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).
Denne historien er fra December 04, 2019-utgaven av Country Life UK.
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Denne historien er fra December 04, 2019-utgaven av Country Life UK.
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Save our family farms
IT Tremains to be seen whether the Government will listen to the more than 20,000 farming people who thronged Whitehall in central London on November 19 to protest against changes to inheritance tax that could destroy countless family farms, but the impact of the good-hearted, sombre crowds was immediate and positive.
A very good dog
THE Spanish Pointer (1766–68) by Stubbs, a landmark painting in that it is the artist’s first depiction of a dog, has only been exhibited once in the 250 years since it was painted.
The great astral sneeze
Aurora Borealis, linked to celestial reindeer, firefoxes and assassinations, is one of Nature's most mesmerising, if fickle displays and has made headlines this year. Harry Pearson finds out why
'What a good boy am I'
We think of them as the stuff of childhood, but nursery rhymes such as Little Jack Horner tell tales of decidedly adult carryings-on, discovers Ian Morton
Forever a chorister
The music-and way of living-of the cabaret performer Kit Hesketh-Harvey was rooted in his upbringing as a cathedral chorister, as his sister, Sarah Sands, discovered after his death
Best of British
In this collection of short (5,000-6,000-word) pen portraits, writes the author, 'I wanted to present a number of \"Great British Commanders\" as individuals; not because I am a devotee of the \"great man, or woman, school of history\", but simply because the task is interesting.' It is, and so are Michael Clarke's choices.
Old habits die hard
Once an antique dealer, always an antique dealer, even well into retirement age, as a crop of interesting sales past and future proves
It takes the biscuit
Biscuit tins, with their whimsical shapes and delightful motifs, spark nostalgic memories of grandmother's sweet tea, but they are a remarkably recent invention. Matthew Dennison pays tribute to the ingenious Victorians who devised them
It's always darkest before the dawn
After witnessing a particularly lacklustre and insipid dawn on a leaden November day, John Lewis-Stempel takes solace in the fleeting appearance of a rare black fox and a kestrel in hot pursuit of a pipistrelle bat
Tarrying in the mulberry shade
On a visit to the Gainsborough Museum in Sudbury, Suffolk, in August, I lost my husband for half an hour and began to get nervous. Fortunately, an attendant had spotted him vanishing under the cloak of the old mulberry tree in the garden.
