1941 April
Family letter from HPV
At Dunedin,
New Zealand.
April 2nd 1941
My dear Annette (handwritten salutation)
It was strange to meet in the remote corner of Lake Manapuri, which we visited from Te Anau three days before we left, a man who in his first remark mentioned Indore humus. Asked how he happened to know about it, he replied that he did not but wished to: and I treated him as a predestined sacrifice. Neglecting the Lake which we had come to see, I gave him a complete account of the art of manufacturing the stuff together with some remarks on its merits proved and claimed: and in the bus (which here is called a service car) on our way down to Dunedin I heard from a Guide who had been visiting Manapuri that the man* had been talking a lot about what I had told him. It was therefore a pleasure to think that I had not wasted energy when, returning to the hotel, I sat down and committed to paper a detailed account of the quantities of the different ingredients and of the method by which they should be converted into humus. How admirable if the result of my visit to New Zealand and of my experiments as to humus in Bengal proved to be the introduction into the sterile regions of Manapuri of wealth for the farmers! Sterile is a poor word to use of an area covered with bush: but there is no soil worth speaking of and it is hard to understand why anyone should have started farms in these parts. The Guide above mentioned told us that, while staying at Manapuri, he got wet out in the bush, and that although he had a change of trousers, he had no spare underclothing “for the legs”: so he took some scissors and cut off the lower parts of his under-pants which had been wetted only up to the knee. This struck us as an absurd alternative to the borrowing of dry things, but he said that before now he had been reduced to putting on a second vest instead of a pair of pants, with his legs through the sleeves: and though this he did think funny the cutting of long pants down to short was merely common sense. Different things seem funny to different people (how portentous the typewriter makes one!) and your mother thought it odd of me to put on and wear for some hours the shoes of another visitor to the hotel which had by a mistake been put outside my door. There was argument about it. She could not see why I had not detected the mistake at once: but I had put on two pairs of socks in preparation for a rough walk and could feel nothing through them. I have reached that stage in this letter when I start making nervous dabs at the typewriter and mistakes are frequent. Which reminds me (since it is an echo of the French Linguaphone lessons) that the conversations and the illustrations in all the Linguaphone books, French, German, Italian, and now Russian, must be the same: and the curiosity grows as to the country where host and hostess sit side by side at one end of the table when they give a dinner-party. It would be a good thing for Annette to ask the girl in the shop, when the occasion arrives for her to buy the course in Chinese.
Last night we went to a show given by the N.Z. Alpine Club in honour of your mother and she spoke for about three-quarters of an hour, without notes, on some aspects of climbing in the Himalayas. I had never heard her speak before and I was delighted to see how good she is. No hesitation, good choice of words, and interesting matter. Afterwards there was a procession of climbers coming up to ask questions, and we stayed on until almost everyone had gone away.
I must have caught a slight chill before we left Te Anau. I have had tooth-ache and my insides have been like water for the past three days. The dentist whom I visited yesterday (lucky that we have returned from the wilds) could find nothing wrong with the tooth which seems to be hurting but there was a loose stopping two teeth away and the evil may have its seat there. My typing practice has been almost at a standstill, for I have got at the typewriter only two days (and today) since leaving Queenstown. I have been typing without a ribbon, as if cutting stencils, and using carbon paper, so that I not only do not look at the keys, but cannot see what I am writing,-- not now, but when I am practicing. Progress is miserably slow. But since then the machine has been at a shop. There is a fate working against my efforts.
Much love
Dad
(handwritten footnote in margin) *I have since heard that he was not very sound in the head. There were trophies of the chase on the walls of the French house. Continue fencing: I once read a book on it. It has been a poor week: neuralgia in the jaws frequent. But how hospitable the people!
Family letter from LJT No 12
31 Heriot Row.
Dunedin. N.Z.
April 6th 1941
My Dears,
Marion Scott has arranged so many pleasant entertainments for us, and has such an entrancing collection of books, especially books and journals about the New Zealand Mountains, that it is hard to find time to sit down and write letters. There is not a great deal of time available this morning, so I must compress what I have to say. The weather had definitely turned from late summer into autumn, slipping into winter before we left Te Anau, and for the first time I got out my fur coat, and Herbert his overcoat for the journey. The first part of which was by bus to Lumsden, where we lunched in the hotel which we had patronized before, and we then continued by train, arriving at Dunedin just after six. Marion was at the station to meet us, and we were so pleased to see her again. Dunedin is built all up and down hills, (though not quite so violently as Wellington ) and this dear little house is well up a hillside, and has a good view over the long narrow harbour. The town is a much more solidly built town than any other I have seen except perhaps Wellington. Though it is smaller than Christchurch, it seems much more of a city to me, and one of the big Presbyterian Churches is a far more beautiful building than the Cathedral at Chch. This church stands in a square, and has a smooth lawn round it, with plane trees and birches setting off its lovely Gothic spire. Marion had quite a round of invitations for us, some from people we had met, and some from her own friends. The outstanding engagement was an evening “At Home” of the New Zealand Alpine Club, which was specially in our honour, and at which I had promised to talk, on Tuesday evening. It was a delightful party, and the audience seemed interested to hear impressions of how the New Zealand Alps compare with the Himalayas, slipping on to giving information and telling a few stories about the Bhotia and Sherpa porters. I said that for practical purposes, the N.Z. Alps are far more use than the Himalayas, for they can be made use of for a holiday of two or three days, and climbing can be done with the minimum of expenditure, etc, but I added that we had a great advantage in our porters. I then mentioned that though we could always carry enough food, we sometimes dont want to eat it when we get up high, whereas I believed that in New Zealand any food that could be carried could be eaten. As I said this my eye was caught by a beaming young man in the front row, and I suppose I smiled back at him. The room went up in a great roar of laughter. I guessed that there must be some joke against him, and afterwards I learnt that he is famed for his ability as an eater! After my little talk we saw some beautiful pictures of mountains in the southern part of the Alps, south of the great group surrounding Mount Cook and Mount Tasman, but still impressive peaks over 9,000 ft, and rising fro a tangle of little known hills and lakes. The party finished with supper and talk, lots of both, and I found it difficult to get away, for so many of the N.Z. Climbers were asking questions. The young man, Scott Gilkeson, against whom I had innocently raised the laugh, presented me with a copy of his book on the Otago section of the Alps, that is the southern part, of which we had been seeing the pictures. Every evening we seem to have had an engagement. On Wednesday night we went to dinner with a Miss Theomin, a wealthy Jewess, who lives in a great mansion close to this house. She is a great friend of Marion’s and has done some of the milder type of climbing with her when she was a little younger. She likes entertaining people from overseas, especially if they have anything to do with mountaineering or explorations. She had asked Graham Somerville, whose name you may remember as one of the Guides at the Franz Joseph, and a young couple, the husband of whom (I don’t know how to phrase that!) had made the speech proposing a vote of thanks to me the previous night. We spent a delightful evening with her. Her house, which seemingly still goes on just as it did in her father’s lifetime, is typical of the wealthy late Victorian period, and is full, - - overfull of pictures, furniture and curios of all sorts, and many of them rare and beautiful. One easily might have been dining in Belgrave Square or Mayfair, except that we were waited on by a rosy cheeked maid, instead of a butler. On Thursday we dined out with two sisters, of whom Marion says, that they are probably the wealthiest ‘girls’ (actually a little past the girlish stage) in New Zealand. We drove up to a perfect Cotswold house, which excited me greatly, for I love the stone houses of the Cotswolds. Of course I could not resist commenting on it, and they told how they got the plans drawn up in England, and what fights they had with architects and builders out here to get them to do it as they wanted, and as the plans directed. Architecture is not N.Z.’s strong point, and the large proportion of the houses are hideous, though less so here than in most towns. These two Miss Johnstones are tall good-looking women, in fact the younger is quite a beauty, and one of the most graceful women I have ever seen Their father owned a famous stud farm for sheep and cattle, which they carry on. I think he also delt in sheep and cattle on a big scale. Everything about the house was charming, without being in the least ostentatious. The good type of New Zealander, of whom we have been lucky enough to meet so many, combines a pride in his own country with an equal pride in his British ancestry, and many of them take a keen interest in the places from which their families came, and in the family history. Its not uncommon to see family portraits on the walls. Dunedin is predominantly Scotch, and in many ways keeps a Scotch character, even in its excellent cake-shops. Our evening engagements still went on on Friday, when we went after dinner to a party given for us by a Mr and Mrs Sim. Mr Sim is the editor of the N.Z. Alpine Club Journal, and a keen climber. Funnily enough the party took place in the house of another member of the Club, who takes colour films and has his own projector. He was asked whether he would show some films for us, and then made the Sims move their party to his house, because he said it was easier than moving all his cine paraphernalia. Dan Bryant, who was on the Everest Expedition in 1935 was there. He teaches in a school at Oamaru about 80 miles north from here. He had started out to motor down for the meeting on Tuesday, but his car broke down. It was delightful to meet him again. We are breaking journey at Oamaru on our way to Christchurch, to see him. There were a few of the Alpine Club members whom we had met on Tuesday there, and a few others. Unfortunately Mr Ellis showed a long film that he has recently taken, which was mostly of people we did not know and consequently not very interesting to us. Then we had a break for supper, one item of which was the most heavenly oyster patties. After feeding we went back and saw an excellent colour film of the Otago Lakes and mountains, but this film confirmed my feeling that for scenery, certainly as depicted by amatures, still pictures are far better. There is no time to see a mountain as it flashes by, still less to be shown items of interest about routes and so on. This sounds ungrateful. I don’t mean it so, and it was a nice evening. We made a date to meet Mr. Bryant at 10.15 the next morning, for “morning tea” and a talk, and having talked about N.Z. mountains, the Himalayas and personalities connected with Everest till after 11.30, we went to do a little shopping, and then Mr. Bryant drove us up here, and we had another hour looking at photos and talking, till lunchtime. He had to go back to lunch where he was staying, and to Oamaru in the afternoon. We were taken for a long drive in the afternoon, through charming hilly country, with woods and fields, streams, bordered with willows, and nice grey stone walls instead of wire fences, till it was difficult to believe we were not somewhere in the Scottish Lowlands. The gorse is having a second blooming, and some of the hill sides were yellow with it. Mrs Fitzgerald, the member of the travel club, who took us for the drive, took us back to her house for tea. Her husband is a doctor, and judging from their very charming house, I should think a most successful one. He was an interesting man to talk to, and another doctor and his wife who joined us were also good talkers, so conversation fairly buzzed. An attempt by Marion to leave was thrust aside, and sherry and olives were brought in and we stayed on till nearly half past six, getting home only just in time for the evening meal. We had intended to take Marion to a film, but since there was nothing very good on, and we had all been out all day, we thought we would rather stay quietly round the fire looking at books and photos and listening to the wireless. I have skipped through all our evenings and scarcely mentioned the days. My first thought on Tuesday was shopping, for I badly needed a warm woollen jumper to keep out the cold. I found a nice coral-coloured one, which I am wearing with great satisfaction. Herbert had unfortunately picked up a bit of a chill on his tummy the last day we were at Te Anau, and also had a neuralgic pain in his jaw, so he got an appointment with the dentist, and did not accompany us to the shops. It appeared that quite a big stopping had come out of a tooth, so it was lucky we were somewhere where it could be attended to. Marion had asked several people to meet us at tea in the afternoon, and teas here are always very early, generally about 3,30, because the evening meal comes so soon. Again on Wednesday, we went shopping, and took a tram along to see the University buildings. Marion and I spent the afternoon at the museum, but left Herbert at home by the fire, for his neuralgia was a bit bothersome. On Thursday morning we were the guests of the Travel Club, and I was to be one of two speakers. The first was the contralto from the Gilbert and Sullivan Opera Co, so I am glad that she spoke first. In appearance I felt totally eclipsed, for she had wonderful copper hair, a chic little hat and veil, diamonds, furs and orchids. However there was not much to her address, except advertisement of herself, and a lot of platitudes about the war. I spoke about women in Bengal, much on the lines I did at Christchurch. That afternoon we went to tea with the Miss Joachim who was at Franz Joseph. On the following morning, Marion asked us if we would be willing to go see an old friend of hers, who is now crippled with arthritis, but who has been an active figure in New Zealand politics. He was a minister, I understand, in one of the pre-Labour governments, and has been to many conferences at Ottawa and elsewhere. His rheumatic trouble started in the trenches in the last war, but has become rapidly worse of late years. His poor hands are crumpled up, just like Mrs Townend’s were, and he can only walk with great difficulty. Luckily he has a devoted sister, a charming home, masses of books, and a delightful garden with a splendid view. He loves to see people from the outside world, of whom they say, they get far too few in Dunedin, for its off the main tourist routes. We went to Mr Downie Stewart’s house for morning tea, and were confronted with a spread of food, such as we might have needed had we been marooned in a mountain hut for several days on short rations. We went on to the bank, shipping offices about our tickets to Australai (I dont know what is wrong with me to-day! I do nothing but get letters the wrong way round!) We had intended going out to see the Botanical Gardens, or at any rate for a walk of some sort in the afternoon, but there was a cold wind blowing, “straight from the South Pole” as Marion had reported when she came back from an early visit to the shops, and bade us put on all our clothes, in order to keep warm. The fireside seemed so tempting after lunch that we decided to stay home, and spent a happy time hunting up pictures of various mountains in old journals, while later I got a chance to iron some of the clothes I had washed in the morning. I’ve already told you of Saturday, - - that is yesterday’s doings, and now I write to you. There have been showers this morning, but we hope it will be fine enough to allow us to walk through the gardens on our way out to tea. This evening Peter Graham’s daughter and Alex Graham’s daughter and Graham Somerville, are coming to supper, and to-morrow will be our last day here, for we have to go on Tuesday morning. We have felt so at home here, and stepped straight into such a charming circle of widely travelled, widely read people, that its hard to believe that we have been here less than a week. I feel rather sad that there is little likelyhood of being able to return any of the warm hospitality that we have received here. Marion Scott loves travelling, and once the war is over, its almost certain that she will come to England again, for she has no special ties, and lets her house cheerfully when she wants to visit other countries.
We had nice letters from Romey, two mails, the day after we got here, and a letter from Baroness Giskra from America, with the good news that her daughter Mary Ow has got the necessary permission to go to America. Mary thought that she would have to wait some years. I wonder how she will take it, for though she will adore being with her mother again, she will hate saying good-bye to Java, and to the heat and the tropical sun, in all of which she revels. Baroness Giskra says that although she dreaded going to America after such a long absence, and feared she would she would find everything so strange, she discovered that everything seemed to slip into place even when she landed in San Francisco, and a few days at her old home in Baltimore brought back all the old affections. I am so glad for her sake.
You can imagine how we hang on the wireless and the newspapers for news of all that is happening. Unfortunately we breakfast at 8.30 and so miss the 8.45 a.m. news, for which I am sorry. I like hearing that bulletin.
There will be no time to write personal letters this week, I fear. This has become thrice as long as I intended. Those to whom I usually write, please forgive the omission, and I send you my love and greetings via this letter.
Bless you all.
LJT
PS (handwritten at bottom of letter, to Romey)
My darling Romey,
There won’t be room for another letter in this week’s envelope. Two mails from you reached us here on April 3rd, containing letters of 16/2, 23/2, 2/3 and 8/3. Thank you for them all. It is interesting to note that your news of Dicky’s doings is later than my last direct to England. In my last batch of letters he had only just been appointed to Pegasus. Thanks for writing more about the sororities. The system seems to be an elaborate one. The news that Germany is at war with Yugoslavia and with Greece came yesterday. The atmosphere of the houses in which we have been so kindly entertained here is extraordinarily English and none of the people we have met in this city have any accent at all, -- or if they have, it is slightly Scotch.
Best love dear daughter,
Mother
Family letter From HPV (not in AMT’s set of letters)
At Christchurch, NZ
April 12, 1941
My dear Rosemary,
Of the two Labours undertaken as pastimes on this trip, one has been accomplished, to wit, the copying of the maps in the pamphlet on the constellations. The other is, as you know, the achievement of the art of touch-typing. This lags, or falters, for the opportunities of practice are not many. During the visit to Dunedin, the fates were not propitious. Neuralgia in the jaw or jaws, and a vast uneasiness in the tummier parts were a handicap. I did get down to the task once, but found conditions unpromising. Journeying and excursioning and sitting by while the more worthy use the machine, reduce the chances of experiment. Also we sent the typewriter to get a new roller at Dunedin and so for two days had not the use of it. After that, it came back without the new part. I suspect that the makers have changed the pattern and that it will not be possible to get a suitable roller. To the query why, if I find the exercises dull, I do not take to copying an agreeable book, I say in the words of the exercise “Repetition practice is very valuable”, and also, that when a dear brother has given me a book on typing it is a clear duty to stick to it and acquire merit. It is a strange thing that by merely by the passing of time a certain proficiency in typing is added to one, even without the doing of exercises. Maybe the slogging away at the same old sentences, which at the time seemed not to be having any effect, actually was laying up a store of efficiency.
We stuck at Dunedin during our last days---a mistake, it should be we struck, -- a patch of really cold weather. My jaw continued to ache, although the dentist had dealt with the only thing wrong, a small filling loose, and I felt wretched. On the day of our departure, but after we had gone, there was snow in the town, and the train which we had expected to be a furnace, was very cold. At Oamaru, where we left it, there was a bitter wind and therefore the pleasure of going round school buildings with Dan Bryant, the Everest climber, whom we had known in Calcutta, was somewhat small. Much talk about the mountains of India and New Zealand and much looking at photos of them. After dinner we were taken out about four miles to the house of the local secretary of the Alpine Club, where there was quite a gathering of enthusiasts. I do believe that they were real enthusiasts, as I did not at first, because they clustered round Joan and cross-questioned her in a manner not to be attributed to mere politeness. She gave a little talk but it quickly resolved itself into a discussion, for what she said elicited comments from Dan Bryant, who began to tell of his experiences with the Everest reconnaissance party, to the great interest of those present. They said that he had never before opened up about them. A group gathered round me also and started examining me about Indian conditions with an intentness almost embarrassing. It is strange to meet people who know so little about India and who have so many misconceptions about it. I suppose that we might find the same sort of thing in England, but in practice one does expect to.
We have come back to the Lodge where we were on our previous visit to this place. The weather had suddenly become warmer some fifty miles away from here and on our second day it was sunny and pleasant. I put in some intensive hour’s work finishing off the maps and yesterday we returned the book to old Mr. Kennedy, who had lent it to me three months ago. I felt ashamed to have kept it so long, but he had said that he did not mind how long his books were out so long as they were being used, and I certainly was using these.
Joan’s habit of making friends (she keeps up with hotel acquaintances whom I should have allowed to drift away out of sheer laziness or lack of initiative) has resulted in our having a whole list of engagements for our week here. We are to go to the movies twice, which will seem strange after months of abstinence from them, there will be two evenings of reunions with mountain enthusiasts, and there will be two more meetings with hotel acquaintances.
My neuralgia has cleared up and so has the tummy trouble, but a heavy cold I picked up in Dunedin is still annoying and I am a nuisance to the neighbourhood. Question, is a big nose an advantage when one has a cold, as less likely to be stopped up, or a worry as giving a greater area for suffering?
Enough. I find that mistakes are multiplying, a sign of weariness, though I could tell without that proof that I am wearying.
April 14th 1941
My dear Richard and Annette (handwritten)
My cold is heavy upon me. All yesterday I stayed indoors, and in the same room indoors. We have a real fire-place in this bedroom and have been having a fire in it ever since our arrival here; and this has been a comfort so far as anything can be a comfort to one who has a cold. Yesterday was Easter Sunday: the day before had been a delight, fine and warm, but the average was restored by yesterday’s weather, which was a snorter. The morning I spent on my bed, and much of it in sleep: but I felt better in the evening (after developing a temperature and again sleeping during the long afternoon – no tea served in the hotel and I couldn’t go out in search of any) and spent a happy hour typing in a fug which made me feel comfortable for the first time for days, as I cannot when Joan is in. She had gone out to tea and supper with Mrs Barker, the mother of the mountaineering lad whom we met when here last. After that she went on to spend the evening with the Mitchells, where we went to see mountain photos before. But on the way she nipped in to bring me a thermos full of tea and some biscuits which Mrs Barker provided for me as the evening meal here on Sundays is very early, half past five, and there was an idea that by bed-time I should be exhausted with hunger. She also brought some books, but they were about Germany and Russia and I left them after a while to take refuge in one of my old French detective stories, in which there were a lot of words to be looked up -- a mechanical task which always does me good. I bought two French books of this kind before I left Calcutta, and did not realise till later that they were both by the same author: it was luck that they were good for my purposes, i.e. they had in them a lot of words and phrases that I did not know and so take a lot of reading under the looking-up-of-all-uncertainties principle. That mix-up was due to my trying to strengthen two letters that were faint: this always leads to disaster but I never learn to avoid it. I was interested by Richard’s disquisition on the difficulty of learning the stars from a chart; too true, as the Australians are said to say: but what I find difficult is to recognize the things when the constellations are upside down as happens in these parts and when I have not been able to see them for some time owing to cloud or to mountains. On Saturday night when we were coming home from the movies (we had been entertaining the two Graham boys and the film, dealing with a fool-woman who tried to get her horse killed to soothe her conscience for her husband’s death in a riding accident, was poor) I was much worried and perplexed by a bright star to the east of Sirius, and had finally to look it up. It was one of the best known of my collection, Alphard the Lonely One in Hydra, whom I honour on account of his obvious resemblance to that Maxie: and I feel fair ashamed not to have recognised this for myself. Although by now I have a more than fair knowledge of the constellations and of the order in which many of them come I doubt if I could draw a map of any part of the sky with any accuracy; the only way to learn to do that sort of thing is to do it. The chief difficulty about this touch typing apart from the fact that the machine is not too good) is that when writing letters it is a loonish thing to gaze blankly at the wall of the room and it is certainly a departure from the principles to look at what one is producing. My copies of the big-scale star charts from the pamphlet lent me by Mr. Kennedy should enable me to resolve all difficulties when I get down to the task of comparing them with the smaller charts copied before or contained in my little books. I was amused by Jurgen which Richard mentions reading, but chiefly because it is a mine of symbolism and provided much material for psycho-analytical interpretation. “Figures of Earth” out of which I used to tell Annette stories, much expurgated, was more interesting as dealing with the futility of things rather than the futility of Mr. James Branch Cabell. It is a pity that Annette has chosen to learn Russian because there will be few in the family prepared to learn it when she has finished with the records; whereas if it had been Chinese or some other tongue peculiar to folk less revolting in their habits than Russians are the whole family might have inherited. She has turned me against Oxford with her tale of the girl in yellow trousers and blue shoes: it seems a little hard that such people should be left to sow doubt wholesale as to the worth of the social order for which we are fighting. But it would have been interesting to know what was the colour of the things below, if there were any.
“Mathematics for the Million does not “go” as the climbers say of a route. Probably I belong to one of the many millions for whom the book is not intended or suitable; it had not occurred to me that there was a catch in the title and that if all could be expected to understand it, the title would have been “for the Millions”. Maybe if I settled down to it with pencil and paper it would be more intelligible but I follow its directions in essaying it first to read it like a novel.
Much love
Dad
Family Letter from LJT No 13
The Lodge. Christchurch.
April 12th, 1941 (Easter Sat:)
My Dears,
Coming back to Christchurch seemed a sort of homecoming. Shops and streets looked so familiar, and hear at the Lodge, the many permanent residents greeted us as old friends. Then there were telephone calls, and arrangements to see people, so that very soon almost all our afternoons and evenings were full up. We have a good big room, with windows to the east and north, so that we get all the early sun. There is also a fireplace, and we are able to have a fire, and use the room as a sitting room. Thos specially convenient just now, for staying with Marion Scott our time was so full, that I had little time to attend to letters, and accounts, and various washings and mendings of clothes. The weather was cold and inclined to be showery all the time we were in Dunedin, and very cold for three days before we left. It was perishing when we went down to the train on Tuesday morning, and to everyone’s great surprise, the train was scarcely heated. The N.Z. Railways generally err in the other direction. We had been over-hot on the journey to Dunedin, and were told that it was the custom to have the trains much heated. It was rather miserable for Herbert, for though his neuralgia had practically cleared up, with the finishing off of the work on his tooth, and the chill on the tummy was also cured, he had developed a heavy cold in the head. Marion came to the station to see us off, and found a number of friends going on the train, including one of the local magistrates, who was going up to try cases at Oamaru, for which place we were bound. He came and talked to us for a long while. He and Herbert compared notes and swapped yarns about trying cases. I had a long talk too, with a Mrs Herrick, sister-in-law of a Mr Herrick who was a few days in Calcutta some years ago, while on a flight to England in a plane piloted by Francis Chichester. Through Idris Matthews, I saw a good deal of them at that time and was able to help them a bit. Mrs Herrick has, or had, three sons in the R.A.F. and two in the Navy, all fighting. One .R.A.F. son was killed a few weeks ago. Her courage in speaking of it, and the splendid way she has taken it, are a fine example. I am sorry we could not accept her invitation to go to Hawks Bay to see her, and her brother-in-law, and his sister, Miss Herrick, who is Chief Commissioner for Girl Guides in N.Z., but rushing about too much is tiring and expensive. We stopped at Oamaru to see Dan Bryant, who was on the 1935 Everest Expedition (see last week’s letter!) At Oamaru the wind was stronger and colder than ever, as we hurried round to the hotel on foot, leaving our suitcases to be picked up later. Mr Bryant could not get away from the school where he teaches in time to meet the train, but turned up a little later at the hotel. He took us up to see the Waitaki Boys High school, a free government school, with paying houses for borders. Seeing it interested us a great deal. The buildings and whole layout in spacious grounds, and charming gardens, are excellent, and the Hall of Remembrance, memorial to the Old Boys who were killed in the last war is very fine indeed. I am specially glad to have seen it, for N.Z. is not rich in good buildings. We had tea in a sort of guest’s drawing room and later went over to Mr. Bryant’s room to see some photos. Alas! There was no fire or heater there, so the pleasure of looking at the pictures was somewhat spoilt. It was evidently a real pleasure to him to talk about matters connected with his Indian climbing, and friends, and fun to hear little tit-bits from him too. He came back to dinner at the hotel with us, and afterwards drove us about five miles out of the town to the house of a Mr and Mrs Stevenson, who farm, sheep, dairy, and what-not. Mr Stevenson is the secretary of the local section of the N.Z. Alpine Club, and had gathered a party of about fifteen of the local members, all as keen as mustard, to meet us. It was a charming looking house, and we were in a nice warm room, the first really snug place we had struck that day. To begin with we were talking in groups, and then Mr Bryant suggested that I should tell the party a few things about the Himalayas, and give them some idea of my impressions of the N.Z. mountains. After a little, by dint of asking M. Bryant to enlarge upon, or corroborate my statements, we got a sort of dual talk going, with questions coming from the audience, which made it rather fun. The inevitable tea sandwiches and cakes were brought in about 10.30, and again we split into two groups, one round me talking mountains, and one round Herbert bombarding him with questions about India. I have never seen more interested looking back views, and he says the intensity of the questioning was almost embarrassing. Once or twice we suggested going, but they begged us to stay a little longer, so that finally we did not get home till mi-night. A girl who was there asked if we would like a drive in the morning, as our train did not go till just after twelve, and she and her sister came round at 10 o’clock and took us for a delightful hour’s run, down the coast road, and circling inland to reach the town again. Its a nice coast-line, with small cliffs and bluffs, and the country is pleasant mildly hilly land, of mixed grass-land and crops, extremely English looking. Inland, some twenty miles away, the mountains of the great central group, which stretches practically the whole length of the Island, rose up finely, covered that morning with snow. Oamaru itself is a nice looking sea-side town, with wide streets and good buildings. The big main street is a boulevard with a double row of plane trees down it. For its population of seven thousand, we thought the standard of the place high, both in its lay-out, and in its buildings. Its wealth has come from wheat and wool, according to Mr Bryant. For the first time that morning we saw N.Z.’s rabbit pest in its thousands. We had only seen normal quantities of the little beasts before, but near Oamaru we saw fields thick with them. For morning tea we were taken to the house of a Doctor and Mrs Butler. Mrs Butler is a keen member of the Alpine Club who had not been able to come to the party the previous night, and was anxious to meet us. Before her marriage she was a “girl” guide at the Hermitage, and is said to be a fine climber. She was a charming little person and I was only sorry that our visit had to be brief, for it was necessary to catch our train. Mr Bryant had somehow got himself off one of his classes, and was at the station to see us off. The train on this day was heated to hot-house temperature, and we soon had to peel off coats. The cars on the N.Z. railways are each one big unit, like Pullman’s. There are two arm-chairs side by side, then space to walk, and then a third chair. By a strange coincidence, the third chair in our row was occupied by a lady, with whom we got into conversation, and who turned out to be Marion Scott’s cousin. She lives in Auckland, and has asked us to go to see her there. By the time we had got to within an hour’s journey of Christchurch, the weather was much warmer, and the cold wind had gone, for which we were thankful. It has been nice ever since we arrived here. (By the way, I had to stop this yesterday and it is now Easter Sunday) Yesterday there was a Nor-West wind blowing, the wind that always brings rain to the West Coast, and hot fine weather this side of the ranges. Here it was almost like summer, and we were too warmly clad when we went for a walk in the Botanical Gardens before lunch. The gardens are still charming, though the leaves are falling, and the flowers are going past. Many were nipped by last week’s unusually early frosts. We were lucky to have a good day to go out to tea in one of the suburbs of the town, with the charming old lady, Miss Neave, whom we met with her niece at Queenstown. She and her sister have lived in that same house for fifty years, but it is a good deal older than that, and was settled by an early settler, before her family took it over. She asked us to get out there by three o’clock, so that we could go round the place before tea. One might easily have been in some small estate in England. The house is of wood, but it is a roomy two-storied building, much gabled. Round it are lawns and gardens, melting on one side into English woodland, where, in the spring, all the English wild flowers, such as snow-drops, violets, primroses, celandines, and so on bloom. Behind there is the very picture of a vegetable garden, and beyond an orchard. On the lawn there are some fine oaks, and beyond a group of walnuts. To the north, across the paddocks, (which the old ladies have leased out) is a delightful view to the Port Hills, which might be the Downs on a rather larger scale. I enjoyed seeing it all, and talking to Miss Neave, who is an amusing and shrewd old lady. The niece had a couple of friends out, and we all had tea round the dining-room table, as we used to do at home. Our time here so far, has mostly been taken up with seeing people, and doing jobs. The Mrs Barker, who was so good to us when we were here before, came to see us on Thursday afternoon, and we took her out to tea in the town. In the morning I had been busy on the telephone, getting in touch with people who had asked us to let them know when we were back. Then we had a few jobs to do in the shops, cinema tickets to book, and for me a shampoo and set, which I had been needing for some time. A quiet evening at home by our own fire-side was a great boon to me, and gave me a chance to write some of the “Thank you” letters, for all the kindness we had received. On Friday afternoon we went to tea with the old School-Master, Mr Kennedy, President of the Canterbury Mountaineering Club, who had lent Herbert a book on Astronomy. We had to return his book, and I wanted some advice and help about the collection of photos I am making, with a view to the fact that the Himalayan Club in Calcutta will be sure to want to hear about the N.Z. Mountains from me. As a result of our visit Mr Kennedy gave me a number of beautiful photos, saying that once he has made the lantern slides, on which he is so keen, from the pictures, he does not need the prints any more.
Yesterday evening we had Peter Graham’s two school-boy sons to dinner and afterwards took them to the film “Maryland”, which we thought pretty poor stuff, but I hope the lads enjoyed their outing. They are nice boys.
From now on till we leave on Thursday evening by boat for Wellington, our time is pretty full. I hope it will be fine to-morrow, for we are being taken for a long day’s motoring to a place called Hanmer, up in the Hills. There is petrol rationing here, but people mostly use bicycles or trams in the town, and save their petrol for occasional long runs or wet days.
Herbert’s cold is still heavy and making him feel rather miserable. Short of staying in bed, which he is not keen to do, I dont know what to do for him. The difficulty he has in throwing off any complaint he gets, backs up my belief that he should drop work in India as soon as it is possible. Of course, I most throughly sympathize with him in feeling that he cannot drop work while the war lasts, and it would be difficult for him to find anything he could do outside India, or to fit into a different niche at his age. I can only hope that he will manage to keep some degree of health. The chills and cold he has been suffering from the last few weeks, have been disappointing, to say the least of it, and have, naturally made him terribly afraid of cold weather. Its hard to find a place which is just right for him, for I am afraid that in tropical conditions, he runs the great risk of the return of his enemy, dysentery.
It was with some difficulty that I got going with this letter. When news of the war is as grave as it has been the last few days, the feeling of the futility and smallness of ones own doings and troubles is so strong upon one that it makes it hard to chronicle them on paper. Comment on the news from Europe and the middle East is useless, but we are anxious and worried and thinking constantly of the troops involved in the tremendous struggle, and of all of you at home.
There may be some delay in getting a letter off to you next week, for when staying with people, it is not always easy to get away and settle down to write.
Best love to you all, dear people.
LJT
From LJT to Annette No 13
The Lodge. Christchurch. N.Z.
April 14th 1941
My Darling Annette,
As usual, an English mail arrived, just as I had posted my weekly batch. It contained, amongst several others things, a nice letter from you about a week-end at Oxford early in February. I am awfully glad you are able to get over there now and again, and see some of your old friends, and have a change from the work atmosphere. You brief account of a walk on Port Meadow brought such a vivid picture of it before my mind. I hope the gramaphone which when you last mentioned it a long while ago, had some thing wrong with it, was put right successfully. I’m afraid I have not written you a decent personal letter for some time. The family letters have been so long, that they have left me little time for others. I seem to have had a lot of miscellaneous correspondance to attend to of late; - - letters arranging about visits; letters saying thank-you for hospitality; letters about passages; and about money affairs. Though Dad is, I fear a bit bored with having no work to do, I cant induce him to take on any of the letter-writing. I’ve just been reading through your last four letters. I rather like reading several to-gether like that. I fancy it gives me more of the atmosphere of your life and environment. The winter must have been pretty trying, especially when you got dnow, rain, thaw and frost all on top of one another. I have been thinking pretty constantly of all of you at home through the winter season. Writing about our doings becomes difficult just in ratio to the seriousness of the War News. The German drive into Yugo-Slavia and Greece this - - no - - last week, fixes ones mind on what is or may be happening there, and one ceases to be very interested in ones own concerns, and feels disinclined to inflict them on anyone else. However I do know that for all of you under the constant strain of working and of air raids, it is good and necessary to have moments when you can divert your minds to other things. The evening we heard that the Germans had got Salonika, I found my chatty book on climbing and hiking, which was given to me by its author in Dunedin, and soon found my mind soothed and calmed by it, so that I could turn over and sleep.
Having reduced my extra weight and bulk most successfully by climbing mountains, I am very much afraid that I am now beginning to put it on again, and I must try to do some exercises. The difficulty is that I feel self-conscious doing them with Dad looking on. He always says I am doing them wrong! We take a great interest in the progress of the Russian. I wonder whether all the lessons are like the French and whether the poor husband says “Mais! C’est la ruine” when he gets the bill from the wife’s hair-dresser.
Best love
Mother
From LJT to Romey
The Lodge, Christchurch. NZ
April 15th, 1941
My darling Romey,
Yesterday evening I saw a notice in the paper to the effect that the Clipper mail closes at 12 o’clock today at the Post Office here. This came as a complete surprise to me, for there was a mail out last week and I have always understood that they only go once a fortnight. However, I am hurrying a letter to you and will run out to the post shortly and find about it. We have enjoyed a splendid bunch of letters from you.
The Ice Carnival must be a fine affair though we agree with you that finishing with “there’ll always be an England” must have seemed a bit out of the atmosphere. I suppose your snow has all gone now. I wonder whether the trees and plants come with a tremendous rush after it goes like they do in Switzerland and the alpine regions of most mountain ranges. Thank you for explaining about the Fraternities and Sororities. It seems rather an odd system as seen from the outside, for from what I have heard previously, they do not appear to be based on a community of tastes amongst the members, as for instance a musical or art society or Mountaineering Club.
Your poor Dad is being made to feel very miserable by a bad cold. It is a chilly, wet morning today, so I have persuaded him to stay in bed. This house is not warmed at all, as far as I can see, and the dining-room is awfully cold if the sun is not shining. Luckily we have a fireplace in the bedroom and I have been running a fire there all day and every day. Dad is fearfully susceptible to cold and frightened of it too, so it is unfortunate that we did not arrange to go up to the North Island and across to Australia earlier. Everyone said it would not begin to get cold till May---but as fate would have it, we have had this exceptionally cold wet snap.
I had intended to go through your last letters and make notes of things to answer and talk about, but at the moment I have no time, for some people are coming at 10:30 to take us (it will only be me, as Dad is in bed) to see the University buildings and the Chapel and Memorial Hall of the big boys’ school her. I had extra things to do this morning in re-making Dad’s bed, seeing about his breakfast and so on and sending clothes to the laundry -- and now I have just been away to answer the telephone.
The grave news from Europe and the Middle East makes writing about ones own little doings difficult in some ways. What devilish power the German Army seems to have! Thank Heaven they haven’t the same strength on the sea!
The information you gave us about different types of skates was most interesting, for we knew nothing about them previously, and it gave an added interest to a good picture about ‘Winter Sports in Canada and America,’ which we saw on Saturday night.
Even in this vague sort of wandering life, it is extraordinary what a lot of things there always seem to be to attend to. Letters bulk large, and then there is washing and mending, attending to accounts, finding out about journeys and so on. Sorry! This is a wretched letter I fear. Give our love to Susie, Helen and John, and lots and lots to your dear self.
Mother
From LJT to Annette No 14
26 Wade Street. Wellington. N.Z.
April 19th 1941.
My darling Annette,
Its lovely to arrive at a new place, and find a bunch of letters waiting to greet one, as we did on Friday morning. Yours was dated Feb 13th so it seems that the mails have settled down into taking just about two months, whether they are sent by sea or sea/air. I cant quite make out why, air-mail is not quicker but have a feeling that by part-air transit, they are less likely to be lost. There was also a cable telling of Peggy’s forthcoming marriage. It will be exciting to hear who Michael Pringle is. At present we have no recollection of ever having heard of him, so it will be fun to find him turning up in letters.
I was sorry to hear that you are bothered by Mr Evans getting fits of the sulks. People can make their own and other peoples’ lives so uncomfortable by indulging in such futile displays of bad temper. its a useful training for life, to learn how to manage and get on with people who behave in that way. It was Nannie Roper’s great fault, especially in her early days with us, and I went through some difficult moments with her. She got much better as the years went on. Once or twice I had to have a few words with her, but as a rule I behaved as if I did not notice anything. A curious example of giving offence was long ago in Cornwall, when we spent a summer in Looe. Our little landlady had always been very pleasant and was extremely nice when you came out in a rash from eating strawberries or lobster or something, and we thought it was measles, but towards the end of our stay, Molly and Harold Franks turned up in Looe, and I told Mrs - - - - (I dont remember her name) that I would like to ask them in to coffee after supper, if she would not mind making some, or allowing Nannie to do so. She seemed perfectly agreable. To make the little room suitable for several people to sit and talk, Nannie and I pushed the table back against the wall after supper, and brought forward the couch. This apparantly infuriated Mrs (?) and she poured out a torrent of complaint the following day, saying I behaved as if the house belonged to me etc. etc. My private opinion was that as I had rented all the rooms she had in the house for three or four months, they were, for the time being, mine, and I was quite at liberty to move furniture, provided I put it back before I left. However I said I was extremely sorry, and would be careful to consult her before I moved anything in future. From many instances I have come to suspect that the people who get so annoyed by things of this sort, are those who in some way have not a sufficient outlet for their sense of authority. i would hazard a guess that mr Evans in his work holds some position where he obeys and has little or no chance to command. I hope his sulks wont prove so disagreable as to force you to move. I debate whether it would be wiser to send this letter to Highways instead of Buckingham Rd.
Tell me, was Barbara Roscoe at oxford with you? Also was the Helen who is willing to take up Recorder-playing also a friend of pre-war times? I have not carried out my plan of looking back through all your letters and making notes about your friends, yet. It always seems difficult to find the time. I was glad to hear a mention of Uncle Bous and family, for I have not heard anything of them for ages. I am pretty sure that a letter from Uncle Bous must have been lost, for he always writes for Christmas and my birthday, but he is about the only member of the family from whom I did not hear this year. Fancy poor Betty having measels!
I feel in that curious state of dual existance to-day, which comes upon us so strongly when things are specially grave in the war zone. There is a surface part of one which carries in with apparant cheerfulness and gives attention to all the little happenings and interests of every day, but inside there is a great ache of anxiety and pity. The great air raid on London on the night of April 16th – 17th makes terrible reading, and if terrible to read about, how much more awful it must have been to endure. The mind goes searching to find if there is any key to this apparantly sensless slaughter and waste. There are so many “ifs”. “If this had been done”. “If that had not been done” that war would not have happened, so people say, - -but sometimes there seems to be a feeling that it had to be, for some reason beyond our comprehension – There are people who believe that all events are mapped out, and unroll themselves like a film. I find it hard to accept that, and like to believe that mankind can and does influence its destiny, but the problem seems too big to wrestle with. The mind “falls back reeling from the task” to use words, stolen, I think, from some poem of Browning’s
I hope that the various things you are able to do out of work time, make life not too dull for you. One cant help realizing that your present existance cant be too amusing, apart from the danger you all share in England, and it makes us proud to know that you are carrying on your job without any sort of complaint or questioning. God grant it wont be too long before the tide really turns against Hitler and his terrible army.
Best love, dear daughter
from Mother
Did you ever pay the £90 paid you in January back into our account? If not, could you do so?
Family letter from LJT No 14
26 Wade Street. Wellington N.Z.
April 21st 1941.
My Dears,
We find ourselves here as part of the most charming household, feeling just as much at home as if we were old friends or relations, who had come back after a long absence. Mr. Grainger is Uncle to Mrs. Wright Nevill, a friend in Chinsurah, so there is no close or essential reason why he and his wife should be so hospitable to us, other than sheer goodness of heart. The family consists of two pairs of twins, in each case a boy and a girl. The elder girl is married, and her husband fighting in Greece, while her twin brother John is in the Merchant Service, at the moment, as far as they know, in England. They had a cable last week to say he was well but would not be seeing them yet awhile. The younger girl, Dorothy, is working in Government Service here, and her twin, Derrick, was in England, but went to Egypt, and is now as far as they know in Greece. They are both dear girls, bright, intelligent, full of fun, and not letting their grave anxiety for husband and brothers dim there interest or throw a heavy shadow over their personalities. Mr. Grainger is the kindliest and most patient of men, much teased by his daughters, who adore him. He has done many things in his time. It seems that he was originally a marine Engineer, but he is now in Government Service. Mrs. Grainger seems the perfect mother and housewife. She creates an atmosphere rather like that of Highways. There is the same easy happiness about the house, and she lets me help with the washing-up and doing out the rooms, so that I do not feel our presence makes too much extra work. She laughs at the idea that we are a nuisance, and says she is used to having lots of people in the house, for her children have always brought their friends home, and before she married she lived as a member of a very large family in one of the old pioneering homes at Patea (near Wanganui) where they always kept open house. Her maiden name was Gibson and her forebears were some of the early settlers, who had to fight the Maoris, and eventually make friends with them. An added charm to our arrival was to find a big English Mail (letters dated Feb 16th) and also a bunch of letters from Romey (Dated March 23rd), and most exciting of all a cable announcing Peg’s engagement to Michael Pringle. This was sent off from Whitham on the 12th April, apparantly, and received here on the 16th. It is specially intriguing because we cannot remember having heard of Michael Pringle, and now we shall look eagerly for mention of him in letters. Its nice to get a happy bit of news like this when we are feeling pretty anxious. I do admire the family here, for they must be terribly anxious about the boys in Greece, but they just dont allow it to show. Richard’s photo arrived too, but, though I am pleased to have it, I dont think it a good likeness. He seems to look stiff and unnatural directly he gets into the hands of a professional photographer, though snap shots of him are often good.
It will be best if I go back and tell you a little of the rest of our time in Christchurch, for I see I wrote my letter on the Sunday. We were hoping for a fine day on Easter Monday, for Mr. and Mrs. Buchanan (Mr B. is a vice chairman of the N.Z. Alpine Club and also of the Canterbury Mountaineering Club) had asked us to o for a day’s motoring with them. Sad to say it was so wet and cold that there was no question of going, and we just went round to tea with the Buchanans instead. We also missed a motor run with Mrs Barker on the Sunday for the same reason. She did come round after lunch and took me to a Convalescent Home on the foot of the Cashmere Hills, where Mrs Peter Graham was staying after an operation. We had tea and a long talk with Mrs Peter, and then back to see Herbert, who was staying in and nursing his cold. He decided not to come to supper with Mrs Barker, and on to the house of a Mr Mitchell, (Editor of the C.M. Club Journal) to see coloured slides of the country we had been in, on the West Coast. I was sorry to leave him alone, but felt it would be disappointing to the people who had arranged parties for us, if I did not go. I had a delightful evening, and Mr Mitchell gave me a number of excellent photos, so that my collection is greatly improved. Herbert’s cold seemed better for a day in the house, and mostly in his own room, and I kept him upstairs on Monday morning, but he ventured out to tea with the Buchanans, and later to dinner with a Mr and Mrs Weston, who had been at The Hermitage, and at Queenstown with us. Mr Weston is an elderly solicitor, evidently with comfortable means, for they have a lovely house, and charming pictures. It was an interesting evening, for Mr Weston comes of an old Christchurch family, who have been lawyers there for two or three generations. I like meeting the people who following on in their forebears footsteps, have built up the structure of society in a new country. Mr Weston asked whether we would like to see the University and Christ’s College, one of the leading Boys’ Schools, where he was educated, and from where we had fetched the Graham boys a few days previously. It was arranged that Mr Weston should call for us the following morning, and take us for a tour of inspection. Unfortunately the weather was still bad, and Herbert’s cold very uncomfortable when the time came, so he stayed in bed, and I went to see the various places. On the whole I was well impressed with them. In both University and school the object has been to stick as closely as possible to English methods. The buildings are a decent modern Gothic, in grey stone. Some of the big halls and libraries are fine places, and the University dining hall has an excellent modern stained glass window, the War Memorial to those who fell in the last war. It is in much the same style as the windows in the Memorial at Edinburgh. The boys I have met from Christ’s College and those we encountered running about in the school, all had very good manners. Neville Barker and his mother had a party for us that evening, but it was still bad weather and Herbert was afraid to venture out. I was pleased to meet some of the lads who had been so kind to us on our previous visit, and one or two new people, including the General Secretary of the N.Z. Alpine Club, who is an interesting and vivid talker, and a man, Professor of Economics at the University, who is collaborating with Neville Barker in writing a history of N.Z.. He was disappointed not to meet Herbert, so we fixed up for him to come and visit us before lunch the following day. I was thankful to find that Herbert was considerably better on Wednesday, and ventured to go out to the cinema to see “The Great Dictator” in the evening. The Barkers came to dinner with us and Mrs B came on to the film, but Neville had to go back to his office. He is on the staff of one of the big Chch papers. We thought the film dreadful. It made me feel quite uncomfortable and ashamed. Of course there were moments when Charlie showed gleams of his genious for the absurd, as when he was upside-down in the areoplane, and could not get his watch to stay in his pocket, or when he put the coins out of the puddings into his mouth, and got hicc-cups, so that they all clinked to-gether. We did not have to leave till 7 o’clock on Thursday, so we were able to go over the Union Jack Club for soldiers, which is being run by voluntry funds and voluntry labour. There is a big training camp and also an air training school just outside Chch, and this place is evidently an enormous boon to the men. They can get simple meals there and sleep there, and there are recreation rooms, and reading rooms for them. Our night’s journey on the boat was most comfortable. It is the ordinary link between the two towns of Wellington and Chch, for there is no railway at present, though parts of one are under construction. Although the boat got in at 7 a.m., Mr and Mrs Grainger were down on the jetty to meet us, with their car. Dont you call that wonderful hospitality? When we arrived at the house, the two girls were just cooking the breakfast, and within a few minutes we had been made to feel absolutely at home. We have had a good deal of business to attend to here, but we spent a delightful evening with the Seddons, whom we met in Waiho, and the Graingers took us out for the whole day on Sunday, which luckily was fine. We drove up the West coast for some thirty miles, going by “the old road” over the hills. It is a big climb, with a splendid view across to the South Island from the summit. We had lunch with Mrs Grainger’s youngest sister at her charming country, or rather sea-side cottage at Otaki Beach. After lunch we drove on another twenty or thirty miles, to have tea and the early supper (more often called “tea” here, with four o’clock tea, spoken of as “afternoon tea”) with a delightful family, a neice of Mrs Grainger’s who is married to a dairy farmer, and has three enchanting children. The farm is well situated in pretty country, at the foot of a considerable range of hills, with its own little river running through the fields. After a cup of tea, Dorothy Grainger (the younger girl) and I went off with the three kids, Judy, aged about nine, Michael seven and a half, and Sally, six, to see the cows milked. There are about thirty cows, most of them Jerseys. They know their names, and will come when called, for their turn to be milked, but if one is absent or doesnt come, the collie, Scottie, knows them all by name, and goes to get which-ever one is wanted. We were shown the bull by the children, and were delighted to find that he looked just like the famous “Ferdinand”. To the great pleasure of the children, we scrambled over a little stream and climbed a small hill, from which we got a pretty view all round. I could go on talking a lot about the farm, but must hurry on and finish this, for I have a busy week before me, including a big re-pack, for we shall send our trunks off from here to India, in the hope that they may arrive somewhere about the same time we do.
Last night I went to a Maori Concert with the Graingers. Herbert felt he could not bear it and stayed at home. I enjoyed it immensely. There was a good deal of dancing as well as singing. We had two war dances by the men, and several poy dances, some by girls only, some mixed.
The paper is almost finished, and I must say good-bye. We are watching so anxiously for news all the time.
Best love to you all,
LJT
From HPV to Richard and Annette
Wellington
April 22nd
Dear Children
Still my happiness is blighted by my cold. Like the angels seen by Jacob it keeps ascending and descending: and like Keats my senses reel. In fact I am singularly stupid: I refuse comfort.
We struggle with finance problems. First, there is the question of discovering what pay I must draw here: the rules would have it that I should draw, before I leave, all pay due up to the date of my return to India – which would be some 3 ½ months against the three or four weeks contemplated when the rule was made. Then there is the problem of the amounts that we shall spend here, so that I may apply for permission to take the balance out of the country. And on top of that is the question of possible difficulties in taking money out of Australia. The red tape is thick and I begin to feel that rather than face such futilities I should have done better to stay in India. Luckily there is a man in the Department dealing with leave salaries who is prepared to scorn red tape and he has simplified matters greatly.
I am much impressed by gadgets in New Zealand bathrooms, for heating the water and such: I have never been in a country where water came hotter from the taps, almost as soon as they are turned on. England of course delights in antiquated plumbing, and I think that the generality of places in New Zealand are a good deal better equipped than ours. Of course India, outside places like Calcutta and such places as Golmuri where big firms have built for employees in large factories, is hopelessly primitive in such matters.
The weather has treated us fairly well, though not well enough to enable me to get rid of my cold. There were for example two sunny days at Christchurch, and the sea was calm in the night when we crossed to Wellington. I adhere to the heresy that for scenic effects Wellington Harbour has Sydney Harbour knocked to a frazzle. Beautiful country round too. I shall be sorry to leave New Zealand though I am sick and tired of wandering from hotel to hotel: the life of a tourist is the life of a dog. It is a strange thing that I can remember none of the quaint doings (as of the ducks) or sayings which ought to furnish matter for home letters. Also I cannot manage to pursue my French studies or to continue attacks on the typewriter: it is clear that if my cold, or perhaps my leave, continues longer, I shall become imbecile.
April 23rd
We were taken out on Sunday for a run round – but I see that all this is in the circular letter. It does not say that there was at the tea-and-supper place a tame budgerigar, named Peter, which flew about from shoulder to shoulder (or hand) and demanded attention in a pleasant manner. Me he neglected till I started some agreeable (and to the other inaudible) clucking noises in my throat: these much have been very clearly heard by Peter, for he gazed fixedly at me for a moment and then flew across and settled himself attentively under my chin, listening with his head first on one side and then on the other in the utmost perplexity until for sheer exhaustion I stopped. Yesterday, when we had tea with a Russian girl whom we knew in Calcutta and who has married an airforce man, I was the object of much attention from the two year old baby who kept stroking the lines on my forehead (which are deep) and then feeling her own forehead, in compassion. I hope that the little creature will not practice making wrinkles on herself. This Russian girl is the daughter of the “What! no fur!” lady: a cheerful soul. We were glad to meet her.
This morning I received a present. Half a dozen pamphlets on astronomy including that about the constellations from which I have been copying the images all these weeks. (Wasted labour perhaps – but it may all help if I set myself to memorizing the details.) They were a present from the author, an old gentleman of 80 now, who had heard about me from Mr Kennedy of Christchurch.
Much love
Dad.
From LJT to Romey
26 Wade Street, Wellington
April 24th, 1941
My darling Romey,
There have been some delays in Clipper delivery, and several letters went on one post. We are out for the whole day tomorrow and letters for Clipper have to be posted by 10 am on Saturday. I never know whether that includes passing through the censor’s office and I think it should do. A letter from you was waiting to greet us here. No 10 of 23.3.41. Postmark, Winnipeg 27.3.41. There’s a good deal about the forthcoming exams - (I thought of you many times lately and wondered how you were getting on--). It is amusing to hear that you were given Track colours, and did not now you had received the honour. What exactly are Track colours?
I beg pardon “Letter” for Track for? I was interested in the description you had from the old man about blizzards. They must be fearful! It would be fun to go out into the woods with an Indian Guide, but don’t you think it would be more fun to move over to some place where it is a bit mountainous? You would, I think, have been interested in the evening we spent yesterday with old Mr. Harper, aged 76, who was one of the early surveyors of the NZ West Coast. He showed us lantern slides, illustrating the West Coast country and the Alps and Glaciers and gave us a lot of interesting information and told us amusing stories of odd experiences and of hardships he had undergone, making light of the latter and speaking of them as a matter of course. The old chap is still as active and upright as a man in his twenties.
As you may imagine, we are all feeling terrible, anxious about Greece. The anxiety is intensified on a personal note here, for the son and son-in-law of this household are both fighting there. The devilish power of the German army is something that appalls the mind.
There was an amusing dog incident here the other night. Mr. Seddon came to fetch us down to his house after dinner. With him came his dog--- a sort of half-breed sheep dog, “Harry” (So called because Mr. Seddon’s name is Tom and the elder son’s name is Dick) Mr. and Mrs. Grainger and ourselves all went off talking busily and never noticed that the dog was not with us. Later in the evening Dorothy Grainger, who had been out, arrived home, and going into the dining-room, found a strange dog lying in front of the fire. He was very friendly and not at all anxious to leave. She, of course, was completely puzzled. She searched for an open door or window by which he might have come, but everything was firmly shut. When told to go, he obeyed, but most reluctantly, and Dorothy went to bed with the mystery unsolved.
At Mr. Harper’s house last night, there was a lovely old sheep dog, “retired”, his master said, from work on his son’s farm. He gave the impression of being a noble old gentleman. These sheep dogs are splendid animals!
I was interested to hear about the way your First Aid Exam was worked. It was a good plan for dealing with a large crowd of people, and though it perhaps emphasized the question of “luck”, that factor is always present in any exam. Thank you for two excellent stories -- ie “gaseous me” and “virtuosity”. Here is one for you, I heard yesterday. In concerns an old Irishwoman who loves long words, and as long as they sound somewhat alike, does not bother much about their exact meaning. Telling of some girl who had fainted she said “And there was the poor soul, lying prostitute on the floor”----.
We are traveling so much in the next two weeks, that my letter-writing may be a little vague, but I’ll do my best. Love and greeting to Cousin Susie and to Helen and John, and heaps and heaps of love to yourself,
From Mother