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The Townend Family Letters

Correspondence from the 1930s - 1940s between members of the Townend family
HPV + LJT Letters 1939 to 1941

1941 January

From LJT to Romey

The Lodge, Christchurch, NZ
Jan 1st, 1941

My darling Romey,

You have the distinction of being the recipient of the first letter I am writing in 1941. It will no doubt take a little time to get used to hitting the numeral at the extreme other end of the keys; ie “1” instead of “0”. Three letters came from you yesterday with one enclosed from Helen, all very interesting. They were dated the 5th, 12th, and 17th December, so you see the last one has not taken long to reach us. I wish the letters from England could come as quickly. They seem to take at least six weeks. Also thank you for your good wishes which reached us by cable on the 26th. It was a delightful surprise to get the telegraphed greetings. I am so sorry that I did not think of sending greetings to you by wire.
Now about posts. The postal people here tell me that the Clipper Service only goes once a fortnight. I wonder whether this is correct, or whether your people’s information of weekly air-service is the correct one. It would be worth making enquiries at a big main post-office, for it is rather a waste of money to pay heavy postage on two letters which then come by the same post. I see you are still addressing letters to Auckland. They have been instructed to send them on, but, if you remember, c/o the Bank of NZ, Wellington, was the address I gave as our permanent one while in NZ. If Dad gets the extension of leave he has asked for, and I think he is bound to do so, that will be our address for a long time to come, as we think this a much nicer country for the sort of holiday making we enjoy than Australia would be.
Last night after dinner I re-read the batch of letters from you that were sent on to us, arriving the day after Christmas, as well as those that were waiting our arrival, plus the three that came yesterday. I like reading a whole batch as a serial story like that. It makes the account of your life fall into a more vivid picture. I have made a few pencil notes about things I want to comment on, and hope it won’t bore you to have your mind taken back.
There are the exams, which started on Friday 13th, the day on which our boat sailed from Sydney. Several people cancelled passages, with the excellent result that I had only one companion in a four-berth cabin. I hope your start was equally successful, and that yesterday, the last day of the old year, brought you news of good results. Your attitude of not worrying about exams, but just doing your best when the time comes, is the most sensible thing you can do.
I am awfully glad to hear that you don’t find the cold too trying. I remember Uncle Tim and his wife, describing the warm extra-clothes they had to put on when they went out in Winter, and also saying they felt the cold of an English winter much worse than their own. My poor Romey! I am sorry that you felt the cold so much last winter at school. I wonder if any one has ever thought of telling Miss Moller that those grey coats have no warmth in them. Were the St Monica’s ones better?
Your account of the party for the Air Force men, and talk about the Newfoundlanders, mentioning that they were going out to Portage la Prairie, reminded me that we posted the book about the early days of Winnipeg from Wellington. I hope it reached you safely. Mention of Portage La Prairie is made in it, and I searched it out on the map. I liked hearing about your Newfoundlanders.
It is odd how one likes the food one is used to. The real Dutch cooking is very good, but we were glad to get back to English type when we got to Australia, but even here there are things that are different. One is that they seem to bake or stew the sausages and the kidneys in gravy, and to us it seems that they are spoilt. Perhaps a New Zealander confronted with nice sizzling sausages off the grill, longs for the sort he is used to at home with a coating of thick gravy! It’s very interesting coming to strange countries of which one has only heard little and that from afar. We are learning things, and coming up against new points of view almost every day here. I was thinking especially of all your Newfoundland friends told you about their lives.
By the way, in one of your earlier letters you said that Java was in some way connected in your mind with oranges. Oddly enough it is one of the few hot climate fruits that they do not seem to grow. There is a thing that looks like an orange -- I have forgotten their name for it, --it is really some sort of a lime, and is too sour to be eaten as a fruit, but it makes excellent Squash for drinking. We used to be given a glass of it every morning at 11 o’clock at the Pension Huize Miranda. Are you, I wonder, thinking of Jaffa Oranges?
There is a lot in your letters about the charms and eccentricities of Polo. I hope she grew her new coat quickly, and was able to keep herself warm. We are a bit puzzled to know why she had not had a bath for six months. Is it not considered good to wash young dogs in Canada? Or had you just been too busy? As one goes through the countryside here, one sees lots of the Welsh Sheep dogs about. They make me think of our friends in Wales.
I am so glad that you have actually bought the typewriter, and both Dad and I think it is most enterprising of you to have had the keys altered to suit your own requirements. The alterations are most practical ones. I’m interested to hear about your purchase of the brown handbag, originally as our Christmas gift, but perhaps turning out to be from H.D, and Winsome. I rather suspect they want to give you an extra special present, because they are so grateful to you for looking after John, and writing to tell them about him. We were intending to send him some new stamps from here for a Christmas present, but a woman here says that all stamps enclosed in letters are taken out and forfeited by the Censor. I wonder if those I have enclosed in your letters from time to time have been taken. Luckily they were just odd ones off letters and not any that we had paid good money for! Will you give John our love, and say I will try to find out about this matter, and send some stamps if I can. Otherwise he will have put up with the used stamps which will go on your envelopes.
Quite a bit of one of your letters was taken up with an account of your hunt for Christmas presents, and you follow up with a remark that writing about such things is probably a bore. Indeed it is not. It is little accounts of all the everyday things you do and think that build up the picture of you and your life, and will mean that we shall not feel too strange when we meet again, so don’t hesitate to write about anything and everything that you are doing. In many ways I so wish we could have had you with us here, but I know that it is much better for you to be with Cousin Susie and Helen, where you are having a settled home, and a chance to carry on your education, and makes use of the training that has gone before, fitting yourself, as I hope, for some useful job in the world.
Exercise must be a real problem during the winter as severe as you get in Winnipeg, but there is one thing about it, even if your muscles get a little flabby, and you get plumper, you will soon be able to get back to your normal physical state, when exercise time comes round again. I am a bit fat and a trifle flabby now, but I hope by the end of a fortnight at the Glacier doing daily walks and scrambles, I shall get back to normal. Isn’t it nice that Annie and Gavin managed to have a bit of a birthday celebration at Oxford? And that Annie had a happy weekend there just after her birthday? It’s funny to think that she is now not only a B.A. but also an M.A. Her letters are always so full of good common sense. She has something of Aunt’s ability to remain unperturbed, and to carry on with the job. Richard paid a compliment to Aunt in a letter he got yesterday. He said, “I cannot imagine anything upsetting Aunt’s poise, even an invasion, or preventing her getting on with the next job.” He has written some very amusing letters lately. Did you hear how when they were transferred to Abroath, they had a hurried supper at His Majesty’s expense at Kings Cross, and were each given a bag of food for the next morning’s breakfast. Directly they got into the train, they ate the breakfast, and then went along to the Refreshment car, and had a second supper! Oh! It really is good to be getting letters again.
Dad has been wearing your tie a lot, and it has been much admired. I have not had a chance to wear the scarf yet, for we have had such lovely summer days that scarves have not been necessary, but its time will no doubt come when we get to the mountains.
Best love, my darling. Love to Cousin Susie, constantly in mind.

Mother


From HPV to Annette

(Pencil note from LJT at top of letter:

My letter to you would make the envelope overweight – Best love Mother)


c/o Bank of New Zealand. Wellington. N.Z.
at Franz Joseph Glacier Hotel. South Island
Jan 9th 1940 (crossed out and ‘1941’ written in)

My dear Annette

Quite a lot of your letters have drifted in lately and I have read of your doings with much pleasure as well as with some confusion of mind because some of the later letters came in first. It is a relief to read of the calmness with which people take things at home: and your reflections on present discontents have much savour in them – as for that matter have the lad Richard’s. It is a sad confession of incapacity that I should be writing with a pen. My intention had been to learn typing so well by now that to type letters would be easy: and actually I started on a letter two days ago with poor results. A Mr Batts who is here said that the typewriter under my management sounded like a machine gun jamming at frequent intervals. Perhaps the worst thing about it is the blasphemy to which it leads. Some day remember to tell me how much time per day learners of typing devote to the art and how much progress they are expected to make in a month. My attempts of two days ago were handicapped by the conversation of a youth who had learnt typing by correspondence and wanted to tell me about it. Everyone wants to tell about something. We met a man while out walking yesterday who told us at once about “the girl he is going with” (she knows India) and without knowing our names or anything about us asked if we would not call upon her when we reach Wellington. Absurd: for all he can know I might be a professional pimp. However I met him again this morning and he renewed the suggestion. Perhaps he’ll try to raise a loan off us later. The walk was seven or eight miles and we did it with a swing: the pride fall came later when after lunch I felt exhausted and had to sleep, heavy like, all afternoon. The blister on my heel is a nothing. I wore my new boots: 3 years old of course but worn once only before: lovely boots. Blue shorts, blue shirt, blue stockings and blue handkerchief knotted round my neck: a regular advertisement – but the boots were brown. No sooner do we reach anywhere than your mother un-noses (or should it be “out-noses”) someone mad about plants. Here already there have been dugout two.

My French reading does not progress. Nothing progress in fact – cf. The neglected typewriter and the Malay phrases. I have been very busy tracing maps of stars from a borrowed book. But why have I worried to learn the southern constellations of most of which not even the dwellers in these parts have even heard?

I wish that I didn’t feel so sleepy. Tea seven times a day is bad for one – or is it six?

Much love
Dad


From LJT to Annette

The Glacier Hotel
Franz Joseph Glacier
Waiho Gorge
Jan 9th 1941.

(Handwritten at top of letter – I’m sorry, these letters made overweight last week, so I kept them back – Love Mother.17.1.41)

Dearest Annette,

It was such a nice surprise to find a letter from you waiting for us here. It is true it was dated Sept 15th, and had come via India, but that did not make it any the less interesting. We were greatly delighted to hear your account of someone going round the village on a bicycle ringing the little silver dinner bell, to give the “All Clear” signal. It seemed to give a gleam of comic relief, in this grim business of the Air Raids. When the newspaper comes, I find my mind leaping first to find news of what has been happening in the way of raids. So often when my mind is not actively engaged on something, I find it wandering off and wondering what is happening to you all. The story about the char-lady remarking to Peg that she would not need any Bile Beans now, has gone down extremely well here. Its queer to be amongst people who have, on the whole, so little personal contact with England. Many of them have sons or brothers or husbands in Egypt, but few seem to get much individual news from England itself. In India all ones friends are anchored in the Old Country, as we get quite used to hearing it called out here.

On the three walks I have been since I came here, I have thought how much you would enjoy this place. Its a wonderful spot, and if I can get up on to the ice and snow presently, I am sure I shall find it more wonderful still. I have an idea that of the three you are the one of our children who really likes mountains best. In one of your letters you commented on the fact that you do not remember being much interested in or struck by the mountains in Darjeeling. I have often observed with interest that young children dont seem to notice the Snows at all, even when they are brilliant and shining, or glowing pink and red in the sunset. I rather think the quite young ones scarcely see them. I dont know at what age distant views being to appeal. The first times when I can remember being interested in views was when I used to stay with my sister Puff at Witham, when I was twelve and onwards. We used (Dash this machine!) to walk up the Wickham Hill or one of Essex’s other view points. A good time before that I had enjoyed splendid sunsets from Bawdsey Manor. What views I have seen since then! This country is a marvel for them.

To return to the matter of your allowance! I see from Grindlays account that they paid £90 into your account in October. I am hoping that you did send on my letter of instructions to them, so that they have not paid the full amount in January too, or money may be a little short for paying the Insurance Premiums, and for meeting the various little expenses incurred by Aunt, and other odd things that have to be paid for. If this has been done will you pay it or some of it back into our account with Grindlay’s? And instruct them not to pay it in future. At the same time, if you need extra money, dont hesitate to ask Aunt for it. Supposing you need some for a holiday, or require clothes that it is difficult for you to buy out of your pay, we are most ready to finance the need. I should like to pay for your trip to Stratford and for whatever your birthday celebration at Oxford cost, if you have any idea. It seems quite wrong that you should have paid for your own birthday treat.

I must go carefully into the calculations I made about expenses in England, and if there is any money to spare, arrange to have it put into War Loan. We have been so royally entertained, that it has been difficult to sit down and work with papers, especially as there was no table at which to write in our room at Christchurch, except a tiny one which just took the typewriter. Here I am well off. I have been given a nice square wooden table, which stands before the window, and beside my bed, so I can sort papers out and lay them to hand on the bed.

Its interesting to hear that you liked Gertrude Bells’ letters so much. I have to confess I have had them in the house in two big volumes, for some years and have never read them. (I got them from the Williamson’s when Peggy had to dispose of many of their books) When I unpack our books again, I must make a point of reading the

The lunch gong goes and the paper runs out at the same time. Most convenient! I hope you are keeping fit and not too badly worried by the Raids

Best love, my dear
Mother


Family letter from LJT

Franz Joseph Glacier Hotel
Waiho Gorge
New Zealand.
Jan 9th 1941.

My Dears,

The end part of my last letter was dated December 27th, so I have allowed almost two weeks to slip by without writing to you all. Our last days in Christchurch were so busy, that there seemed no time to settle down to letters. Two days were occupied by the journey here, and yesterday - - well it was a lovely morning and it seemed a pity not to be out, and then things turned up, and I put off my regular letters till to-day. One comfort is that letters being so irregular these days it well cause you no anxiety that a week has gone by without one turning up. This is such a lovely spot, and has been a haunt of mountain lovers ever since the West Coast was opened up to some extent by the search for gold in the later part of the last century. The mountaineering people had written ahead to the brothers who own and run this hotel, commending us to them. Alec and Peter Graham turn up in all the books on mountaineering in New Zealand. They were two of the first men to become professional Guides. This Hotel, now large and excellently appointed, started as a hut, and has gradually grown. We have a big, comfortable room, with a nice view across the garden to the river and the hills, that is the lower hills towards the sea. The snow alps are the other side, but this is probably more permanently attractive, since cloud often hides the snows during the day. Mrs. Peter Graham has given me a good solid table for my writing, and we have put it right in front of the windows, so that I get the view as I write. We shall be happy here I’m sure, and I hope we shall stay some weeks.

Since there is such a gap in the tale of our doings, I will go back to Christchurch, and give you some account of the hospitality we received there, leaving further accounts of this place till next week if necessary. Two factors gave the opening to the hospitable and kindly citizens of Christchurch, one was my connection with the Mountaineering Club, and the other the chance that the energetic woman, who is “organizer” to the Womens’ Travel Club, was living in the same Private Hotel as ourselves. She made friends with us, gave us lots of information, presented the Kents (Our Singapore friends) and ourselves, with complimentary tickets for the Trotting Races on New Year’s day, and Jan 2nd. The tickets included not only entrance, but the Members’ Stand and tea in their tea-room. Furthermore Mrs Benzie, the aforesaid “Organizer”, was waiting for us, introduced us to other people with whom we sat and went to tea, and who explained about the Trotting to us, making the whole thing a most enjoyable afternoon out. Its amazing to see the pace the horses achieve with a trotting pace. The driver, sitting on his tiny seat between two light wheels, must need immense skill to avoid crashing into other people, and to use his horse to the best advantage. The first time the Drivers came before the Stand, leading the horses up and down, I could not think what looked so odd about them, and then realized that below the traditional jockey’s satin shirts and caps, they wore white duck trousers. It gave them a curiously Dickensonian look for some reason. Herbert thought that all the horses running, running, looked like Cinderella’s coach - - only one had to imagine the actual coach. The crowd behaved much like race going crowds do everywhere. It was far from being smart, and to our eyes, accustomed to seeing so much white amongst the spectators, it looked rather drab. All the betting is done on totes. There are no bookies. Though we enjoyed our afternoon, and were glad to see such a famous sport, we decided not to go the following day, and with Mrs. Benzie’s permission, handed our tickets on to some more Singapore people, known to the Kents, who had just arrived in Christchurch. It seemed to me that it was the last afternoon I had free to study and make notes on some beautiful paintings of the New Zealand flowers, in the Museum. We hoped to induce the nice young Curator, who showed us the Maori Section, to come out and have tea with us at the tea-room in the Botanical Gardens, which run up to the Museum, but he was laid up with an attack of influenza. Some days before I had asked Mrs Benzie whether she could put me in touch with any of the Girl Guide Officers, with the totally unforeseen result that she arranged a special “morning-tea” meeting of the Womens’ Travel Club, at which I was to speak on the work of Girl Guides in India. Luckily there is plenty to say on the subject, and I was able to give a half hour’s talk without any difficulty. Some of the leading Girl Guide Officers had also been invited as Guests, and the local commissioner invited me to go and visit a small camp in the Grounds of her house the following afternoon. The Chairman, a very charming woman, invited Herbert and myself to go for a drive on the following Sunday and back to tea with her husband and herself. There were some extremely nice-looking women at the meeting, and I was glad to come in contact with them, for the standard of clothes and looks amongst the people one sees about in the streets and the shops, is not high. These morning tea-parties are an amazing feature of New Zealand life. We arrived at the Club room at 10:15. Tables were set out as for tea, with sandwiches, scones and cakes in profusion. Tea and coffee were brought in at 10-30. after Mrs Kent, her other Singapore friend, and myself had been introduced to a number of people. I am not accustomed to eating at such an hour, after a hearty breakfast at 8.15, and only managed to toy with a sandwich, and that rather reluctantly. Most people seemed ready to make a good meal. What with the “talks”, and votes of thanks, and moving round afterwards being introduced to people, the morning slipped away, and we did not get home till our lunch hour of 12.30. The woman who came the next day to take me to see and have tea at the Guide Camp, was most delightful, and her husbands’ family have an interesting history. Mr. Craycroft Wilson’s great-great-grandfather, was a Judge in India at the time of the Indian Mutiny. It seems that he was instrumental in saving the lives of a great number of Europeans in or near Meerut, and he was subsequently knighted. When he retired from India, he settled in New Zealand, bringing with him, not only a troop of Indian servants, but also builders, masons and carpenters, and quantities of teak-wood planks and beams for building and mules for helping with the work. He took up three thousand acres of bush on the slopes of the Port Hills outside Canterbury, and called his estate Cashmir. A great deal of the land has been sold, and Cashmir is now one of the most popular suburbs of Christchurch. Two thousand acres still belong to the family, and after visiting the camp in some rough fields, on the edge of a pine wood at the foot of the hills, Mrs Craycroft Wilson drove me up to the beautiful house and garden, where they now live. This “mansion” (it really deserves the name in its best sense) was built by the grand-father. The white walls, deep eaves and high roofs of red tiles, - -the spacious rooms inside, furnished and decorated with excellent taste, - - the rows of books on the shelves, all gave it an air of charm and dignity, so different from the impression created by the square wooden boxes with red or green tin roofs flanked by water tanks, also made of corrugated iron, and standing on long, legged platforms, which seem to be the type design of NZ dwellings. There are plenty of delightful houses, well furnished, and occuppied by cultivated people, whose speech is true English, as spoken in England, and bears no sign of divorcement from the Old Country. It was in one such that we had tea, after an interesting drive on Sunday afternoon. The Mrs Cecil Wood, who had been the Chair at the meeting at which I had to speak, is the wife of one of Christchurch’s leading architects, and we liked them both and their home so much. Mrs Woods mother came for tea, and was the perfect type of the rather old-fashioned English Gentle-woman, so for all the talk of democracy in the country, they cannot get away from the fact that there is a definitely cultured class, who read and think, and whose minds range far beyond the borders of their own charming country. We had a sample of the other kind of thing with the maids at the Lodge. The hours of domestic servants’ work are regulated by law here, but it rather seems to us, that unlike people working in schools, factories, or shops, they dont play fair by being competant at their job, or giving it their undivided attention while they are on duty. The waiting at the Lodge was almost farcical. The girls no more knew their job, than I know how to teach mathematics, or make a man’s suit. Here is rather a funny little story to illustrate this. A woman misread the menu one day and ordered stewed oxtail. Stewed ox tongue was brought. She did not like it, and asked to have it changed. “Why” said the waitress “its only off the other end of the ox, aint it?” The waitresses here, on the other hand, are excellent, with pretty manners, and obliging ways.

When I think of all the things we did between the 27th Dec, and our departure from Christchurch on Jan 6th, I dont wonder that letters were neglected. Here are a few of the things that come to my mind. I had my hair cut short again, just to the length that is right for the ends to roll up at the back, and it got re-permed. That was a whole morning’s job. We had another whole day out on the Port Hills carrying our lunch in rucksacks. It was a perfect day, with bright sun and cool breeze, such as we had almost the whole period of our stay. We had an evening with Mr. Kennedy, the old school-master about whom I told you last week. We browsed about in his library, and he got out all his books on astronomy for Herbert, one of which has been borrowed and from it Herbert is gleaning quite a lot of knowledge of the stars of the Southern hemisphere. We had another evening with the editor of the Canterbury Mountaineering Club’s Journal, who is a keen photographer, and has taken a lot of slides in Dufe colour, which he showed on his lantern. Beautiful! Another evening we had supper with Mrs Barker and her son, and much mountain talk. A man living in the hotel took us out one evening to see a most lovely garden, belonging to a man who owns a large boot shop in the town. The shop is chiefly run by his wife, and he devoted himself to this garden, and has made it a lovely thing. We had a morning in the Botanical Gardens with the Curator, and most interesting it was. On our last evening we had Mrs Barker to the Sunday “High Tea”, after which she took ourselves and the Kents for a delightful wandering drive. We went to one of the beaches, known as “New Brighton, but belying its name in every way. A huge stretch of sand, starting from the estuary of the Avon, that charming little river, crystal clear, that winds through Christchurch, cutting up the chess-board of its streets, and encircling its splendid Botanical gardens, - -The estuary is backed by the Port Hills, while the beach is backed by sand hills and pine woods, with little houses tucked away amongst them, and a small bit of town street, beginning indefinitely, and fading even more indefinitely into the dunes, - - truly a good place for holiday making and surf bathing. We drove inland again, through country that might have been England, fields where sleepy cows grazed or slept, or sheep nibbled more busily. Crops already cut or ready for harvesting, - - willow-bordered streams, hedges with field flowers nestling in them, really only the houses gave the fact that it was N.Z. away, and of course some of the trees if you looked close. Its had been the second of two oppressively hot days, but the evening was lovely and everything looked so peaceful. The constantly recurring thought of the war, of the lack of peace in Europe, of the shortage of food in Europe when we are so often being asked to eat far more meals than we need, bother us not a little. Mrs Barker took us back to her house for tea and cakes and sandwiches. Her son had been away for a couple of days in the mountains, and had got back that afternoon at 4,30, and had to go almost at once to the Newspaper Office, where he is “Editor’s Devil”. His climbing boots and other mountain gear were spread out in the kitchen to dry and air. I was amazed to hear he is 29 years old. I had guessed him to be about 24, though going purely on looks, he might not have been more than 20. A nice young man and intelligent. I hope he makes a success in the world. Another of the mountaineers who were to have come to India, was party to several of these after-dinner entertainments, and took us to and fro in his car. He is an enormous person, 6’6” in height, and with the quiet gentle manner, that big men so often have. Driving us back from an evening of mountain talk with the Barkers, he said “I do wish Sydney Conway had been here. He could really have talked to you. I never seem able to say much.” How curious to feel yourself tongue tied like that. Its scarcely a failing in most members of the Townend family. Mr. Conway was to have lead the expedition to Kangchenjunga. He is now in Egypt. I got a nice letter from him last week, saying he hoped the “other boys were looking after me. And would we please borrow any of his mountain equipment we needed. His mother has been instructed to give us anything we wanted.” It was good of him to write.

With all this hospitality, and the perfect weather that endured for fifteen out of the sixteen days of our stay, you can well imagine that we liked Christchurch and its people, and felt we were leaving a familiar haunt, when we said good-bye. The train journey to Hokita on the West Coast is not so very long in milage, but it takes from 10.a.m. till 6.p.m., for the train does not hurry at any time, and has to climb over the great dividing range, which runs almost the entire length of N.Z. and is only crossed by the railway in this one place, that is over Arthurs Pass, where the early gold diggers made their way on foot or on horse-back. There is one other road crossing some way to the north, but that is all. Further South if you want to get to the West coast, you have got to walk! Its splendid scenery up through the mountains and over the Pass. The train is saved the topmost climb by a tunnel five miles long. Thank goodness it is taken through the tunnel by an electric engine, for the coal burnt in the ordinary engine makes foul smoke and smuts. At a place called Otira on the West side of the tunnel, the train stops for twenty-five minutes to let people get lunch. A man with whom we made friends, advised us to get up to the door of our coach ( the coaches are not divided into carriages as they are on English trains) so as to nip out quickly, and bolt for the dining-room, otherwise there might be no time to finish the meal. Luck was with us. Our compartment stopped almost opposite the restaurant, and we were amongst the first dozen in. The service was marvellous. we all got hot soup, a choice of different hot joints and vegetables, and a choice of several puddings, tea put on the table and drunk with the meal, and we were back in the train by the appointed hour. We had another stop for tea, and the train loitered a while in Greymouth, the big town on the West, before transforming its character into that of a country “local” and sauntering along, and exchanging news with everyone en route, for the 25 miles south to Hokitika. Our bus driver the next day said, “Yes! Didn’t you know that the engine driver’s dog runs ahead to let us know when the train is coming”. We slept at a small hotel, really a glorified pub, but it was clean and adequate. The bedrooms were very small, but each had a big window opening on to the river estury and the sea, so we slept with the sea breezes fanning our faces. To the wall in front of the window of each room, was fixed a thick rope. We presume they were meant as a means of escape in case of fire. Herbert thought the proprietor had seen the tragedy of ‘Romeo and Juliet”, and had fixed the ropes in consequence. I forgot to mention that the Kents traveled with us, and shared all these adventures. Our journey of another ninety miles was continued the next morning by road coach. It was a lovely drive. The mountains come down to the sea, with only a narrow coastal plain, if indeed you can call it plain at all. The road turns and climbs and descends, through forest for the most part, which in many places has been stript by saw-mills. In other places we saw the spoil banks from the gold dredges, some old and covered with scrub, some raw and new. We skirted the banks of two fine big lakes, stopped for lunch at a small hotel near one of them, and arrived at this hotel about half past three. By dint of taking much glucose C and getting the seat next the driver, Herbert survived the drive without feeling ill. It was in the evening paper at Hokitika, by the way, that we got the news of the fall of Bardia.

A couple who had been staying at the Lodge in Christchurch, rubber planter from Malay, and his wife, had come here a few days before we did, and were leaning over the verandah to welcome us. It was nice to be greeted like that. It is quite hard to know how to describe this place, and I think I shall leave it till next week, as I am feeling a bit addled.

A letter has come from Annette travelling via India and dated Sept 15th. A letter from May dated August 16th reached us just before we left Christchurch, and with it a magazine, for both of which many thanks to her. I think we got a second batch of mail, after I wrote the last time, but dont exactly remember the day it came. The letters have been the greatest treat. We read with such sorrow of all the burnings and destruction from the Air Raids, and we think of you all so often.

Best love to you all,
LJT


Family letter from HPV

c/o Bank of New Zealand
Wellington NZ
Written from Franz Joseph Hotel
South Island
Jan 7th 1941

My dear Richard and Annette (handwritten salutation)

I continued to practise touch-typing in Java for the first few days after leaving, but a touch of fever and the effects of quinine combined to prevent my continuing, and the difficulty of finding anywhere in hotels where I could hammer away without being a general nuisance prevented my from resuming. Some days ago I had a shot at it again and found to my surprise that I could type the whole alphabet: and so I decided that the time had come to start letter writing. It had not. What is worst of all is not the finding of the letters on the keyboard as you might think from seeing how badly I am doing this it is but the thought that I am using carbons and that it is necessary to hit fairly hard. They are old carbons. Also there are people sitting in the room and people unknown to me at that. It is depressing to think that Rosemary will despise me for not doing better but she must realise that at my age it is not too easy to take up anything new and that the age of this machine and its habit of sticking are handicaps from which she does not suffer.

We left Christchurch yesterday and reached here this afternoon: not after continuous journeying of course, for we spent the night at a little place sixty or seventy miles up the coast, at a rather inferior and rather amusing hotel. It is a town that had a boom years ago when there was a gold rush and it retains sixteen hotels all of which do good business or sell a lot of drink even though the population is only a fifth of what it used to be. This place, seventy miles further on, is apparently nothing more than the hotel and half a dozen houses with one shop: it is practically on sea level at the mouth of a valley up which, at two and a half miles distance the glacier comes down into a lake among the trees. Very fine. Today Jan 8th (for I renounced the effort to type last night three or four lines ago) we walked.

January 31st already two days passed.

This letter has been a skeleton in my cupboard. It filled me with gloom when I read over what I had done and I decided to return to the exercises for a bit: then the walking and the so-called climbing intervened and I left the poor thing lying in a cupboard till I fished it out on this evening of heavy rain, to be told by my ever-loving wife that it ought not to be wasted. You may not believe it but my efforts at the exercises have made a great difference to my proficiency and soon I shall be altogether a typist: for the moment there is the slight blemish that if I pay attention to the typing, I write gibberish and vice versa. It is a mistake for anyone who wishes to regain strength to take up a nerve-shattering pursuit like this – but the real set-back is liver. The Drummond climb was for me a partial knockout: my legs were shaking with fatigue when we reached the bottom of the hill on which the Almer hut stands on our return journey and I was cooked by the time that we arrived back here. My face had not hurt at all during the outing but in the four or five days that have since elapsed my lips have swollen and cracked and I have allowed my liver to get the upper hand. Joan has taken council with a doctor here on a holiday and been told by him that I should abstain from all things good in the eating line, but that does not worry me much. I believe that if I could only avoid letting my liver get out of hand I should be able to defy the Bengal climate.

It has rained this day without stopping and had done so almost without stopping the four previous days: lucky in a way that we were incapacitated during that time. Me, I was tired and as to Joan she has had a swollen ankle owing to a bite of some bee or bug. It appears now to be returning to normal. Talking of normalcy I fear that constant repetition of jargon from the typing book will destroy my ability to write a proper kind of English but I forgive brother Hal for this because the book has passed many hours and the gift was well meant.

I am wondering whether my clothes will stand the strain. Like everything kept in India they have probably lost strength with the years as my boots and shoes regarded by me always as new have done. This is the most comfortable place imaginable but we shall have to move on before long, because it would be esteemed a scandal not to see more of the beauty spots of New Zealand while we have the chance; but even so there will be no return to Christchurch (where we left our other things) for some considerable time - not that there is any real ground for worrying. We have found no gold though there is plenty about still for those who are prepared to work for it. On the other hand we have seen lumps of crystal lying about and to come down to more practical things we have been told that good walking sticks may be made from the trailing plants known as Soople Jacks and from Lancewood also. If this were not a preserve where the cutting of trees and uprooting of plants are prohibited, we might return with trophies. The annoying thing about this continued rain is that we are robbed of our chance of seeing a comet. My studies of the constellations have proceeded but what with the mountains shutting out the south and the clouds shutting out everything I have not been able to consolidate the knowledge acquired: and for the past few days liver has been an obstacle to doing anything. Except the typing exercises. These lack spiritual uplift. I am becoming bored with the information (in itself surely false) that the quick red fox jumps over the lazy dog and I begin to suspect that my inability to concentrate on such things is an indication that after all I have some dregs of intelligence remaining. I have still not taken up my study of arithmetic for the million and begin to fear that I shall never get round to it. Also I have done no more about learning the Malay sentences which I got from Mary so hopefully: and these I positively must learn before long because Joan has said that I never shall.

It has become apparent that it is useless to go on with this in the hope of striking a vein of something interesting: so I stop: merely remarking that all this is my unaided work and done by touch, a complete proof that the typing book is a liar when it says that this is the easy way.

(hand written addition at end of letter) It turns out to be quite untrue that the previous few days had been wet. Two of them were quite fine: the gloom which hangs over the memory of them is merely my liver. Also it is not cold as I persist in believing but, by the universal opinion of the residents (they don’t reside long as a rule) rather muggy. I should make a bad witness.

Much love
Dad

Added at end of letter, handwritten Dear Rosemary, I suspect from the excellence of your last letter that you have been ’cheating’ in the matter of the typewriter and have looked at the keys. When you write next, tell us what tube skates are. (? Was it “tube skates” that you said?) Oh yes, Hurrah for exam results: “A plus” Hurrah!

Love Dad


From LJT to Romey

Glacier Hotel, Franz Joseph Glacier NZ
Jan 12th, 1941

My darling Romey,

It is not a fortnight since I posted my last letter, but post are slow and few and far between at this rather remote spot, so I had better get to your letter away. It is just about a fortnight since the last letters came. The family letter is rather a long affair this week, with most of our news in it. Being in this place makes me long more than ever to have all or some of you with us, for I know you would love it. I am going to try to give some impression of what it is like in the next letter to the family, so I won’t make much attempt to do so now, but think if I could transport Aunt and Annette into this peace and beauty, and give them a few weeks of rest and relaxation! Wouldn’t it be marvelous? Naturally I’d adore to have you here too, but at any rate I know that you are safe, and though I daresay you are working hard, it is not the same thing as working at war pressure, and having to go down into shelters night after night when the raids come. One can’t help feeling worried about them. They seem to take it all marvelously calmly themselves.
I had an interesting letter from Mrs. Hamilton a few days ago, posted in Rhu in October, and coming to me via India. Jock had been in Palestine for some months and was well and happy, except that he was longing to be up and doing. Peter finished at Dartmouth in April, joined a big ship, went to Norway, and brought back the King and Government. He layed off at Helensburgh almost under the windows of his own home, for a short while, and then disappeared to Halifax, West Indies, Iceland, Norway and Iceland, then he had another spell in Clyde, and went off again, whereabouts unknown. It seems a pretty good record of travel for six months. Audrey hoped to get a job as a VAD but they don’t seem to be in demand her mother says. Actually she is very thin and anemic, so her mother is glad to keep her at home for awhile. They are running a hospital supply depot, and also share with their neighbours in keeping two cows, two pigs and a lot of hens, and looking after all the animals and making butter, gives them quite a bit of work too.
Dad is getting a bit disheartened over his typing. He did not manage to do much from the time we got to Sydney till we got here, and he feels that he has gone back a bit. Maybe he has, but I don’t really think so. I think he unconsciously expected to be better than when he left off. He has good opportunity to practice here, but it is difficult for him with this old machine, which has a lot of queer tricks. He is looking well, and I think this is a perfect place for him. The hotel is so nice. It’s almost like staying in a biggish country house. With people you know so well, and I think this is a perfect place for him. I rather think that we shall stay here a good many weeks. I can write very comfortably here too. It’s much more restful staying in one place, than moving on every few days. Did I tell you to go on addressing letters to Wellington till we tell you not? Dad has asked for an extension of leave till August, and I think he is sure to get it, so I expect we shall stay in New Zealand till June anyway. We find it far more attractive than Australia. If wanted city life, I fancy one would get it better in Sydney, than anywhere in NZ.
The NZ plants and trees are remarkably different from ours. Luckily one of the brothers who run this hotel, is a keen botanist, and he has lent me three books on NZ plants, which are helpful and interesting, and he also seems able to specify anything I bring in. Mr. and Mrs. Kent, the nice people from Singapore, who have followed us round from place to place, are so funny over flowers. They make the most astounding comparisons. Some times it is hard to avoid showing a snort of surprise. Mr. K, looking at a large yellow vetch, said “Why, surely that’s a cowslip?”

Here’s the paper at an end, and time for me to say goodnight, and send my love and blessings.
Mother

Family letter No 2 from LJT

Glacier Hotel

Waiho Gorge

New Zealand

Jan 17th 1941

My Dears,

Before anything else, I want to explain the number at the top of this letter.  It is sometimes difficult to tell whether letters have gone astray, so I am going to number mine in future, and this is No 2 of 1941.  I would be glad if most of you who write regularly, would do the same.

Now I must try to give you some idea of this delightful place.  It would be hard to find scenery in any part of the world better than this, or less spoilt by the human element and too much civilization.  We are about ten miles from the sea-coast, and just at the foot of the mountains.  There are plenty of forest-covered hills between us and the sea, on the banks of the Waiho River, which flows out from the Franz Joseph Glacier, the snout of which is only 3 miles above this hotel.  Behind again are the snow peaks of the main range of the New Zealand Alps, the highest of which, Mount Cook, is 12,349 ft.  All round about us is beautiful forest, the true rain forest, with thick undergrowth of ferns, mosses and creepers.  One of its great features are the tremendous numbers of tree ferns, and a particularly lovely big fern called the “Prince of Wales’ Feathers”, - - not a tree fern this last.  The unique feature of this West Coast is the glaciers coming off the snow peaks and falling steeply between forest-covered hills to within about 800 ft of sea level.  There is quite a good road from the hotel for 2 3/4 miles towards the glacier face, and another ? takes you onto the ice.  Lots of people come here just for a couple of nights, in order to have the experience of going on the ice.  There is an equipment room with oiled mountain boots ranging down from a huge pair of size 12 to ones suitable for children, - - thick woolen socks to wear under them, - - long iron-pointed sticks, and mackintoshes and sou’westers if the weather looks bad.  There are also ice axes and crampons for the real mountaineering parties.  Nearly every morning there is a party to go up on to the glacier; the Graham brothers or one of the young guides take them.  The elderly or nervous ones are rowed across the lake at the glacier snout, landed at the edge of the ice and take a mild little walk on it.  The slightly more adventurous take a track along the hill-side, and so on to the glacier, where the guide cuts steps in the ice and takes them up some of the lesser pinnacles.  The face of the glacier is a bit dirty at the moment, for it has been a very dry season, and a lot of dirt has blown on to it.  It always brings some down with it, of course, but at the present time it has receded and left its terminal moraine on the lower side of the small lake which has formed during the last eight or ten years.  In spite of the dirt, it is a wonderful sight.  The ice blues and greens in the caves and crevasses are beautiful.  We felt rather a distaste for going on with the “Day-party”, as we had dreams of doing something more worth-while, but we wanted to get a little more fit first, so we have been going for good walks every day, and made arrangements with Mr Peter Graham that a small party of us would go up to one of the mountain huts on Tuesday of this week, in charge of Harry Ayres, one of the Guides and climb Mr Moltke, 6,500 ft next day.  Mr Kent joined us, and two very nice girls, cousins, both grand-daughters of New Zealand’s most famous Prime Minister, Seddon.  One Jean Gilmer, is a grown up girl, staying in the hotel.  The other, Mary Seddon, is a sixteen-year old school girl, whose parents have taken the little cottage in which the mother of the Graham brothers used to live, and brought up her seven sons.  Mr Tom Seddon (the father) was Member for the West Coast until the Labour Government came in, and they know everyone up and down the coast, and have been friends with the Grahams ever since they were children.  They are such nice people, and Mary has the makings of a splendid little mountaineer.  We had the company of an awfully nice Miss Scott, a not very young woman, who is a keen climber, and with whom we had become friendly in the hotel, and her young guide, a medical student in his last year, who comes here in the vacations and does guide work.  They came up the glacier with us, and stayed the night at the same hut, know as Defiance.  Beside the usual mountain boots etc, we were equipped with ice axes, things which I have never used before, but of which one soon learns the value going over ice pinnacles, or coming down steep snow slopes, or even some horrid shingle slides, where I’m afraid I used mine in the wrong way most of the time, and only began to get the idea of the right method right at the end.  We left the hotel with the “day party” and drove up to the end of the road in a big lorry.  At the end of the road we pushed on a bit ahead and soon left them behind.  Harry had a pretty heavy load, food and stuff for the party, though there is always a supply of tinned foods at the huts, as well as bunks with mattresses and lots of blankets.  Defiance has two rooms and can accommodate 8 men and 6 women.  I did not time things exactly, but I think we were a little under two hours on the ice.  Harry went in front and led us up through a maze of pinnacles, cutting steps up from them where-ever necessary.  In some places we went along narrow tops, with deep crevasses on either side.  I was surprised not to feel any sense of nervousness but boots well nailed, with “clinkers” round the toes and here and there along the sides, give one a wonderful feeling stability.  After getting through the pinnacles, we got on to much smoother glacier, with a lovely surface for walking, and Harry led us along between crevasses, over which we had occasionally to cross by snow bridges.  It was a delightful walk.  A light cloud had obscured the sun, and kept us comfortably cool, a definite advantage, for it can be very hot on the ice.  The worst part was the final climb up to the hut.  A few years ago there was a big landslide, which carried away the small track to the hut, and now one has to climb up a steep shingle and stone slide, on which nothing is stable.  We got to the hut about 1 o’clock, and Harry soon had an excellent sandwich lunch unpacked.  Graham Somerville the medical student lad had rushed on ahead and had the “Billy” boiling by the time we arrived, so we had a grand lunch.  As we had the afternoon on our hands, we gave the hut a grand spring-cleaning.  Herbert got hold of a broom and sweeping under the bunks in the ladies compartment, did a fine Charlie Chaplin act, by hitting the enamel object which had been pushed well underneath and making a ringing sound that echoed through the surrounding bush, and caused much happy laughter.  I mended one of the mattresses with a bit of surgical lint, and the time passed very pleasantly sitting in the sun outside the hut, or on the big rock just above it, from which there is a splendid view of the glacier, and down the Gorge towards the sea.  About six o’clock we had high tea, for which the Guides grilled fresh chops and sausages, and heated up tinned peas and beans.  They had even brought a big jar of fresh cream, which we had with tinned apricots.  We sat round for a long time drinking innumerable cups of tea and talking, and when we had washed up and put everything tidy, we did some crossword puzzels, Herbert putting on more and more clothes as the evening went on, and causing much pleasure, to Harry especially.  He wrapped a blanket round his waist, and draped another over his shoulders.  That not being enough, he put his spare flannel shirt on over his pullover and swathed a woolen scarf supplied by Miss Scott round his middle.  We were sent to bed at nine o’clock, as Harry said he should call us at 3 o’clock, give us breakfast at 3.30, and leave the hut at 4 a.m.  Everything went to plan.  The moon-light was wonderful when we set forth.  We had a long and rather uncomfortable climb up the shingle slide, and the dawn light came just as we were reaching the top of it.  The next section was a rough bit through bush, till we got on to the little trail, only just perceptible in places, which led us up and up through a most lovely alpine garden.  New Zealand has some most beautiful mountain flowers, though curiously enough they are almost all white, with a few yellow.  First of all we found one of the most lovely types of mountain daisies or celmesias.  From a big rosette of silvery leaves, spring stout stems about a foot high, each bearing a flower-head about three or four inches across, white petals and a golden disk.  These daisies were everywhere.  Amongst them we saw lots of the remains of the large white buttercup, miscalled the Mountain Lily.  I was afraid we should see none in bloom, but as we went higher we found quantities of them.  They look, superficially like a particularly handsome Japanese anemone, and place themselves charmingly amongst the rocks.  There were lots of other things too.  A white euphrasia, white forget-me-nots, several other types of mountain daisy, one like a good white cinnenaria.  We found the New Zealand Edelweiss, very like its Swiss and Himalayan cousins, and white gentians, pretty in themselves but dull compared with the wonderful blues of other mountain ranges.  We climbed up and up this high rocky valley, finally scrambling up steep rock slopes till topping a sort of rim, we were on the snow.  It was in good condition for walking, luckily for us, for we had a long pull up over the steep snow fields, varied occasionally by ascents of ribs of rock, and rock ascent to the top itself, which was snow covered.  It had taken us four hours to climb rather over 4,000 ft from the hut, and we were all glad to have reached the top and to be able to sit down and have a rest.  The effort was worth the achievement.  The view was superb!  Stretched to the north and east of us were the main peaks of the great dividing range.  Mounts Cook and Tasman, the two highest, are beautiful mountains, and away on each side of them, as far as we could see stretched snow peaks, while between us and them, lay great snow fields, feeding the glaciers, and the glaciers themselves, with the lovely blue and green colours in them.  Turning to the west, we looked down on spur after spur of steep mountains, looking as if they were covered with green velvet, stretching away to the blue line of the Tasman Sea.  I’ve seen magnificent views in the Himalayas, but though I dont say this surpassed those for beauty and grandeur, I would not say that they so much surpassed this.  It was perfectly clear when we first arrived, but soon a little filmy white cloud crept up the valley of the Franz Joseph Glacier, not thick enough to prevent the plane from the hotel bringing people for flights over the ice.  It was queer to look down at the areoplane far below us through the thin mist.  Harry had brought us each a large tomato in his rucksack, as well as biscuits and cheese.  The tomatoes were absolute heaven, for we were all very thirsty, and though the female and less controlled members of the party had sucked a little snow, it was only very little, for we had been lectured on the unwisdom of doing it and how it makes one much more thirsty afterwards.  ( I am never quite convinced that this is true!)  Chocolate also restored our strength, and we all felt greatly refreshed by our rest and some food.  I had been terribly short of breath and the laggard of the party coming up, and when I realized the steepness of the slopes we had climbed, I was scarcely surprised.  Some of the party tried a little glissading on the way down, but the snow was’nt right for it.  There had been a fresh fall of about five or six inches last week-end, and this fairly soft top made it difficult to slide.  I dont think I would have had the courage anyway.  It took us about three hours getting down as far as I remember.  We were none of us experienced climbers, and we loitered a bit picking flowers and looking at them.  At the top of the horrid slide which we had to negotiate before getting back to the hut, Harry left the party in Herbert’s charge, and ran on to get the kettle boiling for us.  He just skipped down and across this horrible slipping stuff, and took five minutes to cover the distance, which took me about half an hour, creeping inch by inch.  He says if you just go quickly each foot is off before the stuff under it has time to slide, and it looks easy enough to see him do it, but the rest of us just had’nt the nerve.  Mary Seddon and Herbert were the best.  Jean Gilmer came next.  I think I can perhaps class myself as a little better than Mr Kent, but still clumsy.  However at last we got over the stuff and back to the hut, where we immediately set to, drinking tea.  It was not till we had had a couple of cups each that we could pay much attention to food.  Harry had put a plate of tinned apricots ready for each of us, and we swallowed them with great pleasure and then were able to get down to our cheese and biscuits, followed by bread and jam.  I think we each of us had five cups of tea.  It was 1 o’clock when we had finished, and Harry told us all to have an hour’s rest before the start home down the glacier, while he cleaned up and washed the plates.  It seemed to me all wrong that we should not give him a hand, but he was firm, and certainly we were glad of the rest.  We left the hut at 2.30, and it took us just two hours to get down the ice.  Some of the descents of the ice pinnacles seemed much more impressive on the way down than they had on the way up.  Its lucky that well nailed boots give one such confidence on ice for some of the ice ridges we went along were so knife edged that Harry had to cut foot-holds for us.  Mr Alec Graham had brought a small party of people up to the glacier in the afternoon, and seeing us coming he waited to take us home the two and three quarter miles in the lorry, which was a nice help.  In spite of having hot baths when we got in, we are extremely stiff to-day, especially down the fronts of the thighs, so that going down-stairs is an agony, and getting up off a low chair, a difficult feat.  We were tired, but nothing like as tired as I should have expected, and I am simply amazed and delighted that Herbert was able to do all this and was not bowled over by it.  It just shows how much stronger he must have got since we came to New Zealand.  We are hoping to do some more mild climbing with nights out in the huts, during the next few weeks if the weather goes on being as kind as it is now.  Oh!  I forgot to tell you that when we were on top of Mount Moltke, we saw a chamois cross a snow saddle some way below us, and disappear amongst some rocks.  These chamoix are the descendents of those sent by the old Emperor Franz Joseph to the old Prime Minister Seddon, and the creatures have multiplied and become a curse.  They are eating up the lovely alpine flowers and doing a great deal of damage.  People shoot them, but they do’t seem able to shoot enough to keep the herds down.

We have been so happy here that we think we shall probably stay on a long time.  This hotel must be unique.  Many of the posts about it are filled by members of the family.  The father of the two men who run this hotel, landed on this coast with his wife, from an open whale boat, coming to look for gold.  They had seven sons, two of whom took to the mountains quite early, and became famous guides.  These are the two who run this hotel now, and such dear men they both are.  The widow of an elder brother, known as “Mrs. Jim” does the house-keeping part of the job, and beautifully she does it too.  The daughter of another brother who lives a little way up the coast, runs the office, in conjunction with her uncles, and her brother runs the power-station, for they make their own electricity.  Then there are all sorts of people about the place who seem to have been here for years, such as “Jack” the Dane, who looks after the equipment room, mends boots and does all sorts of other odd jobs - I have not discovered who runs the farm, which is a few miles away, but I hear that they grow all their own vegetables there, and keep their cows, making their own milk and butter and cream, which they give us in most liberal quantity.  No meal goes past without my wishing I could send some to you.  The charming atmosphere of the place seems to have been caught by all the maids and men about the place, and they are all friendly and anxious to please.  There is probably no place in New Zealand where we could feel as perfectly “at home” as we do here, or be so comfortable.  An added advantage is that there is a good radio set in a small sitting room off the big lounge, which we are at liberty to work ourselves, and we get the Daventry transmissions quite well.  I am so glad to be in touch with them again.  It has been something of a relief to hear during the last few days, that the fire-fighting arrangements seem to be growing more and more efficient, and that the new night “Fighters” are having some success.  The loss of the Southampton is sad.  Thank goodness she and her sister ships and planes made our loss an expensive one in German aircraft.

Its quite a time since we had letters either from England or from Canada, so I am daily hoping that some will come.  I got a nice batch from India a few days ago, enclosing one or two from friends at home who wrote to me for Christmas not knowing, of course that we had come away here.

We met some exceedingly nice people in this place.  It has been interesting meeting a family so intimately connected with the history of New Zealand as the Seddons, and they have asked us to go and see them when we eventually go back to Wellington.  Jean Gilmer too, wants us to meet her mother who seems to be a lady of great character, and President of the New Zealand Horticultural Society, or something of the sort.  I had a letter from Mr Bryant, the New Zealander who came to India and joined one of the Everest Expeditions, the other day.  I dont know how he heard I was in New Zealand.  He says that the New Zealand Alpine Club whose headquarters are at Dunedin, are anxious to meet us, and hope we shall go to Dunedin, and let them know when we do.  Its really most frightfully nice of these mountaineering clubs to be so hospitable to us.  I feel rather ashamed that I am no mountaineer, and not really able to live up to what a Secretary of the Himalayan Club should be. 

Here is the paper run out, so our love to you all, and good-bye for the present time being.

LJT 


Family Letter No 3 from LJT

Glacier Hotel

Waiho Gorge.

New Zealand.

Jan 27th 1941

My Dears,

It was a great pleasure to get a  long letter from Romey on the 21st and letters from Grace, Annette and Peggy on the 22nd.  I am afraid that some letters have been lost, for Grace’s letter is dated Nov 26th and the one before that is dated Nov 3rd, a gap which is rare.  There was a notice in the paper a few days ago that mails from England for New Zealand posted during the middle part of November, had been lost by enemy action.

Again I am late in writing.  The reason is that we seized the chance of beautiful weather, and the fact that some other people wanted to go into the mountains, to go off for a four day trip, and only got back yesterday evening.  Its a queer feeling going off into the blue for four days, and not knowing what is happening in the War, and when we got back we were awfully glad to find the news so good, and as far as we can make out, Air activity over England, not very heavy.  I had better take up from the tale of our doings from where I left off on the 17th.  I was suffering from extreme stiffness of the legs when I was last writing, and we thought that the only thing for it was more walking, so we went out for a good five mile tramp on the eighteenth, groaning whenever we had to step up or down steeply on the rough bush path we had chosen.  I did quite a lot of letter writing, and jobs of washing and mending during the next few days, favoured by the fact that the weather broke on the 19th, and that it rained without ceasing for two days.  We had planned to go up a 4,000 ft hill called Alex’ Knob on the 19th, leaving here at 7 a.m., in order to get to the top from which there is a specially fine view, before the clouds roll up and sit on the hills as they so often do by mid-day.  However we woke to the sound of pouring rain, so there was no doubt about it, and we were able to go to sleep again.  On the Tuesday it cleared up beautifully, and we had a superb day for Alex’ Knob on Wednesday.  We actually left here about 7.20, and got to the top a little before 11 o’clock.  The Kents, with whom we have been travelling for so long, had left on the Tuesday, so we had not the pleasure of their company, but a couple from Borneo, joined us, and proved most pleasant companions and good walkers.  Its a big pull up to the hilltop.  A rough track zig zags up and up through the bush for the greater part of the way, thinning out into lower scrub of daisy trees and Cabbage trees and finally into grass and rock and Alpine flowers.  The view from the top was worth the climb.  It was splendid!  We had thought we should have to wait for a drink till we had boiled the “Billy” we had brought, as the Grahams had told us that there were a couple of water holes near the top, but that the water was generally rather brown and better boiled before being drunk.  However the two days of heavy rain had filled them up with nice clear rain water, which was jolly good to drink as it was, and which stilled the pangs of thirst till the tea was ready.  We stayed up on the knob till 1.30 and took 2 ½ hours to come down.  It was quite a strenuous day.  No sooner were we in than we started seriously planning the longer four day expedition.  Two factors influenced us to start the next day.  One was the fact that Mary Seddon was so keen to come with us, and they are leaving for Wellington to-morrow.  The other was the weather.  It seemed wise to seize the chance while it was so fine, for this is a wet place, and one might have to wait a long time for another fine spell.  The party rapidly grew.  More people from Singapore had turned up, one a Mr Crighton, who is in business I think, and a youngish couple, the husband in the Malay Civil Service.  Mr Peter Graham’s two sons, aged 14 and 16 came with us too.  It was a big party for one guide to manage, but Harry Ayres was prepared to take us on, and the boys were quite good mountaineers already, and were most helpful.  As we were none of us in very good training (except the boys) we decided to go only as far as Defiance Hut the first day, and this meant we did not need to start till after lunch.  We drove up to the end of the road in the lorry, accompanied by various small boys, two young Seddons, Mrs Seddon and a small girl or two, who all climbed in for the ride.  We were on the glacier snout about 2.30, and took about the orthodox two hours up the glacier to Cape Defiance, and twenty minutes or so up the shale slip to the hut.  Harry left us at the bottom, to hurry on and get water boiling, trusting us to show the newcomers the way.  Unfortunately Mr Crighton was too enthusiastic, did’nt listen to Herbert’s instructions, got himself into a position where he could get neither up nor down, and Harry had to be summoned to let down a rope to him, and help him on to the firm ground above.  I was glad to find that I was able to negotiate the slide much better than on the previous occasion, and felt a great deal less nervous on it.  The Graham boys shed their boots directly we arrived, and clambered about on the rocks and through the bush bare foot, with apparent comfort.  Defiance Hut stands in a striking position.  It is on a small shelf on a very very steep mountain side.  Immediately below in what would be a precipice, falling away to the Glacier, only fortunately it is clothed in thick bush scrub, so it does not look alarming.  Above is the steep slope covered with thick bush, out of which stick two big rocks, from the tops of both of which there are excellent views.  It is amazing how the time passes in the huts.  By the time we had changed into dry clothes, for we had got pretty hot coming up, and had selected our bunks, shaken out our blankets and settled ourselves in, Harry had the high tea ready for us.  Afterwards, Mrs Cromwell, Mary and I washed up, while the men went out to get fire wood, and at 9 o’clock, when it was just dark, we lighted a flare on the big rock behind the hut, in answer to one signalling to us from the river bridge just beside the hotel.  We did not have one of the really early mornings the following day, as we were only making for the Almer Hut, about 3,000 ft higher than Defiance, and not for a peak from which we specially wanted to see the view.  We got up at 5 a.m. and left a bit after 7 o’clock, scrambling down the shale slide to the Glacier and working our way up through the ice for about four hours.  It is a marvel to me how the Guides ever find their way amongst the confusion of crevasses and pinnacles, especially for the latter part of our special journey, where two side glaciers flow in on either hand, and the ice is split and piled fantastically in every direction.  From the glacier to Almer Hut the way lies up what is practically a cliff some 500 or 600 ft high.  Luckily for the first third or so, where it is almost perpendicular, there, there is a tiny zigzag path creeping up through tumps of grass and mountain plants which give one a feeling of having something to hold on to, and the latter part eases off into a recognizable slope, still not too pleasant for it is rather unstable rock.  It was an exhausting pull up, and I was simply parched for lack of drink.  The hut stands in a wonderful position on top of this rocky spur standing between the main glacier and a steeply falling side glacier falling into it. From it you look down and across the glaciers, up to snow peaks and snow fields, and right down the Franz Joseph to the forests and the sea.  It was a glorious day and we took mattresses outside the hut after lunch and slept in the sun.  Herbert found it too hot, and moved into the shade behind the hut.  Here there is no water.  Snow has to be collected from neighboring patches, which lie all the year, and melted on the tin roof of the hut.  Cooking is done on a kerosine stove.  Harry, having carried a heavy pack up, went down the cliff again after lunch, to fetch another load of food, which was brought from the hotel by Graham Somerville and dumped at the foot of the rock ascent.  We really should have had two guides for such a big party, but Graham could not be spared for the four days.  It seemed to me heart breaking, having climbed that cliff with a load, to have to go down and bring up another , but Harry did not seem to think much of it, and started doing jobs about the hut directly he got back.  Herbert asked him why he did not take a short lie-back, and let us fetch snow and do anything else necessary, but he said he would sleep at night, - - that was quite enough for him.  That evening we had the most marvellous pink sunset, reflected on clouds all over the sky, Harry did not much like the look of the weather and said it might turn to rain before morning, and cheat us of our peak, for our object was a peak called Mount Drummond, just 9,000 ft.  Luckily our luck with the weather held, and though there was a little cloud about when Harry woke us at 3.45, it was good enough to make a start.  We got away at 5 a.m. and after a short scramble over piles of rock and across patches of snow, we came out on to the great snow fields between the coast range and the main divide.  For five hours we slogged over the snow, seldom on the level -- nearly always on the up grade, often very steeply.  Without the wonderful views and the interest of threading the way round and sometimes across the crevasses which split the snow fields in many places, it would be dull work.  As it was, I almost wished I had not come, for I got so frightfully thirsty.  I suppose the others did the same.  The crevasses were worth taking some trouble to come and see.  Many of them were a couple of hundred feet deep, the snow in the shadow turning to the most delicate shades of pale jade and aquamarine blue, and forming fantastic caves and grottos.  If it were not for the supreme business-like confidence of the guide, crossing some of these crevasses by apparently frail snow bridges, would seem rash beyond words.  On the final climb up steep snow slopes to the peak, I was plugging along behind Harry and the two boys, my eyes on the snow, putting my feet into their foot marks, when suddenly raising my eyes I saw we were topping a sharp snow edge of a long col and a magical view was spread before us.  The snow fell away apparently into a great abyss, but beyond were range upon range of rocky peaks draped with snow, and beyond them as far as sight could penetrate, the highly indented coast line and the sea.  I had cried out in amazement, and so stupidly spoiled the surprise for the others.  In front of us a cone of steep rocks, the top of Mount Drummond, stuck up out of the snow.  By the time I had gasped and gazed at the view, Harry and the boys had laid out the rope, and were preparing to rope us up.  When I realized that the roping was in order to climb the final steep rock, I demanded to be taken off.  I was quite content to sit at the foot of the knob, rest and try to get a little saliva back into my mouth.  Had it been only Herbert and myself with Harry and the boys, perhaps I would have gone up, but we were too many for the rope. Harry had just as much as he could do to manage those who went, for with the exception of the boys, who had been on ropes before, though not yet skilled climbers, not one of the party knew the first thing about it.  Having reached the rock foot, Harry decided that they would all rest there for a little and have some food before going up to the top, and he produced raisins, brazil nuts, “squashed fly” biscuits and various members of the party had brought chocolate.  We had had one lemon to suck on the way up, which had just about saved my life, and Harry produced another of which by the kindness of the others I was given the lions’ share.  I was almost sure that Herbert would not like going up the peak, but he afterwards said he was much too frightened to say he would not, and up he went with the others.  Harry chuckled with laughter in the evening, when he was describing how terrified he was and how he got the rope round his neck, and tangled in his feet, and does not believe a word of it.  I had a delightful twenty minutes or so resting, sucking my lemon and enjoying the view, and was prepared to enjoy the homeward trek.  And how different it is travelling down snow fields from travelling up them!  In one or two places we were able to slide down slopes in a few seconds on our seats, which we had zig zagged so painfully up shortly before, and how we could swing along with an almost skating motion in many places or an easy stride in others, doing the return journey in about 2 ½ hours.  We got to the hut again a little after one o’clock.  A change of clothes, lunch and a lazy afternoon lying in the sun were extraordinarily pleasant.  The weather held, but Harry still feared for the morrow, especially when soon after we had gone to bed, it began to rain hard.  We anticipated rather a miserable journey down the glacier the next day, for the ice is not nice in the rain.  Our luck still held, and the morning, though a bit cloudy was fine.  We had breakfast, cleaned up the hut, and left about 9.30.  We took the descent of the cliff gingerly, to say the least of it.  Fourteen year old Stephen Graham took me under his special charge, climbing down just in front on me and indicating the best places to put the feet.  Once on the ice we made fairly good going, though as we had not crampons, Harry had to cut a good many steps.  About one o’clock when we were below Defiance, we debated whether to picnic on the ice, but the wind was cold and clouds looked nasty, so we decided to push on, for another hour and a half should have seen us off the glacier and able to get shelter in the forest.  We reckoned what the glacier had been doing while we had been up on the heights.  Fairly near the snout the ice falls steeply in a series of high ridges running parallel to the flow of the Glacier and with deep crevasses in between.  This year there has only been one of these that it has been possible to get up or down.  We had thought it rather dramatic and alarming when we came down from Defiance the first time, but on this occasion we were prepared for it, and felt quite bold.  The method is as follows.  The Guide cuts steps up the very slightly sloping side of the icy wall, up which one climbs, taking holds all the time with ones ice-axe, till the summit of the ridge or pinnacle is reached.  The Guide hacks lumps of ice off the top of the ridge where-ever necessary, one then walks along for about twenty or thirty yards, when gently sloping series of steps are cut down the side, and finally one gets into a sort of trough and so down on to the lower parts of the glacier.  Well, we got up on to the top of the pinnacle and were moving along it, when Harry called back that a big crevasse had opened out right across it that was too wide to cross, and that we must go back a little and give him room to consider the situation.  After taking a survey of the new shapes of the ice, he started cutting big steps down one end of the new crack, standing on one foot, leaning out over space and hacking out steps below him.  He cut a staircase of big steps for eight or ten feet down till the crack was narrow enough to stride across, and there he cut another stairway up the other side.  It was a clever and highly skilled piece of work, and it was a pleasure to see him doing it, - - though it was jolly hard work for him, poor chap!  A slight shower had come on and the ice was a bit slippery, so he had to do a lot more step-cutting before we were out of the bottom ice-fall, and could walk down over the gently sloping ice of the glacier snout.  By the time we had scrambled up over the moraine banks and got up into the shelter of the bush-covered hillside, it was getting on for three o’clock, so we stopped to have a bite of food, before starting the 2 ½ mile walk in along the road.  By this time the rain had stopped and the sun was out.  We stepped out at a smart pace, and were pretty hot, and very thirsty by the time we got to the hotel.  The trials and exertions of a few days in the mountains get their reward in the pleasures of unlimited drinks (We started with shandy and went on to tea) and hot baths.  Harry and the two Graham boys were as fresh as daisies, but the rest of us were definitely tired.  Herbert and I had had five days of walking and climbing, and its a great satisfaction that he stood it so well, for his fatigue was a healthy physical reaction and not the horrid mental exhaustion which is so much more difficult to deal with.  We got back just in time, for it came on to rain that evening and has been pouring all day with the same ferocity with which the rain comes down in Darjeeling.

28.1.41  I was writing up to dinner time last night, and was too tired to finish this after dinner.  We had such storms during the night.  The Grahams say they are the heaviest thunder storms they have had for years, so we more than ever bless our luck that we got down from the Almer Hut just in time.  Its raining steadily to-day, and its good to be in such a comfortable hotel with plenty of jobs to do.  The Seddon family have just gone off, and we are sorry to say good bye to them, but hope to meet them again in Wellington.  They are awfully nice people.  We shall soon be the oldest inhabitants of the Hotel.  Our nice Miss Scott goes on Saturday, and then we really shall be the oldest guests.  There are two artists who live here permanently, but those one cannot count in the same way.

It must seem strange and unreal to you to read of outings like this one into the mountains, while you are all oppressed with duties and anxieties of every sort.  It seems strange and unreal to us too, and almost as if we were observing some one else doing these things.  I feel in a way that it is almost wrong to write about them, but it may be that you find a certain small distraction in reading about things so far away and so improbable.  I see that the paper is soon going to run out and I am not going to start a fresh page, especially as there is not much ore to tell.  We shall stay on here for a few more weeks.  Best love to you all

LJT


From LJT and HPV to Annette
Franz Joseph Glacier Hotel
Waiho Gorge
New Zealand
Jan 28th 1941

My darling Annette,

How lucky it was you did not write on the week before the date of your last letter, i.e. Nov 19th, for I am afraid the mails of that and the previous week have been lost. My poor Anne! It is a bother when one is called upon to make a decision, and is not sure that is the best or the right course to pursue. From the arguments you put forward, I think you have acted rightly. I feel at this time, the usefulness of the work you are doing is more important than a possible slight advantage to your own career. We are certainly much happier too, to know that you are not working in London. Its quite possible that being loyal to the department or rather Ministry you are in, will stand you in good stead in the end, if you are looking for any reward other than feeling that you have acted rightly. I’m glad that you are able to get over to Oxford now and again, and see some of your old friends. Its nice too, that you see Uncle Bous and Aunt Cecil occasionally. I was rather interested to hear something of Yvonne, for I have not heard anything of that family for ages.

I thought of you so many times when we were out in the mountains, thinking how much you would have enjoyed it, and wondering what you were doing:- trying to picture you in office; working down in the cellars on the night shifts; or in your lodgings. Are you still keeping that five year diary? I hope you are, for it should be interesting. With your letter and Aunts’ was one from Peg. She writes an entertaining screed, and we are tickled at her announcement that she has found in Pat Furnell the perfect husband for Romey, and has written to the child saying “Hold everything till you have met Par.” Dad is to have the lower half of this sheet on which to write so it about time I finished. Best love, and congratulations on having been offered or semi-offered a job, even if you do not want it

Mother

I too think that your decision to stay by your present job was correct. If you had done otherwise you would have imagined afterwards that it had been for the money.

My being on leave does not seem to have improved my letter writing. Just now I am fagged out – but even when I was not I lacked the necessary enterprise. The faggedness is due to five days’ unusual exercise. Our day up Alex Knob left me tired and the four days up the glacier after that were a knock out. At least they proved to me that it is no use my starting the hobby of climbing: but as I never had any real drive to climb I shall not add this to my list of failures, although the list includes several things never even attempted. Me – I do not like crevasses: and I do not like sheer drops. And I have not the knack of feeling pride in achievements for which the credit belongs to others – the guide when it is a question of peaks or the shikari when of tigers.

The purchase of the Russian Linguaphone records amazes me. Was it only because they were cheap or did you really want to learn Russian? - I have been arguing that the family determination to get moneys worth will end in someone learning that tongue from them even if you don’t. If I am not mistaken brother Roy started Russian once: you should consult with him about it.

My typing hardly progresses. On the other hand I have done a fair amount at the star maps – which are of course useless. Last night’s terrific thunder did not wake me: but I dreamt of avalanches.

Much love
Dad


From LJT to Romey

Franz Joseph Glacier Hotel, Waiho Gorge NZ
Jan 28th, 1941

My darling Romey,

I do hope I am not missing “The Clipper” by posting a little later this fortnight. It should be alright if the letters are not held up too long in the censor’s office. Your letter all about Christmas has been a tremendous pleasure to us. How kind people were to you and to John, and how awfully good of Cousin Susie and of Helen to give you so many lovely things. Really your account of the winter doings, of the Christmas Trees out in the gardens, and of the skating and tobogganing are most fascinating. I am glad you got a nice pair of skates and boots, and that you were getting lots of pleasure out of skating. I have not skated on ice since I was about 11 years old, and yet I can still remember the sort of thrill of it.
Your exam results sound satisfactory, and we are looking forward to hearing a little more detail and your comment in the next letter. We were tremendously amused to hear that you were suspected of sending a cable in code, when you mentioned the Peevies and Beasties. We much appreciate your long letters, but I well understand that in holiday time you want to be out of doors as much as you can, so, much as we love your detailed letters, don’t let them be too much of a burden, and prevent you doing out-or-door sports. I am glad that your Newfoundland friends were able to get to Winnipeg for Christmas. We read with amazement what you say about the possibility of skating thirty miles out to sea from Newfoundland.
It has been rather interesting to us having this sixteen-year old girl out with us on these two mountain trips. Mary Seddon is a mixture of being young for her age in some ways, and old in others. She was young enough when it came to spreading condensed milk on top of slices of bread and jam! Then there was a real school-girl gleam in her eye. She got a lot of ragging, I am afraid, but she took it very well, and enjoyed it on the whole, I think. Up at Almer Hut she was accused by the two boys of having eaten some of the candies, and she very properly replied to them, “Well, if I have eaten them I am jolly well not going to sick them up again to please you.” That seemed to finish the argument very satisfactorily.
Yesterday and today have been splendid opportunities for writing letters, for the rain pours down unceasingly, and there is no temptation to go out. It’s a jolly lucky thing that we came down the Glacier when we did, for Harry says we could not have come down the Glacier in this weather without crampons. It would have been too dangerous. We should just have been marooned in that little hut, with nothing to do, and not very much food, till the rain slackened off. I thought of you all quite an extra lot while I was out, wondering how much you would enjoy this sort of thing, and how long it would take you to develop into a climber. Mary Seddon was thrilled at going up the rock top of Mt Drummond on the rope, and I think she will probably have the chance to do lots more climbing in the future. They are lucky to have such fine mountains close at hand in this country.
I think I shall have to start a notebook with lists of your and Annette’s and Richard’s friends, for I get very confused about them. It’s strange how quickly one fits into a fresh environment, isn’t it? We feel like old inhabitants here now, and seem on friendly terms with all the people about and with the Guides and so on. You would get on very well with Harry Ayres, who has been our guide on these trips, for besides being a fine mountaineer, he is cracked about horses. His wife is second cook here, and she is a keen climber and rider, too. They have a black mare, and Harry says that unfortunately, as this is a very busy season for both of them, they took off her shoes and have put her out at grass, otherwise he would have lent her to me to ride.
Please give our love to cousin Susie and to Helen, and tell them how grateful we are to them and to all the other friends and relations who helped to make your Christmas so happy.

Best love my darling, and bless you, Mother