Reading The Truth About Blayds by A.A. Milne, I had no difficultly understanding why it was one of Milne’s favourites of his many plays. Written in 1920, during his most productive period, it is devoted to the thing he loved to write about most: middle class struggles with morality. And, for once, that struggle doesn’t take the form of bigamy, something we can only be thankful for (see Mr Pim Passes By, Michael and Mary, and, to some extent, Belinda for Milne’s delight in that subject).
We open on the household of Blayds, the great Victorian poet, the (as some call him) “Supreme Songster of an Earlier Epoch”. His family is gathering to celebrate his birthday, which is delightful because it gives Milne a chance to introduce them all one at a time. Milne excels at character descriptions in his stage directions and he surpasses his usual genius here. Those gathering include Blayds’ two adult daughters, his grandson and granddaughter, and his overly attentive son-in-law. It is for this son-in-law that Milne truly shines:
William Blayds-Conway was obviously meant for the Civil Service. His prim neatness, his gold pince-nez, his fussiness would be invaluable in almost any Department. However, running Blayds is the next best thing to running the Empire.
Can’t you just picture him? A man who not only added his wife’s name to his own upon marriage but who has made it his life’s work to serve as secretary to his great father-in-law, curating every slip of paper that has passed through Blayds’ blessed hands, recording every word he utters in order to capture the brilliance for posterity. Blayds, old but no fool, can see exactly what his son-in-law is doing and what the future will bring, as he explains to a birthday visitor, Mr Royce:
Blayds: My son-in-law, Mr Royce, meditates after my death a little book called “Blaydsiana.” He hasn’t said so, but I see it written all over him. In addition, you understand, to the official life in two volumes. There may be another one called “On the Track of Blayds in the Cotswolds” but I am not certain of this yet.
While Mr Blayds-Conway is happy to have his life’s direction set by his relationship to Blayds, his children are not. Both daughter and son feel that they are held slightly captive, particularly twenty-something Oliver who has found himself working in politics despite his love of mechanics:
Oliver: Do you think I want to be a private secretary to a dashed politician? What’s a private secretary at his best but a superior sort of valet? I wanted to be a motor engineer. Not allowed. Why not? Because the Blayds in Blayds-Conway wouldn’t have been any use. But politicians simply live on that sort of thing.
They need to live up to the Blayds name and find that takes quite a lot of work.
But then the critical discovery is made that Blayds’ fame is based on a grand deception. This comes after his death so there are many things for the family consider. Money, legacy, and the value of their own name all weigh heavily as they try to decide what to do. Perhaps the Blayds name wasn’t such a curse, not really, not when it came with respect and a healthy income, and served to open so many doors into the best places. As the Blayds-Conway family members rationalise their selfish instincts into a protective cocoon of moral comfort, Blayds’ younger daughter and the journalist Conway can only look on in amazement and repulsion.
It’s all very neatly done, with excellent dialogue throughout and a tidy ending, but it doesn’t have as much heart as Milne’s best plays. Here it seems the concept was very much the thing, not the characters. He carries it off very well but I still longed for the world of The Great Broxopp or, bigamy and all, Michael and Mary, with real-feeling characters.