literal
tableau vivant
. Rather poor taste, I thought â keeping animals in a kind of animal catacomb. Drawing my eye, directly opposite the great doorway, was the celebrated aquarium, set up on a simple wooden plinth, the whole thing not less than the height of a man and perhaps more than twenty feet across â nothing like it outside the major aquariums of Europe â and designed as a kind of Alpine garden, thick with pebbles and vegetation, and with brightly coloured fish weaving their way through crystal-clear water and decorative stonework. I was drawn towards this extraordinary, oddly luminescent sight and moved mesmerised towards it, noticing a clipboard attached to the plinth, which seemed to record feeding times and observations. âDytiscus,â read the notes. âDragon-fly larvae?â But I was distracted by all this for only a moment before there came a sudden whoosh and swooping above my head, as a couple of â could they have been? Neither Burchfield nor Bolton make mention of them â jackdaws made their presence known. As my eyes became accustomed to the gloom I glanced all around me and made out among the extraordinary menagerie a goose, a cockatoo, dogs, shrews â and, set apart from the other animals, where one might otherwise expect what-nots or a display of family silver, a large, roomy cage containing what I thought was probably a capuchin monkey. At the sight and sound of me, the monkey raised herself, looked lazily around, and then lay back down to sleep.
As I reeled and tottered slightly, disorientated from these incredible sights and the incessant noise â âa place of wonderâ, according to Burchfield, though he evidently had never come upon it unprepared, and at night â I thought I heard the faint tapping of a typewriter coming from elsewhere in the house, and knowing that Morley himself could not be far away I rushed down a long corridor lined with thousands of books and bound piles of newspapers, pursued by various loping and persistently swooping creatures, until I burst in upon a kitchen. Which, like the entrance hall, both was and was not what one might usually hope and expect.
St Georgeâs was not so much a home as a small, privately funded research institute. The kitchen resembled a laboratory. Indeed, I realised on that first night, judging merely by the ingredients, chemicals and equipment lining the shelves, that it was both kitchen
and
laboratory, home for both amateur bacteriologist and amateur chef. Up above the fine Delft tiles and the up-to-the-minute range and the sink, up on the walls, were pretty collections of porcelain and china, flanked by row upon row of frosted and dark brown bottles of chemicals. And recipe books. And below, at a vast oak refectory table scarred with much evidence either of meals or experiments, sat Morley, my very own Dr Frankenstein, in colourful bow tie, slippers and tartan dressing gown.
I breathed a sigh of relief.
The cockatoo came and settled on his shoulder, two terriers at his feet. The jackdaws circled once, then fled away. Cats, geese â and a peacock! â warmed and disported themselves by the range.
âAh, good, Sefton,â he said, glancing up from what I now regarded as his customary position behind a typewriter, surrounded by books, and egg-timer at his elbow. âYou found us then?â
âYes, sir,â I said, panting slightly, regaining my composure.
âGlass of barley water?â He indicated a jug of misty-looking liquid by his elbow. It was his customary evening treat.
âNo, thank you.â I was rather hoping for strong drink.
âAnd you met my daughter, I hear.â
âYes, sir.â
âSheâs rather eccentric and strong-willed, Iâm afraid.â
âThatâs ⦠perhaps one way of describing it, sir, yes.â
âYes. Women are essentially wild animals, Sefton. Thatâs what you have to
tableau vivant
. Rather poor taste, I thought â keeping animals in a kind of animal catacomb. Drawing my eye, directly opposite the great doorway, was the celebrated aquarium, set up on a simple wooden plinth, the whole thing not less than the height of a man and perhaps more than twenty feet across â nothing like it outside the major aquariums of Europe â and designed as a kind of Alpine garden, thick with pebbles and vegetation, and with brightly coloured fish weaving their way through crystal-clear water and decorative stonework. I was drawn towards this extraordinary, oddly luminescent sight and moved mesmerised towards it, noticing a clipboard attached to the plinth, which seemed to record feeding times and observations. âDytiscus,â read the notes. âDragon-fly larvae?â But I was distracted by all this for only a moment before there came a sudden whoosh and swooping above my head, as a couple of â could they have been? Neither Burchfield nor Bolton make mention of them â jackdaws made their presence known. As my eyes became accustomed to the gloom I glanced all around me and made out among the extraordinary menagerie a goose, a cockatoo, dogs, shrews â and, set apart from the other animals, where one might otherwise expect what-nots or a display of family silver, a large, roomy cage containing what I thought was probably a capuchin monkey. At the sight and sound of me, the monkey raised herself, looked lazily around, and then lay back down to sleep.
As I reeled and tottered slightly, disorientated from these incredible sights and the incessant noise â âa place of wonderâ, according to Burchfield, though he evidently had never come upon it unprepared, and at night â I thought I heard the faint tapping of a typewriter coming from elsewhere in the house, and knowing that Morley himself could not be far away I rushed down a long corridor lined with thousands of books and bound piles of newspapers, pursued by various loping and persistently swooping creatures, until I burst in upon a kitchen. Which, like the entrance hall, both was and was not what one might usually hope and expect.
St Georgeâs was not so much a home as a small, privately funded research institute. The kitchen resembled a laboratory. Indeed, I realised on that first night, judging merely by the ingredients, chemicals and equipment lining the shelves, that it was both kitchen
and
laboratory, home for both amateur bacteriologist and amateur chef. Up above the fine Delft tiles and the up-to-the-minute range and the sink, up on the walls, were pretty collections of porcelain and china, flanked by row upon row of frosted and dark brown bottles of chemicals. And recipe books. And below, at a vast oak refectory table scarred with much evidence either of meals or experiments, sat Morley, my very own Dr Frankenstein, in colourful bow tie, slippers and tartan dressing gown.
I breathed a sigh of relief.
The cockatoo came and settled on his shoulder, two terriers at his feet. The jackdaws circled once, then fled away. Cats, geese â and a peacock! â warmed and disported themselves by the range.
âAh, good, Sefton,â he said, glancing up from what I now regarded as his customary position behind a typewriter, surrounded by books, and egg-timer at his elbow. âYou found us then?â
âYes, sir,â I said, panting slightly, regaining my composure.
âGlass of barley water?â He indicated a jug of misty-looking liquid by his elbow. It was his customary evening treat.
âNo, thank you.â I was rather hoping for strong drink.
âAnd you met my daughter, I hear.â
âYes, sir.â
âSheâs rather eccentric and strong-willed, Iâm afraid.â
âThatâs ⦠perhaps one way of describing it, sir, yes.â
âYes. Women are essentially wild animals, Sefton. Thatâs what you have to
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