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My Grandmothers and I
PRE-ISBN.Text below extracted and largely copied from(accessed 21 April 2011)"BORN [25 October 1913] in the bed in which the Pre-Raphaelite painter William Holman Hunt had died three years before, the writer Diana Holman-Hunt was to inherit her grandfather's exceptional memory and gifts as a raconteur. These were cultivated by an extraordinary upbringing, which Holman- Hunt brilliantly described in her first book, "My Grandmothers and I" (1960).An unwanted only child - whose father, Hilary, was employed in the Public Works Department in Burma - Holman-Hunt was shunted between her wealthy Freeman grandparents in Sussex, and a life of privation with the eccentric Edith Holman-Hunt ('Grand') in Kensington. Brave and resourceful, she soon learnt that adult affection was conditional, in the country, on her ability to entertain - she was constantly exhorted to 'utter' - and, in Melbury Road, Kensington, to take in and cherish anecdotes relating to the Victorian art world and her grandfather in particular. Holman-Hunt fulfilled both roles, but ultimately tired of Grand's canonisation of the great painter.... Diana Holman-Hunt's late flowering gifts as a writer owed nothing to formal education. From the ages of eight to 14 she was sent to an inferior boarding school in Eastbourne, and continued her studies in Florence, Germany, and at art school in Paris. Grand was killed by an omnibus in 1931, unexpectedly leaving nothing in her will to Diana.... Her [first] book[‘My Grandmothers and I”] became a best-seller the year after [her second husband’s] death from cancer in 1959.... She was working on her autobiography when she died [on 10th August 1993]."
Hardcover
First published January 1, 1960
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About the author
Diana Holman-Hunt
5 books2 followersOBITUARY by Judith Bronkhurst 23-Aug-1993, published in "The Independent" (British newspaper):copy below taken from http://www.independent.co.uk/news/peo...
Diana Daphne Holman-Hunt, writer: born London 25 October 1913; books include My Grandmothers and I 1960, My Grandfather, His Wives and Loves 1969, Latin among Lions: Alvaro Guevara 1974; married 1933 Bill (one son; marriage dissolved 1940), 1946 David Cuthbert (died 1959); died London 10 August 1993.
BORN in the bed in which the Pre-Raphaelite painter William Holman Hunt had died three years before, the writer Diana Holman-Hunt was to inherit her grandfather's exceptional memory and gifts as a raconteur. These were cultivated by an extraordinary upbringing, which Holman- Hunt brilliantly described in her first book, My Grandmothers and I (1960).
An unwanted only child - whose father, Hilary, was employed in the Public Works Department in Burma - Holman-Hunt was shunted between her wealthy Freeman grandparents in Sussex, and a life of privation with the eccentric Edith Holman-Hunt ('Grand') in Kensington. Brave and resourceful, she soon learnt that adult affection was conditional, in the country, on her ability to entertain - she was constantly exhorted to 'utter' - and, in Melbury Road, Kensington, to take in and cherish anecdotes relating to the Victorian art world and her grandfather in particular. Holman-Hunt fulfilled both roles, but ultimately tired of Grand's canonisation of the great painter.
Her book My Grandfather, His Wives and Loves (1969) dealt with the artist's life up to 1875, when he flouted convention by marrying Edith, his deceased wife's sister. It was based on a wealth of unpublished manuscript material, and provided a welcome corrective to the solemn persona characterising his own self-aggrandising memoirs, Pre-Raphaelitism and the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood (1905). The 1969 biography portrayed an intensely passionate, brave and obsessive egomaniac, prone to depression, delusions and paranoia. Hunt's long and unhappy love affair with the beautiful, working-class Annie Miller was explored in detail, and subsequent studies of women in the Pre-Raphaelite circle were heavily indebted to Holman-Hunt's pioneering research.
Diana Holman-Hunt's late flowering gifts as a writer owed nothing to formal education. From the ages of eight to 14 she was sent to an inferior boarding school in Eastbourne, and continued her studies in Florence, Germany, and at art school in Paris. After Grand was killed by an omnibus in 1931, unexpectedly leaving nothing in her will to Diana, she was installed by her father in a flat of her own. By now, she was vivacious and exceptionally tall (her addiction to cigarettes dated from early adolescence when she was told that nicotine might stunt the growth). Her graceful, erect bearing, deep forehead, widely spaced pale blue eyes and generous mouth (which she referred to as my 'pillarbox'), helped to make her extremely attractive to the opposite sex. Having realised that marriage was her only option, she eloped with Bill Bergne in 1933. They were divorced seven years later, leaving her with a son, Paul.
In 1942 Holman-Hunt faced a further trauma: her fiance, the fighter pilot Humphrey Gilbert, was killed when his plane crashed shortly before the wedding. In 1946, with marriage to David Cuthbert, she took on responsibility for a large estate in Northumberland and rose to the challenge of establishing lasting relationships with her three stepchildren. Rather to his disapproval, in the late 1950s she began writing about her grandmothers. Her book became a best-seller the year after his death from cancer in 1959.
Holman-Hunt returned to London, and, though she had many admirers, preferred to live alone, surrounded by a wide circle of friends of all ages, including many artists, artists' descendants (notably the Millais family), and writers. In 1975 she suffered a serious accid
Diana Daphne Holman-Hunt, writer: born London 25 October 1913; books include My Grandmothers and I 1960, My Grandfather, His Wives and Loves 1969, Latin among Lions: Alvaro Guevara 1974; married 1933 Bill (one son; marriage dissolved 1940), 1946 David Cuthbert (died 1959); died London 10 August 1993.
BORN in the bed in which the Pre-Raphaelite painter William Holman Hunt had died three years before, the writer Diana Holman-Hunt was to inherit her grandfather's exceptional memory and gifts as a raconteur. These were cultivated by an extraordinary upbringing, which Holman- Hunt brilliantly described in her first book, My Grandmothers and I (1960).
An unwanted only child - whose father, Hilary, was employed in the Public Works Department in Burma - Holman-Hunt was shunted between her wealthy Freeman grandparents in Sussex, and a life of privation with the eccentric Edith Holman-Hunt ('Grand') in Kensington. Brave and resourceful, she soon learnt that adult affection was conditional, in the country, on her ability to entertain - she was constantly exhorted to 'utter' - and, in Melbury Road, Kensington, to take in and cherish anecdotes relating to the Victorian art world and her grandfather in particular. Holman-Hunt fulfilled both roles, but ultimately tired of Grand's canonisation of the great painter.
Her book My Grandfather, His Wives and Loves (1969) dealt with the artist's life up to 1875, when he flouted convention by marrying Edith, his deceased wife's sister. It was based on a wealth of unpublished manuscript material, and provided a welcome corrective to the solemn persona characterising his own self-aggrandising memoirs, Pre-Raphaelitism and the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood (1905). The 1969 biography portrayed an intensely passionate, brave and obsessive egomaniac, prone to depression, delusions and paranoia. Hunt's long and unhappy love affair with the beautiful, working-class Annie Miller was explored in detail, and subsequent studies of women in the Pre-Raphaelite circle were heavily indebted to Holman-Hunt's pioneering research.
Diana Holman-Hunt's late flowering gifts as a writer owed nothing to formal education. From the ages of eight to 14 she was sent to an inferior boarding school in Eastbourne, and continued her studies in Florence, Germany, and at art school in Paris. After Grand was killed by an omnibus in 1931, unexpectedly leaving nothing in her will to Diana, she was installed by her father in a flat of her own. By now, she was vivacious and exceptionally tall (her addiction to cigarettes dated from early adolescence when she was told that nicotine might stunt the growth). Her graceful, erect bearing, deep forehead, widely spaced pale blue eyes and generous mouth (which she referred to as my 'pillarbox'), helped to make her extremely attractive to the opposite sex. Having realised that marriage was her only option, she eloped with Bill Bergne in 1933. They were divorced seven years later, leaving her with a son, Paul.
In 1942 Holman-Hunt faced a further trauma: her fiance, the fighter pilot Humphrey Gilbert, was killed when his plane crashed shortly before the wedding. In 1946, with marriage to David Cuthbert, she took on responsibility for a large estate in Northumberland and rose to the challenge of establishing lasting relationships with her three stepchildren. Rather to his disapproval, in the late 1950s she began writing about her grandmothers. Her book became a best-seller the year after his death from cancer in 1959.
Holman-Hunt returned to London, and, though she had many admirers, preferred to live alone, surrounded by a wide circle of friends of all ages, including many artists, artists' descendants (notably the Millais family), and writers. In 1975 she suffered a serious accid
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May 15, 2025
I very much enjoyed this memoir of Diana Holman-Hunt's childhood.
October 27, 2016
At the end of this extraordinary memoir, Diana Holman-Hunt's grandfather quotes Byron, and truly those few lines are the perfect summing up of this wonderfully horrible childhood: "'And if I laugh at any mortal things, 'tis that I may not weep . . .'".
Diana Holman-Hunt - only granddaughter of the famous Pre-Raphaelite artist William Holman-Hunt - spends her childhood and adolescence "being passed like a parcel" between the two very different households of her grandmothers. Motherless (presumably; her mother is never mentioned) and virtually fatherless (her father is a caricature of a British Raj colonial, and rarely heard from), Diana is at the mercy of two utterly barmy regimes, both highly critical of the other. The main thing that they have in common is that the child Diana's thoughts or needs are barely considered.
Although Grandmother Freeman is a piece of work - requiring everyone around her to constantly "utter," and be attractive and amusing - Grandmother Holman-Hunt ("Grand") definitely has the edge in selfish eccentricity. Living in a crumbling, cold house stuffed with valuable art and treasures, Grand insists on a pinched life of extreme discomfort and self-denial. (She refers to the demands and desires of the body as "Brother Ass" and does her very best to ignore them, which makes for some amusing - but highly uncomfortable - anecdotes.). Obsessed with her husband's legacy, Grand ensures that young Diana is word-perfect in her own preferred version of the past.
Anyone interested in the group of painters known as the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood will be fascinated by this glimpse into the art and life of Holman-Hunt and friends. Anyone charmed by Nancy Mitford's depiction of life between the wars in an upper-class household will find fresh delight in these reminiscences. DHH's ear for voice is peerless, and the quality of her material is first-rate, too. On the inside dust jacket of the Slightly Foxed paperback, Holman-Hunt is quoted as saying she tried to "depict my grandparents and others as they appeared to me as a child." From the beginning of the book, which is Diana's 5th birthday - to the end - which is roughly around the time of Grand's death in 1931, she succeeds in describing a world which may be partial (in both senses of that word), but is brilliantly slanted in its point-of-view.
Diana Holman-Hunt - only granddaughter of the famous Pre-Raphaelite artist William Holman-Hunt - spends her childhood and adolescence "being passed like a parcel" between the two very different households of her grandmothers. Motherless (presumably; her mother is never mentioned) and virtually fatherless (her father is a caricature of a British Raj colonial, and rarely heard from), Diana is at the mercy of two utterly barmy regimes, both highly critical of the other. The main thing that they have in common is that the child Diana's thoughts or needs are barely considered.
Although Grandmother Freeman is a piece of work - requiring everyone around her to constantly "utter," and be attractive and amusing - Grandmother Holman-Hunt ("Grand") definitely has the edge in selfish eccentricity. Living in a crumbling, cold house stuffed with valuable art and treasures, Grand insists on a pinched life of extreme discomfort and self-denial. (She refers to the demands and desires of the body as "Brother Ass" and does her very best to ignore them, which makes for some amusing - but highly uncomfortable - anecdotes.). Obsessed with her husband's legacy, Grand ensures that young Diana is word-perfect in her own preferred version of the past.
Anyone interested in the group of painters known as the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood will be fascinated by this glimpse into the art and life of Holman-Hunt and friends. Anyone charmed by Nancy Mitford's depiction of life between the wars in an upper-class household will find fresh delight in these reminiscences. DHH's ear for voice is peerless, and the quality of her material is first-rate, too. On the inside dust jacket of the Slightly Foxed paperback, Holman-Hunt is quoted as saying she tried to "depict my grandparents and others as they appeared to me as a child." From the beginning of the book, which is Diana's 5th birthday - to the end - which is roughly around the time of Grand's death in 1931, she succeeds in describing a world which may be partial (in both senses of that word), but is brilliantly slanted in its point-of-view.
February 4, 2015
An extraordinarily entertaining and thought-provoking read.
The image of irresponsible parenthood one builds up in one’s mind of Diana’s absent father (Hilary) in the first part of this book is amply justified through the evidence of his presence in the second part. One can but speculate as to the exact nature of his employment in the Public Works department in Burma. Meanwhile, Diana lives with, and is brought up by her grandparents. At this point one feels that the obvious caveat should be added. This book is a memoir of the author’s. As such, only the author (d. 1993) knew how she selected and presented her material
Diana’s wealthy maternal grandparents (the Freemans), in Surry, were closely related to Sir John Everett Millais, one of the founders of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood.
Grandmother Freeman is a perfectionist. Save for their acts of ‘competitive grand-parenting’, the Freeman grandparents appear to be relatively normal. Strangely, Diana’s mother (dead? divorced? insane? unmarried?) is never mentioned.
At that time, in common with children of her class, Diana spends more time with the Freeman servants than with her Freeman grandparents. As an only child, she is close to her cousin Priscilla, who is of a similar age. In Chapter 5, Diana’s uncomprehending grandfather speaks firmly with her, after Mr Duncan [the vicar?] catches Diana and Priscilla “rolling about the graves giggling in an unseemly, indeed he said in an hysterical, manner.”
“Later on the same afternoon he [Mr Duncan] heard noises in the church. He opened the door quietly and an extraordinary spectacle met his eyes: you two children wearing peculiar confections on your heads, prostrating yourselves at the altar, in front of a dead rabbit. His first reaction was one of horror at what seemed like desecration of the church – you should know it is a consecrated building. On closer inspection he was gradually convinced that you were both praying devoutly. He confessed himself strangely moved at the sight of two kneeling children, their eyes closed and their hands clasped in earnest supplication. He quietly withdrew. It appears you left the rabbit on the altar and he gave it to some deserving person in the parish. He declares that you and Priscilla have returned several times to repeat this extraordinary performance …”
Edith Holman-Hunt (Diana’s paternal grandmother, known as ‘Grand’) is the real ‘star’ of the book. Living in Kensington, London, she was clearly an extraordinary character; a woman very rich in material possessions, but one who rarely shows any understanding that such wealth could, let alone should, be spent. She does not maintain a number of staff commensurate with the quality and grandeur of her house. However when Diana is identified as having acute appendicitis, ‘Grand’ doesn’t think twice about paying the bill for the risky but necessary (private) operation.
‘Grand’ identifies herself, and her purpose in life to the nth degree, by her marriage (abroad, in 1875) to William Holman Hunt OM, one of the leading artists of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. She consequently moved in high circles of artistic society. “William Makepeace Thackeray and his children played round this tree.” is but one example of many ‘throwaway’ remarks. Now in widowhood, her social circle appears to remain well stocked.
Edith was the sister of Holman-Hunt’s first wife, Fanny, who died in childbirth in Italy. Such marriages, contrary to Church Law, were not legalised in England until 1907 (the ‘deceased wife’s sister Act). Diana describes the precarious balance of Edith state of mind, resting between the triumphalism of her success in marrying the man she loved and desired, was yet racked with jealously. Holman’s death in 1910 parted her from him, but, alas, also reunited him with his first wife, in heaven!
One of my favourite passages in the book (much as I loved it all) occurs in Chapter 4, when ‘Grand’ takes Diana to St Paul’s cathedral (London), for Sunday morning service. After the service ends, ‘Grand’ walks over to Holman’s second painting of “The Light of The World” (1900), and, embarrassingly for Diana, keenly tells the gathering crowd of tourists all about that very famous masterpiece, “ ‘I have the honour to be the artist’s widow.’ There could be no stopping her now. …” After this, the verger unlocks the door to the crypt, so that ‘Grand’ may pray devoutly at her late husband’s grave; and ponder in a tearful but maudlin manner the reunification of their mortal remains. As an observer, Diana’s own thoughts are somewhat more frivolous.
This book may possibly challenge and bemuse a reader who is unfamiliar with the British class system of the first half of the twentieth century. However I would urge such a reader not to give up too easily; and perhaps to find books to read round the wider subject of the mid to late Victorian, and Edwardian periods; i.e. those years which shaped the characters of Diana’s grandparents.
I would also urge potential readers to seek out an edition of the book, such as the 1960 edition, which contains five photographic plates. The first plate, opposite the title page is titled “Mr and Mrs Holman-Hunt leaving Windsor Castle after a Royal Garden Party.” It is an extraordinary image. After seeing that, nothing contained in Diana Holman-Hunt’s book should come as a surprise to the reader.
November 29, 2023
Las memorias de la infancia son como tesoros que nos acompañan a lo largo de toda nuestra existencia. Nos permiten reflexionar sobre nuestra identidad, aprender de nuestras vivencias y mantener conexiones emocionales profundas. "Mis abuelas y yo" nos sumerge en este fascinante mundo, a través de las memorias narradas por Diana Hulman-Hunt.
Diana, quien quedó huérfana de madre, fue criada por sus dos abuelas, lo que la llevó a transitar entre dos mundos completamente distintos durante su infancia. En esta cautivadora historia, nos adentramos en un relato lleno de momentos cómicos, pero también de las complejidades y carencias que marcaron la vida de esta niña.
La prosa vibrante y vívida de Diana nos transporta a su pasado, permitiéndonos vivir junto a ella cada una de sus experiencias. A través de sus palabras, somos testigos de cómo la presencia de sus abuelas moldeó su personalidad y le brindó una perspectiva única de la vida.
En "Mis abuelas y yo", descubrimos la importancia de las conexiones familiares y cómo estas pueden influir en nuestra forma de ser. A medida que avanzamos en la lectura, nos damos cuenta de que los recuerdos de la niñez son mucho más que simples reminiscencias, son una parte esencial de nuestra identidad y nos ayudan a comprender quiénes somos en realidad.
𝐿𝑜𝑠 𝑎𝑏𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑢𝑛𝑎 𝑑𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑜𝑠𝑎 𝑚𝑒𝑧𝑐𝑙𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑎𝑠, ℎ𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑎𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑎𝑠 𝑦 𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑟.
Diana, quien quedó huérfana de madre, fue criada por sus dos abuelas, lo que la llevó a transitar entre dos mundos completamente distintos durante su infancia. En esta cautivadora historia, nos adentramos en un relato lleno de momentos cómicos, pero también de las complejidades y carencias que marcaron la vida de esta niña.
La prosa vibrante y vívida de Diana nos transporta a su pasado, permitiéndonos vivir junto a ella cada una de sus experiencias. A través de sus palabras, somos testigos de cómo la presencia de sus abuelas moldeó su personalidad y le brindó una perspectiva única de la vida.
En "Mis abuelas y yo", descubrimos la importancia de las conexiones familiares y cómo estas pueden influir en nuestra forma de ser. A medida que avanzamos en la lectura, nos damos cuenta de que los recuerdos de la niñez son mucho más que simples reminiscencias, son una parte esencial de nuestra identidad y nos ayudan a comprender quiénes somos en realidad.
𝐿𝑜𝑠 𝑎𝑏𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑢𝑛𝑎 𝑑𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑜𝑠𝑎 𝑚𝑒𝑧𝑐𝑙𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑎𝑠, ℎ𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑎𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑎𝑠 𝑦 𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑟.
November 14, 2023
«Hay que ser considerada siempre con los criados, y no olvidar que son personas, al fin y al cabo»
Las abuelas de la protagonista no tienen desperdicio, hay puntos de esta obra, autobiográfica, divertidos o, como en esta frase, con cierto humor, «Cuando me case, haré que me anestesien». Pero no deja de ser dramática la situación, huérfana de madre y con un padre inmaduro, Diana crece entre las casas y las rarezas de sus dos abuelas. «Siempre he pensado que las personas sensibles como yo debemos tener criadas afables y de aspecto agradable».
Una escritora de la vida cotidiana y las experiencias propias. Dos abuelas no muy diferentes, ambas derrochan “empatía”, lo que dice la abuela Freeman va a misa, la abuela Nana, segunda mujer del pintor William Holman Hunt y hermana de la primera esposa, esto tiene su aquel, porque estaba prohibido tales matrimonios, vive en un “mausoleo”, una casa museo en recuerdo del pintor. Esta última vive atormentada porque alguien robe sus obras, la atraque por la noche y asesine, una situación delirante que a la pequeña Diana atormenta, esas trampas, esos alambres, en fin, pensemos en la niña.
«¡Walter, nos vas a llevar a la tumba conduciendo así!
Debía de ir por lo menos a veinticinco kilómetros por hora»
Una obra nostálgica hacia los recuerdos pasados, de una cotidianidad que ya no existe. Diana Holman fue escritora de memorias y critica de arte. Tras leer la obra descubrí que a su marido no le pareció bien que escribiera sobre sus abuelas y ella, por eso no vio la luz hasta una década después, cuando él murió. Quizá por frases como: «… manda a la niñera Walter al infierno, y, si te das prisa, mucho mejor»
Una lectura interesante.
Las abuelas de la protagonista no tienen desperdicio, hay puntos de esta obra, autobiográfica, divertidos o, como en esta frase, con cierto humor, «Cuando me case, haré que me anestesien». Pero no deja de ser dramática la situación, huérfana de madre y con un padre inmaduro, Diana crece entre las casas y las rarezas de sus dos abuelas. «Siempre he pensado que las personas sensibles como yo debemos tener criadas afables y de aspecto agradable».
Una escritora de la vida cotidiana y las experiencias propias. Dos abuelas no muy diferentes, ambas derrochan “empatía”, lo que dice la abuela Freeman va a misa, la abuela Nana, segunda mujer del pintor William Holman Hunt y hermana de la primera esposa, esto tiene su aquel, porque estaba prohibido tales matrimonios, vive en un “mausoleo”, una casa museo en recuerdo del pintor. Esta última vive atormentada porque alguien robe sus obras, la atraque por la noche y asesine, una situación delirante que a la pequeña Diana atormenta, esas trampas, esos alambres, en fin, pensemos en la niña.
«¡Walter, nos vas a llevar a la tumba conduciendo así!
Debía de ir por lo menos a veinticinco kilómetros por hora»
Una obra nostálgica hacia los recuerdos pasados, de una cotidianidad que ya no existe. Diana Holman fue escritora de memorias y critica de arte. Tras leer la obra descubrí que a su marido no le pareció bien que escribiera sobre sus abuelas y ella, por eso no vio la luz hasta una década después, cuando él murió. Quizá por frases como: «… manda a la niñera Walter al infierno, y, si te das prisa, mucho mejor»
Una lectura interesante.
December 11, 2018
It takes enormous wit to create a comic masterpiece from a train wreck of a childhood, but Diana Holman-Hunt accomplishes just this. Abandoned by her widowed father to shuttle between her two diametrically opposed grandmothers, she grew up in alternating luxury (Grandmother Freeman) and Miss Havisham-like ruins (Grandmother Edith, the painter William Holman-Hunt's widow). Both loved her, competed over her, but neither one had a clue about a child's needs, caught up as they were in their own selfish bubbles. Their granddaughter describes them with acute humor and affection. If you enjoyed Love in a Cold Climate, this will amuse you.
June 17, 2020
Rather fictionalized memoir of the girl-hood of the grand-daughter of Pre-Raphaelite painter William Holman-Hunt, growing up in an upper-middle class milieu in 1920s England. Some of it is very funny. Some of it is probably romanticized, but there's nothing automatically wrong with that.
April 28, 2021
A wonderfully written memoir, My Grandmothers and I focuses on the early years of Diana Holman-Hunt, granddaughter of the Pre-Raphaelite artist William Holman-Hunt. With her British colonial father being away in India for an extended period, and her mother's identity remaining unknown throughout the story, Diana's care is entrusted to her two grandmothers. Each one lives under a unique, strict and - in distinct ways - silly modus operandi, and Diana is often left looking out for herself.
Diana's paternal Grandmother Freeman lives in a grand house, has an active social life, and is used to being waited on hand and foot. Her expectations of Diana are high; in exchange for a comfortable life, Diana is expected to always be on her best behavior. Diana enjoys the lifestyle she is offered at the house, but often feels stifled and limited. At the other end of the spectrum is Diana's maternal Grandmother Holman-Hunt ("Grand"). In most ways, she is the mirror image of Grandmother Freeman. Her gaunt house is always freezing and is filled with paintings and other treasures; indeed, the descriptions of the house confirm that this is a place dedicated to honoring the legacy of Grand's late husband and that many of the items in the house are more fitting for a museum than a home. Diana seems to enjoy learning about the arts in the household - excelling as a "tour guide" when Grand's friends come to visit - but has a hard time adjusting to her Grand's cold and frugal lifestyle. Her Grand expects Diana to be independent and proactive, and - in insisting that Diana ignore "Brother Ass", a term that refers to the demands of the body - Diana is forced to undergo several uncomfortable (and avoidable) ordeals.
If the two grandmothers appear to be at opposite ends of an eccentricity spectrum, they are united by a couple of common - and important - threads. First, the distaste and mistrust between them is strong and mutual; Grandmother Freeman considers Grand to be unrefined and irresponsible, and Grand considers her to be self-indulgent and extravagant. Their second shared trait is that - while claiming to be interested in what's best for Diana - the two often overlook her, and fail to provide the well-rounded education and care she really needs.
At the end of the novel, and as a direct result from having been "passed like a parcel from [one grandmother] to the other", it becomes clear that Diana has matured from the innocent 5-year old we meet at the beginning to a teenager who knows how to take care of and fight for herself. When Diana's grandfather quotes Byron at the end, the words are a great summation to what we already know to be true - Diana has managed to create an entertaining memoir (with fantastic comic dialogue) from a childhood that was - if at times exciting and at times sad - difficult: "And if I laugh at any mortal things, 'tis that I may not weep . . .".
Diana's paternal Grandmother Freeman lives in a grand house, has an active social life, and is used to being waited on hand and foot. Her expectations of Diana are high; in exchange for a comfortable life, Diana is expected to always be on her best behavior. Diana enjoys the lifestyle she is offered at the house, but often feels stifled and limited. At the other end of the spectrum is Diana's maternal Grandmother Holman-Hunt ("Grand"). In most ways, she is the mirror image of Grandmother Freeman. Her gaunt house is always freezing and is filled with paintings and other treasures; indeed, the descriptions of the house confirm that this is a place dedicated to honoring the legacy of Grand's late husband and that many of the items in the house are more fitting for a museum than a home. Diana seems to enjoy learning about the arts in the household - excelling as a "tour guide" when Grand's friends come to visit - but has a hard time adjusting to her Grand's cold and frugal lifestyle. Her Grand expects Diana to be independent and proactive, and - in insisting that Diana ignore "Brother Ass", a term that refers to the demands of the body - Diana is forced to undergo several uncomfortable (and avoidable) ordeals.
If the two grandmothers appear to be at opposite ends of an eccentricity spectrum, they are united by a couple of common - and important - threads. First, the distaste and mistrust between them is strong and mutual; Grandmother Freeman considers Grand to be unrefined and irresponsible, and Grand considers her to be self-indulgent and extravagant. Their second shared trait is that - while claiming to be interested in what's best for Diana - the two often overlook her, and fail to provide the well-rounded education and care she really needs.
At the end of the novel, and as a direct result from having been "passed like a parcel from [one grandmother] to the other", it becomes clear that Diana has matured from the innocent 5-year old we meet at the beginning to a teenager who knows how to take care of and fight for herself. When Diana's grandfather quotes Byron at the end, the words are a great summation to what we already know to be true - Diana has managed to create an entertaining memoir (with fantastic comic dialogue) from a childhood that was - if at times exciting and at times sad - difficult: "And if I laugh at any mortal things, 'tis that I may not weep . . .".
September 12, 2017
Diana Holman-Hunt’s childhood was spent between two vastly different households. Her maternal grandparents lived on a large country estate where she was expected to do chores, and read to her blind grandfather. Visitors provided diversion, as in a Jane Austen novel. She had a fond relationship with her grandmother’s maid Fowler and made friends with a local fisherman who lived in a hut on the beach.
Then for a while she’d go to stay with her father’s mother in London. That grandmother was the widow of Pre Raphaelite painter William Holman-Hunt. Eccentric isn’t quite the word to describe her. She lived with a servant in a house crowded with priceless artwork, surrounded by props from her late husband’s paintings, and a lot of hoarded junk. She was scornful about bodily comforts like fresh food and comfortable beds. Her aim in life was to keep William’s memory alive, and she took Diana to the Tate to see his paintings (commenting on other painter’s works - “Turner, that nasty little man!”). She quizzed Diana on her knowledge of all Holman Hunt family stories, like the time William boiled a horse’s bones in the yard so he could be sure of their anatomy.
Much of Diana’s childhood sounds pretty awful. Her father was off in Burma and wasn’t much of a dad when he returned; we never find out what happened to her mother, nor if Diana thinks of her. But she writes from a child’s point of view, accepting whatever the adults dish out and finding amusement in odd ways, so it doesn’t feel sad. It’s very entertaining and funny.
Apparently this book was a best seller in England. I enjoyed it so much I bought the biography she wrote of her grandfather and his wives and lovers, from 1969. The grandmother of this book was his second wife, his deceased wife’s sister, and their marriage was illegal at the time.
Then for a while she’d go to stay with her father’s mother in London. That grandmother was the widow of Pre Raphaelite painter William Holman-Hunt. Eccentric isn’t quite the word to describe her. She lived with a servant in a house crowded with priceless artwork, surrounded by props from her late husband’s paintings, and a lot of hoarded junk. She was scornful about bodily comforts like fresh food and comfortable beds. Her aim in life was to keep William’s memory alive, and she took Diana to the Tate to see his paintings (commenting on other painter’s works - “Turner, that nasty little man!”). She quizzed Diana on her knowledge of all Holman Hunt family stories, like the time William boiled a horse’s bones in the yard so he could be sure of their anatomy.
Much of Diana’s childhood sounds pretty awful. Her father was off in Burma and wasn’t much of a dad when he returned; we never find out what happened to her mother, nor if Diana thinks of her. But she writes from a child’s point of view, accepting whatever the adults dish out and finding amusement in odd ways, so it doesn’t feel sad. It’s very entertaining and funny.
Apparently this book was a best seller in England. I enjoyed it so much I bought the biography she wrote of her grandfather and his wives and lovers, from 1969. The grandmother of this book was his second wife, his deceased wife’s sister, and their marriage was illegal at the time.
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July 27, 2016Review originally published here: http://girlwithherheadinabook.co.uk/2...
I tracked down a copy of this after a good bit of searching – it was the author surname that caught my attention (I find the lives of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood interesting in a rather morbid sort of way) as I doubt that the name Holman-Hunt is particularly common. And indeed I was correct, Diana Holman-Hunt was the granddaughter of the famous painter, but born three years after his death, arriving into the world in the bed that the Great Man died in. With a father who is mysteriously absent for more than the first half of the book and who proves himself utterly inadequate for the remainder and a mother who is never mentioned, Diana spends her childhood being ferried between the homes of her two contrasting grandmothers, an upbringing which she chronicles in this entertaining and deeply affectionate memoir.
Holman-Hunt’s two grandmothers are known as Grandmother and Grand, with the former being Mrs Freeman, a distant relative of John Everett Millais, and then the latter being Edith Holman-Hunt, ‘fortunate enough to be widow to the Great Artist’, to put it in her own words. The Freemans live in a tightly-run household in Sussex staffed by a full complement of servants and where Grandmother Freeman’s word is gospel, Diana’s days are governed by ‘tasks’ and nothing less than perfection is acceptable. By contrast, Grand wafts around her ‘frowsty’ dark home with only ‘my good Helen’ to serve her – and Helen is truly good for very little, producing inedible meals, refusing to tidy and generally remaining monosyllabic. Grand’s Kensington home is more of a shrine to her late husband than a house – the tea set is labelled with the names of the great and the good who drank from the cups although Diana objects that they can’t have ever all sat down together. Diana returns from visits to Grand with unwashed hair and wrinkled clothes and a general state of hungriness – Grandmother Freeman is always appalled and the passive-aggressive correspondence between the two has a humour of its own.
Despite Diana’s date of birth being 1913, this memoir has a distinct Victorian theme – I read it with the voice of Lady Bracknell in my head. Diana is called upon to ‘utter’ in the drawing room, and then instructed at another point to enter a room with the word ‘prune’ as it will make her mouth appear a better shape. The child Diana gallops into the room, dressed in her ‘classical dress’ as a Greek goddess, shouting the word. There is also the unfortunate tennis incident that leave the child with a black eye. My Grandmothers and I is a nostalgic piece, reflecting back to childhood when things were simpler but also for these grandmothers themselves. Grand’s home is a mausoleum, full of mementos of her marriage and her husband’s fame and her conversation full of those who are dead. Having read The Model Wife, it was interesting to hear the Millais-Ruskin scandal from a contemporary perspective – Diana is ordered to forever defend the reputations of ‘Euphemia’ and ‘Uncle Johnny’, her grandfather’s close friend. There is a humour to how Diana parrots her grandmother’s words, but the grief and loss behind them is undeniable.
There is a deeper shame though behind Grand’s constant chatter – Edith Holman-Hunt was second wife to the painter, with her sister being his first wife. Edith and Holman-Hunt had to go abroad to Europe in order to marry due to laws against marrying the sister of one’s deceased wife. Florence Holman-Hunt died in childbirth, her marriage to the painter was short, but there is such tender tragedy to the aging Grand’s muted panic that in all these years of her widowhood, her sister has been reunited with Holman-Hunt in Heaven. The author’s love and warmth for all of her grandparents is obvious – while her cousin breaks her shell collection and is a spoilsport, her father does little for her other than posting her a ‘leper skin’ for her fifth birthday, it is the grandmothers who are clearest positive force in her life.
There is the muffled panic in the background of the Freeman household that Grandfather has lost his sight and is almost blind – the worst happens later when he has the dreaded fall, plunging his wife into the despair that has hovered over her for so much of the book. Grandmother abstractedly tells Diana that from now on she cannot live with them, that it is fortunate enough that she will be married in ‘a few years’, which to the adolescent Diana is clearly alarming. She is assured that thanks to Grand, Diana will be an heiress but instead she is sent to an inferior boarding school before being ‘rescued’ by her father several years later. Yet, with his reappearance, Diana’s father is finally revealed as the worthless individual that he truly is, leaving her abandoned, almost penniless and having to take a low-paid job in order to support herself, all the while living in the squalor of Grand’s decaying home. Grand and her father are reluctant to allow her to visit her now widowed Grandfather and when her father finally vanishes for good, Diana finds herself unwanted by her other relatives who make their excuses to abdicate responsibility. The loveliest moment of the book comes however when Grand unexpectedly dies (hit by a bus) and she received a note from her Grandfather, incapacitated by his earlier accident but to her obvious relief, able to offer her ‘a place to go.’
It is tempting to wonder with a memoir such as this to what extent the author is holding back. Certainly she never explains her mother’s whereabouts. The characters are drawn so large, larger than life, that one wonders about the accuracy – but again, My Grandmothers and I captures the way in which a child perceives the adult world. The older Diana in the second part of the book has a different perspective; she can see Grand as a far more diminished figure, some vulnerable who needs to be protected and these figures who were once so omnipotent – particularly Fowler and the other servants from the Freeman household who were so omnipotent in the eyes of her younger self – they too become fallible and faded. My Grandmothers and I has more of the feel of a novel than a memoir though – she most certainly was not starved for material and indeed in having sung her family’s song in so beautiful a way, she is carrying them forwarrd to another generation, just as her Grand would have wanted.
I tracked down a copy of this after a good bit of searching – it was the author surname that caught my attention (I find the lives of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood interesting in a rather morbid sort of way) as I doubt that the name Holman-Hunt is particularly common. And indeed I was correct, Diana Holman-Hunt was the granddaughter of the famous painter, but born three years after his death, arriving into the world in the bed that the Great Man died in. With a father who is mysteriously absent for more than the first half of the book and who proves himself utterly inadequate for the remainder and a mother who is never mentioned, Diana spends her childhood being ferried between the homes of her two contrasting grandmothers, an upbringing which she chronicles in this entertaining and deeply affectionate memoir.
Holman-Hunt’s two grandmothers are known as Grandmother and Grand, with the former being Mrs Freeman, a distant relative of John Everett Millais, and then the latter being Edith Holman-Hunt, ‘fortunate enough to be widow to the Great Artist’, to put it in her own words. The Freemans live in a tightly-run household in Sussex staffed by a full complement of servants and where Grandmother Freeman’s word is gospel, Diana’s days are governed by ‘tasks’ and nothing less than perfection is acceptable. By contrast, Grand wafts around her ‘frowsty’ dark home with only ‘my good Helen’ to serve her – and Helen is truly good for very little, producing inedible meals, refusing to tidy and generally remaining monosyllabic. Grand’s Kensington home is more of a shrine to her late husband than a house – the tea set is labelled with the names of the great and the good who drank from the cups although Diana objects that they can’t have ever all sat down together. Diana returns from visits to Grand with unwashed hair and wrinkled clothes and a general state of hungriness – Grandmother Freeman is always appalled and the passive-aggressive correspondence between the two has a humour of its own.
Despite Diana’s date of birth being 1913, this memoir has a distinct Victorian theme – I read it with the voice of Lady Bracknell in my head. Diana is called upon to ‘utter’ in the drawing room, and then instructed at another point to enter a room with the word ‘prune’ as it will make her mouth appear a better shape. The child Diana gallops into the room, dressed in her ‘classical dress’ as a Greek goddess, shouting the word. There is also the unfortunate tennis incident that leave the child with a black eye. My Grandmothers and I is a nostalgic piece, reflecting back to childhood when things were simpler but also for these grandmothers themselves. Grand’s home is a mausoleum, full of mementos of her marriage and her husband’s fame and her conversation full of those who are dead. Having read The Model Wife, it was interesting to hear the Millais-Ruskin scandal from a contemporary perspective – Diana is ordered to forever defend the reputations of ‘Euphemia’ and ‘Uncle Johnny’, her grandfather’s close friend. There is a humour to how Diana parrots her grandmother’s words, but the grief and loss behind them is undeniable.
There is a deeper shame though behind Grand’s constant chatter – Edith Holman-Hunt was second wife to the painter, with her sister being his first wife. Edith and Holman-Hunt had to go abroad to Europe in order to marry due to laws against marrying the sister of one’s deceased wife. Florence Holman-Hunt died in childbirth, her marriage to the painter was short, but there is such tender tragedy to the aging Grand’s muted panic that in all these years of her widowhood, her sister has been reunited with Holman-Hunt in Heaven. The author’s love and warmth for all of her grandparents is obvious – while her cousin breaks her shell collection and is a spoilsport, her father does little for her other than posting her a ‘leper skin’ for her fifth birthday, it is the grandmothers who are clearest positive force in her life.
There is the muffled panic in the background of the Freeman household that Grandfather has lost his sight and is almost blind – the worst happens later when he has the dreaded fall, plunging his wife into the despair that has hovered over her for so much of the book. Grandmother abstractedly tells Diana that from now on she cannot live with them, that it is fortunate enough that she will be married in ‘a few years’, which to the adolescent Diana is clearly alarming. She is assured that thanks to Grand, Diana will be an heiress but instead she is sent to an inferior boarding school before being ‘rescued’ by her father several years later. Yet, with his reappearance, Diana’s father is finally revealed as the worthless individual that he truly is, leaving her abandoned, almost penniless and having to take a low-paid job in order to support herself, all the while living in the squalor of Grand’s decaying home. Grand and her father are reluctant to allow her to visit her now widowed Grandfather and when her father finally vanishes for good, Diana finds herself unwanted by her other relatives who make their excuses to abdicate responsibility. The loveliest moment of the book comes however when Grand unexpectedly dies (hit by a bus) and she received a note from her Grandfather, incapacitated by his earlier accident but to her obvious relief, able to offer her ‘a place to go.’
It is tempting to wonder with a memoir such as this to what extent the author is holding back. Certainly she never explains her mother’s whereabouts. The characters are drawn so large, larger than life, that one wonders about the accuracy – but again, My Grandmothers and I captures the way in which a child perceives the adult world. The older Diana in the second part of the book has a different perspective; she can see Grand as a far more diminished figure, some vulnerable who needs to be protected and these figures who were once so omnipotent – particularly Fowler and the other servants from the Freeman household who were so omnipotent in the eyes of her younger self – they too become fallible and faded. My Grandmothers and I has more of the feel of a novel than a memoir though – she most certainly was not starved for material and indeed in having sung her family’s song in so beautiful a way, she is carrying them forwarrd to another generation, just as her Grand would have wanted.
January 10, 2024
Muy interesante si eres fan incondicional del movimientos artístico prerrafaelita, sobre todo del pintor William Holman Hunt, porque se van contando anécdotas curiosas de su vida de la mano de la autora, una de sus nietas. Pero el relato de los sinsentidos que compusieron la educación de Diana, la protagonista, deja un poso amargo en el relato de unos años durante los cuales va creciendo entre las dos abuelas del título: la amplia casa de campo en Essex de la abuela materna, con todo tipo de comodidades, y la destartalada mansión-museo de Londres, con la abuela paterna, sin un mínimo de condiciones habitables y pasando un hambre que le hará hasta enfermar. Huérfana de madre, y con un padre que solo lo es biológicamente, Diana es capaz de retratar una infancia llena de contrasentidos, penurias y malentendidos, pero con un cariño de fondo por ambas mujeres que es capaz de dejar en el lector la idea de que fue un periodo feliz de su vida.
De todas formas, a mi la sucesión de aventuras, mentiras, pequeños desastres y ligeras alegrias que cuenta la señorita Holman-Hunt no me ha terminado de interesar demasiado.
De todas formas, a mi la sucesión de aventuras, mentiras, pequeños desastres y ligeras alegrias que cuenta la señorita Holman-Hunt no me ha terminado de interesar demasiado.
November 6, 2020
A memoir by Diana Holman-Hunt about her appalling childhood as she was shuttled between her two grandmothers. One was the very proper wife of well off lawyer and the other was the widow of pre-Raphaelite artis Holman Hunt living in a shrine to his memory and barely eating. As with many upper class children Diana was mostly brought up by the servants and most of the warmth in her life comes from them and her blind grandfather as her grandmothers try to mould her into their image. It is very funny at times and at other times quite hair-raising as Diana would certainly have been taken into care now. The book concentrates firmly on the grandmothers and did leave me wanting to know more of Diana's story in the gaps she left. An interesting read.
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September 11, 2021Re Beth Bonini’s comment ‘ Diana is at the mercy of two utterly barmy regimes, both highly critical of the other’, I don’t think her maternal grandparents’ regime was particularly barmy - it sounded like a fairly typical upper middle household between the wars.
I loved this book but I’d like to find out more about Diana Holman-Hunt’s background as a lot of left out in this memoir.
What happened to her mother? What happened to Grand’s house in Melbury Road and the valuable art collection?
Unfortunately the internet reveals little though I read in an obituary of the author that she had been working on an autobiography when she died. I wonder if that will ever see the light of day.
I loved this book but I’d like to find out more about Diana Holman-Hunt’s background as a lot of left out in this memoir.
What happened to her mother? What happened to Grand’s house in Melbury Road and the valuable art collection?
Unfortunately the internet reveals little though I read in an obituary of the author that she had been working on an autobiography when she died. I wonder if that will ever see the light of day.
March 15, 2025
On being told to write a thank you letter to her father, after gifting her the skin of a leopard: "She (Grandma H-H) leant over my shoulder and read: "Dear Papa, thank you for the leper's skin, it was just what I wanted." Oh, my precious, how comical you are."
On nightclubs: "I had heard of night clubs of course; it was clear that they were places where gentlemen went when their wives had run away or were dead or simply busy."
What a childhood! Diana made the most of being shipped around from Grandmother to Grandmother and was quite cheeky in a delightful way. Another wonderful read courtesy of Slightly Foxed.
On nightclubs: "I had heard of night clubs of course; it was clear that they were places where gentlemen went when their wives had run away or were dead or simply busy."
What a childhood! Diana made the most of being shipped around from Grandmother to Grandmother and was quite cheeky in a delightful way. Another wonderful read courtesy of Slightly Foxed.
May 17, 2022
Suspend disbelief as Diana Holman Hunt describes her childhood upbringing at the hands of her grandmothers. Some of my favourite sections were her conversations in the kitchen with her grandparent’s staff and the guided tour of the art collection she gave some house guests of her grandmother the widow of the artist Holman Hunt.
December 8, 2024
An odd book with rather odd , outlandish characters
Jumps in time are not clearly indicated
I would read a few pages then stop to read something more interesting and I struggled to finish this book
Jumps in time are not clearly indicated
I would read a few pages then stop to read something more interesting and I struggled to finish this book
July 1, 2018
An account of an extraordinary Edwardian upbringing. As so often with memoirs, the early years are the best but it's a riveting tale of past times.
October 22, 2021
3.5 rounded up!
May 19, 2012
"My Grandmother and I" is a charming memoir of Diana Holman-Hunt's childhood, and her relationship with two radically different grandmothers. Before starting it, I was sure I would be madly in love with Grand - the wild and eccentric artist's widow, draped in jewels of the Orient while she luxuriated in her wealth of oil paintings; however I ended up preferring the very proper Grandmother Freeman, who, although spoilt and domineering, seemed to at least provide for Diana's well-being. The author wrote that she "tried to depict her grandparents as they appeared to her as a child", and I absolutely agree that she "brilliantly and hilariously succeeded". This memoir, at its core, is a sad story, though its vivid dialogue creates a romantic haze of humour. It gives us a glimpse of a cunning, canny child, hungry for the security of love and a sense of belonging. There are tender moments; when Grand gives up her bed for Diana, after an icy letter from Grandmother ("...a hump in a girl is most unfortunate!"), but also cruel moments, such as the drowning of kittens, during which Diana's distress was carelessly ignored. Not withstanding the failings of both grandmothers, I was still disturbed by Diana's lack of emotion relating to Grandmother's death and Grand's omnibus accident - even for a self-absorbed fifteen year old - it touched a nerve, and I came away feeling it was all merely simple affection borne out of duty. On a more frivolous note, the book I have from Slightly Foxed Paperbacks (a gift from bestie Jia-yi, who always sources the best) is a delightful purple and cream edition which bumps this up from 2.5 to 3 stars!
June 23, 2015
It's a little difficult to get into at first but gradually the jumping about style and the larger than life characters come to life . It's an amazing book , funny and sad and marking a massive change in people's lives . Well worth checking out
April 12, 2016
Recently re-read this book which is one of my all-time favorites. Fascinating story and the differences of the styles of Diana's two grandmothers in raising her are incredible. I loved this book.
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