Taken at the Flood

Taken at the Flood by Agatha Christie
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

“My word, laundry’s a problem nowadays. Four ruddy weeks since they’ve been to our place—not a clean towel left in our house, and my wife washes all my things herself now.”

So laments Superintendent Spence about the privations suffered in post-war Britain in this tightly-plotted Poirot novel from 1948. And he’s not the only one to suffer. Aunt Kathy, the scatty spiritualist wife of Dr Lionel Cloade, queues for hours for a “depressed-looking bit of cod” and a tin of golden syrup, which, having fought for, she promptly drops in the street. Poirot, ever the gentleman, retrieves the cod and runs after tin for her.
Highly enjoyable, and with a truly novel premise, this book sounds the death-knell for weekend house parties in the country, summers on the Riviera, and sumptuous first-class train travel to ever more exotic climes. From here on in it’s all council housing estates encroaching on St Mary Mead and gardens falling into disrepair because one cannot get the staff. Not that I’m complaining.
BTW, two things that may not be immediately obvious to current readers, but were as plain as day to contemporary ones:
1) When Superintendent Spence talks about his wife washing his things, he means by hand. Poor her; lucky him. I hope he appreciates it.
2) As much as I adore cod, it seems to have been the only fish in general supply throughout the war, to the point where it became thought of as unwelcome, repetitive fare.
But that’s just my own humble opinion…what do you think? Do let me know!

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