Hope and Lawrence

Hope and Lawrence met electronically, both drawn to the masterly writing of Patrick O’Brian, and delighted to find an internet list devoted to his works. It was - and still is - a congenial and engaging list. The members had jumped through a lot of hoops, passed a lot of tests, continued through many filters in order to be there at all. The books are demanding, complex, requiring some educational attainment in order to enjoy them, and certainly a quality of stolid patience to diligently read the entire series, which we all did.

It turned out that the people who enjoyed the books were ideally suited to like one another. They were alike not only in the appreciation of an elegant style of writing - a style which instantly repulsed those who preferred a looser simpler language - but also in enjoying the numerous subjects canvassed in the books, and the charming sense of humour that irradiated them. Furthermore, the book lover had not only to navigate the Napoleonic seas of O'Brian, but also the complicated realm of the internet - which at that time (1995) was not as much a matter of course as it is now. These educated, whimsical, patient and diligent readers, therefore, had also to encompass a certain ability to deal with technology.

Many of the initiates found it stormy going indeed. Hope certainly did; Lawrence, on the other hand, had lived with the internet for many years. Whatever the path, they and all the other members of the list passed the test, jumped through the hoops, came through the filters, to safe harbour on the Patrick O’Brian List. And there they found such a kinship, such an environment of agreeable communication with people who understood, who recognized, who were immediately at ease with one another It is no wonder that many friendships sprang up, private correspondences flourished, and even romantic attachments.

There is a splendid archive of the List, where the first encounter of Hope and Lawrence is to be found: Under the name of IgClydus@aol (an unlikely moniker derived from her son Aaron's pets: the iguana Igliz and the snake Clyde; Aaron was first on the net in the house and had thus the honor of choosing the user name) Hope wrote to the list on 2/7/96:

"This curiosity about one another's looks (and the thread it has prompted) is quite a natural thing, as is the desire to maintain the blessed anonymity that the cloaking device of cyberspace allows. It seems to me that we should not only agree to the etiquette of the gunroom (no business, no religion, no politics) but perhaps also add respect for the cloaking device."

To which Lawrence responded, on 2/8/96:

"I am in complete agreement. It is for the same reason I am reluctant to see a movie made, for then all my carefully created characters would surely be marred. In a similar manner as the Surprises do the contributors of this forum take form by their writing. Let my youthful girlish figure forever remain a mystery! But I must contradict myself to note that I had a similar belief with Jane Austen; yet innumerable Darcy's, Elizabeth's, Bennett's later; and after Pursuasion, Sense & Sensibility and so on... I find myself not to be so much disturbed after all! I am in confusion!"

And Hope responded:

"It was great fun to compare the two Elizabeths and the two Darcys--so very different and yet each so fine! I am speaking of the two English TV treatments, --BBC?-- one about 10 years ago, one just last month---Lord, I could watch them forever. Well, until dinner anyway."

On Feb. 10, 1996, in response to another list member, Hope wrote:

In a message dated 96-02-10, you write:
" someone at the keyboard can conceivably conduct an e-mail dialog every bit as engaging as Elizabeth Bennet's or produce comebacks every bit as inspired as Cyrano deBergerac's."

Dear Deserved Wallop--how I enjoy your name--in fact, I have spent many an idle moment working up that theme, forgive me for poaching on your preserve-- Such as --Preferred Trollop, Consumed Turnip, Perturbed Peanut, Deferred Balance, .Presumed Buxom--but nothing to equal your spark of divine fire.... What I meant to say, what I meant to say, was , no can do, buddy. I could sit at this keyboard till the last trump and still,no Elizabeth Bennet and no Cyrano would emerge.. Alas, but so it is--on the other hand, what larks!

To which Lawrence replied to Hope directly as well as to the list:

Date: Mon, 12 Feb 1996 Subject:
Re: the right words

But we already have Elizabeth, courtesy of Jane. And Cyrano. Do we need others? The entertainment provided by the diverse writing styles of this list is already quite remarkable. But it would be delightful to have a subscriber capable perhaps of, at least, approaching Stephen's adjectival capacity. A wonderful, intelligent, wise, witty, compassionate and prodigiously literate person it would be, and welcome to them.

Hope replied to the list:

Not only are we dwarfed by his prodigious adjectival capacity, ( the fault, dear Lawrence, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings) but also by his prodigious appetite, not to mention amazing stamina--a hero indeed, for all his meagre shanks and small stature. The breakfasts those men eat! I am struck all of a heap! And then trotting over the Andes, pausing only to sever a few frost bitten toes, toiling up the 1000 steps in Prabang (and by the way, no one answered my question, where is this paradise--leeches and all--?). Let Spiderman and Superman, even the Power Rangers step aside--Stephen Maturin is my candidate for superhero of the world. Hope

To which Lawrence replied with the first post to Hope only, no list on this one. This was the first of many, but very many, email messages sent to Hope.

Date: Tue, 13 Feb 1996
I sit here and giggle while I should be off home, to cook and to clean but instead here I roam.
Prosy stuff indeed!!!!
The wonders of a dictionary and the marvels of a thesaurus. English is a wonderful language and open to much twisting and turning, it is also unique in that it has evolved quite wonderfully over the centuries. The French are working hard to keep French the same as it ever was; the Italians have more dialects than pasta. So many other languages stay alive only by incorporating ours! But English is soft and warm, pretty and pert; it has evolved so beautifully, gently, like an English countryside.
But to remove redundancy, correct spelling, check grammar and punctuation; all these take time. And if one must bear the burden of, heaven spare us, saying something worthwhile as well - my goodness! 'tis a burden indeed and a wonder anyone writes anything at all.
Mr. O'Brian has a masterful grasp of the language. I opened my first Alexander Kent this weekend and read a few pages, no comparison! The story seemed interesting and I shall read it I assure you; but Mr. O'Brian is music - never mind the story - just read the music.
The biggest mistake the English made was not to copyright the language when they had the chance. Such revenue does not bear thinking of. We would have an entire line of new stories about the adventures brave seafaring royalty collectors faced attempting collection from the US. Happy Valentine's!

Then Hope wrote, to the List:

Subject: vile Valentine variations
Attention Comrades! Lurking in the depths of an innocent seeming bag of conversation hearts, hiding amid the simpering "my girl's and the coy "be mine's I found the following renegado: "fax me" --can such things be? But after all, what can one expect from a nation which insinuated blue M&Ms into a previously perfect mix? .Oh rose, thou art sick indeed. And a merry Valentine's day to you all!

And then Lawrence wrote the second message sent to Hope only, the Feathery one:

Date: Wed, 14 Feb 1996 Subject:
Re: vile Valentine variations
Forgive me this, in return that which I offer you. It is presumptuous of me in the first place and not mine to offer in the second. But one of my greatest heroes placed it into the realm of society and if you will forgive my using your name thusly:

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest sea,
Yet never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
Emily Dickinson c. 1861

Hope was not delighted:

Not one of my favorites--but how I admire E.D.'s poems--some of them have been with me from childhood. My father would often tell us that "the pedigree of honey does not concern the bee, a clover any time to him is aristocracy"--it was a comment we grew up hearing, along with the fact that there were "more things in heaven and earth than were dreamed of in our philosophy". It was only much later that I recognized the provenance of these and many other lines. Oh my papa. Hope

And Lawrence replied with his third message to Hope ex-list:

Date: Mon, 19 Feb 1996<
I am sorry - it was a liberty I took and I ask your pardon for it, but your writings have caused me much enjoyment and you have the loveliest of names; I wished to provide some return.
I discovered Emily in Italy when I found a book of selected translations, it was love at first sight. Most of what I read was a little morbid: "Because I could not stop for death, he kindly stopped for me..." and others. But the manner in which she spoke impressed me profoundly. Since then I have purchased an anthology and read most of her work, she is currently my favorite.
Now there are many bits and pieces that sit with me from day to day. "The smiles and tears of boyhood years, the words of love then spoken. The eyes that shone, now dimmed and gone. The joyful hearts now broken." and "Jenny kissed me when we met - jumping from the chair she sat in...". 'twas a hard weekend with great expectations that, if they materialized anywhere, did not for me. So the above two poems have risen from the cerebral morass to provide point and counterpoint. I wonder if mine own daughter will one day recognized the rantings of her frazzled father.
So many words - so little time.

To which Hope replied;

Date: Tue, 20 Feb 1996 you wrote:
"Jenny kissed me when we met - jumping from the chair she sat in...".
Dear Lawrence-- Jenny, mawkish though she is , is one of my favorites too--time , that loves to put sweets in your list, put that in. The gentle intimations of mortality, perhaps, though goodness knows, I am a perfect Niobe even at those disgracefully manipulative Hallmark commercials. The older I get, the wetter the cheek. In the days --now alas long past--when I read to my children at bedtime, they well knew the maternal weakness, and would keep an attentive eye on me as the trying scene approached--the death of the good stalwart dog in The Little House on the Prairie, say , or --sob---Thorin Oakinshield's death in The Hobbit. Transfixed with dread or delight, I knew not which, they would shrill, Mommy's crying!

These messages started a veritable avalanche of email, email that brought about the union of Hope and Lawrence, of Lawrence moving to the East coast to be with Hope, and a life together of such joy and delight--happiness that is usually found only to novels and poems... blessings on Patrick O'Brian!

We were married on June 22, 2001, and were so very happy, for many wonderful years. We travelled, we had parties, we celebrated holidays--but my darling Lawrence was felled by cancer, and died on April 18, 2013. I shall never forget him, my dearest love.

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