• Maggie Richell-Davies

On Golden Hill by Francis Spufford




The hard cover copy of this impressive book was gifted to me a couple of Christmases ago, but is now available in paperback. I cannot recommend it enough, if you enjoy a good historical novel, or it would make a perfect gift for a friend or relative who is languishing alone in lock-down.


An impatient, personable young man from London has himself rowed from the brig Henrietta to the New York shore of 1746 with a bill of exchange in his pocket. It is for the huge amount of one thousand pounds - and must be honoured within sixty days by trader Master Lovell, who owes this sum to the London company who issued the bill.


Deeply suspicious of this 'strip of a boy who comes demanding payment of an awk'ard-sized fortune, on no surety' - and with London a six week sail across the ocean, meaning a fraud couldn't be uncovered before the money falls due - Lovell and his fellow merchants have a make-or-break decision to take. Is the mysterious Richard Smith genuine? A bold-faced crook? Up to political mischief? Or attempting something much darker?


For he's up to something, everyone agrees. He openly admits to it. Yet despite hints and red herrings, nothing will get the truth out of him - not offers of violence, rooftop chases, a duel, a branding, nor the threat of the hangman's noose. Smith keeps his secret until the final page.


Francis Spufford's novel is a fine plum-pudding of a book, rich with spice and full of silver-sixpence-like surprises. I gobbled it up, swallowing it down along with envy of an author who can create such a clever pass-the-parcel story from which the reader struggles to tease out clues and get a feel for the secret lying at its core.


The language is gloriously dense in places. But if it is occasionally purple, it is the colour of a Georgian brocade waistcoat, the texture of the cloth opulent under one's exploring fingers, yet not necessarily giving an accurate clue to the wearer's true identity. This is arguably necessary, since modern language would struggle to convey the landscape of a city where church spires look down on a display of human trophy scalps; where the reality of a duel is a blundering struggle through deep snow, with spurting blood and unexpectedly tragic

consequences; where one of the great cities of the world is in the gory process of creating itself.


Then there are Spufford's wonderful characters: the feline Tabitha, who hates novels yet quotes Shakespeare; the voluptuous Mrs Tomlinson, who makes Smith a generous offer he cannot, for politeness, refuse; the handsome and intriguing Achilles, a slave with a complex relationship with Septimus Oakeshott, the Governor's young aide. My heart still breaks over Septimus.


Historical novels don't have to be bodice-rippers. They can be Wolf Hall. They can be Golden Hill.


Why not treat yourself or, better still, send a copy to an isolating friend or relative who enjoys stories about the past? The paperback costs a modest £7.95, or for £4.68 you could send it to their Kindle, if you have their kindle email address. Amazon also allow you to send a gift message: think what a pleasant surprise it would be to receive something like this unexpectedly through the letterbox along with unwanted fliers and bills?


Reading is good for one's mental health. It can also be an escape, and hopefully an exciting adventure as well.











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