelessly begged Shirley at 
The Captive Reader 