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Flat 5144 Earls Court Rd.

London, sw5

Thursday [Easter, 1964]

Dearest Tina,

I do hope the crossing was all right, as we had a very stiff breeze in the Earls Court Rd. s.w.5. But Daddy tells me that Mrs Taylor had brought half a bottle of brandy and a tea-spoon to quell any cases of sickness – I don’t know if she had to resort to this.

Of course you are very much missed especially by Maria who finds me boring in the extreme, but I’m not quite so tired today and will try to amuse her a bit better. We’ve got her a slip with lace, which seems to be a status symbol at the school. Meanwhile she went to confession all by herself which was quite an effort.

It’s a lovely day here but cold. I see it’s raining in Barcelona but I think this is a good thing as it will surely clear up and be really sunny when you arrive.

Do remember to wash your stockings or socks every night and please if you can get some Spanish playing cards, the ordinary cheap kind, you will, won’t you? Señor Ramos can easily get a pack from a bar or a fonda, but perhaps he is not very approachable.

Mrs Morris’s baby does not seem to have arrived yet, and there is a terrible smell of cooking from Mr Morris’s kitchen. Some new people are moving in downstairs. Mrs Ladas says that a large family with fierce Alsatian and 3 ponies have moved into the Wright’s house and she feels that between them and the Pages she would have no peace at all. The Alsatian is always on the lawn.

I am off now to the Post Office to send the eggs to Wangford – choc. drops for Ralph and I knitted a pair of bootees for Martha.^* Ria has gone to play two-balls with Jane.

Hasta la vista y diviértete bien

much love mum

Flat 5144 Earls Court Road

London, sw5

Easter Saturday [1964]

Dearest Tina,

I do hope you will get this letter in time before you leave on the long trek home. The Express says it is sunny in Barcelona, so I hope you’re in for a good Easter.

Great distress as Maria has just eaten all the pips of her orange, so none can be planted.

We went down to see the Boat Race at Hammersmith Bridge but arrived too late – which didn’t matter because Cambridge was winning easily it turned out. We took the opportunity to look at Godolphin school again and it certainly didn’t look too bad. We also visited the Doll Museum – were taken round by the excessively kinky proprietor with a flickering oil lamp. He showed all the dolls sitting round like corpses ‘having a fish tea’ as he said with a queer laugh – Maria misses you very much, and is very obstreperous. Valpy back on Tuesday.

I have been asked to coach a Buddhist girl, but she wants to come here, so I can’t do it; such a pity as it would have been money for nothing.

Longing to see you and hear about your trip. Hope you are keeping Miss Taylor in order.

love from Mum

X

Squalid Council Estate

[7 April 1965]

Dearest Tina,

I wasn’t able to say the many things I intended in the Lighthills’ hall – just as well I expect – but I must say now that I miss you very much – as we all do – and what to do without you I cannot think, but I do hope you may get some amusement of it at least. I thought you looked exceedingly nice when you went off in the white stockings. I’m afraid I’m not at all successful, as a mother, in not getting on your nerves: but I do love you very much. It’s so queer with no voice coming from your room.

Maria was asleep when I got back, worn out with the excitement of your departure. I ought to go to see Mme. Aubrey in hospital tomorrow, but it seems hard on her to drag her all that way. I’m not quite sure what to do. One of my ivy plants looks as though it’s dying: I must sneak out by night and see if I can get some more earth from the Agnes Riley gardens.

Please don’t be depressed by the thought of our flat &c, I know it isn’t grand, but I am sure we’ll be able to manage so she^* doesn’t notice too much. The Lighthills’ carpet doesn’t meet properly in the hall anyway. But I did rather fall for the Professor, he’s just like a professor in a comic. Anyway it was very kind of them and better by far than struggling up from s.w.4.

I am dying to know what life is like in Avenue du Cèdre (only one cedar presumably) and look forward very much to a letter; I’ve nothing to say in this one as you see, but wanted to tell you how much I was thinking of you. I feel so low, but this won’t do, and is not the right attitude of mind. I really want you to have a rest, and a good time if at all possible, as you’ve been so very tired lately. – We’ll send on the Musical Express as I see it’s all a great crisis as to whether Cliff is top or not. I’m surprised he’s celebrating with champagne – I thought he was a non-drinker and non-smoker?

Poor Daddy aghast at the budget.

much love from us all Mum XXX

185 Poynders Gardens, sw4

[10 April 1965]

Dearest Tina,

So glad to get your letter even though it was rather a sad one and while I think of it the Lighthills were very pleased that you had written to thank them, it was a good idea.

I think you are facing up very bravely to the horrors of staying in a large French family – so much more efficiently than I did for instance – I was always in tears and then I got hungry in the middle of the night and went and got some cold potatoes out of the kitchen and the Italian cook was accused of stealing them. José sounds nice, though.

I do hope all will be well at the skiing, perhaps the brother will be nice, though I don’t feel inclined to bet on this. I think it rather odd of Madame to be away when you came – a relief in a way though, I suppose. You seem to be managing well with the French language though.

You say it’s not like what you thought, but it does sound rather like a French family, all the same. I agree it’s a pity they live in quite such style, but you’ll do quite different things with her – sightseeing and packed lunches – and I’ll try and cook something really nice in the evening and it’ll be something quite different for her – also we’ll give her something to do all the time, even if it’s only getting birdseed from Woolies.

I do rather envy you going up into the mountains, I always feel so well there, and am longing to hear about the skiing – I’m amazed that Madame is skiing too, no dull domestic duties.

Maria and Daddy and I miss you very much. Maria recalls with nostalgia the time when I was away (so much preferable) and you cooked such nice things and had Cornflakes every day. She’s bought a cuckoo clock with her gift voucher, which hiccups at the quarters as poor Daddy dropped it while trying to put it up, and there were many tears, but now all is well and she’s gone to Titia’s party in her new dress. What does Milène wear by the way?

We went to see Mme. Aubrey in hospital – grim ward with dying patients grasping for fumigation bottles – but Ria rather liked it.

much love

Mum

X

185 Poynders Gardens, sw4

15 April [1965]

Dearest Tina,

Thankyou so much for your lovely letters and the p.c.^* I could hardly believe there’d be another breakdown in your trip, but you’re getting an old hand now, and seem to deal with everything wonderfully well. I can’t make out quite where you were for the skiing though – do they have a chalet of their own or what? Anyway if they’re as rich as all this we couldn’t compete anyway. And I think it would have been worse to stay with people who didn’t do anything at all, perhaps. I’m glad there really is a cèdre in the avenue – can’t say the same for Cedars Road, S.W.4.

Ria has gone off to spend the afternoon with Sylvia and is going again tomorrow, I’m glad really as it’s less dull for her though I can’t really approve of Sylvia and Mrs Donan, naturally enough, doesn’t approve of me – so Daddy has to fetch her, from the back door of Lord Chelsea’s house. Ria continues to fill notebooks with drawings of ‘ladies’ in topless dresses who, she says, are ‘out to catch the boys’, so I feel I must get her a Nice Book from the library as you advised, but I haven’t the nerve to ask the one-man army at the Clapham Branch Library.

We went skating again and a kindly stranger (’let me introduce myself: I’m Dr Green’) helped Maria – who of course took an objection to him – asked her to do the preliminary Foxtrot with him, so at last she’s done one properly.

I’ve ordered some skimpy lino remnants for the loo and kitchen so that will be another small step forwards, and I’m collecting plants for the balcony. I’ve also been working very late each night on this (probably useless) Spanish grammar.

Tina, if you’re getting me a present I would like one of these bowls and chopper like this [drawings] for chopping parsley and herbs and things – Josie will know what it is – it’s to hâcher things in – but maybe they’re very expensive

Much love and best Easter wishes Mum

Poynders Jardin

[185 Poynders Gardens, sw4]

Good Friday [9 April 1966]

Dearest Tina,

Thankyou so much for your lovely letter, we thought it was marvellous of you to write at once without even having a snooze. Your journey out sounds exhausting in the extreme, and I would never have wanted you to go out if I’d known what it was going to be like, but I can only hope you’re recovered and that the quiet room will drive away the hated miggy. – it sounds lovely. And I think you’d feel it was worth it if you saw Clapham S.W.4 at the moment – grey, rain falling, all of us exhausted in the middle of the spring clean – Maria washing the dolls clothes, to be put away finally, she says, me having everything out and poor Daddy left with taking the gas stove to bits and cleaning it – impossible to put it back – not like romantic processions, jasmine, oranges and paseos. I’m terribly sorry too that the Academia^* was shut but I thought that Valpy’s duties would include doing something about meeting the young ladies and they were due on that early train, weren’t they, it was the same one that he came on?

Very exhausted as received mysterious letter from Randolph Vigne (at Stillic Press) who you may remember (or Not) was a freedom fighter in S. Africa and just escaped being hung and therefore does everything in a queer, urgent manner – saying I must take the famous ms. down to Holborn College, in Red Lion Square, at once. – but when I got there it was all shut and locked, with notes in milk bottle saying ‘college on Easter vacation’ – so I came back tired, wet and dispirited. However Rachel (name of old friend) writes enthusiastically, saying she’s so glad I’m going to drive over to Exeter with her (I’d written to say that I didn’t want to do this) and, strangely, to ask if Maria could bring a good dress, as she may have to go to a wine and cheese party!

We’re looking forward keenly to hearing about Easter ceremonies &c and what you think of eulogio. Do you think José will turn up again from the Sierra de Córdoba? It was an excellent move to get someone to carry your luggage, even if he occasionally drinks out of a bottle, much love and Happy Easter Mum x

185 Poynders Gardens, sw4

9 April [1966]

Dearest Tina,

Thankyou so much for gorgeous technicolour p.c.s all of which we’ll keep por supuesto – I also read Daddy’s letter, all keenly interesting – I didn’t know Valpy wore a green hood,^* somehow I’d imagined him all in black, with a skull and crossbones. I felt tremendous relief when you told me that Angelines was very sweet and that you feel sure they’ll be happy – because it was clear that when Valpy went back in the spring that the engagement must go on, it couldn’t go back, and (as Miss Gray would say) I trust your judgement absolutely – as there can’t be many people who notice things more acutely – and after all she’ll be your sister-in-law long after I’m dead and buried – so it was worth your going out to Cordoba simply to find out how nice she really was, apart from the holiday (not rest, you never seem to get that) which I hope is doing something for your shattered health.

Maria says it is high time you came back to keep Daddy in order, as he’s getting too independent, and actually is asking how to turn on the television. Meanwhile, wistfully thinking of the smell of orange-blossom, I’m packing the grip to depart to Cornwall – Ria insists on taking a large assortment of clothes, although I think only trousers are necessary. It was pouring with rain in the market in Balham High Rd. today – the water streaming down through their poor stalls and fit-ups, pools of water among the lettuces and apples and all the cheap dresses sodden and streaky and the stallholders covered with sacks and newspapers shouting out ‘It’s a wash-out, dearie – eat your radishes indoors! &c.’ Needless to say the Battersea Easter Parade is going on whatever the weather – but we shan’t have to go to it this year.

Very many Easter wishes &c. &c.

I’m putting the mystic envelope you left with me on Maria’s plate tomorrow. It seems Father Sullivan sat grimly in his confessional but no-one came while there was a long queue right round the church for kindly Father Whatsit, the Dutch one – much love Mum X

Playa Andalucía

Puerto de Santa María

Provincia de Cádiz

España

23 August [c.1966]

Dearest Tina,

We arrived safely to discover that you didn’t need vaccination certificates at all – they’d just been declared unnecessary! I got very upset before we went away and said I wouldn’t go at all, I felt I was really going to have a nervous breakdown, like other peoples’ friends do, and Daddy and Maria were very fed up naturally, but there had been such a lot to do, then we had a nice flight to Gibraltar and the rock was lit up so we had a good view of it and not too much delay at the customs. The camp (called a Residential Club) is much more comfortable than we expected as we have a dwarf bath, with real hot water, and pine trees which keep the flies away, and green grass and flowers – there was a large bunch of luridly coloured flowers when we arrived with well come written on them. Everything is made of pinewood, with a built-in cupboard, but quite comfortable and the fashion in beachwear seems to be kibbutz hats so Maria’s is just the thing. Daddy is sunburnt already but luckily I’d brought lots of stuff, Maria however seems to favour burying him in sand up to the neck. As usual, he’s regarded as a high-grade executive by the manager who plies us with revolting Spanish champagne and when I admired the water jug he presented it to me (quaint Andalusian hospitality). Puerto de Santa María is rather nice, we walked in yesterday and went to one of those dark places with barrels to have some wine – we got a lift back fortunately. En España son muchos burros – Maria approves of these though a bit insular about absence of Golden Shred &c. She is being very patient about fusty old parents but I think it would be worse to try and find nice friends among the very mixed inhabitants and it is a lovely beach – waves, as it’s the Atlantic, but so far the Woolies lilo rides triumphantly over them with its vulgar red stripes. Hope for bullfight (’murder on Sunday p.m.’) in Puerto on Sunday.

We’re longing for a letter from you although I suppose it’s too early to hope for one yet. Have left some supplies in frig: by the way.

Much much love from all

Mum.

Love to Linda. How is Mrs Dent?

Playa Andalucia

Puerto Sta. Maria

29 August [1966]

Dearest Tina,

Thankyou so much for your letter, we did enjoy reading it. I see that Mrs Dent appears to have lost all control but I don’t care at all if it gives you a better holiday, only I hope Mrs Dunant never gets to hear about all the spumante. It sounds lovely and it’s a bit of luck that, after all, they were all nice. We’re longing to see you, postcards, souvenirs, sun-tan &c. I hope you won’t be completely tired of telling about it by Monday night. Amazed to hear about the sword dance.

We have got very fond of our little house among the pines, I do like the sound of the sea at night as you know and find it very easy to sleep here. Last night the proprietor (who’s from Cordoba and wears a succession of silk suits, it’s impossible to get Daddy sufficiently tidy to live up to him) and his wife, who is very nice but speaks only Spanish; he took her to England however while he was learning the business and she spoke rapturously of the C & A. She still has some things from there. She’s from Seville, and says that all Columbus’ crew were Sevillans, though from the prisons. Maria was threatened with a huge lobster but managed to get her something else. She has been very long-suffering having to be with us and always seems to enjoy everything – the bullfight went very well as everything happened – a bull jumped out of the ring, one was objected to and had to be lured out of the ring by some enormous brown and white oxen with huge bells, and then we had one very good fight where the man knelt down &c. It was a very magnificent occasion and the mayor arrived in a carriage & horses but unfortunately Maria thinks she didn’t ‘wind on’ the film so I don’t know if any record will remain. We are hoping you will show us Holiday Snaps of Tom, Rob, &c. &c. as well as much culture. I wonder if Rosalyn is the one with the large marble-like features?

much love and longing to see you

Mum

You will just water the plants, won’t you?

Old Terry Bank

Kirkby Lonsdale

Westmorland

1 August [1967]

Dearest Tina,

I felt distressed at seeing you disappear, we all did, particularly as Daddy said the 2 young men sitting next to you looked very rough and we wished they were a nice English lady; but I daresay you could deal with them. Now I am waiting eagerly to hear what it is like at Courcelles-Chaussy and whether the Comtesse met you, oh dear I do think you showed considerable courage going off like that.

Meanwhile we transferred to Euston, (so sordid as it’s still all kept up by scaffolding) and had to change at Preston (antique Victorian station with Corinthian pillars in wrought iron) and catch a local to Carnforth, Maria was very patient though we had 2 nuns in the carriage who watched every morsel we ate.

I’m now sitting in the (nice) church in Kirkby Lonsdale while Willie^* practises the organ (100 years old and painted with flowers and crowns on top of the pipes) she is playing the piece Bach wrote on his death-bed which is rather nice I think. The organist who is teaching her is a stout little man, terribly strict, who won’t permit her even to play for school services unless everything is perfect, so she has to come for an hour every day.

The pony is called Nutty, and is in a field opposite the house, and a TV set has now been acquired as otherwise the girls were never in, but they’re asked after supper if they would like to watch, after they’ve helped with the washing-up, I can see that Maria’s amazed at this. Hoping to go to Wordsworth’s cottage this afternoon, it’s only a little way away at the other side of the lake. There are 2 nice Jack Russell terriers and an old cat, which looks nice, like a black and yellow fur rug.

Maria and Susan are out doing the shopping, but Maria is rather cross because I haven’t enough money for postcards. I hope she soon won’t be. We’re thinking of you so much, darling Love Mum

Old Terry Bank

Kirkby Lonsdale

2 August [1967]

Dearest Tina,

In the excitement of going away I don’t believe I ever gave Daddy our address, I’m so vexed as he won’t be able to write, or to forward your letter, when it comes, but then I expect we’ll be back in London by that time, especially as poor Willie has had bad news about her mother and may have to go to Norfolk to see her in hospital, but in spite of this we are having a lovely holiday so far, wonderful mild sunshine, there’s a kind of arch out of the yard at Willie’s house and you see all the hills and clouds framed through it. Of course Ria’s still in blue jeans, already very muddy, and they are going out this morning with the pony, Nutmeg, who clearly has everybody’s measure exactly, and a lovely new green bike Susan has which I daresay Ria will prefer, up the hill tracks. We did miss you very much at Wordsworth’s cottage yesterday, it was lovely and sunshiny there too, it’s built into the hillside so that you go into the front door at one level and out of the back-door halfway up the hill. Ria read out of the guide – but very firmly, and we also had Dorothy Wordsworth’s diaries, how they managed the cooking &c. I can’t think, but we saw W’s gun, sandwich box, waterproof hat, skates and the flat-irons and goffering irons and stew-pots they had, and wash-jugs and basins – but all the walking – 12 miles to see Coleridge, 2 miles to get eggs – and they often seem to have felt ill – I didn’t realise until yesterday that Dorothy was insane for the last 20 years of her life and Mary Wordsworth went on looking after her, even after Wordsworth died, she must have been a saintly woman. The cottage rent was £8 a year, their income was £80, and tea cost 15 shillings a pound, and there were locks on the tea-caddies. They had to make their own candles out of mutton-fat in candle-moulds, and yet they did all that reading and writing – Shakespeare and sermons aloud in the evening, and Coleridge came over and read aloud his new ballad – the Ancient M! – and she doesn’t say what he thought of it!

We had a nice picnic by Grasmere and Susan and Maria swam in the lake and could see clear down to the bottom. Mrs Spyra seems far away.

Willie and Mike fell in love with the Gorges of the Tarn and want to go and live there for a year in a quaint cottage or auberge, sending the little girls to a French school. I do wonder what you are thinking of Froggyland this time

much love

Mum

Old Terry Bank

Kirkby Lonsdale

6 August [1967]

Dearest Tina,

To begin with, some little bits from the newspapers (obtained with

great difficulty as they aren’t delivered here)

1. Lord Robens has been more or less completely blamed for the Aberfan disaster, but sulks and more or less refuses to resign.

2. Dymock and Oldenshaw on the Fellows have made up their disagreement.

3. Harvey Smith’s O’Malley has been nobbled at the Royal Lancashire Show – he has twice been let out of his box at night, although Harvey had secured it with string, and ate a lot of grass in the show grounds and couldn’t jump properly next day. But Harvey S. won everything with Harvester. However it’s felt that ‘competitors’ dislike Harvey Smith so much that an unsuitable element is being brought into the gentlemanly sport. Of course we get all the Lancashire papers up here which report all this at length.

Maria is snoozing after more violent exercise – long walk taking turns with the pony and a swim in the icy cold lake above the house – the old Scotch Road where as I think I told you the Young Pretender retreated during the ‘45.

Also she had to help cook the supper and wash up! As poor Willie’s mother is dying and she had to hurry down to gloomy Ipswich General Hospital to see her, leaving everything at sixes and sevens. But Susan, the 13 year old, is managing very well, especially as Mike who has returned for the weekend is queerly strict and has inspections to see that the rooms are tidy and makes everyone change for dinner. I feared he mightn’t pass Ria’s orange bloomer suit which looks a bit voyant in Westmorland. Many strange relations (vets from Canada &c) have arrived and help themselves freely to everything, even the sanatogen tonic wine and the spinach from the garden, but they’re all quite childish and love playing ball in the yard after dinner so the girls are in fits of laughter.

Back to London tomorrow which I am afraid will be dull for Ria, but she can start revising her clothes to go to Italy: Willie rang up from Ipswich and asked us to stay longer, but I’m getting so asthmatic up here that I actually coughed up blood in the night (complain, complain) and anyway with all this trouble about her mother I daresay she’d like to be clear of visitors for a while, but it certainly is a nice place for Maria, and I’m getting very attached to Nutmeg.

Hoping to find a letter from you when we get back –

very much love Mum

185 Poynders Gardens

London, sw4

9 August [1967]

Dearest Tina,

Many thanks for nice long informative letters, which we are reading eagerly. So glad the water is back, and I quite see there is nothing to do either in Metz, or on your day off, so it looks as though this time will have to be written off, except for the study of literature française. It was all very well for the Austrian girl as apparently she had some relations or friends in Metz. So glad too that the bites are somewhat better, but surely if you run out of medical supplies, such as elastoplast, the Comtesse would give you some? But perhaps the aristocracy don’t have such things. Haemophilia?

Feel the anti-German thing is definitely bad, but agree that all must be attributed to living in Alsace-Lorraine (don’t forget La Dernière Classe!) But perhaps better not to say so.

The whole valley of the Lune (where we were with Auntie Willie) has now flooded owing to heavy rains and cottages are being carried away, just a day or so after we left. I think Maria really did enjoy it, and felt pleased when she cantered briskly about on the pony and explained to Mike (who has a mania that town children can’t do anything, and do ‘damage’ all the time) that ‘Tina had taught her’. Fortunately asthma reduced my impulse to get everything cleaned up and enter him for the local Agricultural Show, which includes a shepherd’s crook-jumping competition.

Alas, poor Daddy couldn’t manage the paint-spray and didn’t dare scrape off what he’d done, so the bath is not a great success, but hope it will pass – perhaps fit a dimming lampshade?

Alison is going to France for 3 days as Mr Packer doesn’t like to be out of the country longer (why?) and so Ria may have to come up to Bedford with me to see Miss C., but still it won’t kill her. Our tickets have now come from Lunns with an absurd brochure, advising you not to forget the name of your hotel, and to stick to English dishes. By the way, I should so much like to know what the food is like at Aubigny.

I’m going to goggle at the Royal Ascot show so that I can tell you whether Harvey Smith appears.

Meanwhile I have received a letter from Valpy (as I expect you have too) suggesting that you go to the Angie^* family for the Easter holiday, as a kind of exchange, as it’s so difficult to find a paying job, now this of course is for you to decide and you must write direct to Valpy about it, but I was rather taken aback as the fare, £30, is so high and the journey rather formidable by oneself and, also, I’d rather thought of our offering hospitality to Angie, which I do want to do, rather than its all being an exchange – a kind of business arrangement? Also, quite honestly, is the Angie family an easy one to live with? I’d thought more of San Sebastian, or somewhere with a much cheaper fare, but I know that without a job I shan’t really be able to manage it: still we were going to try the Franc ha Leal. You’ll write to Valpy, won’t you, and tell me what you decide? Of course it is very sweet of him to make this suggestion and I would do anything rather than hurt his feelings, for many reasons.

Next week we must start our great pack – Daddy’s new summer coat is already looking rather crumply, but apparently it was a great success in the office, so he keeps wearing it. I do hope your clothes are all right, except the unfortunate sandals.

Workmen are trying to strengthen the wire around the playground, but I expect the kiddies will be ready with blow-torches. Nothing will keep them out.

Will write again soon – very much love from us all – X Mum

185 Poynders Gardens, sw4

15 August [1967]

Dearest Tina,

I can see you are well up on the news owing to the Comte’s TV and so will merely give a little sports and T.V. news – Michael Miles^* has been arrested twice at London Airport, once for being drunk and disorderly and once for trying to get by with excess luggage, and at the Dublin Horse Show O’Malley was not ‘nobbled’ and Harvey S. won almost everything. We have just seen Cassius Clay on TV getting ready to go to jail. But I think he’s still appealing really. – Hope you didn’t feel any earth tremors – they seem to be much farther south. This reminds me of Spain, and you won’t forget to write to Valpy about his scheme of your staying with the Angies?

I sent the mosquito stuff, which I hope arrived, but was relieved to learn that you might be able to get some from Metz. Also very glad that Dr Gibbie’s pills were of some use. So sorry Mme. was cross the one morning you overslept. Surely she must appreciate all the useful work you’re doing, much more than the Hapsburg, I’m sure.

Maria is being very good although it is dull for her since all her cronies have left London and the Packers are now off on their mysterious trip to France, to see Mr Packer’s old battle-grounds. She is helping me paint and decorate, but soon all this must be put aside and we must make lists and start ironing everything. I can’t decide what to do about the plants – I’ll try putting a plastic bag round the creeper, as I did last year.

I helped an old lady across the road this morning who told me she was 92 – she’s lived in Clapham since 1880, when there were horses in all the stables. But she tells me ‘there are still many kind hearts in Honeybourne Road’.

We went up to Grove Cottage for lunch on Sat: – Auntie Mary had a nice new navy-blue tablecloth. A mysterious Indian had come to tea unexpectedly and told them that Uncle Rawle has resigned from the Daily Telegraph (which I suppose will mean leaving the house they have now) and is making some other mysterious deal – perhaps with the Times of India? So I sent Miss Chamot there only just in time. I suppose I shall have to wait till I see William^* to get details of this.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite so exhausted as when we went to Oxford Street on Monday to get the olive-green bath-towels (vexatious expenditure).

Maria, clumping along in her Dr Scholl sandals, was most gallant and encouraging. But the first ones I bought turned out to be spring green when I got them to the light and so we had to take them back to the man and pretend to be dissatisfied customers. Then we couldn’t afford the things in John Lewis’s and the assistant humiliatingly recommended us to go to Wallis’s. Meanwhile Maria had sunk onto a chair and a kind lady, apparently taking her for a waif, asked her if she felt well enough to go home. Nothing ever tasted better than the cup of tea that we made when we got back. I’m so jaded that I can’t study any Russian, and am reduced to reading ‘Diary of a No-body’ for the 20th time. – Are you sure that Sabine is worse than ‘Junie’ in Britannicus?^*

As you see I have nothing interesting to tell, but am enjoying your lovely long letters immensely, and Grandpa says they mustn’t be lost on any account. Try to send Mme. de B.^** a note if you can.

So glad they liked the Christina Rossetti. That was a very sad life, I think – to give up love, as she certainly did, for Christian principles, and having that dreadful Dante Gabriel as a brother – much love always, Mum

185 Poynders Gardens, sw4

[August 1967]

Dearest Tina,

You can easily imagine what it’s like here when I tell you we are just packing and cleaning up before going to Elba tomorrow. I have been mending my sandals with plastic wood (unfortunately Woolie’s only had ‘antique walnut’) and rather good new plastic soles, also from Woolie’s: but Ria says they’re horrible. I’ve also cleaned the oven and put clean sheets on the beds and checked over a very long itinerary – Daddy, very reluctantly, as he had lunch very late and no rest, is fixing up a curtain-rail for himself, and Maria has filled up his suitcase already with li-los, suncream &c. and he hasn’t even started putting his clothes in.

Sporting news is depressing as this American runner, Jim Ryun, wins all the miles and half miles by practically a lap, and the others have given up trying, and the crowd actually attacked the Yorkshire team with umbrellas because they played so slowly – the bowler actually stopped to dry the ball between each over. – Michael Miles has apologised for being drunk at the airport and giving the name of Hughie Green; and murdered Joe Orton was cremated in a maroon coffin at Golder’s Green and Harold Pinter read a poem, part of which ran

If you’re sad that he’s dead

you’d make him sad

that you’d missed the point

of his best bad joke

When the wretched man was hit on the head with a hammer!

Lord Boothby’s tasteless engagement to a lady croupier from Soho is condemned by all.

I expect Maria has written to you about our strange trip to Bedford to see Miss Charboneau – Mme. de Baissac (delighted with your letter, by the way, so I’m so glad you wrote it) has become rather Victorian Society and v. enthusiastic about the graceful railway arch at St Pancras – Bedford a dreary red-brick and green tree place full of Italian brickworkers – terribly embarrassing as Miss C. had prepared a vast lunch, liqueurs &c. which we couldn’t possibly eat.

Yesterday we went up to Grove Cottage, grandpa looking rather frail but very spry; he has a new (mild) mania that Rawle may want to take Indian nationality, I do hope not.

I don’t know whether I told you that I met Myrtle, my old pottery teacher – at the Hampstead Open Air Exhibition. She now has a studio and bookshop in Rosslyn Hill.

Ferdie pecked me sharply on the way to the Budgie Hotel – but he was greeted by the Hansel and Gretel lady as ‘dear Ferdie, and Freddie’. Many other cages including cockatoo, and much excitement – must put Daddy and Ria to bed now: Daddy’s dirtied up his new room already.

much love darling

Mum

[postcard]

22 August [1967]

Thankyou for lovely letters, but you were right as usual, we may be moving, as beach here is stony, though we are in a nice friendly hotel with plenty of pasta, and grapes growing round washing-line. We came here on a hydrofoil from Pisa – very rapid. Maria devoted to task of getting brown. Much love from all X Mum.

On board cronky ferry-steamer

23 August [1967]

Dearest Tina,

We’re just crossing to the mainland for a day’s outing. NOT on the grand hydrofoil we came on, but on the ferry boat, which I should say is an old British coastal craft fitted up by the so-called ‘Tuscan Navigation Company’ – We’re going to take an excursion to Florence, from which I’m sure we’ll return very hot and tired, but as I’ve never seen Florence and keep thinking I’m now somewhat declined into the vale of years (but that’s not much) I may not have the chance to see it again, and Maria is an intrepid sight-seer, here we are. Our hotel, which is not an efficient place though nice in some ways, has FORGOTTEN OUR PICNIC but fortunately we were able to buy some of the inevitable ham rolls in the shoddy galley. Maria has had to take to lemon in her tea as the milk here is so terrible (worse than Froggyland I’m sure) and I’m not surprised when I see the cows, each one is miserably pegged to the ground with nothing at all to eat, except some withered corn stalks.

A nice thing in this boat has been that Bruno, the CEAT man, retrieved your letters from the Arcabaleno where as you so justly point out we’re NOT staying, and we were able to read them on deck, going through the blue sea, past the misty islands (Ria wrapped in Daddy’s jacket over her unsuitable skimpy ‘flower-power’ dress) which is lovely, and we do enjoy your letters, I hope you didn’t mind my showing them at Grove Cottage as they gave such pleasure and Grandpa of course said ‘they should be published’.

Well, as I said, our hotel isn’t very efficient, being run by a peasant, his fiancée 20 years younger in a faded black dress, and alarmingly smart in the evenings, and a dwarf only 3 ft. high who is a nephew who helps out in the evenings. But the food is nice and so is the wine and the mineral water, which normally I can’t bear, but this is called (of course) Fonte Napoleone and comes from a spring high up in the mountain. It’s nice eating under the vines and the English people are not from Lunns, but decorous Erna Low clients with Nigelly sons who play ping-pong (also under the vines and glorious Bougainvillea) – they are clergymen and schoolteachers with open-necked shirts and panamas and one is actually reading Pendennis.

We’ve been to Napoleon’s town house in the capital – the one he escaped in a brig from – he seems to have done himself very well and had lavish furniture and a bed covered with golden eagles imported from France. He amused himself for a few months organising the chestnut gathering, brickworks &c. – no trace of this organisation now I may say. Vulgar washbasin, also with eagles.

We are quite tired out today with yesterday’s trip to Florence – we had to start at 6 and were back at 12, but it was a great success really, and Maria and me of course had never been there before. We crossed in the steamer this time, 21/2 hours in bus with unintelligible commentary by Bruno (Italian version of Gilbert, under Daddy’s thumb) and were shown everything in a few hours by an alarming countess who had lost everything (either in the flood or elsewhere) and was at the same time royalist and anti-clerical (you will cover your arms in the Duomo but not in Santa Croce – the Franciscans care nothing for nudities). We had lunch right on the hill overlooking the city, just like Henry James – that was lovely, and we finished up with the Uffizi (Maria still game though longing to take off Dr Scholls on the shining marble floors) and the Primavera &c. (all details remembered from Ria’s art books) and there was a coffee-place on the roof where you could overlook the square and all the statues.

So glad mosquito stuff arrived and you are coping so wonderfully with the strange aristos. We do love your letters – forgive bad writing – love from all Mum

[postcard of Napoleon]

24 August [1967]

I’m sure you won’t mind keeping these p.c.s for Ria’s scrap book (unluckily we’ve only got a primary school geography book with an Arab on the cover. Why?) You won’t be surprised to hear that we’re sitting on the harbour front drinking cappucine (?) after fatigue of walking from one mountain village to another, about 3 miles, terribly hard on those wearing Dr Scholls exercise sandals. Lovely Spanish chestnuts, palms &c on mountains.

[August 1967]

Dearest Tina – I’ve just been allowed to add a page to Daddy’s letter as we’ve just received your wonderful exam. news, I’m so delighted, not only in a school-teachery way but I did think you deserved it so, you worked so hard and were so well up to it, but I thought it might all be spoiled by the badly phrased questions, or by your being over-tired – it really is something to be proud of, an A over all the papers, and so many good things come from it – you’re justified now in having asked to take the exam. earlier than the others, and in having chosen languages as your subject; and also I think you’ll be justified in going to Miss Gray and asking for an advance from the ‘Franc Ha Leal’ for a study course in Spain at Easter, which I should hardly have thought we could have applied for otherwise, and Miss Kershaw will be really pleased, and she has tried to help, I know! Forgive this scrawl, I must congratulate you at once, this double A is not so easy to get, even by people who spend every vacation in France

much love Mum

AAAAAAAAA

[postcard]

[August 1967]

Sitting in the sun making cappuc(h)inos last – you’ll sympathise I’m sure

Please forgive me if someone has sent Napoleon’s bed before, I thought you’d like it

(Marie Walenska’s as she was the only one who’d come.) Still talking about your good news, though Maria speculating what Dish^* will say about terrible Epstein affair. Absurd rumours in Italian papers about Aga Khan and Princess Margaret.

Glad Nancy^** was nice.

much love Mum

Queens Gate, sw7

24 March [1968]

Dearest Tina,

Not really anything to say since you rang up last night but I thought I’d just write a few lines. It’s icy in this library as the heater doesn’t seem to work, so I’ve seized the opportunity to say that everyone who is cold must go away – and all have left except a few faithful scribblers. – But stay, Odious Mr Turner, the shady odd-job man who is running an independent plumbing and decorating business from the basement, has come in and said he’ll fix it – I wish he wouldn’t.

Needless to say I can’t wait for your letter, as we all know that it is ‘incredible’ at the Maltbys. I wonder why? I’m so very glad you arrived safely – I still think they might have made better arrangements. And I wonder what your ‘charge’ as babies are called in the ‘Nursery World’ is like?

John Probst came yesterday and ate large quantities and took Maria for a spin on his motor bike to Godstone, from which she came back so cold that she had a sort of rash all over her cheeks. She loves going fast – she always enjoys things so much. Probst is very ingenuous, and told me exactly all the quantities of bread cheese and coffee he’d ordered for his party the night before, with the exact prices, and how he’d decided to give a daffodil to everyone ‘to be thoroughly out of date’ as he quite brightly added. He’s very sympathetic and always takes a great interest in everyone else, and apparently believes all that they say – he told me a long story about a Mrs Lazaretto ? a friend of his parents who was a second mother to him, and determined to have each of her nine children on Sept 26th (I think), so delayed her labour pain by the power of thought – this is nonsense – anyway he’s off on a surveying course now, their degree seems very odd to me.

We went to Jeremy Court for lunch – Angie now tired of Peter Jones and says they are all jealous of her because she is a foreigner and can manage all the department better than they can, as they are common and haven’t the power to command: so I think it’s a good thing she’s leaving there soon. I reminded Valpy about Huelva, I think he’ll do something. He’s a good boy and I’m sure he’s happy, what else matters?

On Wednesday I make my annual pilgrimage to the school play with Miss Macrini – a small collation first at Lyons. Maria sportingly says she’ll come too (it’s As You Like It!) but I certainly shan’t hold her to this.

It seems Daddy had to walk all the way from Victoria to Clapham – I really am sorry but money really is short – and now he says he’s ‘not certain’ if he’ll be paid on Friday – I think Lunn have given up paying altogether! My income tax problems are tiresome, as Mrs Lavender (immensely frail and ancient Bursar) is now alienated by my enquiries although I’ve hitherto been on excellent terms with her, and I still have to pay all the extra tax. Daddy must go round and see Mr Hassan, my Oriental sounding inspector, he’s a big strong man and he must face Mr Hassan. Daddy says, why are you sometimes so bold and sometimes so timid – but don’t you find that you’re also like this.

I’m quite dismayed by my book-table. – I’ll never get all these books read, and I’m still seeing double! Hard Times! Adolphe! Apologia Pro Vita Sua! Maria has started on Little Dorrit: she selected it herself – she says that she can’t bear it when other people keep talking about books,

Well enough of this: what really interests me is to hear about you and the Maltbys.

much love dear

Ma

Sir Henry Lunn

Marble Arch House

World travel (!!)

Sunday [7 April 1968]

Dearest Tina – No air-mail paper so am using Sir Henry Lunn’s shoddy lightweight office paper. – We miss you so much, but Maria pointed out firmly and quite correctly, on the station, that we mustn’t stare, as Tina was getting just a little embarrassed by us. – We had to go and have coffee and buns in Lyons to cheer ourselves up.

Quite exhausted by emotions raised by Eurovision Song Contest: We felt sure Cliff should have won, though doubtful about his dress of nylon ruffles and dandy’s velvet-effect suit. It was very odd Germany suddenly giving 6 votes for Spain, I’m sure it was a vote to promote trade. (Wollen Sie in Spanien gehen?) As usual I was quite wrong as the one I thought best got no votes at all, and Sandie Shaw looked frightful in ostrich-effect feathers and was hit by a piece of stage.

No letter for Valpy from The Economic Associates Inc: so I daresay he’ll accept the Mobil offer, and I do think it will be best if he settles his mind and accepts it, and probably Don Rafael^* will be impressed and pay for the wedding (and also expect Valpy to get jobs for his relations in oil companies). Anyway, we expect him back late tonight.

Maria has given me my first guitar lesson but I’m very slow and my fingers are so stiff. I’ve done your room out and the kitchen, with not much visible effect but I feel better as it was always a great thing to have the spring-cleaning started by Palm Sunday. – I can’t stand these dried-up bits of palm, what would be the point of strewing them under anyone’s feet? I do wish we still had bunches of pussy-willow. – Meanwhile I am continuing to read the Ruskin book slowly, as I’m enjoying it so much. How ill they all were – all Victorians I mean – and how much they talk about it, and what endurance they had all the same.

It’s very smelly here this morning and I do envy you the nice pure air and wide skies of Castile. – Maria is reading a historical romance in the Loo. – She sends all her love and so does Daddy.

Longing to hear from you –

Much love always – Mum X

Happy Easter and Much Love from us all

11 April [1968]

Dearest Tina,

Very relieved to get your letter, and realise that you were not poisoned by the Cornish pasties from the cook-shop. Not surprised to hear about many deficiencies of the trip – but at least they got you there which is more than our ridiculous Escort would have done to Córdoba. Hope the 2 chicas are under your control: I’m sure they are.

Valpy still out interviewing – I quite see that he feels the Mobil job would be terribly staid and settled to start in, and wants to go abroad – they’ve written him a terribly nice letter saying that they’d love him to come for his personal qualities – no matter about degree. Better perhaps are the Economic Associates (not the wild glamorous one) who have shorter smaller projects, but more secure I think. Anyway he’s encouraged that he’s gone off to Esso and says he’ll say: ‘Let me see now, what is it that you manufacture?’ – We had a wild dinner last night with Diana and both feel poisoned. She brought back some lovely things from Bangkok – plastic flowers for idols, but they’re bright and lovely.

Angie wrote that she went to help the nuns lay out her grandmother who died recently – as it would be useful practice – I suppose it is – more strangely, she suggests that Miss Walker is a bit of a Lesbian and was quite angry when Angie got engaged – which I think quite ridiculous – being educated in a convent evidently doesn’t exclude these fantasies – I’ll be glad when they’re both safely married and settled.

Lovely fine weather here and we went to the Barbara Hepworth exhibition and ate sandwiches on the steps of the Tate. Still tearful after seeing Luther King funeral on TV. It was so cosy – they didn’t care a bit that it was a muddle.

Reading book on American poetry – have learnt that 1. T. S. Eliot first learnt to love poetry from Omar Khayyam – Funny you gave me both. 2. The planters in the Southern states took the names of their estates and their whole code of honour and genteel manners from Scott’s novels! This interested me a lot. No room left – will write again XXX Mum

185 Poynders Gardens

London, sw4

13 April [1968]

Dearest Tina,

Thankyou so much for nice postcards, and we were glad you now seem to have respectable escort, and seem cheerier, though exhausted. I wonder what time the meals are? (Maria tells me dinner at 10).

Valpy went off gaily in the end, though much confusion over various letters, contracts &c. I think he’ll accept the Economic Unit: I do hope so, as I’m sure it would suit him, with so many different assignments. The Japanese girl is returning to Japan, so I think the development of property in Oxford won’t come off.

Maria and I have been having a good weep at Dr Zhivago, or rather I would have cried if I’d been able to bear Julie Christie seen through a blue filter: but I loved all the snow and the trains and Tom Courtenay’s tin spectacles. Now we’re sitting by the fire (still cold though very sunny) and sewing – Daddy is at the launderette you’ll be surprised to hear! Wish we were in blazing Spanish sunshine like you and very glad you’re going to Valladolid as all the best images are there. Longing to hear about gay time, and bull-fight.

Maria has much depressed me by 1. Looking at Daddy and me and saying: ‘What a funny old couple you are!’ and 2. Telling me that studying art and literature is only a personal indulgence and doesn’t really help humanity or lead to anything, and, I suppose, really, that is quite true: she said it very kindly. My life seemed to be crumbling into dust.

Valpy and I went to the 8 o’clock mass on Maundy Thursday. Father Sammons got terribly out of hand with numerous processions and clouds of incense and many respectable men in blue suits and red sashes worn crossways. We finally left as I was getting worried about Ria while yet another elaborate procession was getting tangled up in the aisles.

Must finish making my nightie – in rather low spirits – much love Mum

Glad it’s not turning out too badly XX

185 Poynders Gardens, sw4

12 October [1968]

Dearest Tina,

Just a note – to say we are missing you very much, but this is not really what I meant to say – I am here all by myself watching the Olympic opening, for Daddy is at the launderette and Maria has gone out to a gay dance, carelessly tossing aside another missive from Pope, containing a smiling photograph of the three brothers, heavily hair-creamed. She took Daddy to have the first fitting of his suit this afternoon, but the fly-buttons were not on straight, however it’s to be finished properly in 3 weeks. Outside it is very wet and windy and the laundry is flapping against your window.

Valpy and Angie are coming to lunch tomorrow, I must keep off controversial subjects and be sensible, and try and get some wine, for there’s none in the house. – My new bun-cosy is not quite the right shade of red – just off – so I’ve tried to dye it a little more crimson, and it too is flapping in the wind.

Very great difficulty in changing the ribbon of the typewriter – I don’t think it’s right yet. The booklet says, in four languages, that it’s a very simple operation.

I did so wish I could have come up on Thursday – Maria says your room^* is in the front quad, which is nice, surely, handy for people to drop in? and that though small dark and smelly, as you predicted, it is also cosy and began to look really homely after you’d put out your things, and she says you’d like blue curtains, so I’ll go up to the dreaded Oxford St. next Thursday and try and get the right colour. Did you mean to leave your Swiss cow behind? Well, you’ve had to settle in to a lot of very odd places, and are pretty expert by this time. I wonder what the Linguists’ coffee party was like?

I went up to the paper shop where I was received with pathetic enthusiasm by the manager, and changed the Sunday Express to the Sunday Times, but I don’t expect he’ll remember.

Must now turn to tattered essays and hysterical postcards sent by my candidates. Aren’t you sorry for them? At least you won’t have to do that again!

Daddy back from launderette, it seems some boys came with their washing at 10 and when they weren’t allowed in they smashed the windows with a tin and had to be taken away by the police! I wonder how you’re managing with your washing, and indeed with everything – so much love dear old mum.

185 Poynders G[ardens]

London, sw4

11 November [1968]

Dearest Tina,

To start with, and before I forget, here are ‘A Room of One’s Own’ – which was in your room, and your New Poetry, which I regret, wasn’t – and the ‘Sunday Times’ cutting about Yevtushenko, which you’ll have seen of course, but I thought you might like for your ‘memory lane’ book.

Thankyou so much for a very nice Saturday – a real break for me, and it was lovely to see you and very kind of you and your friends to take me for granted, so to speak. But I can’t help being very angry with your French tutor – very angry. It just seems to be not only mistaken but quite irresponsible for tutors (or even VI form teachers) to be unfair, unpleasant or bullying – it doesn’t matter if they’re stuffy, old-fashioned or ridiculous, but surely it should be a kind of partnership to study the language – to make anyone you’re teaching feel unhappy means you can’t teach them anyway – if things aren’t right you could always talk to them privately – but she really is lucky to have you to teach, as you’re perfectly ready to do the work – I suppose she’s a ‘sick woman’, like Miss James, but it’s too bad, the French system is impossible, and I see the lycéens refuse to accept even the new reforms and the lycées are in chaos and I’m not surprised I imagine Milène alone in a grey classroom trying to write her entrée en matière as usual. I’m so glad that you are now to have a rest and 4 weeks Spanish.

I’m sorry that the poor English school is so dull too – the truth is, though I would never dare saying it in public, that the value of studying literature only really appears as you go on living, and find how it really is like life – that it all works – and it’s a pity this can’t somehow be shown in the course, except I suppose in Marxist Free Universities.

I’d love to know how your poetry circle party went. Seeing so many bookshops has, actually, gone to my head a bit, and it’s a good thing I have a long staff meeting, on Monday.

Daddy says they’ve managed to transfer nearly all the Poly Lunn customers onto other airlines, but of course the ‘Turkish all-in holiday’ has to be cancelled – all the exciting ones really – they have to cut back – I do so wish we’d gone last year, but the wedding made it impossible. I suppose I shall never see Constantinople (as I choose to call it) now.

Ria came home at 2.30! and said it had been an engagement party with mums and dads, and vodka and lime, and she couldn’t leave earlier – John was affected by drink, and finally a parent gave them a lift – it was in Tooting – Ria drank Dubonnet – I feel it is all beyond me, and I am old and grey and full of sleep.

Well, I did enjoy it yesterday, I really did – If you decide to come up, which wd. be nice, just send a P.C. won’t you

Love Mum

Miss Freeston’s

[Westminster Tutors]

18 November [1968]

Dearest Tina,

Yes I was worried about your headache and felt I was being tiresome asking about it, but I did enjoy the week-end and felt very much better on the Sunday (but this also made me feel worse because you weren’t) – I would love to stay the night again, another time. When I was up at Somerville I was always extravagantly worried about something – now it soothes me, particularly when it’s damp, dripping and cosy.

I hope you got P.C. I tried to persuade the V&A slides dept. (now in charge of amateurish lady in cardigan, and still behind piles of masonry and bits of statues) to send the slides off at once – but she said they couldn’t be assembled till Friday.

I told Mrs Macintyre how much we’d enjoyed Donald’s performance – she said anxiously Didn’t you think he gabbled? I at once replied no I thought that was an interesting part of the interpretation. Mrs M. very pleased.

Just received the copy of Grandpa’s book on the Church school – very nicely done in offset type, but no illustration or photograph of the school, which I think a pity. A bit of a shadow, because grandpa declares that this is the last thing he’ll write, after 70 years writing! – but satisfactory to see it finished properly. I’m going to read it all carefully as soon as I’ve got a civilized time to do so.

Thankyou again darling, it was lovely to see you,

much love Ma

Miss Freeston’s

[Westminster Tutors]

[early 1969]

Dearest Tina,

Still wondering how the play is going and whether the ladies will squeeze or half squeeze into their low-necked costumes obtained from Dorchester-on-Thames. Donald Macintyre and company are returning at end of Feb to do special Twelfth Night in front of the unfortunate Middle Temple who are expecting a nice evening of Shakespeare with nice music; more dirt and filth is specially being sprayed on the costumes.

I felt very encouraged when in spite of my poor reading I got through to the finals of the Poetry Festival with the ‘Kitchen Drawer’ poem^* – I was much helped by Daddy’s loud applause from where he was sitting with the Sunday Times in the back row, and by a decent young poet with a thick head of hair and beard who came after me and said ‘I did like the poem about kitchen drawers.’ In the evening I had to read after Roger McGough who was very funny, and before a compassionate coloured poet, so didn’t really feel at ease, and Daddy had gone home, after sitting through the whole read-in – (many of the contestants cheated and read very long poems about priests and sex and oppression and snow-queens), and tea at Lyons and a visit to Westminster Cathedral (where I was frightened by a new reliquaire, a martyr lying down wearing a surplice with black shoes and polished silver face and hands) so I had no-one to support me and missed you very much. That dreadful Glasgow man Leo Edlon was there trying to sell his tattily printed poems – he was at the reading you took me to in Oxford – he was accompanied this time by an unwholesome youth in a tiny blue corduroy outfit – however it all went off quite well as St John’s has been done over very well by the inevitable BBC and the crypt has become a large bar with red wine and coffee. Yesterday, Monday, I took my VI form – Ted Hughes strangely mumbling with his eyes close to the paper read some animal poems and then lengthy extracts from this ‘autobiography of the crow’ he’s doing, of himself really I suppose. (It seems so violent and not quite nice – better than the animals though). I took 2 Indians on the staff who drove me down in a mini and seemed to enjoy it. Well enough of this. – A further embarrassment this week, one of my pupils is the grand-daughter of the old lady in Suffolk to whom (as they say) Helen is cook! She tells me that her Granny is ‘quite afraid of your brother because he is so clever’. I can’t imagine what Rawle can have said, but I can see that the girl feels it’s all awkward; if I go to see them should I sit above or below stairs?

Poor Ria very depressed (though delighted by the socks &c) but has gone to the Packers today and I hope this will cheer her up. I’ll go now and cook a large dinner, in the hope that someone eventually comes in for it.

much love always and longing to hear all about everything

Mum x

(Valpy is still in Portugal, in luxury suite with bed which gives you a massage if you press a button)

St Deiniol’s Library

Hawarden

Chester

10 July [1969]

Dearest Tina,

I have arrived here sneezing loudly, and shrunk from by everyone, but safely – it is very queer here – very – as strange, musty, smell about everything – I was only just in time (taking a taxi with a lady taxi-driver) for lunch – this was quite nice, with boiled chicken and ice-cream eagerly devoured, as by hospital patients – the guests, with the sub-warden, who seems to be in a coma, were seated round an imitation mediaeval oak table – of good quality – only the sub-warden had a silver napkin ring, we had paper ones – the guests are all men, and all decayed clergy-men – I’m the only lady, and I do think my skirts are too short – when I arrived at table they were discussing Austrian Baroque architecture, and the writings of Professor Asa Briggs – there is nothing spiritual in them – afterwards you go into a mouldering Gothic oak drawing-room for coffee – but everyone stays standing up, to show they don’t intend to have a second cup – it turns out the place is really a theological college and everything is geared to the ordinands – but they were all away for the week-end – will be back in October, clearly a big event – I was offered a glass of cider at lunch – it was left behind by the ordinands – no TV in the ‘common room’ so as not to distract the ordinands – the croquet-lawn behind the library is to give a little recreation to the ordinands – After tea, which came into the common room on a trolley, with sandwiches and Battenberg cake, and teapots of that mysterious metal – some of the clerics helped themselves liberally, but I didn’t like to – the sub-warden showed me the library – a wonderful wood-panelled Gothic library, but smelling frightfully of must – impossible, it seems, to work there during the winter because of the cold – what about these pipes? – they haven’t worked since 1912 – the sub-warden explained our library system – you write your name on half of a ticket, then put the other half on the shelf where the missing book is – clearly nobody ever does this – clerics were tottering dangerously up and down the stairs and ladders. The latest Who’s Who is 1927 – but there are quite a few dusty English Lit: books, and the sub-warden proudly showed me the files of The Victorian magazine – these may interest you – the chair I sat on collapsed instantly. My room is just like a Somerville first-year room, with a pink basketwork chair. It overlooks a gloomy churchyard, where a few ladies in hats are arranging flowers in jam-jars. However the church is pretty and the headstones look romantic in the bright evening sun. – The dinner bell has just interrupted me – I went down five minutes late, which I thought was about right, but they were half way through dinner already, the sub-warden absurdly presiding in a gown – a new, ancient deaf, cleric has arrived from the Canary Islands – he says that in 3 weeks he is going back to the Canary Islands – q. Why did he come at all? – another cleric said to me – I saw you soaking up the sun on the back lawn – I shall sit on the front lawn tomorrow – another cleric who seems to be wearing a wig (they’ve all got wives but haven’t brought them) has asked me if I’d like to come to the Castle tomorrow to see the interesting chapel, but I shan’t go, as he gives me hysterics.

It turns out the ordinands are all late vocations – men of advanced years – thank heavens they’re away. We discussed life-spans at dinner – one of them said his father knew Newman well – On the other hand it must be admitted that it’s beautifully quiet here, just the birds, and as all the clerics are really on holiday, I have the Gothic library almost to myself, and my room with a desk, and no-one disturbs you at all between meals, and I’ve done a lot of work already, and the whole house, including all the shelves on all the landings, is full of wonderful old books, memoirs and novels (I’ll have to give up the resolution to stop reading Victorian things) and busts of Mr Gladstone; and the clerics are very kind really and quite restful. – I’ve now actually had a bath – the bathroom has a queer brass column to let down into the plughole instead of a plug, and a brass soap dish with holes in it.

Thankyou so much for taking charge at the week-end – I really felt proud as I said good-bye at having two such gorgeous daughters, in fashionable nighties. Well, I shall certainly get all my work done here easily, and shall rush back to see the twins: of course, I shall be able to baby-sit, if you would like to go out. Do hope house-keeping money &c is all right and I forgot to show you the plums – they were for Sunday lunch. I don’t think Ria will need to get very much.

much love darling,

Mum

St Deiniol’s Library

Hawarden

Chester

14 July [1969]

Dearest Tina,

Thankyou so much for your letter, I was so pleased to have one as all the clerics seemed to have one (many with Church Repair Fund on the envelope) and they were glanced at amid the tapping of eggshells. Many more clerics have arrived – some quite nice, including Father something or other (Anglican I think) who is sportingly running a hostel for religiously minded youth at Sussex University, with no money and discouragement from free-thinking authorities. Unfortunately he squints so hard that it’s hard to tell if he’s addressing you or not. Others clearly think I shouldn’t be here at all, and I do see that my Swedish beach dress, which I’m defiantly wearing as it’s nice on a hot day, is too short for my years, but they’ll just have to put up with it, you and Maria both said it was all right. The Warden and his wife come back on Tues: – hope she won’t speak to me about this dress. It’s when I sit down it gets a bit short, so I try to draw in my old oak chair rapidly at meal-time, but this won’t do, as the clerics feel they ought to push in my chair for me and worse still, half get up when I come into the room and bow frequently (like Daddy).

No TV in common-room though I think there’s one in staff sitting room (all the maids are very kind and nice but wear very long skirts and white aprons) – and radio doesn’t work – hasn’t for many years I should say. There are some little figures in a glass case which I at first thought might be pin-football, but turns out to be a model of St Deiniol’s in the 13th century made entirely of edible materials (i.e. marzipan). I asked the sub-warden when he meant to eat it and he replied oh, not yet, we’ve only had it for three years. Everyone nodded, and an ancient vicar who comes here every year said we hope to keep it indefinitely.

Bells go at 8.45, 11 (tea and digestive biscuit), 1, 4, and 7.30 but quick as I am into the old oak dining-room or common-room (for tea) I’m always last. Can it be they’re sitting in there waiting for the bell?

The meals are very nice but small – the clerics finish their platefuls in 30 secs. flat – of course they’re used to semi-starvation in country vicarages as I know well enough, and I suppose the ordinands are kept on a low diet – but I’m not complaining or buying biscuits (though you were quite right about this) because I’m steadily reducing round the waist.

It turns out that the Rev: Mr King doesn’t wear a wig, but just brushes his hair forward, a human weakness – he’s studying mediaeval Latin breviaries: but another little man has arrived from London University (studying nineteenth-century church documents and letters from some Tractarian, so he says) who really does wear a ‘piece’ and a Madras jacket from the C&A and tells me he uses Ambre Solaire: clearly he’s regarded as worldly by the others.

After lunch Warden and wife have now arrived, and it’s such a relief, as she’s very nice – wears a long crimplene dress, but clearly doesn’t mind what anyone else wears and is cheery and motherly – and has quite a lot to do I imagine because the Warden it turns out is blind and very stout – and she has to manage him as well as the ordinands. One of the clerics points out to me quietly that all the drawers of the dressing tables are lined with pages of the Radio Times in Braille. And this is true.

I’m so glad she’s come – there was much more for lunch as a result and I can decline the invitations (from an ancient cleric) to visit

1. Mr Gladstone’s seat in the parish church, on which Archbishop Benson collapsed and died.

2. The dog cemetery in the castle grounds where the tomb of Mr Gladstone’s favourite dog may be seen.

I shall go to this later, and I’m always in and out of the parish church anyway, as there are fine windows by Burne-Jones – the west window is the last one he ever designed – and I want to see them both morning and evening, to get the different lights through them. I’m still mindful of not getting sunk in Victorianism – but I do do modern literature courses, indeed I find everyone else strangely reluctant to undertake them, so perhaps as I’m here it’s all right to ‘give way’.

When you say you can’t stop laughing in church, is that because you’ve come to feel the whole thing is absurd? I do hope not! (I thought of this this morning when I was counting my blessings, one great one being that all 3 children are still believers, as we used to call it.)

It really is restful here and I shall easily get all my work done and a bit of Russian. It’s a ridiculous but most peaceful and regular existence and very calming to the nerves. But I do worry about you and the twins in this heat, it must be so sticky pushing the pram. I shouldn’t think it’s any hotter on the Costa Brava.

I’ll make a daring expedition now to post this in Hawarden sub post-office,

much love always

Ma x

Thankyou for getting in supplies: I’ve told Da that if an answer comes from Spain he must read it to you at once.

Beach Hotel

Attakoy

Thursday [summer 1969]

Dearest Tina,

I’ve decided in the end to write to Poynders G. as the post here doesn’t inspire me with confidence – we do have a Guide Bleu (borrowed) which says that the post in the larger cities works ‘as with civilised nations’ but I don’t believe this.

There is too much to see here, and Daddy is being very good and although he is so deliberate and keeps saying he’ll just finish his cigarette or walk to the end of the beach (not much of an ‘end’ as the whole coast is strictly divided into lengths of greyish sand and bluish sea and each one is a private beach) – the next one, Turk Camping, is much gayer with loud songs and games but I am glad to be quiet here. Each room has a balcony where you can sit and have a glass of acid Turkish wine and it was built on the site of an old farm house so there are nice willow and plane trees, with leaves that make different noises in the night breeze.

You get into Istanbul on the public minibuses and taxis and more and more helpful and unintelligible people squeeze in as you get nearer to the city. You arrange what you’re going to pay before you start so it’s not worrying, and we’re getting very good with the phrasebook. The Turkish for ‘station’ is ‘tren’ but what is ‘train’ I wonder? Old Istanbul is very dirty and seedy but tipico beyond words and rather like Spain used to be (except not the trouble about the girls). You have to look out as the porters carry vast loads of mattresses, chests of drawers &c through streets and there are horses and donkeys wearing blue beads against the evil eye, and everything including hair-cutting, bread-baking and furniture-making going on in the street. The watersellers have lovely water containers with luscious flowers, ladies and landscapes painted on the back, and a long tube through which water comes out ice-cold. I feel I must have one but Daddy is difficult and suggests it is too heavy to carry back, he was very reluctant too to buy a glass of water so I could snap him and now I’ve gone and let light into the camera by pressing the open button by mistake, I’m so miserable! Just when I’d taken a stunning picture in a Moslem cemetery, with children’s graves with stone fezes on, and the father with a stone turban! I don’t know what to look at next, as I’ve never seen Turkish architecture before and everything is different – a bit like Spanish I suppose. I think it’s lovely in the mosques, the big ones are so empty and quiet and when you’ve taken your shoes off you shuffle over very old very soft lovely Turkish rugs with a green one here and there, grass green really, then there are very wide alcoves near the windows where people sit for hours mumbling over a Koran looking completely peaceful and it’s so noisy outside. Travel description! We’re going up the Bosphorus by boat this afternoon as there are some ancient fortifications and I know Daddy would like these. He calls the whole place Constantinople, and wants to trace the walls, and I feel it’s his turn.

Still wondering about 10 o’clock feed – hope all went well!

much love Ma X

[St Deiniol’s]

[1974]

[incomplete]

Daddy is bearing up very well really and I notice he keeps looking at the map, and working out the distances.

Poor Mary^* has been called up for jury service, just as she’s going to take her 2 weeks’ holiday: admittedly she was going to spend it typing out 3000 envelopes to all the polytechnics, but she wanted to do this. I’m trying to get her to ask for a postponement, and I’m sure Rawle and everyone else will suggest the same thing. Certainly she’s showing amazing energy, but the publishing business seems a bit difficult on one’s own. I wonder how all these little presses manage – but then they do get grants from the Arts Council.

I see the Tories say they’ll peg mortgages at 91/2 per cent, but I shall have to read the small print carefully – I’m not sure it’s not part of their obsession with getting council tenants to buy their houses on the grounds that all house owners are bound to vote conservative – but it does madden me that you and Valpy and of course 100000s of others have to pay so much at the beginning of your lives.

As for me I shall stay in my foul old nest till the time comes for me to put my head under my wing for good.

Back on Monday, Tues: Miss Freeston and Sainsburys! (A kindly minister asks if Daddy and me would like to come into Liverpool and see the big Marks and Spencers!) I don’t mind that, but can’t bear the idea of Puerto de las Reinas. Longing to hear about Paris – much love from us both xx Ma.

P.S. I read Criticón^* last thing as a treat! – The Natural Man is getting quite critical and sarcastic! –

[St Deiniol’s]

[postcard]

22 August 1974

Got your lovely letter, proudly put by silver plate, gong and visitors book in the Gothic hallway, lovely here and you’re now allowed to make tea all the time in a Somerville-like pantry as well as general tea at!!, 4 and 10. Plenty of tec yarns in the yellow drawing-room for Daddy and we’ve got the rules for croquet out of the encyclopedia. I only wept once when Daddy didn’t appreciate light through stained glass on Gladstone’s Boat of Death where he lies in marble with Mrs G. Marvellous about the drier. Many amiable lunatics here, chatted and bowed to by Daddy. Best love in Paris, imagining you in Louvre XX Ma

[postcard from Alderney*]

20 July [1978]

I’m afraid this won’t get to you in time but you will know I am really on summer holiday when I tell you everything including my ears and my shoes are full of fine white sand. Lovely here and they still go out to milk the cows in the fields. Boat comes in from Guernsey today with new supplies, big excitement. Mike has an outboard engine with a string, which actually starts! This seems unnatural –

Much love Ma. X

[25 Almeric Road, sw11]

[1979]

Dearest T and T^**

All well here, sun and rain, drainpipe working well, your geranium is coming into bloom. Ria says I am not to make a fuss about my Travel Arrangements, but I am v. worried. Paul Bloomfield’s tea-party was very mad, not to say macabre, cake made by mad daughter, I was asked there to meet a silver-haired man in Olympic track outfit and sneakers, he is called Lindsay Anderson and seems to be something to do with films, perhaps Terry wd: know who he is, – the good news is that Mary’s landlord offered to sell her the flat for £10,000, £30 ground rent – Mary’s bank manager she says actually rubbed his hands – of course he says it must be done through a bank loan, so that the ‘excellent investment’ as he calls it, will actually belong to the bank – she is working hard at herb drawings and is well, came here to lunch to draw herbs &c – I want to give a party in the autumn, for all these Hampstead people who’ve asked me out, but Mary says yes and I could ask the S——–s (who are absolute death) and the vicar (with pectoral cross, guaranteed to wreck any party) &c. – do you think she’d be hurt if I suggested 2 different parties, I’d be glad to help with both of them? I don’t say my acquaintances aren’t awful, but they are differently awful, and I had hoped to give them something hot to eat and even sit down, do advise.

Two calls asking to buy frig.

Mary says my book-jacket for Offshore is terrible – as you know she usually praises everything. Gloom.

Virginia Surtees rings up very madly and says we must all unite to stop the M——–gallery (he’s just sold this lovely Burne-Jones) as he is only a hairdresser who has married one of his wealthy clients and knows nothing about pix; also I’ve got to go to lunch to meet the Director(ess) of Jewels at the Bmuseum – I know nothing about jewels and care less – and now I owe her 1 dinner and 1 lunch, it’s all so hopeless.

Don’t know if this article would be of interest – prob: not as you’ve finished it long ago – dreaded name of Ackermann appears!

I was knocked down by a bus queue and have a round bruise on my arm, just like the mark of Cain,

much love ma

76 Clifton Hill, NW8

[postcard]

[April 1983]

It was a lovely Easter and like all inhabitants and visitors to Theale we hated to go, but as you stood waving goodbye in the doorway in your brown corduroy pinny you looked, we all of us suddenly felt and said, very pretty, and a good deal better^* – much love and thanks to you and Terry XX Ma

Have not prepared anything for anywhere – feel I’m going rapidly downhill.

P.S. Rosa Moyesii. I don’t know who Moyes was, a Himalayan explorer I daresay.^**

76 Clifton Hill, NW8

11 May [1984]

Love and remembrance^* for May 15th

I’m sorry this is an oldish card, but it’s the picture I wanted to send, a favourite of Daddy’s too.

Ma

76 Clifton Hill, NW8

[postcard of the cover of Innocence]

[July 1986]

So glad to hear news but I feel bewildered and wd. like to ask so many other things, looking forward to seeing you on Monday week but please let me know won’t you if I can be of the least use^** as really the things I’m doing are singularly unimportant now I come to look at them.

Collins have printed these cards at vast expense, please leave it casually on the mantelpiece if there’s room! And please could you look at the thunbergia in the greenhouse and fill up its water-dish, hope it has not passed away. No matter.

Still sneezing. So glad the house will soon be rid of the dreaded mark-sheets and brown envelopes,

So much love to you all

Ma

76 Clifton Hill &c

12 January [1987]

Dearest Tina,

They say it’s going on for several days, and ‘elderly people living on their own’, old folk, like myself, are given useful advice, which is to keep warm, and to remember that it is warmer inside than out – not quite true here, where all the pipes have stopped working and Theo has gone down to work (which he never does on Mondays) because there is central heating at the College of Heralds. He left his bath full of water and Desmond and I found it had turned to solid ice – would be bath-shaped if it was taken out, which Luke would like. And that’s the main point of this letter, to say how tremendous it was to see Lukey himself again, and more so, eating and bustling about and putting us all in our places. You and T have been so steady and patient with him all the way through and that’s made him able to come through it, because it was an illness, even if it’s never likely to come back again.

I wish I’d finished digging up the back garden before the great cold, as the frost would have got into the earth then and broken it up, but then there are so many things I ought to have done. I’m reading Virginia W.’s diaries again, not from the genius point of view, but all her little jealousies and miseries about the reviewers and the housekeeping and Leonard’s rash, and going upstairs to tell him (where he sat solidly pipe-smoking and advising Labour Politicians) ‘my book is hopelessly bad, I must destroy all the proofs at once’ and Leonard steadying her down and saying ‘you know you always say that, you know you say it every time’.

The lunch party on Sunday wasn’t at all what I expected, not really a Virago one, but it would have been wrong not to go. Tim Hilton cooked enormous quantities – mussels, wh. I couldn’t eat, but fortunately a little girl, a 5-year old, Lily, was also very critical of the idea of eating them and that, I hope, meant I wasn’t noticed so much – pasta with a nice sauce, wh. I thought was the main course, then a beautiful leg of roast lamb with roast pots.cut small and mangetouts – the baby (9 months) sat there very gravely and good as gold, reminding me a little of Paschal – he has a cot in their bedroom and a wooden playpen in the corner of the living-room (bookshelf built all round the picture-rail, quite a good idea, but how to reach the books? But the bookshelves were all completely full) – one of the guests, in fact the mother of shellfish-rejecting Lily, was Jemima Thompson, now living at 34 Well Walk, where I was brought up, with a nice journalist husband from Newcastle looking like Philip Larkin, and her mother, Ursula Thompson, but I don’t know if you remember them next door at Chestnut Lodge or going to stay with them near Lulworth Cove, or the little brother Toby, now a psychiatrist. I walked back with Jemima through the freezing Hampstead streets (she was going to give someone a Greek lesson, having given up her job at Time Life when Lily was born) – enough of all this, you’ll say.

Now a weather report on TV, showing those brightish clouds in the SW and very black ones in the SE, so hope it isn’t, in Lukey’s words ‘terribly cold in Weston’ you always manage to make things easy wherever you go, but still, with 2 tiny children, it does mean managing. – They keep saying it’s the coldest night for 425 years – but can it be worse than those nights in Fergie’s time, when the tree fell, and you all had to huddle into the living-room? Or indeed when Valpy was born, and all the patients crowded into my room because I had a new-born baby and so was allowed a coal fire? At least you’re not in the shop and won’t have to discuss the matter of the cold with an endless succession of people.

Desmond says he’ll ring up a plumber and take him out ‘for a few pints’. He (Desmond Maxwell) is not a bad sort really. I have one cold tap running (just), and a kettle of course. – He tells me (perhaps indiscreetly) that Theo’s ‘flat’ at the College of Heralds, which Joan told me (and I think believes) was to sleep in while he was on official duty, in case the Queen wanted to make someone a lord in the middle of the night – is really just a spare office with a sofa, in case he can’t manage to stagger home. And Joan bought some pretty tea towels for it!

I’m sure you don’t realise, as one can’t, working away at it, day by day, what an immense amount you’ve done at Moorland Rd, and how well everything is beginning to look. The hall, with the coloured glass, is such a good introduction to the house, then the other colours follow.

A letter from Broccoli Clark inc., Columbia, asking for my impressions of the Booker Prize. I think I might give them a few of my recollections, which would stop them being so painful, as surely nobody in England would be likely to read them.

I rang up Ria to congratulate her &, if everything doesn’t freeze up, hope to have lunch with her tomorrow, when she doesn’t have to lecture until 3.

We usually have the vegetable soup and French bread at Habitat and Ria recklessly takes more than one or indeed 2 of those miserable little squares of butter. I do hope nothing has frozen up in Bishop’s Road, there is such a complicated balance to keep going there, and of course Tom-Tom hates the cold, but he has plenty of room to extend himself there.

Theo has come in, and is smashing the ice in the bath. BBC advises elderly people living on their own not to cut down on the food, so shall have my dinner, parsnips and bacon.

Now I’m going to ask you something which I hope you won’t find mad or irritating or both, and that is, do you think that you and Terry could possibly find something else to go down on the living-room floor except the serape? I thought it was lost, and never expected to see it again, but since you’ve found it, and all the lovely colours (though not the right ones, I know) I should so very much like to keep it as what it really is, a bedspread, I haven’t one here in London and of course not the Bishop’s Rd bedsitter, (if John and Maria really feel able to do that) – it is the only thing I have left from Chestnut Lodge, as I wasn’t allowed the opportunity to say what I wanted to keep from the sell-up at Blackshore, and all the things I cared about most were sold – well, all that’s in the past, – but I carried the serape all the way from Mexico City, through N. York, then Halifax and back to Liverpool on the old Franconia, and it was never meant as a rug or a carpet, any more than your own heirloom patchwork quilt, and if it has to be on bare boards without any undercarpet I don’t think it will last long, if it’s walked over. Please don’t think me mad, or even worse, stingy, but please could you take it up, I was wondering whether the green cotton dhurries would do instead, they’re machine-made (the serape is hand-woven) and don’t matter a bit: but I suppose they would be the wrong colour? Anyway I would be glad to contribute to another rug for your birthday, if I could please keep the serape, I think you can see from the way it’s wrinkling up that it isn’t really intended to go on a floor? It never has before. – I wish now I’d kept the undercarpet from Theale, but no matter. Don’t be annoyed with me, truly I appreciate your goodness to me over so many years – it’s just a weakness of old age to want to keep a few ‘nice things’ connected with the past and the serape as we said is 35 years old – I could never buy one like it now – and I should so much like to keep it – perhaps it isn’t a ‘nice thing’ to anyone else, but it is to me. so much love to you all Ma.

28 March [c.1988]

Dearest Tina, so many thanks for lovely Easter visit – Mary said on the way back in the train that she realised she’d overdone things with the envelopes and this holiday had made all the difference and I’m sure it has, and you know what it means to me to see you all, and I think it’s gallant in the extreme of you and Terry to manage outings and expeditions to the beach as well as even more than the usual list of other things to do – but I think this has got beyond the stage of lists.

I hope dear Luke will change his mind about being tired of the human race, as he told me on the beach, or at least he’ll kindly make a few exceptions.

I have been brushing my best black coat with a damp brush, and it looks all right, but then the hairs come back again, they appear to be growing out of the coat while my back is turned – (now hanging in the lower basement while some fanciful alterations are going on)

much love to all from Ma

[postcard of Paul Klee image]

[1988]

Dearest Tina – I’m sending you this although it’s been up on the wall, because I thought you might like it – do you remember your knobblyhead?

I was so happy at Watchet, and loved the Vikings even in the adverse weather conditions. Thankyou for listening to my probably imaginary and certainly small and dull difficulties (I could feel how dull they were even while I was describing them) while you were at such a point of exhaustion and hateful headache and I can’t tell whether it’s gone away even now but I do hope and pray so, as it looked only just about bearable. Note that I’m not giving advice or talking about Nurofen or feverfew.

I got the train with 2 minutes to spare – wonderful, just like Round the World in 80 days – a train too grand to stop at Newbury, though they always do at Westbury, perhaps because there are so many Nobs there. The castors on my bed work very well – without them I know I should never have dusted behind it and perhaps I shan’t now – but I know I could. Joan asks to know why I left my ironing-board behind? When it’s hers and I only left it after a severe struggle of conscience. Too late now!

All my love to all the family and best wishes for

[incomplete]

29 November [1988]

– distraught –

Dearest Tina – Just off to dreaded all-day Commonwealth Fiction judging, followed by Kipper^* exhibition (manias), still feel dreadful, but Ria much better and Sophie singing and chirruping. I’m in a terrible state because I wanted to ask you whether the weekend of 8 Dec would be any good, as there are various things (not important) I shd. be doing on 16th and 17th, but if Luke has part in play it’s different and MY TELEPHONE HAS GONE DEAD.

Sad because Francis^** has had horrid operation and can’t get over David dying. much love Ma

27 Bishop’s Road, N6

Tuesday [August 1989]

Dearest Tina,

I could hardly believe that you’d taken the time to write me a letter and such a nice long one. I loved hearing about the house – I still have your letters describing Milène’s family, and Uncle Georges in the cellars, and this one is even better. I’m so glad you went to Brittany as the weather is so wonderful you’ve got every possible advantage, and a proper garden and fruit and grass instead of a square of paving and 2 geraniums in pots and an unclimbable carob tree. I, too, wondered if P.^* might be thrown out, and am so glad he isn’t, I can imagine him climbing and singing and Jemima running – how she ran on the beach at St Audries – and Luke, I can see, quite invaluable, bless him, fancy producing his French at 2 o’clock in the morning. No-one will ever have grandchildren like mine, you know.

It is lovely here having all my meals in the garden if only it wasn’t for these dreary reviews and this pesky novel, but I must try and finish it now, I daresay Collins (soon to move to Hammersmith as part of Murdoch’s economies) would let me put it off but I can’t bear it dragging on, though I feel myself getting stupider all the time. I felt quite grand flying to Edinburgh^** and eating the executive breakfast – orange juice, fruit salad, bacon and egg and hash-brown potatoes, roll butter and marmalade and a bran and raisin scone. Presumably to prevent constipation. Hermione Lee was very kind, although she clearly thinks I am hopeless about feminism, and says this is the generation gap – and Marina Warner not bad, she admits I taught her at the Westminster Tutors but says I made up her mind for her to give up her faith and she went straight to Westm: Cath. to make her last confession – I’m sure I didn’t. B.P. (patrons) gave us all a vast lunch at some hotel. The festival was in gaily striped tents and marquees which took up the whole of Charlotte Sq. – and Edinburgh did look nice in the sun and wind because they’ve had rain up there. I made the P.R. girl come on a bus trip round the city afterwards so we had to get quite a late flight. And now all the shuttle services are on strike because one of the hostesses has been accused of selling the free executive champagne to the tourist-class, of course they do! – Thursday I go down to the BBC to start these recordings but I don’t have to interview Anne Thwaite till next week.

All this must sound more than dull when you are on the plage (do you remember the dear old French O-level papers with pictures?). Meanwhile I want to wish you a happy homecoming but won’t send you a YOUR NEW HOME card as the bungalow isn’t exactly that, but 10000 welcomes back, all my love to all of you –

xxxxx Ma.

You’re quite right about Sarah. You always make nice friends – the wild craftswoman-hairdresser at Weston was nice – but Sarah was someone in particular, and my word how she’ll miss you. I wonder what will happen to the Methodist Hall playgroup? But new times now and new places.

Mary had an X-ray because of her constipation but as far as I can make out there is nothing to worry about. Must keep her off diets. There’s a new one, Bio-lite, which you take for a week and feel much lighter, – it’s been shown to consist of 95 per cent tapwater.

[postcard: Millais’ ‘The Boyhood of Raleigh’]

9 November [1989]

Thought Lukey might like this, though Raleigh of course inferior to Drake. Went yesterday to help unveil plaque to Burne-Jones on grim flats built on site of his gracious home. Fish-paste sandwiches and white wine in local library, where mayor asks us to drink toast to Pre-Raphaelites remembering that they were all good socialists. Kind lady gets me cup of tea, but John Christian sportingly drinks toast. Off to Kirkby L. tomorrow, back Tuesday, Wednesday Iris arrives in London. Longing to see you all but M. tells me you’ve started teaching again, how can you manage and what would you like for Xmas

will ring all my love Ma

27a Bishop’s Road

London, N6

Sunday [1990]

Dearest Tina,

I was so cheered up when you rang, but felt furious with myself afterwards because (as always) I kept talking about all these unimportant problems of mine which aren’t really even problems, as they will solve themselves – but I didn’t like to ring back – however I really wanted to know about Kelly, and about your classes, and Luke’s (not Lukey’s, he was quite definite about that) school – as you left it, you were saying to me that it was most certainly something to remember all his life – a playground with the moors stretching away to the horizon in every direction – and he was getting on fine, but you wondered if there were any children there anywhere near his standard – and I wondered if that mattered to a child who was going to be outstanding anywhere, like Luke.

Poor R. Dahl died (what of?) and there were TV pix of the Giant Peach, wh: made me think of Luke’s room, and his picture, with the teacher’s comments, which I’ve lain and looked at so often in the early morning.

I also wanted to ask how dear P. was getting on, and whether Jemima still approved of the place wh: is privileged to look after her. But I never said anything about any of these things, nor do I expect you to answer them, but perhaps some time, at Christmas or after Christmas.

Willie gave me such a beautiful picture of you (she tore it out of her album) taken when we went up to Yorkshire – you were younger than Jemima is now, but Thomas thought it was Jemima, and the expression is exactly the same – serious, but immensely hopeful –

so much love to you all

Ma

[1990]

[incomplete]

…hasn’t sold any of the tickets at all, which is scarcely surprising considering he’s charging £37.50 for them. He says there are lavish refreshments, but who wants to go and eat lavish refreshments at Channings. Meanwhile I’m bracing myself up to tell Jeannie I’ll do some weeding (I’m never allowed to spray) as I’d much rather do that than go and sit in a hide on the reservoir waiting for spoonbills. When they were working they never used to do anything on their days off because they were so tired, and I think that that really suited me better.

I’ve been listening to a sermon on the radio about preparation for dying, wh: he called the Last and Most Dreadful Journey of All, this is true of course but I do find it more than a bit depressing. Afterwards there was a Handel concerto, such a relief as he sounded as if he hadn’t a worry in the world, though I believe he had plenty.

Kindly letter from Nan Talese at Doubleday saying that they are not doing too badly with the Gate of A. in spite of total ruin in the publishing industry and she would like to make arrangements about the next novel but alas there is no next novel.

It was a treat for me to see Paschal’s school. I did not stare at him as that would not have done, but sitting at the other table I could see what he was doing and he worked so well and industriously and was enjoying it so much and enjoying doing it right, as of course children of that age do. It was quite hard work for them I thought but I suppose there are more recreations after lunch – much love to all Ma

[postcard]

[1990]

Please let me prune the rose again this spring. Fertiliser also needed of course although honeysuckles never seem to need anything.

27a Bishop’s Road

London, N6 4HP

Wednesday [c.1990/91]

Dearest Tina –

I love Hope Cottage, the green, the elms, the rooks, the view, the new cooker and everything about it, and had a wonderful 2 days and it was such a treat to be collected from Sheepwash,^* and to have Luke show me round Castle Drogo. How amazing he is Tina. I’d give so much to know what is in store for him. You and Terry were so patient during the difficult time^* and as a result he’s growing up with all his self-confidence intact and the move has done him no harm, quite the contrary.

You said to me ‘Paschal will talk’^** and of course he will, I never doubted it, but the way you said it was very heartening, and I daresay when Jemima starts to talk they will understand each other better than anybody. P. manages very well considering his intelligence is so very much all there but doesn’t get the supplies (yet) that other children do and he has to rely to a great extent on his own inner world.

The escalator up to the Archway Road is back! Smiling operative says You better ride up and down on it, lady, before they shut it again – but I can only hope it lasts till you all come. – John has taken a day off to mend large numbers of things including my bath taps, which suddenly wouldn’t turn off. – I thought your plans were all admirable – the lean-to in particular, though I suppose the kittens will all move in – ‘all’ if they increase, as they might do at any moment since you say you can’t tell their age. – Please don’t think I was criticising the Great Hamper, I can assure you I didn’t mean to. Dressing-up things are of vital importance and last their whole childhood and the Hamper is just what you needed. New York Times rings up again to say they are putting in ‘a few sentences’ about Van Gogh (wh: they pronounce Van Go’: is that right?) and Cézanne as these are the only artists the readers have heard of, it seems. Article ruined in consequence but no matter.

Valpy rings up to say Red Cross and U.N.O. are sending him to Cambodia for a month, the President of Cambodia read some of his articles and asked him to advise, I can’t help worrying as Khmer Rouge invasion in full swing and shall be so glad when he’s back, poor old Angie must feel rather desperate. No post in and out of Cambodia. I rang up Rawle to ask him how dangerous it was and Rawle himself I’m afraid is very poorly as his back is so painful he can hardly walk, doc has taken x-rays – I know it’s really bad as Helen came onto the line stammering frightfully. – But oh what a nice time I had at Milton Abbot. – I hope Terry had a good journey back, at least – wind seems to have dropped – much love Ma