by Gerald Durrell, 1956
How I adored this book! He tells of his time on the Greek isle of Corfu in the 1930s. His family moved there from England when oldest brother, Larry, finds out from a friend how warm and sunny it is there. It is laugh-out-loud funny and wonderfully written. It takes you to a gorgeous Greek island full of amazing beauty on land and sea, and wonderful, funny, delightful characters, both human and animal. Gerald (Gerry) is the youngest of four children of a precious, widowed Mother. Gerry loves all things critters and found his heaven on earth on this Greek isle of Corfu. The PBS Masterpiece production captures the essence of the island and the characters but doesn’t copy exactly any of the escapades described in the book. For example, in the book they lived in three different villas: the Strawberry-Pink Villa, the Daffodil-Yellow Villa, and the Snow-White Villa, whereas in the Masterpiece production, they lived only in the Strawberry-Pink Villa.
He adopts many a critter, some of whom his family loves and others of whom they hate. They all loved a turtle named Achilles who they hand-fed wild strawberries and who loved human company. Achilles would try to climb on them when they were sunbathing. Unfortunately, one day someone left the garden gate open and Achilles got out. The whole family searched far and wide for him and found he had fallen into a dry well and died:
He was, to our regret, quite dead. Even Leslie’s attempts at artificial respiration and Margo’s suggestion of forcing strawberries down his throat (to give him, as she explained, something to live for) failed to get any response. So, mournfully and solemnly, his corpse was buried in the garden under a small strawberry plant (Mother’s suggestion). A short funeral address, written and read in a trembling voice by Larry, made the occasion a memorable one. It was only marred by Roger, who, in spite of all my protests, insisted on wagging his tail throughout the burial service.
Here are some more quotes: “…Theodore had an apparently inexhaustible fund of knowledge about everything, but he imparted this knowledge with a sort of meticulous diffidence that made you feel he was not so much teaching you something new as reminding you of something which you were already aware of, but which had for some reason or other, slipped your mind…”
Another:
“In this crisp, heady weather the family spent most of its time on the veranda, eating, sleeping, reading, or just simply arguing. It was here, once a week, that we used to congregate to read our mail which Spiro had brought out to us. The bulk of it consisted of gun catalogues for Leslie, fashion magazines for Margo, and animal journals for myself. Larry’s post generally contained books and interminable letters from authors, artists, and musicians, about authors, artists, and musicians. Mother’s contained a wedge of mail from various relatives, sprinkled with a few seed catalogues. as we browsed we would frequently pass remarks to one another, or read bits aloud. This was not done with any motive of sociability (for no other member of the family would listen, anyway), but merely because we seemed unable to extract the full flavour of our letters and magazines unless they were shared…”
From the chapter entitled, The Cyclamen Woods, in which Gerry steals two baby magpies from a nest:
“The Cyclamen Woods were an excellent place to spend an afternoon. Lying beneath the shade of the olive trunks, you could look out over the valley, a mosaic of fields, vineyards, and orchards, to where the sea shone between the olive trunks, a thousand fiery sparkles running over it as it rubbed itself gently and languorously along the shore…”
After the magpies have grown up, snuck in, and destroyed Larry’s room:
“There’s no need to be rude,” said Margo.
“Larry didn’t mean it, dear,” explained Mother untruthfully; “he’s naturally upset.”
“Upset? Upset? Those scab-ridden vultures come flapping in here like a pair of critics and tear and bespatter my manuscript before it’s even finished, and you say I’m upset?”
From the chapter entitled, The Lake of Lilies, after the magpies have been caged (Spiro called them Magenpies and the name stuck):
“The Magenpies liked the dogs, although they seized every opportunity to tease them. They were particularly fond of Roger, and he would frequently go and call on them, lying down close to the wire netting, ears pricked, while the Magenpies sat on the ground inside the cage, three inches away from his nose, and talked to him in soft, wheezy chucks, with an occasional raucous guffaw, as though they were telling him dirty jokes…”
After a beautiful day at the Lake of Lilies:
“It is certainly a very . . . er . . . beautiful place,” said Theodore with immense satisfaction.
“It’s a glorious place,” agreed Mother, and then gave it her highest accolade, “I should like to be buried there.”
The engine stuttered uncertainly, then broke into a deep roar; the Sea Cow gathered speed and headed along the coastline, trailing the Bootle-Bumtrinket behind, and beyond that our wash fanned out, white and delicate as a spider’s web on the dark water, flaming here and there with a momentary spark of phosphorescence.
Absolutely loved this book!