For a writer whose work became progressively more minimalist and sparse of references even to his native Dublin, or the environment in Paris where he lived from the late 1920s till his death in 1989, Samuel Beckett’s use in his 1962-3 short theatre piece, `Play’ of the names of two Kentish villages is striking. From the great trilogy of novels starting with `Molloy’ published from 1947 to 1953 in French, through the series of theatrical works from `Waiting For Godot’, to the remarkable, compressed prose masterpieces starting with `Company’ in 1979, Beckett’s work had undertaken a stripping down of the world it described to such an extent that `Not 1’ (1972) consisted simply in a mouth suspended against a darkened stage, speaking in staccato, often incomplete sentences, and sometimes merely shrieking. It was like the external world had simply vanished, and all there was was the most interior of interior places.
The story of how Beckett even came to know of the two places mentioned – Ash and Snodland in West Kent – is worth recounting. This is sourced from two of his biographies – one by Deirdre Bair (`Samuel Beckett: A Biography’, Jonathan Cape, London, 1978, Picador Edition 1980) and the other by James Knowlson (`Damned to Fame: The Life of Samuel Beckett’, Bloomsbury, London, 1997). Knowlson’s is the more highly regarded, due to his knowing the subject personally. But Bair’s is referred to in order to show how early the story of Beckett’s visit to Folkestone in 1961 was known.
Beckett was infamously private as an individual, and the widespread recognition, and to some extent infamy, brought to him by the premier of `Godot’ in 1953 was something he regarded with deep ambiguity. Success for the work he had written was welcome. Intrusion into his own life, and attempts to find material there that might help interpret the meaning of the play was something he strenuously resisted.
From the 1930s, Beckett had been in a relationship with the pianist Suzanne Déchevaux-Dumesnil. His personal life was complicated by the fact that from around the late 1950s he also commenced a deep relationship with the translator and critic Barbara Bray. This was to remain the case till the end of his life. For legal reasons, however, he decided in 1961 that he needed to give Suzanne some kind of financial security were he himself to die. An Irish citizen, his financial affairs were largely concentrated in the UK, despite being a long time resident of France. With the global success of Godot, he had to ensure that his partner had some protection, and therefore made the decision to marry her. For legal reasons, this needed to be in Britain.
In March, according to Knowlson, Beckett’s publisher John Calder suggested he get married `in the Registry Office of a quiet, seaside town on the south coast of England. Folkestone fitted the bill admirably, since it was close to France and would allow [Beckett and his wife] to return to Paris immediately after the wedding.’ Driving to Le Touquet in his Citroen, he took the Silver City Airways car ferry service to Ferryfield airport at Lydd, and then went on to Folkestone, booking into the Hotel Bristol at No 3 and 4 on the Leas, opposite the Water Balance Lift. This hotel was demolished later in the decade. Beckett had chosen such a small hotel for the simple fact that he wanted to avoid any recognition. He even used his middle name, Barclay, in registering. In order to throw even friends off the scent, in writing he used innocuous phrases like `having a bit of a rest here in Folkestone and the environs’. In a postcard to another friend in French, he said `sang coule plus calme dans la ville to Harvey’ (a reference to one of the town’s most celebrated former residents, the discoverer of blood circulation in the 16th century, William Harvey).
Soon after his arrival, Beckett visited 29 Bouverie Street, where D A P Cullen the registrar of births, deaths and marriages told him that he was free to travel around the region for the two weeks he had to be in Britain, as long as he maintained his rooms at the hotel. For some of the fortnight, he visited relatives in Surrey, went to Rye, and drove to Brighton and Canterbury. On these excursions, according to Knowlson, `he spotted on his map of the area, the name of Borough Green which he slipped into the second manuscript version of `Happy Days’ [the play he was working on at the time] – the nearby larger town of Sevenoaks was an alternative suggestion added by hand to typescript two.’ For some reason, however, it was Ash and Snodland that most struck him – not because there is any evidence he visited either place, but because he found the sound of their names alone intriguing.
Beckett’s remainder of his own waiting time in Folkestone was to be lethargic. He tinkered with the `Happy Days’ manuscript, endured the food at the hotel (his arrangement was full board – the booking had been made by his publisher) which he found execrable, sat in a few country pubs drinking Guinness, but feeling `half chlorophormed’, he usually retired to bed by 9.30. News of his cousins John Beckett being in a serious car accident in Ireland almost meant he needed to abort his plans and leave the UK. But when the situation stabilised, he decided to proceed with his original plans. On 22nd March, his prospective wife arrived, and on the 25th they were married. Beckett was 54. His wife 61. The ceremony was conducted by Charles G Mayled. The two witnesses, E Pugsley and J Bond were presumably employees of the registry office or strangers plucked off the street. On his return to Paris two days later, Beckett with characteristic frankness wrote in a letter, `Thank God that is all over.’
The brief stay did leave a mark in Beckett’s work, however. In `Play’, in references that seem almost boldly autobiographical, the narrators w1, w2 and M talk of a man torn between two women, with the trauma and tensions of deeply divided and irresolvable allegiances. `I said to him, Give her up. I swore by all I held most sacred-‘ (‘Play’, `Samuel Beckett: Collected Shorter Plays’, Faber and Faber, London, 1984, 148). Later in the play, w1 comes back to the theme of betrayal: `Before I could do anything he disappeared. That meant she had won. That slut! I couldn’t credit it. I lay stricken for weeks. Then I drove over to her place. It was all bolted and barred. All grey with frozen dew. N the way back from Ash and Snodland-‘. And M interjects `I simply could no longer-‘ (151).
The marriage had been a shock to Beckett’s other lover, Bray. But they maintained their relationship afterwards, till the end of his life. Suzanne was to die only a few months before Beckett himself. Bray lived till 2010. Standing at the Leas in Folkestone, it is strange to think of this brief, but significant link to the `quiet seaside town’ and perhaps the greatest writer of the latter part of the 20th century in the English language. It may be a small part, but even the small part of such a great figure is still worth commemorating.