In October 1927, Sylvia Townsend Warner was given a new notebook. At the end of the month, she began to write the diary which she was to keep until her death in 1978. Written for her own eye, rich in description and observation, her diary contains the details of her life, from the antics of her cats and plans for her garden, to her thoughts on friendship, writing and death. From the anecdotal early years to her love for her lifelong companion Valentine Ackland, through World War II and her traumatic near breakdown in 1949, to the final strange "double life" of her bereavement, the diary paints a striking picture of the writer's life, of the workings of her mind and the making of her art.
Sylvia Townsend Warner was born at Harrow on the Hill, the only child of George Townsend Warner and his wife Eleanora (Nora) Hudleston. Her father was a house-master at Harrow School and was, for many years, associated with the prestigious Harrow History Prize which was renamed the Townsend Warner History Prize in his honor, after his death in 1916. As a child, Sylvia seemingly enjoyed an idyllic childhood in rural Devonshire, but was strongly affected by her father's death.
She moved to London and worked in a munitions factory at the outbreak of World War I. She was friendly with a number of the "Bright Young Things" of the 1920s. Her first major success was the novel Lolly Willowes. In 1923 Warner met T. F. Powys whose writing influenced her own and whose work she in turn encouraged. It was at T.F. Powys' house in 1930 that Warner first met Valentine Ackland, a young poet. The two women fell in love and settled at Frome Vauchurch in Dorset. Alarmed by the growing threat of fascism, they were active in the Communist Party of Great Britain, and visited Spain on behalf of the Red Cross during the Civil War. They lived together from 1930 until Ackland's death in 1969. Warner's political engagement continued for the rest of her life, even after her disillusionment with communism. She died on 1 May 1978.
"One need not write in a diary what one is to remember for ever." (22nd September 1930)
The Diaries of Sylvia Townsend Warner, edited by Claire Harman, has been pared down from 38 distinctive diaries found after Townsend Warner's death. I adore what I have read of Townsend Warner's prose to date (Lolly Willowes is a firm favourite of mine), and hoped that I would feel just the same when reading about her own life.
The original diaries span a fifty-year period, beginning in 1927, and stretching to 1972; throughout, Townsend Warner unsurprisingly writes about an England which is dated and archaic, but still ultimately recognisable. Her writing is sometimes quite matter-of-fact, but at others it is beautifully poetic. It begins to almost sparkle when her enduring relationship with Valentine Ackland is at first revealed; it feels almost as though a new Townsend Warner has been revealed. She talks less about her writing than I had anticipated; she mentions her work largely in passing, and not all that often.
The Diaries of Sylvia Townsend Warner is a lovely tome to dip in and out of. Each entry is rich and deftly crafted. There is a frankness here which seems surprising when one considers the dates in which the entries were written; in the late 1920s, for instance, Townsend Warner mentions masturbating, and 'rollicking in bed' with her female lover, Valentine. Her diaries provide a lens into the life of a fascinating woman, who was really rather ahead of her time.
I'm a recent enthusiastic convert to STW's short stories, those marvelous excursions. So, since I am a fan of correspondence and journals in general, I turned toward this one. Every page has more than a few of those remarkable turns-of-phrase, but my overall impression was less of the insight and passion of a life as it was lived, than of a simple list of occurrences, a sort of practical appointment calendar. I deliberately sought out a turning-point year in her life-- and found no particular sense of heightened emotion there. I suspect that this is the result of cautious editing, but in any event, I have resumed the short stories with undiminished pleasure.