Jane was only ten when the melancholic poet became their neighbour. She was virtually beneath his notice — until, many years later, her fame prompted him to recall that she had been ‘very intimate’ with his brilliant older sister, ‘and much encouraged by her.’ ‘When I knew Jane Austen I never suspected that she was an authoress,’ he wrote in 1834. ‘The last time that I think I saw her was in Ramsgate in 1803: perhaps she was then about twenty-seven years old. Even then I did not know that she was addicted to literary composition.’ The phrase is an excellent one for Jane, who was indeed gripped by a sort of mania for writing in her early teens, and who later told her niece Caroline she wished she had ‘read more, and written less’ in those years when she had been ‘much taken up with’ her own compositions.
He started to back out, but Jane could contain herself no longer. She jumped up with a cry wrung out of her heart, tears of joy streaming down her face, and started to run towards his strong brown arms, forgetting that her knickers were round her ankles. She fell heavily on the bathmat, and the tight roll of paper she had been holding on her lap spun away, unwinding itself across the floor.
After leaving the flat that morning Jane also had gone down to Edgestow and had bought a hat, when Mrs. Dimble met her coming out of Sparrow’s and said: “Hullo, dear. Been buying a hat? Come home to lunch and let’s see it. Cecil has the car just round the corner.”
This wasn’t a challenge – it was fatherly advice. If I had had one of his books at hand I would have repeated my recent act of faith – I’d have spent half the night with him. At three o’clock in the morning, not sleeping, remembering moreover how indispensible he was to Lady Jane, I stole down to the library with a candle. There wasn’t, so far as I could discover, a line of his writing in the house.
Jane paused a moment, her hands held outwards and a little behind her. Her face was paler than it had been in her room, her eyes were half-shut, and her breath came a little quickly, but then she had been running. With the same sudden movement with which she had jumped up from the window-seat, she now jerked her hands forward, turned the great iron ring that served as a door handle, and stole into the church.
A few days later Jane was out shopping at the Pax River commissary on Saunders Road, near the main gate to the base. She heard the sirens go off at the field, and then she heard the engines of the crash trucks start up. This time Jane was determined to keep calm. Every instinct made her want to rush home, but she forced herself to stay in the commissary and continue shopping. For thirty minutes she went through the motions of completing her shopping list. Then she drove home to North Town Creek.As she reached the house, she saw a figure going up the sidewalk. It was a man. Even from the back there was no question who he was. He had on a black suit, and there was a white band around his neck. It was her minister, from the Episcopal Church. She stared, and this vision did not come and go. The figure kept on walking up the front walk. She was not asleep now, and she was not inside her house glancing out the front window. She was outside in her car in front of the house. She was not dreaming, and she was not hallucinating, and the figure kept walking up toward her front door.
That began to change during the first part of the nineteenth century, for two reasons. First, there was an increasing awareness among intellectuals that fossils were the remains of organisms that once lived on the Earth, in a world quite different from the present one. Second, there was an economic interest, occasioned by the growth of Lyme Regis as a seaside resort. Hitherto, the wealthy had flocked to spas like Bath for the supposed medical benefits of natural mineral waters. Now it became fashionable to take to the sea, not to swim and sunbathe, which were pleasures still to come, but to immerse oneself in the briny for the supposed beneficial effects to the constitution. The bathing machine – a wooden contraption on wheels that was drawn to the water’s edge by horse – was invented so genteel souls could take to the sea with the modesty and decorum required of the times. Lyme Regis became one of the most fashionable seaside resorts, with luminaries like Jane Austen among its visitors. The curiosities found in the cliffs now became popular souvenirs, making it worth a quarryman’s while to collect fossils to sell to the rich visitors. Lesser fossils, like belemnites and ammonites, passed hands for mere pennies or shillings, but an ichthyosaur, even an imperfect specimen, would fetch many pounds. A few of the residents became fossil collectors, both to serve the visitors’ needs for keepsakes and to supply the discriminating collectors and intellectuals. But none were as successful as Mary Anning.
Seven appearances by women named Jane from seven page seventeens from seven books taken from various shelves, boxes and floorboards in our flat.
Jane’s Fame: How Jane Austen Conquered the World by Claire Harman; Lord Malquist and Mr Moon by Tom Stoppard; That Hideous Strength by C.S.Lewis; The Figure in the Carpet by Henry James; The Right Stuff by Tom Wolfe; The Earlier Service by Margaret Irwin, from Best Black Magic Stories edited by John Keir Cross; The Dragon Seekers: The Discovery of Dinosaurs During the Prelude to Darwin by Christopher McGowan.