Poldark Saga - Winston Graham discussion

Ross Poldark (Poldark, #1)
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Demelza - #2 > Edits from the original

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message 1: by Tanya, Moderator/Hostess (new) - rated it 4 stars

Tanya | 640 comments Mod
I received the following comment from group member Bonny on my Goodreads profile and am re-posting it here.

message: by Bonny 12/6/2015

Hi
Since I am new, I am not sure of protocol. I am totally in love with the Poldark books and am in several FB groups related to them. In one group, someone brought to our attention that Ross and Demelza have been edited since their original publishing. Here is something important shared:

Ross Poldark and Demelza (Ross Poldark first published in 1945) have been the subject of the most edits (makes sense being as old as they are.) There are less as the books get closer to current day. So below is an excerpt that is gone from most editions of Ross Poldark (first book) that most of us have gotten our hands on. It is germane to even just new series fans because this part has been filmed and shown:

"Over his meal he took out her letters. (Elizabeth's) He opened the last, written six months ago. Reading with the knowledge he now had, there were hints of a slackening interest. Perhaps she had written later to tell him the truth and the letter had missed him or been lost.
Letters were always being lost. Against has better judgment he was inclined to believe that the Paynters had not had his letter from Winchester. (Would they have been able to read it anyway?)”

(this means that when Ross was originally published,he had written letters to Elizabeth while he was away fighting. I can see why this was edited out because it then makes little sense this great torch he still held for her because he realizes before he gets home her interest seems to be waning....) Let that soak in! I have more edits to Demelza. I think this is a good case why an editor is needed for authors ie: to help clarify a story.


message 2: by Tanya, Moderator/Hostess (new) - rated it 4 stars

Tanya | 640 comments Mod
Thanks Bonny for the additions! Deleted bits from Demelza have been shared here PAGES DELETED FROM DEMELZA, but if you have any more I know I'd love to read it!


Victoria Smiser | 121 comments BONNY - AGREE WITH TANYA, WE WOULD ALL LOVE TO READ ANY AND ALL DELETED BITS FROM THE FIRST TWO BOOKS OR ANY OF THE OTHERS....THANK YOU


message 4: by Kitty-Lydia (new)

Kitty-Lydia Dye | 3 comments This is really interesting :) I love reading about things that were taken/changed from the finished piece.


message 5: by Sonia (new)

Sonia Koonce | 85 comments I have the latest edition of Ross Poldark 2015 and see where it was published 1945 and 2009, the two books, Demelza and Jeremy 2015. Now the rest are all 2008 would they have also been edited. Why would they be edited anyway. I am enjoying all the books reading The Four Swans now. As far as you know is that all that was edited in "Ross" book. I haven't seen the Series made forty years ago. Did Ross get those letters in that filming. Very interesting thank you for sharing. Is it ok to print this article.


message 6: by Tanya, Moderator/Hostess (new) - rated it 4 stars

Tanya | 640 comments Mod
Sonia wrote: "I have the latest edition of Ross Poldark 2015 and see where it was published 1945 and 2009, the two books, Demelza and Jeremy 2015. Now the rest are all 2008 would they have also been edited. Why would they be edited anyway..."

I found this comment elsewhere on Goodreads (posted by Thayer Berlyn-click the link to view the entire content)
"Ross Poldark" and "Demelza" are missing a percentage of text in the U.S. publications...something like 14% or 17%.


message 7: by Tanya, Moderator/Hostess (new) - rated it 4 stars

Tanya | 640 comments Mod
As to WHY editions would be different, I came across these explanations in a Reddit thread:

from Reddit poster "KenwaySaga"

Sometimes earlier editions will have typos later editions don't have. In more extreme cases, obvious errors like continuity mistakes might be present in the first edition but fixed in later ones. (When the last book in 'A Series of Unfortunate Events' was first printed in the UK, a publishing error meant that several of the illustrations were were mixed up, or not included at all. One chapter even had the author's photograph instead of the illustration.)

There's also been a few cases of authors revisiting their works and making alterations (or previously censored works having the expunged passages reinserted years later). The Hobbit is a famous example- parts of it were altered after the initial publication so that it would tie into LOTR better. Neil Gaiman's American Gods was originally published with some parts removed because the publisher thought it was too long. Later on, a publishing company offered to add those parts back in for a special edition. This longer version seems to be the only version they sell nowadays, and it's presented as 'the author's preferred text'.

There's also cases where books are changed because of worries over the content. In the first edition of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, the Oompa-Loompas are a group of African pygmies. Roald Dahl rewrote their scenes after groups like the NAACP pointed out the negative implications this could have. He said he sympathized with their concerns, and changed the Oompa-Loompas to be light-skinned with gold hair.

Sometimes later editions will include extra material. Anniversary editions often include a new introduction/ note on the text by the author. If the author went on to write a short story with the same characters/ setting, later copies will sometimes include it at the back.

I don't think that modern novels are revised all that often though, so major changes in content shouldn't be a worry. In much older books it seems to have been quite common for authors to make changes to later editions. Modern printings of these books often contain notes acknowledging alternate versions.

As you mention, a lot of the changes are more aesthetic. I have an early (but not first edition) copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. Though it has the same cover illustration as later versions (Harry in front of the train), the back cover has a picture of a completely random wizard instead of Dumbledore. On top of this, the blurb is worded differently, and claims that Harry is rescued by an owl rather than by Hagrid. Other than that, the book is basically the same as later editions, barring a few edits (another poster has mentioned they changed a reference to Sirius' bike so that it wouldn't conflict with what they say in the third book), and is different from the first edition because it doesn't have a mistake in the Hogwarts shopping list (the first print run lists '1 wand' twice).

from Reddit poster "leowr"

The content of the first editions and the later editions are generally the same.

Under very rare conditions will the earlier editions differ from later editions. This is sometimes done by authors because they are unhappy with the way the book was published in earlier versions.

A good example is The Stand by Stephen King. When it was first published in 1978, The Stand had about 700-800 pages, because the publisher felt that people would not be willing to buy long book. So about 400 pages were cut from the book. King rereleased The Stand in 1990 at the original length of 1152-pages. I believe he also made some updates to certain parts relating to the setting of the book.

However, this only happens under very rare occassions. Generally there is no difference between the first edition and later editions regarding content.


message 8: by Tanya, Moderator/Hostess (new) - rated it 4 stars

Tanya | 640 comments Mod
Sonia wrote: "Is it ok to print this article."

This is a public group, so sharing or printing content is fine!


message 9: by Sonia (new)

Sonia Koonce | 85 comments Thank you Tanya. I had a hard time finding your answer but eventually did through the email.


message 10: by Bonny (new)

Bonny | 4 comments Here are more deletions I believe:

This is from the first Ward Lock edition in 1946. It follows the chapter on the second christening.

CHAPTER SIX

AT Grambler the players gave The Miner's Revenge, a play specially written by a Cornishman, Richard Carthew. There had been a good deal of summer fever of late; but as Otway himself and Tupper the comedian paraded Sawle and Grambler during the morning and afternoon with a drum and trumpet, announcing the performance, they attracted a crowded house. Some of the people who had seen them in Nampara library walked over to see this new play. Among them Mark Daniel sat unmoving throughout the performance, with no expression on his lean sallow face and no sign of what he thought or felt.

Zacky Martin went too, although his wife disapproved of plays and playgoers. Zacky always read the column about the theatre in the newspaper Ross lent him. He took Jinny because she was still fretting about Jim and he thought the play-acting would take their minds off things.

For his own part he had little to complain of, for he had good health and enough coming in to feed his large family. But he knew there was a quarterly meeting of the shareholders of Grambler that evening, and he had a fair notion of what was likely to be talked of.

The Aaron Otway players did their best to make him forget his worries. Their scenery was no more than at Nampara, their costumes as threadbare; so much was left to the good will and imagination of the audience. But if hard work, vigour and versatility could make up for other lacks, the The Miner's Revenge was a good performance.

The miners were far quieter than the ordinary village or small town attendance, and sharper to applaud the good work, more tolerant of the bad. At the end they stood up and sang 'God Save the King,' which was still very popular for its tune, and dispersed quietly, going off home in the early darkness in groups or trickling in twos and threes into the nearest cottage with red blinds to drink and talk of what they had seen. A model audience as Otway said.

Keren, reacting after the nervous effort of the evening, disputed this petulantly. The audience, she said, had been made up of oafs and half-wits. They had laughed in the wrong places and had failed to applaud her speech at the end of the third act. She was, she said, tired of everything to do with the stage, bored with this travelling nomad life, wasting good oratory on fools and country bumkins, eating when you could and starving when you couldn't. She'd as lief belong to a travelling fair, to a menagerie, as be at the beck and call of such as came to their shows.

"Now , now, little chuckie," said Otway, with his mouth full of rabbit pasty. "Such croaking does not become you. We have a good month of business and you twist your little mouth till it a crescent moon before the rain. It ill marks anyone to be discontented with good fortune. You can't be Mrs. Siddons in a night, y'know."

"No, nor never will be if I stay in these wild places among the savages and the tin. Who will see me here who knows what acting is?" "I will," said Tupper satirically, "an' you've plenty to learn yet, even from old rub-outs like us."

Keren ignored him and got up. She yawned with studied grace, aware of some locals still grouped at the other end of the shed watching the players eat, as they would bears at a fair.

"It's hot in here. I mislike stale breath. It spoils one's appetite."

"Not," said Tupper, still vindictive, "not that my little sucker needs much of tooition in the lesser arts. Such, f'r instance, as stealing money that's been lost fair and square. Or cheating with the deuce when you still have the nine. Or makin' up to them as has what you happens to want. All woman-like and girlish, 0' course. Thinkin' no one can fist you. Well, maybe next time you'l find you're mistook----"

"Shut up!" She turned on him and would have snatched a knife from the table, but Otway cought her hand and rose between them. "And you're on his side!" she said in a whisper. "Leave me alone, you fat old pig, you!"

She turned and swept out of the shed, followed by Tupper's laughter.

Outside it was nearly dark; not so fine a night as last; a thin wind scavenged among the sheds and the rubble and the stone engine-houses. Two hundred yards away was the largest of the two engines, clanging and thumping and sucking: the beat of it had been felt all through their play, making the candles shiver. Beyond now could be heard the clatter of are stamps leading down the valley to Sawle. There were lights here and there about the mine, but the scene was foreign to her and the wind had an edge on it. She shivered and pulled her flimsy bodice up at the neck. A shadow moved beside her.

She jumped away like a nervous foal rearing ready to bolt. But something reminded her of last night and she paused. "You?"

"I was thur," said Mark. "Did you see me thur?"

"Yes," she said untruthfully, "I was looking out for you."

"By the door. I thought I saw ye look."

"Yes.... By the door."

There was a pause. They had nothing to say to each other.

She was not attracted to him--he was too uncouth--but something in his height and great breadth of shoulder put him out of the ordinary run. It appealed to her instincts. She was not vicious hut she was discontented and bored.

"I saw that red kerchief," she said.

He fingered it. "That's the one I won wrestlin'."

"It's a pretty one," she said, thinking to please him.

"Would ye like it?"

She didn't reply, but watched him slip it off his neck and hold it out to her. Their hands touched when she took it from him, and she could tell that he was powerfully moved. And she was the cause of it. Her discontent began to go. If she could sway this man why couldn't she some day sway all London?

Imperiously she handed it back.

"Put it on for me," she commanded.
"...On you?"

She nodded, and he slid the scarf fumblingly, clumsily round her neck. Like a great tamed animal doing some difficult delicate trick. She smothered a giggle at the thought. She could feel him breathing on her hair and could smell the rough earthy smell of his clothing. It was warm and not unpleasant, the smell of this animal.

Waves of excitement, of tension were running through it, trying to infect her. That wasn't likely!

He dropped his hands suddenly as if they had been burned and stepped back half a pace. "There .... "

She fingered the scarf. "We're going on to St. Ann's to-morrow. After that Illuggan, if the fever isn't bad."

"I'll be thur."

"After that Redruth again."

"Where do ee live?" he said. "Don't ye live somewhere?"

"No. Isn't a caravan good enough?"

"Don't ye ever get tired for a home?"

"Never had one. Not a proper one."

They listened a moment to the noises of the mine.

"This where you work?" she said.

"Yes. Sixty fathom below grass."

"What d' you do; dig for tin?"

"Copper. On a pitch. I always work on tribute. Tis betterer'n tut-work for them as d'know their job. I never want for nothing."

She looked at him with slightly quickened interest. She could not understand the jargon of the mines, but she took in the last remark. They had been slowly moving away from the shed where the other actors were eating and away from the noise of the big engine. It did not occur to her to think she might be in any danger from this uncouth man. She did not know his reputation, but she was confident of being able to take care of herself.

She said: "Was I pretty to-night?"

"Handsome you was," he answered in a low hard voice.

"Why d'you think I'm pretty? What's pretty about me? Tell me."

"Everything ... Nothing that warn't." He struggled with his tongue. "All the looks of your face."

She waited hopefully. "What's your name?"

"Daniel...Mark Daniel."

"Daniel Mark Daniel?" She tittered.

He tried to explain, but she was in the mood to tease.

"And are you fond of the the-atre, Daniel Mark Daniel?"

"I never been but once before. Tesn't the the-atre .... "

"Oh," she said, "so it is me."

He nodded grimly. Her fancy for going straight to the root of things found an echo in his heart.

"Are you Captain of the mine?" she asked.

"I aren't much a one for words," he said. "Tedn't my way to play around wi' fancy sayings. When I saw you last night I've not thought of nothing else besides.""Well, what's that to me?"

He stopped and looked at her in the darkness.

"I can't say more'n I've the tongue for."

She laughed. "I've a notion to be going back. I've a pie to finish--if that thief Tupper hasn't gobbled it."

"Nay, wait." He began to fumble at the leather belt round his waist. "I brought somethin' 'ere for ee."

She watched, interested now while he took out a little cotton bag tied at the top with cord. It was no bigger than a baby's fist, but it clinked as he put it into her hand.

She untied the top and saw that inside were silver coins.

"Where d'you get this?" she asked, startled.

"Tis mine. I'm giving it to you."

She stared at him, sobered at last, impressed at last, unable to understand.

"What for?"

"I never been the marryin' kind. But that's what I've the thought for now."

He waited, obstinately, for her laughter; but it did not come. He would have had it in full three minutes ago, but the tiny bag of silver was a weight in her palm. She did not know that Mark had lived in his father's cottage all his life and only paid for his own vituals, that he had worked with consistent skill and good luck on his own pitch since he was fourteen, sometimes making as much as fifty or sixty shillings a month, that he had never lost a day from illness or accident, had never spent an unnecessary penny, and had often won money prizes for wrestling. All she knew was that this man offered her casually in a bag ten times what she could hope to earn in the most successful week.

This convinced her of nothing; but it gave him a quite different standing. That it was also the first time any man had asked her to marry him--and meant it--she also realized. This might have added to her amusement, but the little bag was heavy in her palm.

"I didn't know miners was rich," she said.

"Don't ye ever want for a home?" he asked. "I'd build you a home wi' my own 'ands."

"Where's the money comin' from if you give me your silver?"

"There's more at home. I aren't a spending man." He put his big hand on her wrist a moment. "Look--"

She slipped away, seeming to dissolve at his touch.

"Not so sharp! How dare you! I wouldn't think on it! What, me to leave the stage! Here, take your money!"

He did not see that she had not extended her hand.

"Sleep on it," he urged grimly. "Keep the silver any'ow. Tes no more'n you desarve. I'll be thur at St. Ann's to-morrow night, watchin' for ee."

"I don't know as I shall look for you," she said haughtily.

"Meet me after. Tell me what ye've bought wi' the silver."

She giggled uncertainly as at an obscure joke, her fine teeth glistening. Then she tossed her head and ran back to the shed where the others were eating. At the door she turned to see if he had followed her. But he had gone. She hid the purse inside her skirt, then she burst in ready even to forgive Tupper the loss of his pennies.


message 11: by Bonny (new)

Bonny | 4 comments more!
Elizabeth came down the stairs. She knew the meeting had been over more than fifteen minutes, and she had listened with her acute ears as one by one the shareholders left. But Geoffrey Charles had wakened fretfully and needed attention; and she had sat by his bedside when he slept again, looking anxiously at his flushed fore-
head and small clenched hands.

As she came to the turn of the stairs she glanced at herself in the long mirror and put fluttering slender fingers over her skirt, straightening and patting her dress before the last eight steps. Years ago she remembered doing the same thing that first night when she had supped here and her betrothal to Francis was announced and Ross had suddenly come in upon them, travel-dusty and scarred, appearing without warning, from America, from
Winchester, from Truro to remind her of her childish promise, like the re-emergence of someone dead. She had done it six weeks later, on the day of her wedding, when half the countryside had been here and they had had cockfighting after the wedding breakfast and Old Charles had belched and blown and won a hundred guineas from George Warleggan's father. She had not done it at Geoffrey Charles's christening, when Old Charles had been taken ill, for that day she had been too weak to walk, and Francis had carried her and put her regally on the couch in the hall before a great leaping log fire, and all her friends and relations had gathered round to pay their respects and to admire Geoffrey Charles.

Somehow that day had marked the peak of her happiness: from that day, from that evening, contentment had slowly receded, been grasped at, yet even while seeming to be held had slipped away. Old Charles had been carried like a mountain to bed, and the superstitious had thought it an omen. She had quarrelled with Francis over something, and, however much one might pretend, there had never been quite a reconciliation because at the bottom of the trivial split lay something immovable and bedded in their temperaments.

In those early years she had been young and tremulous, quick to relish happiness, quick to plunge into sorrow; all her feelings had lived so near the surface of everyday life that they were open to the lightest tread of circumstance. She remembered how sick in heart she had felt on that early spring morning when Ross had called in and suddenly taxed her with faithlessness and broken promises. They were both very young then, both very much in earnest, both rather naive.

Now, now, she was so mature, mistress of this house and the property that went with it. The squire's wife, used to her position and the responsibilities. Used to controlling her feelings and masking her disappointments. How she had changed! Not outwardly; there was very little, she thought, to see outwardly (after all, twenty-four was not a great age and she had only had one child) but inwardly the difference was great.

She went down into the big hall, lit now only by a single candelabra, walked across the rugs and the polished oak and entered the big parlour.

The rest of the candles had been brought in here. Francis stood by the uncurtained window, staring out at his shadow thrown across the candle-lit shrubbery. Verity was not here; she was glad Verity was not here.

He was holding his long pipe in one hand, but it had gone out. The smell of his tobacco made her wrinkle her nose. He was as neat as always, fair hair shining above the tall collar of his wide-skirted red velvet coat. He had broadened a good deal in these few years, and it made him look older than he was.

She clicked the handle of the door, but he did not turn. She went and stood beside him at the window. Three great moths were beating against the uneven panes. A faint scent of bergamot--relic of Mrs. Trenwith--now came to her nostrils and sent her mind swiftly back to another concern.

"Geoffrey Charles is feverish," she said. "I hope and pray he has not taken the infection."

She knew by his slightly stiffened shoulders that she had said the wrong thing.

"You have hoped and prayed that for the better part of four days and he has not taken it yet. You know he is always up and down."

"Yes, but to-night he vomited after his supper. Verity was not there so I had to help Mrs. Tabb with his clothes."

"Where could he have got it? You have not let him out of the grounds in four weeks."

"Mary Bartle's brother has taken it, and Mary Bartle was home on Sunday. Had I known she should not have come back!"

"My dear, we can't proscribe the movements of all the servants," he said irritably. "Since we do not live on a desert island, we are obliged-----"

Verity came in.

"Is it good news, Francis?" she said. "I fancied by what I heard Mr. Trencrom say as he mounted his horse..."

Elizabeth bit her lip.

Francis said: "We are to continue for at least another three months. The eighty fathom level is to go, but that has been disappointing for some time and will not matter."

Verity's sallow face glowed. "Thank God for it! That may yet see us beyond Christmas, and conditions must surely better themselves by then. I could not think of those many hundreds destitute. "

"To say nothing of ourselves," Francis observed.

"What a triumph for you, Francis!" she said. "How did you ever persuade them?"

"The Warleggans are advancing no more; but they have agreed to accept suspension of interest payments. As for the rest, Mr. Trencrom--who I fancy by reason of his smuggling concerns is the richest of the rest of us--Mr. Trencrom, Mr. Sugden and Mrs. Trenwith will bear the risk between them."

"That is splendid. Is it not, Elizabeth?"

"Yes, indeed." Elizabeth was glad and relieved, but the gladness was not in her voice. Verity's enthusiasm, however innocent, had forestalled her own, therefore her own would be suspect. She had missed her opportunity to say the right thing at the right time.

Francis relit his pipe. "Geoffrey Charles has vomited his supper; and Elizabeth fears he has the smallpox, a quartan ague and the summer fever."

Verity glanced from one to the other, aware now that something had arisen between them.

"You should have called me. Does he sweat? I gave Aunt Agatha a Dr. James's powder and she will soon sweat her cold out. Perhaps Geoffrey Charles has taken her chill."

"He has quite a little fever on him," Elizabeth said. "I thought to do what Dr. Choake says and light a fire and wrap him in a blanket before it."

"Is he awake?"

"He was sleeping when I came down."

"Then would it not be better to leave him? He may have slept it away by the morning."

"I thought there should be a fire."

Verity pushed back her hair. "Yes. Perhaps you're right, Elizabeth. I will go and tell Mrs. Tabb."

She went off, glad of an excuse to escape.

There was silence for a minute in the parlour, then Elizabeth took up the snuffers and began snuffing the candles.

Francis gathered some papers and sat in a chair.

She said: "The meeting was a long one. I suppose there were many for closing down the mine?"

"All the small fry, the little buzzing beetles with twenty guineas to lose. I do not know why Great Aunt Tremenheere had so many progeny. They have bred like rabbits and they chatter like monkeys."

"We should have put them up for the night," she said. "They think ill of us because you will not entertain them."

"Nor would I if I were bankrupt to-morrow. Little yappers, one and all. Mr. Farthing, that red-eyed ferret Cousin Ellen married --he never was a Poldark nor never even a Trenwith--had the impudence to lecture me on gaming pleasures. As if that would help the price of copper!"

Elizabeth was silent. Francis glanced at her.

"No doubt you find yourself in agreement with Mr. Farthing."


message 12: by Bonny (new)

Bonny | 4 comments last one!
She bent her graceful head over a candle guttering low; a faint monstrous cloud shadow moved on the fine plaster ceiling. Sometimes of late he had challenged her like this, as if preferring her downright opposition to unspoken disapproval. She might have thought it a good sign, showing as it did that her opinion was still of importance to him; but the best of the situation she was inclined to take for granted, and the worst roused some latent obduracy in her spirit which went curiously with her delicate form.

"No," she said. "But is not gaming for good times and not for bad?"

Her aloofness--which he had helped to create--as always irritated him. He could not reach her in her ivory tower of poised unspotted delicacy.

"Gaming is for all times, my love. With eating, drinking, hunting and loving, it makes one of the five primaries." He reached for a decanter glimmering red with port. "As Cousin Ross has recently rediscovered, thanks to his visits to the Warleggans. I must ask George how much he won on his last visit. I was a thought preoccupied myself and did not take note; but he has been splashing money at a lavish rate ever since."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Francis raised an eyebrow. As always, mention Ross and her interest quickened.

"Well, his two christening parties, you know. And but the other day he squeezed Tom Choake out of his precious mine by paying a monstrous price for Choake's shares. I wish someone would offer half the price per share for ours in Grambler."

"Perhaps it is rumour. Who told you?"

"Notary Pearce. And Tom Choake confirmed it to-night when I tackled him. That was why they were not at the party. Tom has refused to continue as bal-surgeon, and they are hard set to find a man in his place."

"Well, Ross is making money at Wheal Leisure."

"There is a modest profit, nothing spectacular. For my part, if I was in his place and had a little money for the first time in years, I should get me a few new servants to supplant those Paynters, who slop about as if the place was their own by deed of gift. After all, he owes something to his station."

"Perhaps his little wife would not welcome new servants," Elizabeth said, "lest she should be mistaken for one of them."

"She'll learn quick enough," said Francis irritatingly. "I confess I found her entertaining enough at Christmas time. As for Tuesday, well, one cannot be blamed too harsh for one's relatives."

"That is what people will be saying of us if Demelza tries to play the great lady before she has even learned to play the small one."

Francis puffed at his pipe. He had not looked at it that way before. Then he laughed.

"My dear, when I think of some of the people who are accepted into our society I do not fear for Demelza."

Elizabeth stiffened.

"Whom do you mean?"

"Well, what is Polly Choake but a brewer's daughter. What is George Warleggan but a smith's grandson? What is Odgers but a half-starved little lackey with a horse collar and a horse wig? Damn me, I'm a good Cornishman and should rather mix with a sumpman's daughter any day of the month!"

Coming down into the arena, Elizabeth said suddenly, whitely:

"I wonder you did not marry one."

The attack was unexpected.

Francis took his pipe from his mouth and stared at the bole for some moments.

"I don't question your sincerity in saying that. But I doubt your wisdom."

"How dare you!" She turned on him tremulously. "Do you suggest that all the obligation of the marriage has been on my side--!"

"No, but it would be unwise to assume it has been all on mine."

"--How can you say that I haven't done everything to help you ! You would find no one who could have done better. I have had as my only thought the care of yourself and your father, your house and your child. I have sat here alone in this parlour night after night, week after week, while you have been gaming away your inheritance and your son's inheritance! I have done everything possible to cut down our expense in these difficult times, while you have thrown money on the card-tables and drunk yourself into a--into a stupor. I have never known your thanks or your praise. You keep your thanks for--for I know not what strumpet and your praise for the beggar girl Ross has married!"

With tears on her cheeks she went quickly from the room, leaving the door open behind her. He could hear her running up the stairs.

She had never spoken like this before. If a sharp response was what he had been seeking, then he should have been satisfied. But the breach was wider than it had ever been before, it was open, undisguised.

He sat in his chair drawing quietly at his pipe, a thoughtful look on his handsome dissipated face. All she said was true. He admitted it was all true. She had seen to his house and graced his table. She had raised the standard of the household manners from the sloppy level at which Old Charles had left them. George Warleggan and many others, he knew, envied him his luck. She had borne him a son, and cared for that son passionately--too passionately. She had made him a dignified beautiful wife of the highest integrity, with true ideals, good principles and capable understanding. She had even, sometimes, shared his bed. She had honoured him. She had quite frequently obeyed him. She did not love him and she never had.

Francis reached for the decanter


Victoria Smiser | 121 comments BONNY THANK YOU!!


message 14: by Tanya, Moderator/Hostess (new) - rated it 4 stars

Tanya | 640 comments Mod
Bonny, that's wonderful! And here I thought I was fresh out of new Poldark material to read! :-)


message 15: by Mara (new) - added it

Mara | 111 comments Yes! This is revelatory. There's so little in the books and the show that clearly express what Elizabeth's really thinking. Many thanks!


message 16: by Wendy (new)

Wendy Fulwood | 1 comments Interesting. Seems relevant so I wonder why they left it out?


message 17: by Mara (new) - added it

Mara | 111 comments Did they think it would make the series better if they kept the reader guessing about Elizabeth's true feelings? Otherwise, we don't find out until a conversation she & Ross have in Warleggan.


Victoria Smiser | 121 comments MARA that must have been the editors' thoughts. There was an interview with Debbie Horsfield when the series first aired in the UK, and she admitted that she had to be very creative to "soften" Elizabeth as she was not in the books. DH felt that the ITV Elizabeth had to have a side that attracted Ross or the "attachment" would not have worked for the viewers. That is why there were many scenes in Series One not in any of the books. Perhaps the editors' in the 40/50s felt Elizabeth should not be viewed as more than an "ornament" and her feelings were tightly under wraps?????


message 19: by Mara (new) - added it

Mara | 111 comments It all makes me appreciate these omitted passages. Elizabeth has been an enigma to me.

She is described as being one of the most beautiful women some of the male characters have ever seen, as one of the most beautiful women in England, and possessing a fragile loveliness in addition to being a model lady. I don't understand why there would be any doubt of Ross' attraction. The intensified appeal of forbidden fruit would make it more so.

In these omitted passages I find her more human, relatable and therefore more sympathetic. This has increased my enjoyment of the show and the books since now I know what's behind "the looks" and in between the lines.




message 20: by Tanya, Moderator/Hostess (last edited Dec 14, 2015 07:16AM) (new) - rated it 4 stars

Tanya | 640 comments Mod
After reading the content, I realized that most of these passages are deleted bits from Demelza so I moved them to the correct folder.


message 21: by John (new) - rated it 5 stars

John Gimlett | 6 comments You're a very fast typist, Bonny! You remind me of another fast typist I know from Indiana!


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