1941 February
Family letter No 4 from LJT
Franz Joseph Glacier Hotel
Waiho Gorge
New Zealand
Feb 3rd 1941.
My Dears,
There is not so much to report about this week, for the weather has been bad. From Monday to Thursday it was definitely wet, and only cleared up moderately on Friday and Saturday, turning terribly wet again yesterday, but I am glad to say it is fine again this morning. The topic of the weather was particularly urgent, for Mr Crighton, who did the climb up Drummond with us, was waiting to go off with Harry Ayres, to try some real climbing, and if Harry thought him good enough, to have a shot at Mount Cook. His time is limited, and he was longing to be off. They finally left on Saturday, rather against Harry’s judgment, I think. They must have been marooned in the Almer Hut yesterday, and Peter Graham says he thinks they will have to come back here to-day, for he is pretty sure there will be a lot of new soft snow on the tops, and also though the rain has stopped, there is a lot of cloud about, and it does not look at all settled. As far as we are concerned, the weather has not mattered. The day after we got back from Almer, I noticed a little spot that had gone septic, just a tiny little thing. I squeezed it and dabbed on iodine, but by evening my ankle was swelled (the spot was low down on the shin), so I consulted Mr Alec Graham, whose early ambition had been to be a doctor, and who was a stretcher bearer in the last war, and did a lot of dresser’s work as well. He took me in hand, ordered hot formentations, and put on anti-phlogistine (How to spell?). Though we followed this treatment for two days, it did not seem to go down very much, and a nice doctor from Wellington, who happened to be looking into the office, where Mr Alec was attending to the leg, advised dressings of glycerine and epsom salts, which have proved effective, and the place is almost well now. It has been the means of giving us a chance of hearing some fascinating tales of his early climbs, when these mountains were still largely unexplored. He would drift into the little sitting-room after the evening tea, which comes at 9.30 p.m, ready to do the last dressing to the foot, and then he would sit down and Miss Scott, Graham Somerville and I would put out bait to get him to talk. He has a great gift of narrative and a delightful sense of humour. Sometimes Mr Peter would come in too, and its great fun to get the two of them telling tales to-gether, so to speak. Mr Peter as a youth, went with a party looking for gold, up a steep gorge just behind this hotel. With them was a peppery little doctor, who was doing a year’s locum at the town of Hokitika, up the coast. Eventually they got out of the bush into the Alpine country and on to the edge of the snow. Mr Peter and Dr Tichleman forgot about the gold, they were so fascinated by the flowers and the snow, left the others and did some exploration. That was the beginning of a long partnership of climbing and exploration, for the doctor was never able to tear himself away from “the Coast” and died in Hokitika a couple of years ago. A large genial canon of the Church became the next of their companions, and Alec Graham was drawn in too. These four made any number of first ascents, and not only that, but any number of first approaches to peaks, up unexplored valleys.
The doctor from Wellington has kindly given me some advice about Herbert. He was, as I said last week, tired when we got back from the mountains, but as far as I could see healthily so. A couple of days later, the weather turned cold, and I think he must have got a slight chill on his liver. He began to feel very rotten and depressed. The doctor says that undoubtedly Herbert has been eating food here which is bad for; - - the doctor actually used the word “poison” - - to anyone with a groggy liver. There are always great bowls of cream on the tables, and many of the sweets are very creamy. Also since fish is almost impossible to get here, breakfast is always eggs in some form, bacon and sausages (chops or steaks too, if liked). Eggs and fatty things must also be taboo for Herbert, so he has to deny himself, and for the sake of feeling fit, avoid all these nice things. He is distinctly better again now, and after this advice, I hope he will watch his diet carefully, boreing though it is to have to do so. I feel comforted to have some definite advice on the subject of his health. On the whole he seems so very much better than he was, and stronger in every way. Its awfully amusing to watch the reactions of Harry Ayres, the Guide, to Herbert’s nonsense. Harry is an extremely nice fellow, not in the least stupid, but simple, and not given to flights of fancy. He has the same bright blue eyes that Herbert has, and he looks at Herbert wondering how much of all this flow of talk bears any relation to reality. We have had one triumph with him. When we went up Moltke, Herbert kept on seeing pictures of animals and faces in the rocks and the snow on the mountains. Harry got awfully worried. “Well” he would say “I can see the Minarettes, but I cant see any horse”. However on the Drummond trip, he began to get the knack of this picture seeing, distinguished the horse, and even found a few things for himself. We were sorry to say good-bye to Miss Scott on Saturday. We had become good friends. She has asked us to spend a week with her in Dunedin. She said she hesitated to do so till she had seen us up at the Hut, when she realized that we were quite willing and able to wash up and sweep floors and such, and so would not mind staying in a house without a maid. Graham Somerville goes off in a few days too, and will be back at his hospital work in Dunedin, so we shall see him there too. He is an awfully pleasant intelligent young man, keen not only on his own medical work and his mountain hobby, but well read in other directions too.
The wet weather and the poisoned bite, which has made it unwise for me to walk much, have given me a splendid chance to write lots of letters and to do accounts, wash, mend, sew, and I have not felt the time hang at all heavy on my hands. I have spent a few happy half hours with Mr Alec’s botanical books, and have got the hang of the more ordinary of the New Zealand alpine flowers. There is a photographer here, Mark Lysons, who is incidentally quite a good mountaineer, and has married a Graham daughter. He went up to the Alpine “garden” on Moltke a few days after we had been there, and photographed most of the flowers, so I have been able to get copies from him, and they are a great pleasure to me.
Have I told you about the keas or mountain parrotts? I dont think I have. They are a feature of all high camping and climbing in New Zealand. They are big dull olive-green birds, but the undersides of their wings and their sides under the wings are a beautiful deep red. They are extremely fond of human company, they are mischievous, and curious. Within a short time of a party arriving at a hut, or, so say our friends, setting up a camp, some keas are sure to arrive. If you are foolish enough to leave socks or scarves or anything drying on the rocks or bushes, the keas are on to it at once. Kept in their proper place, they are amusing. They approach, hopping sideways, with the true parrot walk, and wearing expressions of ancient wicked wisdom that one cant describe. If one has patience to sit still they will come right up and take food out of ones hand. Or if one puts stuff down for them, they will come into the doorway of the hut for it. Many stories are told of the damage they have done to light mountain tents and sleeping bags while parties are away climbing. They can tear up most fabrics with their powerful hooked bills. Mr Alec and Mr Peter, who are both good amature naturalists, say that the native birds of New Zealand, are all very tame. Previous to the arrival of man, and the introduction of all sorts of animals by well-meaning but gravely mistaken people, they had no enemies, so found no reason to fear other living things. The result is that many of them are now practically extinct.
We have been listening with such pride and excitement to the splendid results of the African campaign, and we are always anxious to hear how the air-raids are developing over England. We were told that radio reception was bad here in the mountains, but we seem to get Daventry well and find it a great comfort to be in touch with the news. Thoughts of War are the constant background of ones mind, and ready to obtrude themselves at any moment.
The cloudy nights lately have disappointed us of seeing the comet, but we did see it at last, last night. Now the weather is better, and I am becoming more annoyed at not being able to walk because of the poisoned bite.
Best love to you all
LJT
From LJT to Annette No 4
Franz Joseph Glacier Hotel
Waiho Gorge.
Feb: 2nd 1941
My darling Annette,
A double post arrived from England three evenings ago, bringing all sorts of interesting news, including a reference to Dopey being safe at home. The letter with news of her recovery must have been the one that was lost. You letter was dated Nov 27th, and it gave me a creepy feeling along the spine to hear how close the twelve small bombs had been to you. Its almost impossible for us to visualize - - no! vizulize is the wrong word; - - - to grasp; - - realize - - what the raids must be like.
Its good to read that you are getting some diversions from work, and it was a small coincidence that both you and Richard should talk about Scottish Dancing. I wonder whether Dicky ever got the length of learning any. It is nice that you are near enough to get over to Oxford now and again. From long ago I have rather feared that Gavin was given to being something of a poser. Its curious how often it happens that people who are keen on acting do not behave absolutely naturally in their every-day life. There are probably all sorts of psychological reasons for it. I confess I quickly tire of people who put on false fronts, however charming they may be. I dont know whether one can judge ones own children or see them fairly, but I think one of Dicky’s charms is his naturalness. I never met Robert Levens as far as I remember, but I rather got an impression that he might be of the clever-clever type who can only be bothered with their own special fancies. Its odd that with parents as markedly natural as Uncle and aunt, Gav should have developed a shell of unreality about himself. Does he ever speak of his views now? Its incredible how he can still cling to them. Dad and I are both vastly intrigued about your plunge into Russian. I marvel at your energy and your courage! I hope your efforts meet with success. It will be fun if you can throw a few words of Russian at Ron next time you meet him. I wonder whether he remembers anything of what he learnt. One of the men who went out into the mountains with us last week, though in the Malay Civil Service, has been spending two years in China learning Chinese, so that he can tackle the work of dealing with Chinese labour. Apparantly more than half the population of Singapore is Chinese. This is rather a labourious introduction to the somewhat dull little story of how Mr Cromwell’s demonstration of the connection, or lack of it, between Chinese symbols and Chinese speech works, fascinated sixteen-year-old Mary Seddon and Keith Graham and the younger fourteen year old Stephen, so that they all abandoned washing and tidying up the hut. Languages, I imagine, are not New Zealands strong suite in the educational line, and the children had been obviously interested in the talk that had been going on about various Eastern Languages, giving them a slant on a multiplicity of tongues that they had not encountered before. Mary took possession of a half sheet of paper with a lot of Chinese characters written on it, sighing at the dullness of having to write “Wellington” as her address in the Hut visitors’ book, after our names with “Malaya”. “Singapore”. “Calcutta. India”, I rather thought that the name she bears, that of her famous Grandfather who did so much to build up New Zealand, was much more romantic than anything that we could produce. She is an intelligent child, looking forward to going to a university, and at the present moment, longing to become an authoress. Perhaps she will. There must be great practical ability and vision on her fathers side of the family, and her mother is an artist quite out of the amature class. The poor Dad has been suffereing badly from liver the last two days. The quantities of cream supplied here are a constant snare and temptation to him. He loves cream, but its almost poisen to anyone with a groggy liver and he will have to give it up. There is a nice doctor from Wellington staying here and he has been giving Dad some advice this morning, to my great relief, for though I was pretty sure Dad ought to be more careful in his diet, I had not the real authority to suggest that he should give up all these nice things, so plentiful here. Perhaps its piggish of me to write about them, when you cant get them. The paper is going to run out in a moment, I see, so here’s good-bye and our best love to you
Mother
From LJT to Romey
Franz Joseph Glacier Hotel NZ
Feb 8th, 1941
My darling Romey,
Owing to the tiresome spot on my leg behaving so badly (see family letter) I am writing on my knee---- We have a double share of letters to thank you for this week, one typed and one hand-written, both done while you were in bed with a cold and dated 12th and 14th of January, received in Wellington on the 3rd and here on the 5th. Communications are not very rapid in many places here. The letters have to cross by boat form Wellington then they do a bit by tram, I think, and finish the journey by bus.
I am sorry you had a cold and trust it soon left you, and that missing a few lectures will not disturb your work. At the end of your letter you say some complimentary things about my letters. I am glad you like them, but I gravely doubt that there’s material enough in them for a book. There is nothing to worry about in your letter-writing ability. Everyone remarks on what good letters you have written since you went off to Canada. You have a natural style--( and what a difference that avoidance of affectation makes ) and a good knack of making people and events vivid. Dad, who as you know, is a most critical creature, thinks well of your writing.
We enjoy the account of Polo’s probable ancestry---Poor mite! It sounds like a Sikkimese folk tale. They were always doing things like marrying a flea to the daughter of the mountain---or a mouse to an elephant, or things of that sort, and reporting the most unexpected offspring from these unions.
It is nice that you will see (by now perhaps have seen) John Averil. I had often wondered whether he would be going out to his father. It’s nice to get your letters so quickly. The ones from home take about six weeks, and I am so impatient to get news of Dicky’s doings.
I too have kept all the letters from home, for it seemed to me, as it has seemed to you, that they have interesting material in them. Annette always writes well and has been through a good variety of experience. We are glad John has got some of the stamps. I put odd ones in from time to time and Dad posted a huge packet he got from Mr. Mackenzie before we left India. You notice I am trying to send all different NZ values on the envelopes.
Best love, my dear one,
Mother
From LJT to Annette No. 5
Franz Joseph Glacier Hotel
Waiho Gorge
N.Z.
Feb 10th 1941
My darling Annette
Since I am patiently waiting in my bed for the doctor to come and put plaster on my leg (see family letter) I will write to you by hand and hope it wont be sunk! No fresh letters have come from England, since I wrote last week, so I am getting hopeful of a fresh batch soon - .
The last few days I have been puzzling about what it is that makes some people able and ready to talk and discuss all sorts of things and others so heavy in hand: Education necessarily has something to do with it, but by no means all. Jack, the Dane (I suppose he has a sur-name but I have never heard it) who looks after the Equipment room here is the simple type who might easily have been a shepherd or a fisherman or a worker on the land. He is always doing odd jobs, if there are any to be done, and if there are not, he smokes his pipe and sits – He never looks hurried and he never looks bored. He is not garralous, but he can talk well and has thought out very sound opinions for himself on many subjects and has collected a great deal of first hand information – There’s the lorry-driver, too, who goes up and down this road, and gave us a lift one day – He might easily be an American gangster (as depicted on the films) to judge by his looks but in reality he seems to be the kindest, warm-hearted creature – He says if you take people as they are, you can almost always get on with them. For instance, so he says – he does not find it any more difficult to talk to foreigners like us, than to his own people – Its quite true: - he does’nt, and gave us a fine mixed bag of talk about the history of “The Coast” – gold-digging in general – politics and social problems. On the other hand there are a couple sitting at our table at the moment, who are dull as ditch-water. They are well-dressed – They come from Christchurch but we get from them only the mildest and most non-commital responses to our efforts to keep conversation going – Methods of cooking vegetables brought a flicker of genuine interest from the wife – but it was only a flicker. I wonder where their interest lie. On the whole we have been lucky and the few people who have been put at our table since Miss Scott left have been very nice – notably the McLeods – of whom I speak in the family letter.
Its odd how constantly the thoughts of you and Dicky and the other “family members”, weave in and out of this totally strange and remote life in New Zealand – Best love, my dear
Mother
Family letter from LJT No 5
Franz Joseph Glacier Hotel
Waiho gorge
N.Z.
Feb 11th 1941
My Dears,
Our plans have had to be modified because of the tiresome place on my leg. I told you last week that I had what we thought was a poisoned insect bite on my shin. We thought that hot fermentations and compresses of glycerine and epsoms’ salts as recommended by the doctor from Wellington were doing it good, but as the week went on the place seemed to get bigger and look more inflamed, so when the local doctor happened to be here on Thursday I showed it to him. He says there is a small abrasion on a little varicose vein (I feel greatly humbled to know that I have such a thing ) and that, as always happens if you get a small wound into a varicose vein, it was forming a small ulcer, and that the more we went on worrying it with fermentations and compresses the worse it would get. He had only come the twenty miles from his home on a pleasure party on Thursday, and had not got his stuff with him, so he could not put on the long tight bandage of elastoplast from the instep to just below the knee which he prescribes as the treatment, but promised to bring the stuff on his regular round on Saturday. He told me to stay in bed till he came on Saturday morning so that the leg should be as little swelled as possible when he put the bandage on. I duly stayed in bed, feeling very queer and lazy. He did not about ten o’clock as usual, and about 11.30 Miss Graham came up from the office to say that he had phoned to say that he had some urgent case and could not come, but would be along on Sunday. On Sunday I also stayed in bed. The hours went by. Lunch time came, and still no doctor. The afternoon went on, and he did not come. At last about 5.30, I got desperate, and sent Herbert down to ask if the office could phone him. I dont know why he had not been able to come, but he sent a message to say that he was sorry, but he was sure a day in bed had been quite good for me. As it had been pelting with rain and rather cold, most people said I had had the best of it, but one gets impatient of staying in bed when one feels quite well. Monday (yesterday morning) again I stayed in my bed, and again he was late, and did not arrive till lunch time. This time the delay was caused by a car break-down. This long bandage of elastoplast has to be left on untouched for a fortnight, and Dr Budd promises that by then the sore will be healed. Meantimes he says I can walk more or less as much as much as I like, but he thinks I had better not do anything in the nature of climbing, for fear of knocking the leg before it healed. He advises putting on another elastoplast bandage after this one is taken off, and leaving it on for a week or ten days, to protect the leg. I went out for a walk yesterday evening, but found after about a mile that the muscles in the calf of my leg began to ache. This morning I went out again, with much greater success, so I hope as the bandage gives a little, and I get used to it, I shall be able to walk quite freely. The place does not seem to hurt at all now, though it did a little before the bandage was put on. The doctor says he sees hundreds of places like this in the year. People have very slight varicose veins, and dont know it, and they, especially the men working in the saw mills, get cuts and bruises and start up little ulcers. Clean the place and put plaster on it at once, and leave it, is the doctor’s recipe, and he says it holds good for cuts and scratches not on veins. Its annoying to think that if I had done this immediately I found this place, which is a fortnight ago, it would have been healed by now in all probability. The pleasant bit about it is, that it gives us an excuse to stay on longer in this place where we are so happy. Herbert has quite got over his liver chill, I think, and seems well now, and is content here. We meet a lot of nice people, one way and another, and the Graham family themselves are so interesting. Very varied types come to this hotel. There are a constant stream of the not very intelligent type of tourist, who came for two nights, and make the trip up to the glacier on their day here, but there are generally a few people making longer stays and doing rather more enterprising things. During our stay there have been two extremely nice youngish couples who have big sheep runs on the other side of the mountains staying here. The McLeods, who were here recently have a place which is about ten miles long by ten miles broad, and they keep some fourteen thousand sheep on it. It comprises several mountains, their own private ice-fall, and a small snowfield which is ideal for skiing, once you get up there, but it entails a climb of 2,000 ft through heavy bush. They really were a delightful couple; nice to look at, and interesting and intelligent to talk to. They have not let life far from towns make them estranged from what is going on in the outside world, and seem to get and read the latest books, and keep themselves in close touch with the problems of the outside world, as well as with the affairs of the estate and the sheep. Recently another nice family from Wellington have been here. The father is an electrical engineer, and was here partly on business, giving the annual overhaul to the power-station here, and others at different places along the coast. His wife is a dear, and they have two very nice school-boy sons, aged eleven and thirteen. We said good-bye to them with regret this morning, and hope to see them again in Wellington. Another pleasant companion is an elderly woman, badly crippled by rhumatoid arthritis, who comes here every year from Dunedin for a month, while her companion goes for a holiday. Miss Joachim did a lot of camping and mild climbing in her younger days, and has travelled widely. She seems to know the south of Europe, spilling over into Asia. She is intelligent, interested in most things, and widely read. She adores travel books, and said to me the other day. “Have you ever met Ronald Kaulback when he was passing through India,” I like his books so much”. She was delighted when she heard that Ron is Herbert’s nephew, and enjoyed tales of the rich smell of Tibet that he and John Hanbury Tracy brought into the house at Cossipore, when they got back from their long journey. By the way, has anyone heard anything of John Hanbury Tracy? I suppose he had to abandon the South American Botanical Expedition when the war came. What thrilling news has been coming from Africa the last few days! It warms ones heart and swells ones pride to read or hear of a campaign as brilliantly executed as this African one. We heard the electrical transcription of Winston Churchill’s speech from Daventry pretty well yesterday evening. Herbert and others listened to the original at 8.30 a.m. yesterday, which was 8.30 p.m. on Sunday with you, but they said reception was not very good. It tends not to be good here, for some reasons to do with the mountains. It is noticeable here that what I might call the better bred and educated people, are the ones who turn up regularly to hear the news from Daventry morning and evening, and who like to here some of the commentaries.
As far as I am concerned, I have little to tell you of the weeks doings, for general opinion had it that I ought not to walk much on my leg, so I have been sitting about sewing and writing, either indoors when it has been indifferent weather, or in the garden when it was fine. During the hours I spent in bed waiting for the doctor, I read several of New Zealand’s most famous mountaineering books. The Graham brothers figure a good deal in several of them. Herbert continues with his typewriting and with his study of the stars, and has been out for walks most days. When we came back from our short walk this morning, we found Mrs Jim Graham working in her special corner of the garden. She complained that it was badly out of hand, for she can spare so little time to look after it. Herbert enquired if he could cut off “deads” for her, and the offer being accepted, he is now down there busily snipping.
Miss Graham rushed up to my room yesterday morning to show me a telegram from the Guide Harry Ayres, saying that he and the Mr. Crichton who went up Drummond with us, climbed Mt Cook on Friday. It is a great feather in both their caps, for Mr. Crichton had never been on a rope or used an ice axe when he came out with us to Mt Drummond a fortnight ago. He must have proved an apt pupil and Harry a good teacher and leader, to do a mountain like Cook after a fortnight’s training. It is true that Harry has climbed Cook three times before, but to get a novice up a mountain of that standard of difficulty is no mean achievement. Harry will be back to-day, and we are looking forward to hearing his story. We shall be here another two weeks at least.
Best love to you all,
LJT
Family Letter from LJT No 6
Franz Joseph Glacier Hotel
Waiho Gorge. N.Z.
Feb 17th 1941
My Dears,
Its an age since we had an English mail, and I am longing for a new lot of letters, and so hoping they will come before we leave here and start on our three day journey across the Alps, which we hope to do on Thursday, weather permitting. My leg is going on nicely, and the doctor says I can do anything I like, provided that I keep an elastoplast bandage on it for the next three or four weeks. After wearing the bandage for a couple of days, I found I could walk, and go over rough stuff in my climbing boots without any inconvenience. Harry Ayres had a letter from some people asking if he could go over and fetch them from the Hermitage towards the end of this month, and it was well worthwhile fitting in our flitting with this, for it saves both parties a good deal of expense, and saves Harry having to cross the passes twice alone. He got back from his Mt Cook trip last Tuesday, and we were in the garden helping Mrs Jim Graham when he arrived, and heard a few details about the climb. After dinner he slipped into the small lounge about 9.45 when we had just finished the evening tea, and we sat talking till 11.30. The weather had prevented him from giving Mr Crichton any preliminary training, except the small amount that he could teach him going over Graham’s saddle and down the Glacier to the Hermitage. There they got hold of the Hermitage Hotel Guide, who, himself, though quite a good climber, had never done anything very high. The weather looking better, they went up to the Haast Hut on Thursday the 6th, and started at 2 a.m. on the 7th. The mountain was in bad condition, with the rocks covered with a glazing of ice, which meant they had to climb slowly, and they were twenty-three hours on the rope. The average for the climb in good conditions is seventeen and a half hours. Mr Peter Graham (who has climbed Cook 18 times) and his wife, did it in 16 ½ hours, which was then the record time, and Mr Peter says he rather thinks it still is. I throughly enjoyed the climb by proxy, so to speak.
The weather has been fairly good this week except for Wednesday, when it poured all day, and I got a lot of letters written, Thursday and Saturday were glorious days. We have been good walks each day except Wednesday, and on Saturday, the doctor’s wife who is staying here while he is spending four days in the mountains indulging his hobby of geology, took us in her car sixteen miles south to see the Fox Glacier, and views of Mts Cook and Tasman. The road between here and the Fox is hilly and extremely winding, but Mrs Budd kindly drove slowly so that Herbert should not feel sick. Its a beautiful road reminding us somewhat of the drive up to Darjeeling, but the ferns and mosses on the banks and rocks are even more beautiful. The Fox Glacier is fine, but not as handsome and interesting as this one. It does not seem to have the same great ice-falls near the snout. We had thought of going there for a few days, before starting on our trip over the Copeland Pass, but were so loathe to leave here, and made the excuse that it will be easier to remain here, for then we shall be at hand to consult about the weather, and start off with Harry Ayres on the 20th or as soon after as conditions permit. Peter and Alex Graham are pretty knowledgeable about the weather, and so is Harry, for that matter. I have just packed two suitcases and sent them off to the Hermitage, for the buses are only running three days a week from here now, and it takes at least three days for luggage to get round to the Hermitage. It has to go by bus to Hokitika, by train from there to Timaru, via Christchurch, and again by bus to the Hermitage. I feared to leave it till Wednesday’s bus, in case it did not arrive by the time we get there (or hope to) on Saturday evening. We shall hate saying goodbye to this place where we have come to feel so much at home, and have grown so fond of the people. The Alex Grahams asked us to go over to their house after dinner on Friday, and we spent a delightful evening with them. Dr Holloway, professor of Botany at Dunedin University, and his wife were there. They are a dear couple who are staying in a cottage close here, I think I have probably mentioned them before, as we have met them several times. At my request Mr Alex produced several books of photographs, some of them dating back a great many years, and all serving as an excuse to get him to talk about his climbing days. I cant imagine a more comforting person to be with under difficult or trying circumstances. He is the kindest and gentlest of creatures, but with a great backing of mental and physical strength, and a delightful sense of fun and of the ridiculous. Herbert, who does not find quite the same unending interest in the mountains, talked with Dr Hollaway, and they were so absorbed in their conversation that Mrs Hollaway and I had some difficulty in attracting their attention when we thought it was time to go home. We have had some interesting talks with Mr Peter too, during the last few days. They generally take place in the most improbable places. For instance one day we started talking in the post office, which is part of the Hotel and run by Mr Alex and Mr Peter’s two daughters. We must have stayed there for about an hour. Business was not very brisk at that particular moment and there was room, in spite of our presence, for the few people who did come in to get served. This post office is a friendly place, leading off the verandah, and half the people who go in there, just drop in for a chat and not for any postal business. On the wet Wednesday last week, we had another long talk with Mr Peter after lunch. I put my head into the office pigeon-hole to return him the book by Miss de Faur about her climbs with him, and I found Herbert inside the office conning over the bookshelves to see if he could find something to read. Comments on Miss de Faur’s book set Mr Peter off, and we had a grand talk, our part consisting in putting out bait to lead him on. He talks well and tells a lot by facial expression, and Herbert was wondering afterwards, how much would come through if he set himself to write. We, like everyone else, told him that he and Mr Alex ought to write a book. He says he does not think his command of English is good enough. I feel sure it would be if he would write just as he talks, and not try his hand at “fine writing”, the pitfall of so many people. We are going to tea with Mrs Peter this afternoon. She says her husband is more likely to be in then, as he is on duty in the hotel in the evening. She has been a fine climber too, and has done a great deal of it.
There has been good company in the hotel this week. Commander and Mrs Parry, he of the famous “Achilles” have been here for four days, and we have had several talks with them. I longed to ask him about the Battle of the River Plate, but had not the nerve to do so. He was slightly wounded I believe. He is English, transferred to the N.Z. navy. They are a very nice couple. He knows lots of our old friends, and several Curreys, including Dolly and Maud. Other people we like are an American couple, a Mr and Mr. Dodd. He is a professor at the University at Los Angeles, and she was a teacher before she married. They are lively people and keen on everything. I should like to feel that we were gong to meet them again. The lame lady, Miss Joachim, is still here, and with us is a faithful attendant at the Daventry news bulletins, and commentaries.
Herbert has heard from India that he can have the extra leave, so we shall probably stay in New Zealand till June, and then go to Sydney for a short time, and most probably fly back to India from there. The actual cost is scarcely any more than going by boat, and surface transport is impossible to time in these days. I had a big batch of letters from India last week including several sent on from England, written by friends who did not know we are away, and who had sent us their Christmas greetings. It was lovely to get them. Herbert seems well enough now, but chills very easily, and directly he gets really chilly it seems to affect his liver, so he has to be careful. His conversation is a source of pleasure to many people in the hotel, especially Miss Graham, who runs the office. He is always putting his head into the office and sending her off into fits of laughter.
This paper will be running out in a moment, so for once I will be wise and finish in time.
Best love to you all, dear people
LJT
From LJT to Annette No 6
Franz Joseph Glacier Hotel
N.Z. Feb: 18th 1941
My darling Annette,
The very thin typing paper has run out, so I am useing the next thicker and writing both sides. I wish I could get into the way of not hitting the stops so hard, but when I try that, the chief result is that I scarcely hit the letters hard enough to print them. To tell you the truth, I am not in a very good mood for letter-writing, for my mind has begun to run on packing and arrangements for our move in the near future. I have just had an interview so typical of the spirit of this hotel. We have to send our luggage round to the Hermitage Hotel unaccompanied. I dont quite like our two attaché cases and the typewriter to go lose, so went down to the “Store” or shop, which is run by the hotel, to ask whether they could let me have a wooden case in which to pack these things. In the store I encountered Alex Graham. Overhearing my request, he said “If you dont mind waiting ill after tea, I shall be in again then, and if we cant find a box that will fit, I can easily make you one.” I have never stayed in a place where everyone is so obliging and ready to help in just any way they can. It gives the place great charm.
The mounting of all these great movements, - - I dont quite know what to call them, - - such as the situation in France, - - the penetration of Germans into Bulgaria, and so on, give one the feeling that stupendous happenings are maturing, and press home upon me the strangeness of living this sort of idle wandering life that we are doing. It just seems all wrong. I feel there ought to be some way of sharing the burdens that all of you are bearing in England. I feel pleased and excited at the prospect of crossing the mountains, and then I go and listen to the Daventry news, and think how futile these little personal plans really are.
There has been some rather good talk going about in the hotel lately, The American couple, Mr and Mrs Dodds, are stimulating people. He is a professor of Economics at the Los Angeles Campus of the University of California. She was a teacher before she married. They have the keen interest in everything, that makes many Americans such delightful companions, and the intelligence to sum up and comment on things they have seen. They have been travelling in Australia for some time. Nice people! Commander Parry of the “Achilles” was asking me about your work, to which of course I replied that I do not know in the least what it is. He asked if I had any children, and seemed genuinely interested in what you are all doing. It was a pity he and his wife were not staying here longer, for if we had got to know them a little better, we could probably have asked him to tell us about the River Plate Battle. One of the things he asked me, was whether the shelters or cellars in which you work during raids are sufficiently heated. It seems he has a son at Eton, who complains that its so frightfully cold when they have to go into the shelters. Its a thing we all wonder about out here, just as we wonder how you are getting on with regards to coal and wood, and food rationing.
We long impatiently for the next English Mail. It cant come today, for the holiday season being over, the buses which link this place with the outside world, are only running three days a week.
I am being very dull, so I think I will stop.
Best love my dear
Mother
From HPV to Annette
c/o Bank of N.Z.
Wellington, N.Z.
Feb 18th. 1941.
My dear Annette (handwritten)
Still at the Franz Joseph Glacier Hotel. The plan was to leave in two days from now, but Harry Ayres who has just come back from four days in the mountains reports that he has been suffering from a raging toothache for the past three of them and he has to go off to Greymouth to have the tooth X-rayed and extracted. So we shall not be leaving till Friday or Saturday: in a way it is a pity that we could not stick to the scheme of going off today or yesterday, for the mornings have been magnificent and we should have done well over the pass without cloud and probably in brilliant sun. Today we went up the river bank opposite that by which people have to go onto the glacier: the river has shifted its course owing to the recent rains and undercutting the side of the glacier has brought down an immense fall of ice, leaving a cliff of the most beautiful blue some sixty feet high at least. Impressive, and an admirable end for a walk: we went on a few hundred yards further and came within a short distance of the cave in the glacier face from which the river gushes out. It is perhaps twenty feet high at the mouth but not really very deep. Above it there is a cliff but this is not as high as the site of the recent falls: there are however ice pinnacles above it receding to a total height of several hundred feet, and we felt abashed to think that we had been up these and down them too without realizing exactly how much we were doing. On our way back from this walk which took us rather more than 3 ½ hours we followed the river instead of climbing up the cliff down which we had come and found that it made an interesting and pretty route ending in a bit of bush-scrambling which made me fear for your mother’s leg. That leg has been a nuisance to her and at one time looked like becoming a nasty one. The elastoplasts seems to have done the trick now. She disgraced herself by giving a great guffaw, or coarse laugh, the other evening at dinner when I repeated to her a thing that I had read in a book on the history of these parts; a Maori chief who was asked what was his title to some land that he was selling replied “The very best; I ate the man who owned it before.” It isn’t funny either, to my mind.
We are now and have been for some time the oldest/ (my hand slipped then; it is after dinner now, and it is clear that eating has the worst effect on typing) the oldest inhabitants, and it is time that we moved: there is something rather sad about staying in a place and making friends with a series of people who go off fairly soon. Also I have not been feeling over fit since the Drummond excursion; probably this is due to liver and the liver is due to a slight chill, but the effect is there and this place is not particularly bracing. Maybe I should be doing better if I did not spend my energies on this fruitless task of trying to learn to type and on the futile hobby of trying to learn all the constellations by the laborious method of copying the star-maps from a book borrowed in Christchurch. I attempted to get a copy of the book from a bookseller who reported that it was out of print and sent me free of any charge but the postage four other small books by the same author. In a way it would have been a pity if I had been able to get it after copying about a dozen of the maps and spending perhaps two hours on each of them. I have just been changing the ribbon on this machine as half of it was so frayed that it kept catching in the guide; I begin to wonder if most of my inability to concentrate is not due to worrying about the tricks of this typewriter, for I found that if I did the exercises backwards I made no mistakes whereas I have scarcely ever succeeded in doing a straight-forward exercise without errors. The book says grandly “Do not forget to make twenty perfect copies” but I should be delighted if I could make even one. However typing resembles golf in that it is mainly a question of general health: when I am fresh I always feel that things are going well with the typing that there is hope of my being able to manage it some day without having to go back and correct mistakes every other line and that maybe the mosquito buzzing round me at this moment will not get me before I get him. When as now I am jaded in spite of sleeping for a long time this afternoon every mistake means four others. However I have just got that mosquito.
The Fox Glacier trip was not an unmixed joy; in fact I felt as sick as anyone could round the bends. It was with a wan eye that I looked on the beauties of Cook and Tasman and it filled me with a certain gloom to think that in a few days I should be facing that motor trip again on the way to the start of our walk to the Hermitage over the mountains. Since then I have been assiduous in my attentions to the barley sugar in the hope that the glucose will do some good.
Having put in the carbon papers the wrong way round most of this letter has had to be done again and done worse a second time. I have reached the stage when I can do nothing right and so I stop.
Much love
Dad
From HPV to Romey
At Franz Joseph Glacier Hotel, NZ
Feb 18, 1941
My dear Rosemary,
After refraining from the typewriter for a couple of days I set myself down with good hopes to the writing of a letter to the family yesterday, but suffered a set-back of the worst. After finishing the first page with not more than a reasonable number of errors, I got the carbons of one of them the wrong way round for the second sheet and so cancelled all that I had written on the first, so far as one page was concerned. I was handicapped also by a mosquito (now defunct) certain sand flies, and the ribbon which was in rags. And eventually I renounced the attempt to finish any substitutes for the spoilt sheets. In consequence I have a fear that my typing today will be the worse owing to the wound to my confidence.
Our programme was to leave here tomorrow for the walk over a certain pass to the Hermitage Hotel where we shall stay some days. But Harry Ayres, the guide, returned yesterday from four days in the mountains with news that he had been suffering from a raging toothache, due to a wisdom tooth and had not been eating for the last two. He said that if we were in a hurry he would even so take us across as planned, but evidently this was absurd and he has gone off to Greymouth to have an x-ray and get the tooth out. He hopes to be back tomorrow if not today, and if all goes well we should be off in two or three days time. Joan showed Miss Graham a group shot of our party taken by Harry on Moltke with the remark “My husband looks quite boyish” and Miss Graham replied absent-mindedly “What a beautiful background!” This has given great pleasure to one and all. Actually the photo makes me look a tough.
Joan’s leg, I am glad to say, is doing well now. I told her that it came within the meaning of the term “bad legs” from which people suffer who read the Strand Magazine advertisements and that she should use Lion Ointment, but neither she nor the doctor was impressed. Lately, strong in the faith that elastoplast would safeguard her from harm, she has been walking again. With vigor. That means that I have been walking too. I had been out by myself while she was on the sick list, but when by myself I race along (singing hymns) and become exhausted. Yesterday we did a 3 ½ hour walk up to the face of the glacier, where the river comes out of an ice cave. Till a week or so ago this would not have been possible because the river cut off access to the moraine from which the view of the cave may be had. It changed its course owing to heavy rain and it is now possible to go down on to the river bed and walk for half a mile close-up to it. Well worth a visit, for the ice has broken away and left a cliff some 60 feet high full of colour. We had gone out by a bush path which ended in a descent down a bluff over a plank fastened above a sheer fall, which was not pleasant to look down, and then down steep rock, in which holes have been cut convenient for the heels. We returned along the river for a long way until we came to a cliff jutting out into the rapids and had to take to the bush for a bit. Today we decided to do something less strenuous and so embarked on a scramble, which turned out to be hard work, for we clambered for over an hour up a steep mountain stream (called a creek locally) to our great pleasure and to my temporary undoing. I have been lying in a heap most of the afternoon in a weariness which caused me some annoyance, for I think that by now I should not react so abjectly to a not very violent day’s exercise.
It is since the Drummond expedition that I have not been feeling over fit; probably this is due to liver and probably the liver is due to a slight chill, but the depression has been none the less because I suspect the cause of it, and this place is not particularly bracing. We are now the oldest inhabitants and it is therefore time that we moved. There is something rather sad about staying in a place and making friends with a series of people who keep moving off and leaving one to start making up to others.
Maybe I should be more cheerful and energetic if I did not spend my strength on this fruitless task of trying to learn the typewriter. It has shown up my inability to concentrate in a manner unexpected by me; if I do the exercises backwards I make no mistakes, whereas I have scarcely ever succeeded in doing a straight forward exercise without errors. The book says grandly “Do each exercise twenty times without any mistake” but I should be delighted if I could do it once even. Typing resembles golf in that it is mainly a question of general health. If I am fresh I can manage quite well, but once tired I make mistake after mistake and with each I make at least two more. All this makes for irritability and retards the acquisition of strength.
Last Saturday’s Fox Glacier trip was not an unmixed joy to me, for I felt as sick round the bends of the road as anyone could be. It was with a wan eye that I looked on the superb peaks of Cook and Tasman showing above the clouds, and it filled me with gloom to think that in a few days I should be tackling the motor trip to the Fox again on my way to the start of our walk over the Copeland Pass to the Hermitage Hotel. Since our return from this trip, I have been assiduous in my attentions to the barley sugar tin in the hope that I may build up resistance to this car sickness.
Joan disgraced herself by giving a great guffaw, or coarse laugh, at dinner when I repeated to her a thing out of a book on the history of this coast. A Maori chief, asked if he had a real title to some land that he was selling replied “The very best. I ate the former owner.” It isn’t funny either to my mind.
Much love,
Dad
From LJT to Romey
Feb 20th, 1941
My darling Romey,
The fates are conspiring to keep us at this dear place. First it was my leg and now poor Harry Ayres arrived back on Tuesday from 4 days up in the mountains with the doctor --- with raging toothache. Luckily Mr. Peter Graham was taking his wife and daughter to Greymouth in the car yesterday (Wednesday). So Harry went along too, and they got back ate last night. It seems that two roots of teeth had been left in by a careless dentist and an abscess had formed on them. Both were taken out, but it pulled Harry’s mouth a lot, and he won’t be fit to start before Saturday. We should have gone this morning and for his sake I am so glad that it is wet. Had it been a glorious day, he might have felt badly about causing us to miss fine weather. The delay doesn’t matter a bit to us, luckily.
I am hoping I shall find a letter from you at the Hermitage, for the Clipper must have come in a day or so ago. Yesterday brought me an English Mail, after rather a long gap. It was nice to get news of them all, but odd to think that the letters were written about Dec 10th. It’s nice to hear that Dicky did well in his exams, and I am pleased with Annette for giving blood for blood transfusion. I wish I had an opportunity of doing that. She is a good soul, isn’t she?
I’m in that funny state today of having more or less wound up all my jobs, done the washing and ironing and dealt with all immediate letters, so I have a great feeling f leisure. I shall have to post your letter on the 26th in the morning form the Hermitage so I shan’t have an awful lot of time, since we shall not get there till the 24th evening.
We are making so many nice friends in New Zealand, and it gives one such a nice warm feeling about going to places when you know there are nice people waiting to greet you. We are looking forward to our visit to Mrs. Scott in Dunedin, and the nice lame lady who is staying here now, wants us to go and see her there, too. There are quite a number of people both in Christchurch and Wellington, with whom we have made arrangements to meet. The people of this country are very friendly and hospitable.
Dicky amused me in his letter by saying that he thought it would be good for you to be in a place where there are a lot of parties. He has always watched you with an apprising eye and said that you must learn the art of dressing before you grew up. He is so vague about some things and surprisingly observant about others. I wonder so often where he is. I try not to feel too anxious about him and I don’t worry most of the time, but I do occasionally find myself getting a sort of sick anxiety about him. Luckily it does not obtrude itself for long at a time and most of the time I am able to feel that he has an excellent chance of coming through it all safely.
Dad and I have been on some very scrambly walks the last two or three days and I think they have had a good effect on his liver, which has been rather troublesome the last few weeks. I suspect that the soft, rather damp climate of this place may rather encourage liverishness, and perhaps the more bracing air of the Hermitage may be good for him. Uncle Tim always used to speak most warmly of the climate of Winnipeg from the point of view of health. Dry places do seem to be healthier, I suppose.
I thought you might like to have this little photo of us taken by Harry Ayres at the summit of Mt Moltke. Dad thinks that he looks a tough in it. I think it is rather good of him. It certainly was a marvelous view we had from there. It was nice of Harry to take the photo and also a splendid panorama. I’ve grown very fond of Harry. He is one of those simple, very direct people in whom one feels “there is no guile”. What Harry knows, he really knows, and what he does not know, he does not pretend about. The Grahams speak very well of him as a guide. He has skill and determination and the strength of character not to be swayed in what is wise and right.
I wonder when the snow begins to melt and the spring comes to Winnipeg. Spring after a winter such as you get must be a wonderful thing. Our love and greetings to cousin Susie and to Helen and lots and lots to yourself, darling,
From Mother
Feb 25th, 1941 (evening)‘Alas, our luggage did not come today and these letters must go or they will not catch the mail.
My darling Romey,
At last we have crossed the New Zealand Alps during three days of perfect weather. The last day was a long one and took us (for we are slow climbers) 12 hours. Dad was definitely tired before we got in and is still tired today, but again, I think it is just healthy tiredness, and I hope on this occasion he will avoid getting a chill, as he did the day after we got back from the Mt Drummond Trip. It is as hot as anything here today. Curiously enough although this place is about 3,000 ft above sea level, one gets far hotter weather here than on the West Coast at, or only just above sea-level---but all this sort of thing I shall be putting into the family letter. I had intended to write that today, but just before we left Waiho Gorge, the holiday season came to an end and the buses were cut down to 4 a week. There was not one on Saturday, the day we left, so my luggage was not here yesterday as I hoped it would be, and I can’t do the family letters without it. This must be posted tonight to catch the Clipper, and even so, I am not sure that I am not running it rather close. You will have to wait for an account of our trip till the next mail.
From LJT to Annette
Hermitage Hotel. Mount Cook.
New Zealand – Feb 26th 1941
My darling Annette
It was a tremendous joy to get letters from you all the very day on which I posted the last mail to you – It was specially satisfactory, as we were just about to start on this trip across the mountains and being away from all connection with posts for three days – I am so interested to hear that you gave blood for blood transfusion – and praise you for it. I should imagine you would be a good donor, for you have always been so healthy I should imagine that the giving of blood would be bound to make you feel a little slack for a day or two – I wish I were somewhere where I could volunteer, but I wonder whether, once one has had malaria, whether it is safe to give blood. I have an idea that the little malaria wretches hide away in the muscles and in the marrow of the bones and do not live constantly in the blood stream, so perhaps it would be alright. I am feeling very lost writing with an ordinary steel pen – I could have put one pen into the suitcase I sent on ahead from Waiho, but forgot to do so, and the ones that were to be sent after us have not yet arrived. I thought of you so constantly on our way over the mountains – and of how you would have loved it – The poor Dad was tired! He stood the mountain part quite well, but it was difficult to arrange to stay at the Hooker Hut, at the foot of the descent from the Copeland Pass into the Hooker glacier valley – Our guide Harry – could not carry enough to feed us for an extra day – and the huts on this side are not very well looked after now – One cant be sure of finding fuel etc there – The seven miles in over a reasonable track, Dad seemed to find very trying and he began to find his pack burdensome. Harry begged to be allowed to take it, but Dad’s pride would not allow him to consent to this – The result of physical tiredness was that he slept excellently the night we arrived here and I think the trip has probably done him more good than harm. At moments, up there amongst the mountains, I felt that the war was incredible and unreal – At other times I felt it must be some improbable dream that we were in such lovely peaceful places, occupied with climbing up and down steep rocks and making our way over slippery snow slopes, and giving little attention to what is going on in the outside world – As a matter of fact, thoughts of you all – and especially of Dicky, who by now is running the gravest risks of you all, I suppose, recur constantly in my mind – I am awfully glad that everything looked promising for you and he to be together at Highways for Christmas. Aunt must have loved having you there to-gether again –
I am interested in what you say about the way Romey has developed since she went to Canada and how you feel that she is quite a different person – I dont feel that exactly, but I think she has matured very quickly, which is not surprising considering all the new experiences she has been through – I think most people change and develop a good deal about the age of seventeen, and I think there is a tendency to pick up the manners and methods of speech of the people round about to a marked degree – but I also think those mannerisms and habits are easily dropped or grown out of, and I think Romeys character is strong enough not to be changed greatly by her environment – Dad reads with interest of your studies in Russian – I do think it courageous of you to tackle such a language, when you are already working hard – I dont like to use more weight of paper than this for I know the family letter will be a long one this week –
Best love, my dear – from Mother
PS About the £90 paid into your account – I have already written that I want it kept as a reserve in case of any emergency – better perhaps in our account than in yours –
From HPV to Annette
c/o The Bank of New Zealand
Wellington N.Z.
Feb 27th 1941
My dear Annette
It seems quite strange to be no longer at the Franz Joseph where we had settled down and come to know everybody. Our departure on Saturday morning last was attended by quite a crowd. We felt sad to think that there is no chance of going back. The news that we walked here (the Hermitage Hotel under Mt Cook almost) will have been given you by your mother who will be describing the trip in detail in her next circular letter. It was noteworthy for our having one afternoon a bath in a hot spring and the next a bath in a glacier fed stream, which made me yelp with surprise when I went under a small fall. I ought to have known that it would be cold as ice but had not thought of it. Luckily then there was hot sun. As on our previous trips we were amazingly lucky in our weather. It could not have been better. A marvellously beautiful walk: but I found the actual crossing and in particular the seven miles in along the valley after we had come down from the pass) extremely exhausting. Carrying a rucksack full of clothes even though they were not heavy by the normal standards was trying: it upset the balance clambering over rocks and the straps felt as if they were cutting into my shoulders and cramping them. On the steep ice slopes which are at the top of the pass on this side of it I slipped and brought your mother and Mrs Ayres (Harry Ayres’ wife) down with me, so that we were in imminent danger of sliding down and falling into a 30 foot crevasse. Not very clever. The day after our arrival was perfect – except that it was almost too hot: I did nothing at all because I felt too tired. The next day yesterday was thoroughly bad, (heavy rain and strong wind) and so I couldn’t do anything then either: and so today I feel much restored. If it is fine tomorrow we go off to a mountain hut to see at close range some of the mountains which we saw from afar from Mr Moltke and Mt Drummond. It ought to be fine, for the rain cleared off this morning and the evening has been fine. I have begun to doubt my ability to go long trips: at first I thought that if I got into training I could manage them without great weariness but now I suspect that it age as much as flabbiness that is handicapping me.
The walk was notable for wildlife – chamois, Paradise ducks and tailless wood fowl. Of these doubtless your mother will tell you. There has not been much to write about apart from the walk and I shall make no attempt to write it.
I praise the blood transfusion. What daring!
Much love
Dad
Family letter from LJT No 7
Hermitage Hotel. Mount Cook
New Zealand
Feb 27th 1941.
My Dears,
My letter is late this week. Although we left Waiho last Saturday, the luggage that had to come after us has only arrived this evening, just before dinner. The delay is due to the fact that now the summer holidays are over, only three bus services a week are running between Waiho and Hokitika, and between Timaru and this place. In consequence I have not had my typewriter, and could not face doing the family letter without it. This is only going to be a short bulletin to greet you all and let you know that we are well, and that we had marvellous weather for our crossing of the Alps, three perfect days, almost without a cloud. Harry Ayres said he had never seen such weather up the Copeland Valley, which generally collects all the cloud in the neighbourhood – I cant attempt to describe our journey this evening, for firstly I dont want to sit up late, for we are purposing to start for a night at a mountain hut up the Tasman Glacier at 8.45 to-morrow morning, and secondly I dont suppose the people in the neighbouring rooms would care about the noise of the typewriter going on after 10 p.m. The letters must be posted at 7.30 to.morrow morning, or they will not go till Monday morning. We were terribly sorry to say good-bye to the Grahams at Waiho. We had grown so fond of them all, and that hotel where, if anywhere, we were in touch with people who know and love these mountains, and were able to give us the real feel of them and supply us with first hand knowledge of the flowers and trees and birds, as well as throwing open their most interesting libraries to us, which included botanical and natural history books. I shall always remember them all with gratitude. Probably I told you in one of my earlier letters that the photographer at Waiho, who is also a fine climber and often acts as a guide, was called Lysons, and that I wondered whether he was any connection of our connections. The evening before we left Waiho, he and his wife who is Mrs Jim Graham’s daughter, invited us to their house after dinner, and Mark Lysons produced a most interesting typed book on the family history, and which included many family trees, in one of which we found Teresa and Nigel. The relationship is not far away, either. We have noted it down, but the paper is in Herbert’s suit-case which he has not yet unpacked. Odd, is’nt it? Mark Lysons father and mother live in New Plymouth, which we shall very probably visit when we go to the North Island. The father is or was, a surveyor, and knocked all round the world before he settled in New Zealand. On another evening at Waiho, Mrs Alex Graham asked if I would go and give a talk to the Women’s Institute on the subject of Women’s lives in India. It was not an alarming task, for Waiho is a tiny place, - - in fact it really consists of the hotel and its dependents, just one or two farmers and the Schoolteacher and his wife. The women were quite helpful and asked a number of questions, which made talking to them easy. I was delighted to get letters from home and from India before we started on our journey. The letters from England, came on the day I last posted to you, and included not only letters from Grace and the children but also an interesting one from Dora. Lovely as it is to get away into the mountains, it has its drawbacks in these days, for it gives one a slightly uneasy feeling not to be able to get news for three or four days. When we were walking and climbing and looking at the lovely scenery, surrounded by what appeared to be perfect peace, I constantly thought of all of you at home, trying to make pictures in my mind of what you might be doing. Oh dear! It seems so drastically unfair that I should be enjoying all this peace and beauty, and comfort, while you all have to endure dangers and discomforts every day. This hotel is in a most marvellous position. From the window of my bedroom I look straight up the Hooker Valley to Mount Cook only about ten miles away. Its a finely formed peak, and in every way worthy to be the crowning point of a beautiful island.
This paper is going to run out in a moment, and my back is breaking, for I am typing at a table with a shelf beneath it, so I have to sit far away (words missing) forward. Best love to you all LJT