Tales From The Vicarage ~ Lady Chatterley's Lover, The Book, The Trial, And The Bishop

Once upon a time in England there was a big commotion concerning the publication of Lady Chatterley's Lover, a book written by D. H. Lawrence and published by Penguin Books. 

The book was first published privately in Italy in 1928 and in France in 1929. However, it wasn't until 1960 that it was first openly published by Penguin Books in the UK.  

The publication of the book, which is about a working class man and an aristocratic woman having an affair, caused quite a stir. An affair between the upper and lower classes alone was offensive to many in England. Then, in addition, the book includes several four-letter words considered obscene at the time. 

Eventually a trial was held in London's Old Bailey charging Penguin Books with obscenity. The charge was supported by the conservative Archbishops of Canterbury and York. 

Reading some of my letters home from when I lived in the vicarage, I was reminded that I knew John Robinson, the  Bishop of Woolwich, whose testimony for the defense against censorship of the book helped to secure a jury verdict in favor of Penguin Books. 

The trial was a huge event in London at the time - reporters from newspapers and TV were packed outside the court. The commotion over this trial was sort of obscene in its own way and, somehow, I got a little bit involved at the end of it. 

The Bishop of Woolwich was a liberal New Testament scholar, who was a very good friend of the vicar. He visited the vicarage frequently and I got to know him and his family. I wrote home that I was supposed to address him as, "my lord," but had a hard time doing this, instead I managed to throw in a "sir" here and there I told my parents. Sitting here reading it, I had to smile at my younger self.

The Archbishops of Canterbury and York were not pleased with the outcome of the trial and particularly not with the bishop. As a result of the liberal verdict and the upset Archbishops, the story continued to grow and the media descended on the bishop's house. 

His children were scared and upset about the noisy crowds outside their home; they couldn't go out and play, they couldn't get to school and no one knew when it all would end. So the vicar and I decided we were going to bring the children to the vicarage and look after them there. That way, the bishop and Mrs. Robinson could sneak out of their house and go into hiding until all the excitement died down.

I don't remember much about this. It's truly a gift that my mom saved the letters I wrote home and a good thing too that I loved to write to them about all my adventures. 

Looking back, I remember the the huge crowd. I believe I remember it because it was indeed scary. I had never seen anything like it, such a huge crowd, photographers, TV cameras, reporters relentlessly in pursuit of a glimpse of the bishop and his family. I have no idea how the vicar and I managed to get the kids in the car and drive out of there

What I do remember though is this: Soon everyone in the UK, including the vicar, bought the book, wrapped it in brown paper to hide what they were reading, and hopefully enjoyed it immensely!

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"No other jury verdict has had such a profound social impact as the acquittal of Penguin Books in the Lady Chatterley trial." - The Guardian, October 22, 2010 (The 50th anniversary of the trial.)

Tales From The Vicarage ~ Mr. Jones

This is a revised post, first posted in 2012 when I called it:

How I Sent The Vicar Down The Straight And Narrow

I spent about two and a half years in London in the late 1950s - early 1960s. At first, I went to school and lived with a Polish count and his family. They were poor, refugees, lived in Ealing a London suburb. They rented rooms to add some income. They were intellectuals, he worked for a literary magazine, and all sorts of interesting writers and musicians visited their home. 

After I left the Polish family and spent a summer in Sweden, I looked for a job as an au pair, someone who helps out with children and does some light housekeeping. 

I don't remember how this came about, but I got a job in a  British vicarage, located in Lee Green, Kent. I was to look after a four-year old boy, named Stephen. The other members of the family were Mr. and Mrs. Smith, their daughter Janet and eldest son Robert. I believe they were around 12 and 10 years old at the time. 

Other family members were an orange cat, named Ginger, a rabbit named Biscuit, and a guinea pig that the kids gave to me. There was also a stout woman, named Mrs. Plummer, who came in and did the heavy housekeeping for the family. Mrs. Smith worked outside of the home and Mr. Smith, the vicar, worked at home. They were a wonderful, warm and caring family. The children welcomed me with open arms and I felt at home from the moment I arrived. 

The kids and their pets.

I only worked about half a day, around lunch and early afternoons. Janet and I often went to her riding school and rode horses. My favorite was called Everest, a huge, but friendly horse. We would go on field trips with the horses, riding through the beautiful English countryside. After all the studying of the previous year, it was an easy and peaceful life. 

Everest and I after a muddy ride.

I often went to church with the family and learned about the Church of England. I didn't have to go as part of my job, but the vicar was a charming man, a wise man, and his services were really great. The vicar was also compassionate and kind to the many people who would come to the vicarage for a variety of reasons. Many of them came because there was a need; a need for a talk with the vicar; a need for some direction, some advice, or some assistance.

Mr. and Mrs. Smith

One day, the door bell rang and when I answered it, I found Mr. Jones outside. Mr. Jones was bit a socially inept, a little off and difficult to be around. On this particular day, he was clearly agitated and insisted he had to see the vicar at once. I knew the vicar was home, so I invited Mr. Jones to step into the hallway. I looked for the vicar, but couldn't find him anywhere. The vicarage was a huge old house with all sorts of nooks and crannies. I opened a couple of doors, just to check, including one to the room where the coal that heated the house was kept. And there I found him! Imagine that, the vicar, a man of God, was hiding in the coal bin ~ well, almost! 

Me and my Guinea pig.

He told me to tell Mr. Jones I couldn't find him. I told him that this man is in some sort of trouble and he really needs to talk to you, so you better go and see him. The vicar said,"no, he just talks and talks and I'm busy." I said, "you're supposed to see these people and help them. And I will not lie for you." This went on for a while, then the vicar relented and met with Mr. Jones.

The next morning, the call came. Mr. Jones had died, unexpectedly, the evening before. The vicar was in shock when he told me. He thanked me for insisting  he talk to Mr. Jones, who had gone home afterwards and then had a fatal heart attack.

Much to his credit, the vicar owned up to this in church the following Sunday. Not to hiding in the coal bin, but to his own reluctance and my insistence on the day that Mr. Jones died. 

I'm know the vicar never forgot me and the lesson he learned that day.