WHEN Ian Lancaster Fleming set out to write ‘the spy story to end all spy stories’, his own backstory didn’t sound auspicious: a father killed in the First World War when Ian was only eight; a domineering mother who removed him from Eton; dropping out of Sandhurst; and, later, failing his Foreign Office exams.
Events took a turn for the better when this handsome, athletic Englishman left his native land to attend the Tennerhof finishing school in Kitzbühel, Austria, run by former diplomatspy Ernan Forbes Dennis. Falling in love with the mountains, he became an accomplished skier and was soon engaged to a Swiss woman, Monique Panchaud de Bottomes. Their relationship didn’t last, but it was in this romantic world that Fleming made his first attempts at writing fiction.
Peter Wälty has looked closely at Fleming’s time in the Alps and has written the book James Bond und die Schweiz (James Bond and Switzerland). He observes: ‘You can view the Bond novels, written decades later, as a kind of wish fulfilment—the adventurous life that a younger Fleming might have imagined for himself.’
The Englishman returned to London in need of income, becoming a stockbroker and spending money on golf, cards and women as fast as he could earn it. He might well have slid into obscurity as a regular at various late-night gambling clubs had the Second World War not broken out. Using his connections, Fleming secured a role as an assistant to Rear-Admiral Godfrey, director of Naval Intelligence. It was a new lease of life for the 30 year old, who began working from 6am until late at night. He was good at it (unlike stockbroking), rising to the rank of acting commander (the same level as Bond).
This story is from the {{IssueName}} edition of {{MagazineName}}.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
Already a subscriber ? Sign In
This story is from the {{IssueName}} edition of {{MagazineName}}.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
Already a subscriber? Sign In
Tales as old as time
By appointing writers-in-residence to landscape locations, the National Trust is hoping to spark in us a new engagement with our ancient surroundings, finds Richard Smyth
Do the active farmer test
Farming is a profession, not a lifestyle choice’ and, therefore, the Budget is unfair
Night Thoughts by Howard Hodgkin
Charlotte Mullins comments on Moght Thoughts
SOS: save our wild salmon
Jane Wheatley examines the dire situation facing the king of fish
Into the deep
Beneath the crystal-clear, alien world of water lie the great piscean survivors of the Ice Age. The Lake District is a fish-spotter's paradise, reports John Lewis-Stempel
It's alive!
Living, burping and bubbling fermented masses of flour, yeast and water that spawn countless loaves—Emma Hughes charts the rise and rise) of sourdough starters
There's orange gold in them thar fields
A kitchen staple that is easily taken for granted, the carrot is actually an incredibly tricky customer to cultivate that could reduce a grown man to tears, says Sarah Todd
True blues
I HAVE been planting English bluebells. They grow in their millions in the beechwoods that surround us—but not in our own garden. They are, however, a protected species. The law is clear and uncompromising: ‘It is illegal to dig up bluebells or their bulbs from the wild, or to trade or sell wild bluebell bulbs and seeds.’ I have, therefore, had to buy them from a respectable bulb-merchant.
Oh so hip
Stay the hand that itches to deadhead spent roses and you can enjoy their glittering fruits instead, writes John Hoyland
A best kept secret
Oft-forgotten Rutland, England's smallest county, is a 'Notswold' haven deserving of more attention, finds Nicola Venning