My grandmother
May Salter née Castle died before I was born, and yet it is through her that I
have some of my best ancestral material. She was close to her widowed aunt Ada,
and often visited her at Frome Lodge in Bristol. When Ada’s last surviving
daughter Mary died in 1940, May was one of Mary’s executors. She inherited the
writing case belonging Mary’s father, May’s uncle Charles Castle, which
contained a hundred letters written by family members in the mid-nineteenth
century. When May died in 1950, the case passed to her son my uncle John; and
after John’s death in 1984 his widow gave the contents of the case to me, along
with a wealth of May’s own correspondence and photographs.
So May is very
much alive to me, although I know very little of her life beyond her role as
wife to my grandfather. I have childhood letters between her and her brothers.
But what was her education? How did she spend her time before her marriage at
the age of thirty-five?
Eleanor May Castle (1880-1950), centre, and friends, c1900
One source I
have for clues is her books, many of which I found in my father’s library after
his death in 2008. He idolised his father at the expense of his mother, whom he
once described to me as “a jumped-up grocer’s daughter who married above
herself.” But his bookshelves contained many volumes once owned by her or given
by her to his father. People of my grandparents’ pre-television generation were
in general better read than we are today, but it looks as if my father’s
literary education owes at least as much to his mother as to his solicitor
father.
Her interests
were broad. I know she liked contemporary literature in the form of the Russian
authors newly translated into English; and contemporary verse such as the
emerging Georgian poetry movement. Her brother Tudor was himself a poet and
friend of the Bloomsbury Group, and it was through Tudor that May met her
future husband Fred Salter. You could say that it was a marriage founded on
poetry.
In contrast to
her modern tastes, May also owned a beautiful edition of a book first published
in 1650. More than any other of her books it hints at her character, inasmuch
as it is a pious book of instruction for moral living. It is The Rule and Exercises of Holy Living by
Jeremy Taylor, still regarded as one of the finest examples of prose writing in
the English language more than 350 years after it first appeared.
Jeremy Taylor (1613-1667), title page of the 1900 JM
Dent edition of The Rule and Exercises of Holy
Living
Jeremy Taylor
was chaplain in ordinary to Charles I (in other words, official chaplain in the
king’s household), a position which got him into trouble under the puritan
regime which followed the Civil War. He was imprisoned several times both before
and after the publication of Holy Living,
but produced a steady stream of work throughout those years. Eventually he was
allowed to live quietly, a safe distance from power and influence in London –
first in Wales and later in Ireland where, after the restoration of the
monarchy, he became bishop of Down and Connor, and vice-chancellor of the
University of Dublin.
I’m no literary
critic, no theologian, not even a Christian; but Taylor’s text flows easily. It
is prescriptive but not thunderous, firm but compassionate. On chastity for
example he writes:
Chastity is either
abstinence or continence; abstinence is that of virgins or widows, continence
of married persons. Chaste marriages are honourable and pleasing to God;
widowhood is pitiable in its solitariness and loss, but amiable and comely when
it is adorned with gravity and purity; … but virginity is a life of angels, the
enamel of the soul … ; and being empty of cares, it is full of prayers; being
unmingled with the world, it is apt to converse with God.
May Castle’s copy of The
Rule and Exercises of Holy Living
May signed and
dated her copy “EMC Easter 1905”. It’s a two-volume edition produced by J.M.
Dent in 1900, and printed in Edinburgh by Colston & Co Ltd. Colston deserve
some recognition. There had been Colstons trading as stationers and printers
from the same address at East Rose Street in Edinburgh since at least 1715, and
they continued to trade well into the twentieth century. If May’s copy of
Taylor is anything to go by, they were excellent craftsmen: her two volumes are
bound in beautiful olive-green leather embossed in gold with an owl, the symbol
of wisdom. The spines are dried and cracked with much use and contemplation,
but the fine lettering spelling out the title and author is still legible 110
years after May first read them.