It was a plan two years in the making, brought about by an invitation from detective fiction expert Tony Medawar, to travel to Torquay, England, in the County of Devon, the birthplace of Agatha Mary Clarissa Miller, the girl who grew up to become my favorite author, in order to speak about her. Really, though, it’s a dream that has been brewing deep inside all my life – the chance to take a journey to find my people!

It led me to the 2024 Agatha Christie Festival, where Agathologists and Christie fans consort with each other, talking way into the night with the detail-obsessed fervor of Comic-Con fanboys! I talked the talk with these people many a night, made a pilgrimage to Greenway, Christie’s summer home, listened to the experts talk about the detectives and the forensics and the book covers and more – and then staked my own claim at expertise by being the final speaker of the event. That this last happened on Sunday, September 15, Agatha’s 134th birthday, made it all that much sweeter. I left with a million happy memories . . . and one thing more. Yes, there’s a surprise ending to this story, as there is with most tales concerning Agatha Christie . . .  but I’ll save it for the very end (although I expect most of you are clever enough to anticipate this surprise.)

The trip began with my flying in to London, where I decided to have my own “Bertram’s Hotel Experience” before heading to the seaside. I booked four nights at The Chesterfield, a charming Mayfair hotel. Everything was posh, all dark wood and faded elegance. But the fantasy of Old-World London that the novel At Bertram’s Hotel generates was sadly missing. Alas, there was no sign of Lady Selina Hazy or, indeed any of her ilk, no hint of shifty moral turpitude behind the concierge’s blandly respectable countenance. However, I will say that the doorman looked exactly like my idea of Mickey Gorman, and the reservations clerk turned out to be a fellow Christie fan.

No matter: I had a whirlwind four days walking through Green Park and up and down Piccadilly Street, replenishing my spirit as needed with a hot cuppa, firmly deciding not to buy anything at Waterstone’s Books (of course I bought two books), attending a pair of musicals (Imelda Staunton may be my favorite Dolly Levi of all time), and visiting with dear friends.

Then – off on a train to Torquay, where my hotel was not so much charming as clean and highly functional. In the lobby, I bumped into fellow guest Dr. Mark Aldridge, whose latest magnum opus, Agatha Christie’s Marple: Expert on Wickedness just dropped (and will be my next review). Mark, who would end up presenting at four of my favorite events of the festival, escorted me to the charming Hole in the Wall pub, where we met up with my new friends Anne and Jim, Linda and Jerry, and a pair of jokers with whom I would become linked as part of an inseparable trio for the next six days: my fellow Californians Chris Diehl and Jeff Rock.

After dinner, we all traipsed up the streets of Torquay  to see a play, Christie’s own The Unexpected Guest, put on by the Toad Theatre in a marvelous space that had once been a small church. (After all, we were all there to worship at the altar of Christie, right?) As we staggered up the steep hills toward the theatre, the heavens opened up and doused us heavily with rain, so that by the time we arrived I felt as bedraggled as Michael Starkwedder must feel entering that fatal study at the top of the play. 

Yet by the next morning the skies had cleared, and blue English skies would mostly prevail for the rest of my trip. In the morning, I investigated the town, stopping for an hour at the Torquay Museum where I went through the exhibits, including a room dedicated to the area’s most illustrious literary luminary (guess who?).

I bought myself some cool Christie coasters in the gift shop, and then it was time to head to the Torbay Yacht Club for my first scheduled event (and one of the last of the “Fringe” Festival that starts the week off). This one was  brought to us by The Swinging Christies, Mark Aldridge and his podcast partner, the charming Gray Robert Brown, who engaged in a free-wheeling “addendum” to their fine podcast that  covered everything from  sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll  to the peculiar properties of Mrs. Ariadne Oliver’s wallpaper! 

The next day was the start of the festival proper, and it began for me in the very best way with a delightful sit down over coffee with Dr. John Curran. We talked for hours, and it epitomized the most wonderful thing about the Festival, which is the simple coming together of people from around the world (twenty-one countries this year) who idolize Agatha and can talk about her for hours!  Honestly, I could have talked with John all day, but it was time to head to the Spanish Barn at Torre Abbey, the home of the festival, for the opening event. This was a conversation with author/actor/producer Lynda LaPlante (Widows, Prime Suspect), who told very funny stories about her career but didn’t have much to say about Christie. (This may have been just as well, for she did refer to a certain spinster sleuth as “Miss Marples.”)

Chris, Jeff and I – the Three Amigos –  grabbed some dinner and returned for a highlight of the festival: a live recording of All About Agatha, where the ever-charming Kemper Donovan hosted a panel of Drs. Curran and Aldrich and authors Victoria Dowd (The Smart Women’s Guide to Murder series) and Teresa Peschel (Agatha Christie, She Watched) to figure out which Christie film adaptation was the best.

The panel started with ten options, reduced them to two, and then Kemper let the audience make the final decision. All in all, I think the list was whittled down to the best – but you’ll have to listen to the episode to find out who-wunnit! Then we all retired to the bar of the charmingly decrepit Grand Hotel and talked about Christie late into the evening. The night porter had to let us out, and we walked along the promenade to our hotel, stopping along the way to say hello to a friend!)

Friday brought four intriguing talks. First, Professor Caroline Derry spoke about “Agatha Christie and the Crime That Dare Not Speak Its Name” about the author’s representation of lesbianism in three of her novels. One of the most intriguing facts here is that while gay men languished in prison for breaking laws forbidding male homosexuality, there were no laws forbidding women from consorting together because the male hierarchy couldn’t imagine women rejecting the infinitely preferable company of men. 

We then attended a lunchtime book club led by Mark and Gray where we discussed The Mirror Crack’d from Side to Side. Omigosh, there were so many intelligent insights shared. One controversy that keeps coming up is whether or not Christie was aware of, and inspired by, the tragedy that befell actress Gene Tierney when she wrote this book. Christie said no, and respect dictates we believe her . . . but it’s tricky. No conclusions were reached, although I know where I stand on this; however, one thing I did learn was that Tierney did learn about the book and was incredibly upset by it.

In the late afternoon, we heard forensic expert Carla Valentine (Murder Isn’t Easy) speak about some true-life cases that inspired Christie’s fiction. The presentation was complete with slides of many dead bodies – but oddly it didn’t ruin my dinner! And then we returned to listen to Mark Aldridge talk about his just-published Marple book which – SPOILERS – I have just started and is sure to be a terrific read, which I’ll tell you all about as soon as I finish it!

On Saturday morning, we hopped on a bus and traveled to Bygones, a very special museum/hoarder’s paradise.

Fifty of us jammed into the tiny cafe on the top floor, where we were regaled with a special talk by Dr, Jamie Bernthal-Hooker on Agatha’s relationship with the past. Jamie managed to be both poignant and hilarious as he demonstrated how Agatha poured her own complex feelings about the changing world around her into her fiction.

And then came a true pilgrimage: I met up with my good friend and fellow blogger John Harrison (Countdown Christie), and we drove to Greenway. I can’t adequately put into words what it was like for me to wander around the house and grounds of Christie’s summer home. Since they say a picture’s worth a thousand of them, let me offer several thousand to you.

We returned in time to attend a marvelous Garden Party, held on the grounds of Torre Abbey right in the middle of Christie’s poison garden. As we sipped champagne, the actress Annette Badland (Bergerac, Dr. Who, Ted Lasso) appeared and read “Miss Marple Tells a Story,”

The next morning, (Agatha’s birthday), I went down to my hotel lobby to partake of the free breakfast that was included in our fare. I was doing my morning puzzles when a voice just over my shoulder said, “Now where did you find that lovely teacup?” it was none other than Miss Badland herself, and we proceeded to have a delightful conversation for several minutes where I got to tell her about our plans to make her the next Miss Marple (she approved of the idea), and she related some wonderful stories about playing poor doomed Gladys Martin in the Joan Hickson adaptation of A Pocketful of Rye.

I then made my way back to the Spanish Barn to hear two more expert talks: first John Curran spoke about the pre-Golden Age fictional sleuths who inspired Christie when she wrote her Tommy and Tuppence story collection, Partners in Crime. John had, ahem, very strong opinions about these pre-Golden Age authors, and while I admit to a lack of experience reading them, the only one I felt I needed to add to my TBR list was G.K. Chesterton. John was followed by David Morris (Collecting Christie), who gave a rich presentation highlighting the varied assortment of artists who created the covers for the author’s books through the years. I’ll never become a collector of David’s ilk, but through his slide show, we all got to dream a bit.

And then it was time to sort myself out, take a moment to commune with the Queen of Crime herself, and return to deliver the final speech of the Festival. The topic was “Hercule Poirot’s Favorite Case.” If you don’t know which case that is, I’ll give you a hint: after I spoke, the head of the Torquay Bridge Club appeared to give the audience their first lesson! I made myself helpful by walking among the tables and making sure that none of the players killed anybody.

The irony of my visit was that it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience that lived up to all its hype – and that I would like to do it again! I had a marvelous time, speaking in front of all these new friends I had made, and I’m happy to say that they seemed to appreciate my words. Dr. Curran called me an old hambone. (That’s good, right?) Everyone left saying that my impression of Hercule Poirot rivaled that of Sir David Suchet. (Okay, nobody said that, but at least I didn’t shame myself!) And for one final time, we all made our way to the Grand Hotel and talked about our shared experience over the past week. I felt high and giddy and weak and tired all at once . . . and then it was time for one last walk along the promenade to my hotel.

After that, all that was left was for me to hop on a train and return to London for a final few days with some good friends. I had left many new friends behind, but I had taken with me a host of wonderful memories . . . and one thing more. As the train pulled out of a station, I could feel that special tingling that signifies that something had changed within me, that I was not the same as the man I had been a day earlier.

CHALLENGE TO THE READER

You now have in your possession all the facts you need to determine the surprise ending to Brad’s visit. Read over the facts carefully and then see if you can match wits with Hercule Friedman and determine the shocking (okay, in these days not so shacking) finale to his grand trip.

THE SOLUTION

Yup . . . I caught COVID.

And so I missed one more play, the chance to get together with my buddy Sergio, and a couple of nice dinners out. As I clutched my box of Kleenex to my quaking bosom and devoured a ton of paracetamol, I made ready to bid farewell – for now – to London, to Torquay, and to Agatha Christie’s bust!

Oh, you know what I meant!