Denton Welch

Denton Welch is one of my favourite authors. Born in 1915 he died tragically young at the age of 33 in 1948 due to complications following a bicycling accident. In his short life he only wrote three novels (alongside some poetry, some short stories and some fantastically entertaining journals). But his extraordinarily vivid yet natural style of prose and his poignant portrayal of adolescent angst and awkwardness won him many fans including Edith Sitwell, Cyril Connolly and, more recently, William Burroughs.

In Youth is Pleasure, his second novel and my personal favourite, focuses on the experiences of a startlingly immature 15-year old boy, Orvil Pym, during a quiet summer holiday in an English hotel a few years before the outbreak of the Second World War. Orvil's sheltered upbringing in Shanghai, his mother's early death and his subsequent education at an English public school (which he hates with an absolute passion) have left him insecure about his identity and confused about his burgeoning homosexuality. A range of characters including Orvil's glamorous yet bullying elder brother, his distant, wealthy father, a strapping Scout master and a fabulous Narcisse Noir-wearing beauty infiltrate his holiday and shape his experiences that summer. Despite very little action in the novel, its moving and painfully honest descriptions of the minutiae of the adolescent mind are captivating and highly entertaining. This is a wonderful book with a style of prose that has the clarity of Kafka and the directness of Hemingway. Had he not died tragically young, Welch would undoubtedly have become a major player on the literary scene. His untimely death robbed English literature of a unique and brilliant voice.

One of the most appealing apsects of Denton's journals* are his vivid and obsessive descriptions of food. Rationing was in full swing during the Second World War and food-lovers had to be as inventive and resourceful as possible with what nature could provide. His meals, which were usually provided by his housekeeper Evie or his friend Eric, would often consist of scrambled pheasant or moorhen eggs, stolen from the nest that morning. Sometimes he would go on day-trips with Eric to churches in Kent to appreciate the architecture and to do brass rubbings of the tombs. Afterwards Denton and Eric would sit in their car and eat their picnic – usually comprising Ryvitas, hard-boiled eggs, flasks of coffee, bottles of beer, blackcurrant puree, apple tart and biscuits. Isn't that great having picnics in cars - such a British affair!

Here are a couple of food extracts from his journals (I’ll post some fantastically bitchy ones about various people he knew at a later date):

7 June 1943
Last Monday I went to supper with Noel Adeney. We had cold soup flavoured with claret, and fennel in long green shreds; then a sort of pilau of rice, onions fried, pimento excitingly scarlet like dogs’ tools, and grated cheese. The tiniest new potatoes and salad. Afterwards plums, and creamy mild tomato cocktail to drink. A charming meal

22 July 1945
…we had thistle artichokes and melted butter, cold fried fish, peas, carrots, lettuce and Evie’s sweet salad-dressing made with condensed milk, then cherry flan – coral-coloured cherries… Afterwards we smoked Dunhill cigarettes.

Now I know you're all champing at the bit for Edie’s recipe for condensed milk salad dressing… I'll see what I can come up with!

I also apologise if from now on you won't be able to look at a recipe containing pimento without thinking of 'excitingly scarlet dogs' tools'...

*If you want to track down the journals, there are two editions. The first was edited by Jocelyn Brooke in 1952 and the second by Michael De-la-Noy in 1984. The latter is much less judgmental and less judiciously edited and therefore contains much more salacious gossip.