Yet perhaps the greatest character of all, only ever alluded to, never exactly spelled out, is the looming likelihood of war. As free as unmarried women, they were fully armed; this was an unfair advantage, and when it was combined with beauty, an air of well-being, a gaiety which, in a woman over forty had an unsuitable hit of mischief in it, he felt that . It is not one for speed-reading – but there is an awful lot to appreciate, and slow, attentive reading is rewarded. So, I came for the historical interest, which is very much there, but actually came away impressed with the emotional deftness of the book and the overall portrait of a society on the brink of war—the book was published in 1947, but set in the run-up to the war, in 1938. Each article originally printed in this magazine is available here, complete and unedited from the historical print.

I don’t have this one (trying to limit my book purchases at the moment), but I remember enjoying Tea Is So Intoxicating immensely, and I have Dangerous Ages lined up next. This was published in 1947, so it was historical fiction of a recent vintage, and the take on the times is refreshingly different from more recent historical fiction dealing with this period. As the narrative progresses, Mr Blackett becomes increasingly baffled by Bertha’s behaviour, particularly her responses to his pronouncements. But I should also say I am an outlier – most of the reviews I read from bloggers (see below for links) were laudatory towards the book.Meanwhile the next generation, face the possibility of having the best years of their lives stolen – and well they know it. I absolutely loved it, such a perceptive and absorbing novel, you were right in their lives, so believable and beautifully done.

On the other hand I gained a fascinating insight into how married women's roles were perceived before the war and the kind of desperation many of them must have been sentenced to.

It reminded me very much of Howard's End with two houses and two families - very different but interconnected. She unfurls, creating new connections and relationships; releasing her younger daughters from tyrannical rules and crucially sleeping outside of the martial bed. Of course readers in 1947 would know exactly who and what were being referred to but I found it a little confusing. I was sailing along and quite pleased with this book, and then it got bogged down starting in the middle of the 378-page tome (it seemed like a tome to me) so that by the end it was not an enjoyable read for me. We get a settling of accounts with the shirkers of the Great War (the unlikeable and dim Herbert Blackett), as opposed to the heroes who fought, sacrificed, and still bear the physical and mental scars of that war (Fergus, Rosamund's husband, and the saintly Piers).