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Human Geography
the economy, these are issues which affect us all. This
book introduces these topics and more including:
Andrew Jones
• global environment issues and development
• cities, firms and regions
• migration, immigration and asylum
• landscape, culture and identity
• travel, mobility and tourism Human
• agriculture and food.
Featuring an overview of theory, end of chapter
summaries, case study boxes, further reading lists
Geography
and a glossary, this book is the ideal introduction for
anybody new to the study of human geography.
Professor Andrew Jones is Head of the School of
Geography, Environment and Development Studies at
Birkbeck, University of London. Previous publications
include Dictionary of Globalization and Globalization:
Key Thinkers.
Andrew
Jones
ISBN 978-0-415-57552-2
www.routledgestudents.com
9 780415 575522
H U M A N GE O G R A P H Y
THE BASICS
andrew jones
First published 2012
by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN
Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada
by Routledge
711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017
Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business
© 2012 Andrew Jones
The right of Andrew Jones to be identified as author of this work has been asserted
by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents
Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in
any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter
invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or
retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers.
Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered
trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to
infringe.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data
Jones, Andrew, 1973-
Human geography: the basics / Andrew Jones.
p. cm. – (The basics)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
1. Human geography. I. Title.
GF41.J65 2012
304.2 – dc23
2011047582
1. Introduction 1
2. Globalization 22
3. Development and Environment 48
4. States, Nations and Culture 62
5. Cities, Regions and Industries 91
6. People, Work, and Mobility 127
7. Bodies, Practices and Identities 160
8. Concluding Overview: Human Geography Today 178
Glossary 183
References 192
Index 199
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
TABLES
1.1 Human geography and its sub-disciplines 7
1.2 Theoretical foundations to human geography 13
FIGURES
5.1 Burgess’s concentric zone model of urban land use 117
5.2 The size and spatial distribution of central places and
their hinterlands (after Christaller) 119
6.1 The demographic transition model 133
6.2 Population pyramids of a developed and a developing
country 134
INTRODUCTION
1
around gender, ethnicity, race and age. Finally, the book ends
with a brief concluding chapter that outlines some of the future
directions human geography is likely to develop along as a subject.
However, this thematic approach to providing an overview of
human geography still does not avoid the necessity of discussing
different sub-disciplines altogether. While the thematic chapters do
cut across different areas of the subject, these sub-disciplines have
distinctive topics of interest and have often developed around particular
theoretical and methodological approaches. The major sub-disciplines
and the kinds of topics geographers working in them are interested in
are shown in Table 1.1. As you will see, human geography is perhaps
more interdisciplinary in its nature than other social science subjects,
but it is important to realize it is not a chaotic or incoherent diversity.
Before we move on to the thematic chapters, it is therefore relevant
to consider in more depth the historical evolution of the subject which
led to the emergence of these distinct sub-disciplinary areas and also
examine the cross-cutting theoretical ideas that are often brought
together when human geographers seek to understand the world
today. The remainder of this chapter considers each of these issues
in turn.
the idea that the economy can be understood in isolation from social
and cultural aspects of life. Much work in economic geography
examines how economic activity is embedded in cultural ideas and
social practices within given places or organizations such as firms.
Equally, there is an ongoing debate in the subject about the relation-
ship between human culture and the so-called ‘natural’ world. As
several of the chapters in this book will discuss, social, cultural and
economic geographers have argued at length that what we mean by
nature is a social construction (albeit in different ways). On the one
hand, Marxist geographers have argued that nature is produced and
that human beings’ economic needs are bound up with the physical
reality of what we called the natural world. In a different vein of
thinking, cultural geographers argue that the category of nature itself is
part of human imagination and should therefore be understood as part
of culture. No more is this more evident that in debates about what
is meant by the idea of ‘landscape’ considered in Chapter 4.
Finally, a growing body of work within human geography today
is concerned with conceptions of the subject, identity, self and
other. Again much of this work has come to the fore in the wake
of the cultural turn. Human geography in recent decades has been
very much concerned to examine what it means to be a human
being – a human subject. In this respect, the idea of this human
subjectivity has been theorized around at least four aspects: the
body, the self, the person and identity (Thrift and Pile 1995). These
concepts of subjectivity have become important as they provide a
critique of the idea that geographical knowledge can be objective,
dispassionate and nothing to do with the person creating the
knowledge. Much human geography today is therefore concerned
about the so-called positionality of the writer, researcher or
knowledge-creator and how that is bound up with the nature of
the knowledge that is created.
Related to this use of the idea of subjectivity, human geographers
in many different sub-disciplines – social, cultural, political geo-
graphy – make use of the concepts of identity, self and other in
conceptualizing how people understand who they are and how
they differ from others. Chapter 7 explores these concepts in more
depth, but regarding identity, the most important thing to know
about human geographical understandings of these ideas is that they
are multiple and complex. Human geographers argue that it is
20 HUMAN GEOGRAPHY: THE BASICS
Gregory, D., Johnston, R., Pratt, G. and Watts, M. (eds) (2009) The Dictionary
of Human Geography [5th edition]. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell.
This book is generally regarded as an essential resource for students of human
geography, and its latest edition is probably as close as it is possible to be to
comprehensive in covering the subject within one volume. It is better used as a
resource to ‘dip’ into since the dictionary format is less good at bringing out
the linkages between different debates (even though of course the entries are
thoroughly cross-referenced).
INTRODUCTION 21
Hubbard, P., Kitchin, R. and Valentine, G. (eds) (2004) Key Thinkers on Space
and Place. London: Sage.
An extremely useful book to give you an idea of different perspectives on the
central conceptual ideas in human geography. It does so by examining the
ideas of a range of different human geographers and other social scientists
widely used by geographers.
GLOBALIZATION
GLOBALIZATION
The history of the last 50 years or so has been a period during which
human societies on planet Earth have become more interconnected
than ever before. This is what the word ‘globalization’ means at its
broadest level, and the concept is often described as being a ‘catch-all’
or an ‘umbrella’ idea because it is used with reference to the
increasing interconnectedness across the globe of almost every aspect
of human life. Globalization is not just about economic activity
(although many people do use it exclusively in that way), but also
about all kinds of changes to our existence. That means changes to
society, cultures, politics, technologies, the environment and so on.
Globalization is therefore about more than the growth of global
corporations such as McDonald’s or the fact that you can buy iPods
everywhere. It is also about the effect of many new aspects to life in
today’s world – for example, the effect of the emergence of the
GLOBALIZATION 23
internet, the massive growth in cheap air travel, the international pol-
itics of addressing climate change or the rise of ‘global’ TV shows
you can watch wherever you are on the planet. Globalization is about
the emergence (or not) of an integrated human society on Earth.
The word ‘globalization’ itself is, however, only a recent term for
this integration. Its origins go back the 1950s and 1960s with ideas
like ‘the global village’ and ‘spaceship Earth’ adding to the sense
of a ‘shrinking world’. But it is only since the late 1980s that the
concept has been propelled into widespread usage by social scientists
in several subjects from management studies to sociology. These
days the term is ever present in popular discussion among politicians
and in the media, but often it is only used in that narrower sense, to
refer to the economic aspects of life.
In contrast to the popular uses of the word, and in common with
other social scientists, human geographers have tried to develop a more
sophisticated understanding of globalization. They often therefore
imagine globalization to be some kind of general process of change, or
a set of processes, which are dramatically altering the relationships
between people and places, and generating new networks of activity
and flows of people, ideas and things across regions and continents.
This increasing interconnectedness has of course been going on for
a long time historically speaking, as the Roman Empire 2,000 years ago
or the Chinese empire (often called the ‘Celestial’ Empire) in the
Middle Ages, both corresponded to earlier but more limited forms
of this kind of integration. The important difference, however, is the
increasing range, speed and intensity of interconnections that have
developed in the last couple of centuries broadly, and the last 50 years
most particularly. Since the end of the Second World War, the so-called
‘shrinking world’ has been shrinking like never before, and the pace of
interconnectedness dramatically increased. Geographers and others have
come up with several ideas to encapsulate this – the ‘annihilation of
space by time’, ‘time-space convergence’ and ‘time-space
compression’. All see globalization as a change in the way in which
we experience space and time. This makes globalization an idea very
much at home with the heart of human geographers’ interests, since in
many ways places are where these changes to our experience of time
and space come together.
As a subject, human geography is sometimes said to have been
late to join the so-called globalization debate. Much of this debate
24 HUMAN GEOGRAPHY: THE BASICS
producing goods and services are separated from both the people
who own the means to produce things (capitalists) and those who
do the work of production (labour).
GLOBAL SOCIETY
GEOPOLITICS
The concept of geopolitics has had a long and mixed history over
the last century or so, and it is notoriously difficult to define since
its meaning has changed between periods of history. Nevertheless,
it is very much central to human geography and in particular to the
sub-discipline of ‘political geography’. In fact the origins of geo-
graphy as a subject have much to do with this concept and with what
is also known more broadly as a ‘geopolitical tradition’ of thought.
In order to understand the importance of this concept it is useful
to distinguish between ‘traditional’ and ‘critical’ geopolitics. The word
‘geopolitics’ was supposedly coined by a right-wing Swedish politi-
cian, Rudolf Kjellén, in 1899, but it only entered wider circulation
30 HUMAN GEOGRAPHY: THE BASICS
after the First World War. What emerged were various forms of tradi-
tional geopolitical thinking that sought to develop theories of the
power struggles over territory between nation-states. Geopolitics in this
traditional sense refers to the way that geographical factors and other
‘spatial’ relationships shape international politics – this includes things
like the rise and fall of nations and why they engage in conflict and war.
In other words, geography shapes the nature of politics at the interna-
tional scale (albeit in terms of a rather simplistic definition of geography
in terms of land, rivers, mountains, oceans and natural resources).
While there were many variants to traditional geopolitics, in rela-
tion to the history of and current thinking within human geography,
at least three aspects are worth highlighting. The first is the influential
ideas of the famous British geographer Halford Mackinder (1861–
1947). Although Mackinder never actually used the word itself
(Sidaway 2008), he sought to develop geography as a subject that
would be useful to politicians and others for governing nation-states.
He was particularly concerned with a state’s security and with threats
from one state to another (known as external ‘Powers’). In trying to
understand how geography affected international politics, his famous
contribution was what is known as his ‘Heartland thesis’ of 1919.
This argued that Central Asia was a crucial region in the unfolding
political history of the world. Whichever state controlled this territory
would, argued Mackinder, have the potential for world domination.
Whether this happened or not would be determined by whichever state
controlled Eastern Europe (a pivot area), and also whether the state or
states on the edge of the Heartland (known as the outer rim) took
preventative action. At that point in time, the implication was that
Britain needed to support the creation of a ‘buffer zone’ around the
Heartland to protect the then globally extensive British Empire.
A second key element to traditional geopolitics is ‘the organic
theory of the state’. The idea here is that any nation-state or country
can be understood as being like a living organism. The theory was
first laid out by a German geographer, Friedrich Ratzel, and was then
later elaborated by another German geographer, Karl Haushofer, in
the early years of the 20th century. One of the most important
outcomes of this metaphorical link between the idea of a state and
an organism was the notion that, like plants and animals, states need
space to grow. This ‘living space’ (or lebensraum in German) became
notoriously linked to ideas in Nazi (Fascist) Germany in the 1930s.
GLOBALIZATION 31
GOVERNANCE
about where to locate factories and hence where jobs are created.
Equally, the growth in the number and increasing power of supra-
national institutions such as the European Union, the
International Criminal Court and the United Nations means
that national governments now have to share governing activity
with an ever-growing number of actors that are ‘bigger’ than states.
Equally, in cultural terms, national governments no longer have the
capacity to tightly govern national newspapers, television and other
media. In this way, the cultural aspects of life are also escaping
national level governance. Geography is therefore also interested in
the question of how globalization is changing governance in today’s
world and in the many different kinds of actors that produce ‘global
governance’. An important idea here is that there is increasingly global
governance without were being single world government – that is,
the world is still effectively governed but, unlike in past eras, there
is no one state or governing power that has oversight over every-
thing. One of the big debates (political) geographers are involved in
here is the degree to which this new era of global governance is
adequate for tackling the many problems that face global society. For
example, geographical thinking has much to say on climate change
and whether new attempts at global governance – such as the 1997
Kyoto Protocol on greenhouse gas emissions – can tackle the pro-
blem of global warming. Another example would be the global
financial crisis of 2007–9, with geographers again seeking to under-
stand what kinds of new governance are needed to prevent a financial
crisis in one region from spreading across the global economy.
Following on from this, economic geographers have also been
interested in governance in more specific ways. Three things that
need governing in today’s global world are becoming the focus of
more and more attention: firms, economies and markets. While the
2007 financial crisis has prompted more work on the last of these,
geographers are also grappling with how, for example, ever larger
transnational firms such as Microsoft or Nestlé in many ways escape
the governing powers of national governments There is also a
growing interest in how large global firms govern themselves
(known as corporate governance), which is no longer so
straightforward as it once was, with companies having operations in
dozens of countries and employing tens of thousands of people
across the globe.
36 HUMAN GEOGRAPHY: THE BASICS
GEO-ECONOMIES
GLOBAL TRADE
Trade in the world economy refers simply to the buying and selling
of goods and services between actors (individuals, firms, organizations)
in different places. As the world economy has become globalized,
total trade has grown enormously but trade benefits some localities
and not others depending on the nature of their economies. Whilst
growth in total world trade stalled during the 2007–9 economic
downturn, the long-term trend has been one of enormous expan-
sion. To get some idea of this, in 2008, total world trade measured
in terms of goods exported from one country to another amounted
to US$15.8 trillion. In the same year, exports of commercial ser-
vices was worth US$3.7 trillion. Human geographers have long
pointed to the unevenness of patterns of trade. Much international
trade is concentrated between the wealthier countries in the global
economy. However, in today’s world this is changing fairly rapidly.
In the last decade, developing countries such as China and India
have experienced huge trade growth, with China’s trade surplus
becoming an increasing source of tension in international politics.
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
“That’ll have to do,” he thought. “It doesn’t really matter it being a
bit short.”
He poured himself out a cupful of hot water for shaving. It was
one of the advantages of living alone that he could shave in the
kitchen if he liked.
Curiously enough he paused after pouring out the water.
“Shall I or shall I not?” he pondered. He examined his chin in the
mirror. “I suppose I’ll do,” he decided, “it won’t be noticed in the gas-
light.”
Then he saw the water he had poured out.
“Oh, well,” he thought, “perhaps I will, after all....”
He took out his razor, one of the old-fashioned kind, stropped it
carefully and lathered himself.
While he was shaving he thought: “I wish I hadn’t told that boy
Jones I’d send him to Clotters on Monday morning. Clotters won’t
like it much....”
Suddenly, and seemingly without any premeditation, he thrust the
soapy razor into his throat, just above the windpipe....
§7
At the Duke Street Methodist Schoolroom a select audience of
eleven waited until half-past eight for Mr. Weston to deliver his paper
on “Shakespeare.”
“Perhaps he’s ill,” suggested Miss Picksley.
“No, he’s not, because he was at school this afternoon. My
brother’s in his class,” said one of the Gunter girls.
“Where does he live?”
“Kitchener Road ... 24 or 25 ... I forget which.”
“Well, it’s not far away. Somebody might go round and see. He
may have forgotten all about it.”
“I’ll go,” said Mr. Sly, the treasurer.
“I’ll come too,” said Miss Picksley, who had designs on Mr. Sly.
“We’ll all come,” chorused the Gunter girls.
“No, don’t,” said Miss Picksley. “We don’t want a crowd. It doesn’t
look nice.”
Through the refuse of a Friday evening’s marketing Mr. Sly and
Miss Picksley walked to Kitchener Road. They did not mind the walk
They did not even go the quickest way.
At No. 26 old father Jopson was standing at the front gate with
his monstrous goitre hanging down.
“It must be 24,” said Mr. Sly, “because this is 26.”
“Yes,” agreed Miss Picksley. She walked up to the porch of No.
24 and knocked.
“Does Mr. Weston live here?” enquired Mr. Sly.
Jopson nodded profoundly.
“He must be out,” said Miss Picksley.
“Do you know if he’s out?” enquired Mr. Sly.
Jopson raised his eyes sagaciously.
“’E’s in, ’cos I seed ’im come in couple ’v ars ago, an’ I bin ’ere or
in the fron’-rum ever since.”
“Perhaps he’s in the garden.”
“’E don’t go in the gawden nardays.”
“Lives by himself, doesn’t he?”
“Yus, lives by ’imself.”
“I’m sure he must be out,” said Miss Picksley. As unostentatiously
as possible she peeped through the letter-box. (She was not quite
certain whether this was really a ladylike proceeding.)
“’E ain’t aout, ’relse I should ’a seen ’im go aout.”
“His hat and coat are on the hall-stand, too.... Perhaps he’s ill.”
“Try again. Maybe he was in the garden and didn’t hear the first
knocks.”
They tried again, but to no purpose. Eventually they went away in
the direction of Cubitt Lane.
“Nine o’clock,” said Miss Picksley. “Surely nobody’ll be waiting in
the schoolroom. I don’t think it’s much good going back.”
“Nor do I,” said Mr. Sly. “In fact, we might go for a walk....”
Miss Picksley did not object, so they strolled past the King’s Arms
into the Forest and forgot all about Mr. Weston and his promised
paper on William Shakespeare....
§8
On Saturday morning at half-past nine the rent-man came to No.
24, Kitchener Road to collect his weekly seven-and-sixpence. His
customary treble knock begat no reply. Simultaneously he noticed
the milk-can on the step. It was full, and the conclusion was that Mr.
Weston was still in bed.
Never as long as the rent-man could remember (and that was a
very long time) had the household at No. 24 been asleep at 9.30 on
a Saturday morning.
He went his rounds and returned to No. 24 on his way home
about ten past one. The milk-can was still there on the step. Its
solitude was now shared by a loaf of bread which the baker had left.
Receiving no answer to his knocks, the rent-man went to No. 26.
There the garrulous Mrs. Jopson recounted the visit of the two
callers on the previous evening.
“They knocked an’ knocked an’ knocked, but couldn’t git no anser
... an’ my ’usband swears ’e ’adn’t seen ’im go aout.”
Eventually it was decided that the rent-man should climb over the
fence in Jopson’s back garden and effect an entrance into No. 24 by
the back way. Jopson, morbidly curious, was to go with him.
You picture this strange couple standing in the tiny back scullery
of No. 24, Jopson with his huge face-monstrosity all mottled and pink
and shining with sweat, and the rent-man sleek and dapper,
fountain-pen behind his ear, receipt-book stuffed in his side pocket.
“Gow on strite through,” said Jopson thickly, “it leads inter the
kitchin.”
Slowly and almost apprehensively the rent-man turned the
handle....
CHAPTER VIII
POST-MORTEM
§1
IT seemed to Catherine the most curious thing in the world that she
should be sitting with George Trant inside a taxi. There was no light
inside, and only the distant glimmer of London came in through the
window. All was dim and dark and shadowy. Yet somewhere
amongst these shadows sat George Trant. Perhaps he was thinking
that somewhere amongst those shadows sat she, Catherine Weston.
A voice said out of the shadows: “We shan’t be long now.”
Catherine said: “How far are we going?”
“You’re going home ... to your lodgings, that is.... You fainted, I
suppose you know....”
“Did I?” And she thought: “He killed himself out of loneliness. He
couldn’t live without me. I am the cause, I am the reason.”
“Feeling all right now?”
“Oh yes ... must have been the excitement.”
“Probably.” His voice was cold, unsympathetic. She felt that he
was deliberately looking away from where he thought she was.
“You needn’t take me all the way, you know. I can walk from the
Ridgeway corner.”
“I shall take you all the way,” he said crisply.
With strange instinct she sensed his antagonism.
“I believe you’re angry with me,” she said. Yet all the while she
was thinking: “I suppose there’ll be an inquest and a big fuss and all
that. And the furniture and stuff will have to be sold.”
No answer.
“You are,” she repeated, and was surprised by her own
persistence. After all, she didn’t care twopence whether he was
angry with her or not. Only she would have been gratified if he were
angry with her. It was something to come into a man’s life enough to
make him angry. And it was rather an amusing pastime, this flirting
with George Trant.
“Perhaps I am,” he said coldly.
“Why?” It would interest her to know why. At any rate she might
as well know why.
“You’ve disappointed me.”
That was all. It satisfied her. He had evidently been building
ideals around her. He had dreamed dreams in which she had been
epic and splendid and magnificent. He had thought of her sufficiently
for her to have the power of disappointing him. She was gratified.
After all, she did not like him, so there was no reason why she
should mind disappointing him. And he had paid her the subtle
compliment of being disappointed with her.
She did not particularly want to know how she had disappointed
him. Yet the conversation seemed incomplete without the question:
“In what way?”
She could feel him turning round to face her.
“Various ways,” he said vaguely, but his tone seemed to invite her
to pursue the subject. For that very reason she kept silent. It was not
a matter of sufficient importance for her to ask the same question
twice over. And if he did want her to repeat her question, that was all
the more reason for her not doing so.
After a moment’s silence he said: “You’ve changed a good deal
since I last knew you.”
“Yes, haven’t I?” There was an almost triumphant jauntiness in
her voice.
“And you haven’t changed for the better, either,” he went on.
“That’s what you say.”
“Precisely. That’s what I say.” He was trying to be sarcastic, yet
she knew that he was feeling acutely miserable. There was
something in his voice that told her he was feeling acutely miserable.
And she had no pity. She was even exhilarated. He was miserable
about her. In some way she was invested with the power of making
him miserable.
“Oh, I can’t tell you——” he began bitterly, and stopped.
A queer thrill went down her spine. For the first time in her life
she was conscious of the presence of passion in another person. It
was quite a novel experience, yet it called to mind that scene in the
Duke Street Methodist Schoolroom when she and Freddie McKellar
had come to blows.... A flash of realization swept over her. He was in
love with her. He was really in love with her. She had so often
wondered and thought and speculated, and now she knew. His voice
had become transfigured, so to speak, out of passion for her. What a
pity he could not see her hair! She did not care for him one little bit.
She knew that now. She had not been quite certain before, but now,
in the very moment of realizing his love of her, she thought: “How
funny, I believe I really dislike him.... I don’t even want to flirt with him
again.”
Yet she was immensely gratified that he had paid her the terrific
compliment of falling in love with her.
A sort of instinct warned her that she should deflect the
conversation into other channels. She was immensely interested in
this curious phenomenon, yet she feared anti-climax. He might try to
kiss her and grope round in the dark searching for her. That would
be anti-climax. And also (this came as a sudden shaft of realization)
she did not want him to kiss her. Many a time of late she had
thought: “What shall I do if he kisses me?” She had resigned herself
to the possibility that one day he might kiss her. She had been
annoyed at his dalliance. “I wish to goodness he’d do it, if he’s going
to,” had been her frequent thought, and she had provoked him
subtly, cunningly, deliberately.... Now it came to her as an
unwelcome possibility. She did not in the least desire him to kiss her.
She knew she would actively dislike it if he did.
“Getting chilly,” she remarked nonchalantly, and she knew how
such an observation would grate upon him. She was fascinated by
this new miraculous power of hers to help or to hurt or to torture.
Every word she said was full of meaning to him: talking to him was
infinitely more subtle than ordinary conversation. It was this subtlety
that partly fascinated her. For instance, when she said, “Getting
chilly,” she meant, “We’ll change the subject. I know what you’re
driving at, and I don’t like it. It doesn’t please me a bit.” And what
was more, she knew that he would interpret it like that, and that he
would feel all those feelings which the expansion of her remark
would have aroused.
“I’ll shut the window,” he said, and did so.
It was so subtle, this business, that his remarks, too, could be
interpreted. For instance, his words, “I’ll shut the window,” meant
really, “Is that so? Well, I guessed as much. You’re utterly heartless. I
shall have to resign myself to it, anyway. So, as you suggest, we’ll
change the subject.”
The taxi turned into the Bockley High Street.
Catherine was like a child with a new toy. And this toy was the
most intricate, complicated, and absorbingly interesting toy that had
ever brought ecstasy to its possessor. How strange that he should
be in love with her! How marvellous that there should be something
strange and indefinable in her that had attracted something strange
and indefinable in him!
And she thought, in spasms amidst her exhilaration: “Probably
Ransomes will sell the furniture for me.... He killed himself for me.
I’m the reason....”
It tickled her egoism that he should have done so. He must have
done so. It could only have been that.
Here was George Trant, head over heels in love with her. And
here was her father, stupid, narrow-minded, uncompromising bigot,
yet committing suicide because she had run away from home. She
preferred to regard herself as a runaway rather than as a castaway.
Truly she was developing into a very marvellous and remarkable
personage!...
§2
As she entered the side door of No. 14, Gifford Road at the
improper hour of three a.m., the thin voice of Mrs. Carbass called
down the stairs: “That you, Miss Weston?”
“Yes.”
“There’s a telegraph for you on the table....”
“Righto!” How jaunty! How delightfully nonchalant! As if one were
used to receiving telegrams! As if one were even used to arriving
home at three a.m.!
Catherine turned the tap of the gas, which had been left burning
at a pin-point in the basement sitting-room. Her hand must have
been unsteady, for she turned it out. That necessitated fumbling for
matches....
The telegram was addressed to the Upton Rising Cinema, and
had been handed in at Bockley Post Office some twelve hours
before. It ran:
Father had accident. Come at once.—may.
Now who was May?
After much cogitation Catherine remembered an Aunt May, her
mother’s sister, who lived at Muswell Hill. Catherine had seen her but
once, and that was on the occasion of her mother’s funeral. She had
a vague recollection of a prim little woman about fifty, with a high-
necked blouse and hair done up in a knob at the back.
Catherine decided to go as soon as possible the following day.
She went quietly to bed, but found it impossible to sleep. She was
strangely exhilarated. She felt like a public-school boy on the eve of
the breaking-up morning. New emotions were in store for her, and
she, the epicure, delighted in new and subtle emotions. Yet even
with her exhilaration there was a feeling of doubt, of misgiving, of
uneasiness as to the nature of her own soul. Was she really
heartless? How was it she had never grieved at her mother’s death?
Try as she would, she could not detect in her feelings for her father
anything much more than excitement, curiosity, amazement, even in
a kind of way admiration, at what he had done. She felt he had done
something infinitely bigger than himself. For the first time in her life
she felt towards him impersonally, as she might have done towards
any stranger: “I should like to have known that man.”
The exact significance of her attitude towards George Trant came
upon her. She was playing with him. She knew that. It was not so
much in revenge for what had happened long before; it was from
sheer uncontrollable ecstasy at wielding a new and
incomprehensible power. She would have played ruthlessly with any
man who had been so weak and misguided as to fall in love with her.
She knew that perfectly well. Therefore it was a good thing the man
was George Trant, for at least in his case she might conceivably
justify herself. And yet she knew that justifying herself had really
nothing at all to do with the matter; she knew that there was in her
some mysterious impulse that prompted her to do and to say things
quite apart from any considerations of justice or justification. Cruel?
Yes, possibly.
She pondered.
No. She was not cruel. If she heard a cat mewing in the street
she would scarcely ever pass it by. A child crying filled her with
vague depression. She was not cruel. But she was immensely,
voraciously curious, a frantic explorer of her own and other people’s
emotions, a ruthless exploiter of dramatic possibilities. She had not
developed these traits by reading novels or seeing plays or any such
exterior means. They were inherent in herself.
Suddenly she remembered the note that had been given her that
evening. By the light of a candle she sat up in bed and tore open the
thin, purple-lined envelope.
She read:
dear madam,
Will you come and see me to-morrow (Sunday) at three p.m.,
“Claremont,” the Ridgeway, Upton Rising?—Yrs., etc.,
emil razounov.
Razounov!
She actually laughed, a little silver ripple which she immediately
stifled on reflecting that Mrs. Carbass slept in the room below.
Razounov!
Truly she was developing into a very marvellous and remarkable
personage! ...
§3
The door of No. 24, Kitchener Road was opened by Mrs. Jopson.
“Do come in,” she began effusively. “I’ve jest bin clearin’ up a
bit....” Then she added mysteriously: “Of course, they’ve took ’im
away....”
Nothing had seemingly changed in the interior aspect of the
house. Her father’s overcoat and bowler hat hung sedately as ever
upon the bamboo hall-stand. The Collard and Collard piano
presented its usual yellow grin as she looked in through the parlour
door. Catherine could not explain this yellow grin: there had been
something in the instrument’s fretwork front with the faded yellow silk
behind that had always suggested to her a demoniac leer. Now it
seemed to be leering worse than ever.... The morning sunlight struck
in through the drawn Venetian blinds and threw oblique shadows
over the grin. Every article in that room Catherine knew almost
personally. Even the unhorticultural flowers on the carpet were
something more to her than a mere pattern: they were geographical,
they held memories, they marked the topography of her earliest
days. And the mantelpiece was full of memories of seaside holidays.
A present from Southend, from Margate, from Felixstowe, a
photograph of Blackpool Tower framed in red plush, an ash-tray with
the Folkestone coat-of-arms upon it....
Mrs. Jopson related the story of the tragedy in careful detail. She
revelled in it as a boy may revel in a blood-and-thunder story. She
emphasized the mystery that surrounded the motives of the tragedy.
He had been getting livelier again. Everybody was noticing that. He
had been seen smoking his pipe in the Forest on a Sunday morning
with the complacency of one to whom life is an everlasting richness.
He had started taking out library books from the Carnegie library. He
had even had friends in his house—presumably colleagues from the
Downsland Road Council School. And he had bought a
gramophone. That was the strangest thing of all, perhaps. What on
earth did he want with a gramophone? At one time the gramophone
had been his pet aversion. All music bored him, but the sound of a
gramophone used to call forth diatribes against the degeneracy of
the modern world.... And yet it was there, in the tiny front parlour,
with its absurdly painted tin horn sticking up in the air and a record
lying flat on the circular platform. The record was one of a recent and
not particularly brilliant ragtime. Catherine, accustomed
professionally to such things, knew it well. And Mrs. Jopson said
they had heard that ragtime night after night since he had bought the
gramophone. Sometimes it was played over and over again. Really,
Mr. Jopson had thought of complaining, only he did not wish to
interfere with Mr. Weston’s efforts to liven himself up....
When Mrs. Jopson departed and left Catherine alone in the
familiar house, the atmosphere changed. The very furniture seemed
charged with secrets—secrets concerning the manner in which Mr.
Weston had spent his evenings. Whether he had gone out much, or
read books or merely moped about. Only the gramophone seemed
anxious to betray its information, and the tin horn, cocked up at an
absurdly self-confident angle, had the appearance of declaring:
“Judge from me what sort of a man he was. I was nearly the last
thing he troubled about. I am the answer to one at least of his
cravings.” From the gramophone Catherine turned to the writing-
desk. That at any rate guarded what it knew with some show of
modesty. It was full of papers belonging to Mr. Weston, but they all
seemed to emphasize the perfect normality of his life. Algebra
papers marked and unmarked, catalogues of educational book
publishers, odd cuttings from newspapers, notes from parents asking
that children should be allowed to go home early, printed lists of
scholarship candidates, and so forth. Everything to show that Mr.
Weston had gone on living pretty much as he had been accustomed.
Everything to make it more mysterious than ever why he should
suddenly cut his throat while shaving. Catherine was puzzled. She
had been constructing a grand tragedy round this pitifully
insignificant man; under the stimulating influence of her own
imagination she had already begun to sympathize; doubtless if her
imagination had discovered anything substantial to feed on she
might have ended by passionate affection for her own dead father.
Several times recently she had been on the verge of tears, not for
him personally, but out of vague sympathy with the victim of a
poignant tragedy. For to her it did indeed seem a poignant tragedy
that a man so weak, so fatuous as he was should be left entirely
alone at a time when he most needed the companionship of
someone stronger. She did not in the least regret leaving him. That
was inevitable. He wanted to boss the show. He was so pitifully
weak, so conscious of weakness that he manufactured a crisis rather
than yield on what he regarded as a crucial point. Afterwards, no
doubt, he had regretted his hastiness. Yet that strange interview on
the train to Liverpool Street seemed incapable of being fitted in....
Catherine had often thought of him sorrowing, regretting, mourning.
She had regarded his suicide as a tragic confirmation of his misery.
And now the interior of his writing-desk seemed to say: “Oh, he was
much the same—you’d scarcely have noticed any difference in him.”
And the gramophone chuckled and declared: “As a matter of fact the
old chap was beginning to have rather a good time....”
In a drawer beneath the desk she discovered his pocket diaries.
Every night before retiring it had been his custom to fill a space an
inch deep and two inches across with a closely written pencilled
commentary on the day’s events. For ten, twelve, fifteen—perhaps
twenty years he had done this. Catherine turned over the pages of
one of them at random. They contained such items as: “Sweet peas
coming up well. Shall buy some more wire-netting for them....
Clotters away at a funeral. Did his registers for him.... Gave paper on
‘Tennyson’ to Mutual Impr. Soc. Have been asked to speak at Annual
Temperance Social....” Nearly all the entries were domestic, or
connected with Mr. Weston’s labours in the school, the chapel or the
garden. Catherine searched anxiously for any mention of herself.
There were not many. Sometimes a chance remark such as: “C.
came with me to chapel ...” or “C. out to tea.” And once the strange
entry: “C. been misbehaving. But I think L. knows the right way to
manage her.” (L. was, of course, Laura, his wife.) ...
Catherine looked up the entry for November 17th, the day on
which she had left Kitchener Road. It ran: “Clotters away again this
morning. Had to take IVa in mensuration. Feel very tired. Cold wind.
Did not go to night-school.”
That was all! No mention of her!
And on the day he met her in the train to Liverpool Street he
wrote: “Warm spring sort of day. Went to Ealing to see Rogers.
Rogers got a job under the L.C.C. Two boys and a girl. Mrs. R. rather
theatrical....” And in the corner, all cramped up, as if he had stuck it
in as a doubtful after-thought: “Met C. in train to L’pool St. Seems
well enough.”
Grudging, diffident, self-reproachful, sardonic, that remark
—“Seems well enough.” With the emphasis no doubt on the
“seems.”
Lately the entries had been getting more sprightly.
“Met Miss Picksley to-day. Promised her a paper on W.
Shakespeare for the Mut. Impr. Soc....” “Walked to High Wood after
chapel. Beautiful moonlight. Saw motor-bus collision in B. High St.
coming back....” “Bought gramophone sec. hand off Clayton. £2 10.
Like a bit of music. No piano now, of course....”
“Of course.”
Catherine was immensely puzzled by that entry. She realized its
pathos, its tragic reticence, its wealth of innuendo, yet she could not
conceive his feelings when setting it down. For he had never taken
any pleasure in her “strumming,” as he called it. He had accused her
of interrupting his work. He had said: “Not quite so much noise,
please. Shut both doors....” And sometimes he had hinted darkly: “I
don’t know whether it’s you or the piano, but——” And yet he had
missed those piano noises. Vaguely, perhaps almost unconsciously,
yet sufficiently to make him conquer a carefully nurtured hatred of
the gramophone. The gramophone, viewed in the light of this new
discovery, was the tangible, incontrovertible evidence of his sense of
loss. He had missed her. He had been lonely. He had wanted her to
come back. And because of that he had bought a gramophone.
Catherine felt the presence of tragedy. Yet the ingredients were
all wrong. Gramophone buying, even in the most extravagant
circumstances, does not lend itself to sophistication. And yet, that
gramophone—absurd, insignificant, farcical though its presence was
—was the evidence of tragedy. Once more Catherine’s melodramatic
ideals crumbled. Her artistic sense was hurt by the deep significance
of that gramophone. She felt a gramophone had no right to be the
only clue she had to the tragedy of her own father. She felt
humiliated. And then for a swift moment a passion swept over her.
The false ideals collapsed into ruins, the sham sentiment, no less a
sham because it was not the sham sentiment of other people, the
morbid seeking after emotional effect, the glittering pursuit of
dramatic situations, tumbled into dust and were no longer worth
while. Nothing was left in her save a sympathy that was different
from anything she had previously called sympathy, something that
overwhelmed her like a flood. It was a pleasurable sensation, this
sympathy, and afterwards she tried to analyse the sweet agony it
had wrought in her. But at the time she did not realize either its
pleasure or its pain, and that is the truest testimony that it was
something more real and sincere than she had felt before. Tears
welled up in her eyes—tears that she did not strive either to summon
or to repress, tears that were the natural, spontaneous outpouring of
something in her that she knew nothing about. She did not think in
her egoistical, self-analysing way: “What a strange emotion I am
experiencing!” She thought kaleidoscopically of her childhood and
girlhood, and of one particular evening when her father had crept
into her room at night and asked her to kiss him. It was terrible to
remember that she had replied: “Oh, go away! ...” Terrible! All her life
it seemed to her that her attitude towards him had been—“Oh, go
away! ...” And now he had gone away out of her reach for ever. She
sat down in front of the writing-desk with the diary in front of her and
cried. She cried passionately, as a child who is crying because by his
own irrevocable act something has been denied him. She bowed her
head in her hands and gave herself up to an orgy of remorse. She
was truly heartbroken.
For a little while.
The transience of her brokenheartedness may be gauged by the
fact that on her way home she was strangely elated by a single
thought. That thought—occurring to her some half-way down the
Ridgeway—was begotten of her old ruthless habit of self-analysis.
“I’m not heartless,” she told herself. “I can’t be. Nobody could have
acted as I did who hadn’t got a heart. I believe I’ve got as much heart
as anybody, really....”
She was rather proud of the tears she had shed.... Delicious to
have such proof that she was a human being! Reassuring to find in
herself the essential humanities she had at times doubted.
Comforting to think that tragedy could move her to sympathy that
was more than merely æsthetic.... Splendid to know that deep down
in her somewhere there was a fount of feeling which she could not
turn off and on at will like a water-main....
CHAPTER IX
NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH
§1
“CLAREMONT,” the Ridgeway, was a corner detached house well
set back from the road. A high evergreen hedge impeded the view
from the footpath, and a curving carriage drive overhung with
rhododendron bushes hid all suggestion of a house until the last
possible moment. Then all that you saw was a tiny porch and a
panorama of low-hanging eaves, diamond window-panes and
russet-brown roofs of immense steepness. A telephone bracket
affixed to one of the rafters and an electric bell in the porch
convinced you that all this parade of antiquarianism was really the
most aggressive modernity. A motor-garage, suitably disguised,
stood at one side of the house. Behind was a vista of tennis-courts,
conservatories, and an Italian pergola.
Beneath the tiny porch in the middle of a hot Sunday afternoon
Catherine paused and pressed the button of the bell. She was
excited. Her visit savoured of the miraculous. This was the house of
the famous Emil Razounov The famous Emil Razounov had
arranged this appointment to meet her. She was actually ringing the
bell of Emil Razounov’s house. In another minute she and Emil
Razounov would be face to face.
A maid opened the door. “What name, please?” she asked pertly,
and Catherine replied.
Catherine passed into a wide hall, furnished with all sorts of
queer furniture that she contrasted mentally with the bamboo hall-
stand and the circular barometer that had graced the hall of No. 24,
Kitchener Road. At one side a door was half open, and through this
Catherine was ushered into what was apparently the front room of
the house.
It was a long, low-roofed apartment, with dark panelling along the
walls and rafters across the ceiling. The furniture was sparse, but
bore signs of opulence: there were several huge leather armchairs
and a couple of settees. Apart from these there was nothing in the
room save a small table littered with music in manuscript, and a full-
size grand piano. At first Catherine thought the room was
unoccupied, but two winding coils of smoke rising upwards from two
of the armchairs—the backs of which were towards her—seemed to
proclaim the presence of men.
“Miss Weston,” announced the maid, and closed the door behind
her.
One of the coils of smoke gyrated from the perpendicular. This
was the preliminary to a slow creaking of one of the armchairs. A
figure rose from the depths, and its back view was the first that
Catherine saw of it. It was tall, attired in a light tweed jacket, grey
flannel trousers, and carpet slippers of a self-congratulatory hue.
Altogether, it was most disreputable for a Sabbath afternoon. It was
difficult to recognize in this the spruce, well-groomed man of the
world who had pushed his way into the Forest Hotel on the previous
night. Yet Catherine did recognize him, and was rather astonished at
her own perception in so doing. He faced her with the graceless
langour of one who has just got out of bed at an early hour. Yet in his
extreme ungainliness perhaps there was a certain charm. And as for
his face—Catherine decided that it was not only lacking in positive
good looks, but was also well endowed with extremely negative
characteristics. To begin with, the lie of his features was not
symmetrical. His hair was black and wiry, lustreless and devoid of
interest. The whole plan and elevation of his face was so
unconventional that he would probably have passed for being
intellectual....
He bowed to her slightly. There was no doubt of his ability to bow.
Whether he were ungainly or not, his bowing was so elegant as to
savour of the professional. It was consciously a performance of
exquisite artistry, as if he were thinking: “I know I’m ugly, but I’ve
mastered the art of bowing, anyway. Put me in evening clothes, and
I’ll pass for an ambassador or a head-waiter.”
He did not offer his hand.
“Ah,” he said, “M’sieur Razounov will be ready in a moment.
Please take a seat.”
Catherine sat down in one of the easy chairs. From this position
she could see that another chair contained the recumbent form of
Emil Razounov. He was reading a Sunday paper and taking
occasional puffs at a large cigar. Catherine had heard much gossip
about Razounov’s eccentricities, yet compared with his companion
he seemed to her to be disappointingly ordinary. For several
moments the two men sat in silence, while Catherine made ruthless
mental criticisms. She was piqued at the lack of enthusiasm
accorded her.
Suddenly Emil Razounov spoke. The voice came from the depths
of the chair like a female voice out of a gramophone horn. It was
almost uncanny.
“I say, Verreker, hass not the young lady come?”
The man addressed as Verreker replied somewhat curtly: “Oh
yes, she’s here.”
“Zhen perhaps she weel go to the piano and play.”
Catherine left her chair and went to the instrument. Before sitting
down she took off her hat—which was a species of tam-o’-shanter—
and placed it on the table beside the piano. She did this from two
reasons: first, she did not feel comfortable with it on; and second,
she was proud of her hair, and conscious that it was the most
impressive thing about her.
“What shall I play?” she asked nonchalantly. She could not help
betraying her annoyance at her unceremonious reception.
There was a pause. It seemed almost as if both men were struck
dumb with astonishment at her amazing question. Then Verreker
said carelessly, as if it were a matter of no consequence at all: “Oh,
whatever you like.” She took several moments to adjust the music-
stool to her final satisfaction and prepare for playing. The time was
useful to decide what she should play. Strange that she should not
have decided before! She had decided before, as a matter of fact:
she had decided to play some Debussy. But since entering the room
she had changed her mind. She would play Chopin.
She played “Poland is Lost.” She played it well, because she was
feeling defiant. She played with the same complete disrespect for
her audience as had won her the first prize at the musical eisteddfod.
Where she wanted to bang, she banged. She did not care that she
was in a low-roofed dining-room and not a concert hall. She did not
care if she pleased or displeased them. They were contemptuous of
her: she would be contemptuous of them. The result was that she
was not in the least nervous. Yet when she had struck the last note
she could not help remarking to herself: “I did play that well. They
must have been rather impressed.”
An awkward pause ensued. Then Verreker said very weakly:
“Thank you.” His “thank you” was almost ruder than if he had said
nothing at all.
“Well?” said Razounov.
Catherine thought he was speaking to her. She was meditating
something in reply when Verreker spoke, showing that the word had
been addressed to him. A feeling of exquisite relief that she had not
spoken came over her.
“She oughtn’t to play Chopin,” remarked Verreker.
“No,” agreed Razounov.
Catherine’s face reddened. It was the subtle innuendo of their
remarks that hurt her. Also, by all the standards she had learnt at the
Bockley High School for Girls there was something impolite in their
criticizing her coolly in the third person as if she were not present.
She resented it. She was not a stickler for etiquette, but she would
not be insulted. “I don’t care who they are,” she thought rebelliously,
“they’ve no right to treat me like that. I’m as good as they are, every
bit!”