The Summer of a Dormouse

Who could resist the reading recommendation of a friend, or of reading a book with the opening lines of - "The time will come in your life, it will almost certainly come, when the voice of God will thunder at you from a cloud, 'From this day forth thou shall not be able to put on thine own socks’.”!? Oh dear Lord, I heard. John Mortimer – when in his 70s – goes on to add that he “fortunately is living with family” so he can call out for help. As I do when confronted with the same challenge of driving a wavering white foot towards a floppy opening. Sometimes SWMBO sharply informs me to “at least try and do it yourself” so with forehead beaded, cramped toes, huffing and puffing, heart dangerously audible, I put on my boat show more shoes. I remember a dodge we employed at the navy boot-camp - when no clean socks were left, or all were too holey for parade - of coating our ankles with boot polish, but I fear that my dearly beloved “Keep Calm and Carry On” would not permit this.

Nor is the author excused from such wifely strictures, from his own wife Penelope (his second … both called Penelope) but she was a real care-giver and he admits he needed both her concern and discipline. He was well aware of himself, remarking that he sometimes “looked” at himself and wondered “whatever will I do next”? Well, the answer was pretty much everything he enjoyed … plays, charitable works, political agitation, travel, films and many, many books. And at 62 a new daughter to “counteract my tendency to pomposity”. One day she told him she no longer loved him, “That is sad” said her father. “Sad, yes, but very interesting” was the child’s reply, with all the feminine wisdom of three years!

Opening this part (Three) of his biography with a quote from Byron ”When one subtracts from life infancy (being a vegetable), sleeping, eating and swilling, buttoning and unbuttoning – how much remains of existence? The summer of a dormouse.” Mortimer adopted this not only as his title but, when he was Knighted in 1996, as the animal on his coat of arms, and words on the banner … suitability put into Latin of course. He does not mention if he also chose to become Lord Dormouse.

John’s father’s last words to him – and he admits he knows not if they were long-rehearsed or of spontaneous wit – were ”I am always cross when I am dying.” I do wish I could remember to say that! You get the impression from the wonderful witty writing in the book – from, of course, the creator of Rumpole of the Bailey - that he too would have been very cross when his time came in 2009, perhaps he chose one line from one of his favorite poets, the Scots makar, Friar William Dunbar “timor mortis conturbat me”?

A downright charming book. show less

Another of the amusing "aging memoirs" which tickle me of late, this by the creator of the Rumpole series of books and tv about his years as a playright. He quotes Lord Byron "when one subtracts from life infancy (which is vegetation), sleep, eating and swilling, buttoning and unbuttoning -- how much remains of downright existence? The summer of a dormouse."

This is the story of the year when John Mortimer found he could no longer put his socks on. Well written and very funny, full of anecdote and down-to-earth comment from someone with an observant but kind eye, and a sharp intellect.

Another of the amusing "aging memoirs" which tickle me of late, this by the creator of the Rumpole series of books and tv about his years as a playright. He quotes Lord Byron "when one subtracts from life infancy (which is vegetation), sleep, eating and swilling, buttoning and unbuttoning -- how much remains of downright existence? The summer of a dormouse."

Very entertaining.

"I was sixty-two when Rosie [his daughter] was born and I mean to enjoy her company as long as possible. She shows disturbing signs of having the character of a novelist. When she was very young ... she suddenly said, 'I don't love you, Dad.' 'That's very sad,' I told her. 'Yes,' Rosie admitted. 'It's sad but it is interesting.'"

This autobiography is SO funny! So sad that this great mind has gone to his reward. He did not write this in a chronological pattern, but recorded his thoughts of the moment from his life and the difficulty of growing old. I hope to collect all of his books.