Damaged books, and a poem from 18 July 1959

As previously mentioned, the hundreds of books that Marianne collected over the years rather took over every room in the family home. And after she died in 1989 aged just 52, things in our house slowly but inevitably got rearranged, with some of her book collection being boxed up and moved into the garage and summer house to free up some space.

Imogen and her face of woe

Which was fine, until one day three summers ago we discovered that disaster had struck - the summer house roof was no longer watertight. And yes, boxes of valuable old books had been drenched in rainwater as a result. Then left to go mouldy as they lay damp and undiscovered for several weeks.

It was a very depressing operation trying to rescue the books from their sodden mouldy state. We emptied all the boxes, and spread the poor books out on a dry floor on top of layers of kitchen towel, attempting to wipe the mould off with a damp J-cloth, all in a pretty futile effort to save them. We had to throw a fair amount of books away as they just didn't seem to be worth saving - crinkled up, mouldy, stuck together, torn :-(

Absolutely heart-breaking. Look how beautiful some of these books are - their hand-coloured illustrations, the embellished front covers. Look - Wuthering Heights written by "Ellis Bell", the name that Emily Bronte used when first published, as she and her sisters believed at the time that "authoresses are liable to be looked on with prejudice".

And more pictures of tragedy...

Soggy Tennyson

Mouldy Kate Greenaway, among others

Beautiful hand-drawn cartoon book, and other damaged victims

Many of these books would have been bought from Jon Ash book shop in the late 1950s and early 1960s. Many of them are probably fairly valuable. We'd almost rather not know - it's sad enough to know from a sentimental point of view that the books our mother collected and loved so much, have been damaged beyond repair. And of course, not really knowing what the books might be worth, they weren't insured.

However, at least a lot more of her collection remains safe and dry in the house! And shall remain so, we hope...

Here's a poem from Mr Nash to Marianne, dated 18 July 1959. I think his ability to deal with his unrequited adoration was diminishing, and it sounds as if Marianne had become somewhat aloof, visiting his bookshop less frequently in her weekday lunch hours in an attempt to not give him false hope.

Now bid me go
For I have seen
Your beauty unalloyed,
And I have worshipped you
According to my lights
And found you inaccessible.

You who are cold
And silent stay
To me who need you so
Not for your flesh so fair
(Though that were bliss indeed)
But for your many virtues rare

So bid me go
And free yourself
From one who cannot give
A fraction of your worth
In anything save words
And time, and thoughts and dreams - all dreams.

18th July, 1959