1942 February
Family letter from HPV
(pencil note at top of letter from LJT) Richard’s duplicate of this is coming by sea
Calcutta.
February 7th 1942.
(rec’d Canada April 6)
My dear Annette (handwritten salutation)
Two weeks since I wrote. Or maybe three. The excuse that I had much work is true; much work and weariness after it. A race with time; it is not too easy to get files cleared off before one goes into the Mofussil on tour. And the actual inspections are a strain; at least if one relies as I must on wits instead of practical knowledge to spot what is wrong.
I have evolved a new and simple method of seeing that I rely entirely on touch when typing; it is to use a ribbon so worn that it weaves no marks on the paper, or none that can be seen by electric light. My trust is in the carbons. While at Khulna I suddenly was moved to compose more of the alphabetical sentences for the typewriter; but as none of the family has taken sufficient interest in the game to compose any examples for me I refrain from copying out my latest efforts. Joan refuses to taken an interest in them, and so I suspect that both as a species and as individuals they are dull.
It was a blackout in the train going out to Khulna, and I spent the time as it were profitably in typing to my dear sister Arla. When I reached the Circuit House where I stayed for the week, I found that my letter was hopelessly bad. Gaps where I had not smitten hard enough, strings of misplaced letters where I had got my hands too far along the keyboard, irregularities of every kind. The rocking of the train was a handicap, but the truth is that is a great help to look at the result of one’s typing as one goes along and if I cannot do this my nerve cracks.
Nothing much to say about my stay at Khulna. Interviews, inspections. Inspections, interviews. On the Saturday I had to waste an afternoon on an excursion by launch an hour up the river to a village where I opened an Exhibition. Deputizing for a minister who had to stay in Calcutta for an urgent Cabinet Meeting. It was rather fun. Though a supreme waste of time for one who has to husband his strength. Completely exhausted when I started, I regained enough vigour to carry me through by lying flat in a sort of coma for the trip; there are bunks in these Government launches. This one was very like the Mollie, the launch that I had at Barisal.
At my destination there were bombs of welcome: there was a guard of armed police with presenting of arms and ceremonials; there was a band of drummers perched in a bamboo balcony above a bamboo arch of welcome. Phrenetic, as the French book said so often. (As of the old woman stopping one nostril and then slapping the naval at prayer at Benares.)
With difficulty accompanied by District Magistrate and leading notables and jostled by the usual small boys and bovine villagers, I reached the shamiana or pavilion-thing where the ceremony was to be. Roofed with coconut fronds, supported by bamboo. Rather well carried out in a simple way. There was a loudspeaker, provided because the Minister was to have come. No practical use because all the speeches were in English and the handful of persons who understood English were close enough to need no electrical assistance to hearing.
Knowing nothing about the exhibition and caring nothing I had composed no speech and had not even thought out anything while listening to that made in my honour by the president of the committee. Result meaningless glibness, but no one minds so long as one is fluent. In any event the audience is apathetic.
The Exhibition was humble; but meritorious because it had been organized by the villagers themselves. It might have been that very one which we had 13 years ago in Jalpaiguri, except that there are new posters in the public health and veterinary sections. The usual hideous needle-work by local ladies, much admired. More interesting an exhibit of coir products and some simple coir-working machines. Of interest to me because I introduced coir-working into Bengal. They have not progressed beyond what I was doing in Barisal except that they have a carding machine and that is so dangerous that I wonder at the failure of the workers to slice their hands off.
There was tea; not too strong and well done in that they had some plain biscuits and accepted my statement that I could eat nothing much owing to defective innards. Also amusements: lathi play (quarter staff), snakes, shield and spear demonstration. The snake charmer was assisted or hampered by several enthusiastic amateurs who insisted on joining in the singing, for it was by song and not by piping that the snakes were lulled. An old chowkidar in his uniform took a leading part in this and in all else; later he drummed furiously with a stick on the seat of an iron chair in time with the dancing -- for the lathi play was merely a sort of ceremonial walk or dance with brandishing of lathis and occasional clashing of them. The chief thing was the stamping of heels and the twisting of buttocks, accompanied by grimaces, all obviously standardized. There was stalking in circles, passing back to back and ejaculating of “Hah!”; and there was much abuse of the performers by all present for not doing things as they should be done. I was reminded of the House of Commons and Churchill. How low a thing is a member of the House of Commons! Who the most prominent of abuse-throwers? Who but Chowdidar? But even the good are not exempt from calumny: for before long another took his chair from him and beat another rhythm on it for the benefit of the sword players. These were like the lathi players but less amusing, for they had no real buffoon among them. The shield and spear business represented what happens when men fight between themselves about land in these parts. It looks as if it would be a harmless affair, for it consisted in squatting down behind the shield with one leg out in front like a Japanese warrior in the prints and pushing spears out and in, dull-like. But one spear had a broken point, which hung by a bit of string.
Friday was for me a busy day. I had made a mistake about dates and stayed in town for lunch, thinking that I had a meeting to attend. Thus I fell in with a man from Simla, Agricultural Commissioner to the Government of India; and to him I discoursed to my own satisfaction about my famous rainfall graphs from which I attempt to forecast paddy crops. The satisfaction consisted in seeing him lean over and take a sketch of the way in which I keep the graphs: and he asked me to let him have copies of notes in which I discussed the idea. Lately, the Government of India have been trying to see if there is any way of telling before the harvest is ready what it is likely to be like . . . and though they were thinking of wheat it is possible that my ideas about the paddy crop might help.
No less interesting was a man who came in to dinner. Alas! the preliminaries were ill-omened. A visitor at 5, another at 5.30; two more at 6.15; two more at 7 or a little before; and then the dinner couple. Already I was jaded. But thanks to a stomach dope, I warded off the indigestion that on such occasions keeps me awake after the guest have gone.
The man was one Harler, who deals in the subject of explosives. But lately he has been specializing in that of compost; and he knows much about it. Also he has been haranguing the planters of South India about erosion; and he took away with him my Forest Committee Report.
Believe it or not I blushed with embarrassment when Joan told me next day that he had been speaking to her in office about it and said that he had not only read it at once but he had sent it off to South India already and had been trying to get more copies. Because it was the clearest short account of erosion that he had seen. When I wrote it I thought myself that it was pretty good: the complete flop that it proved so far as results in Bengal had been concerned had shaken my faith in this idea. So I look on Harler as a benefactor.
It has been a horrid week generally: masses of work accumulated during the week of my absence and myself rather incapacitated by belly ache, as often happens when there is excess of work. How to get up to date I do not know, for I must go off to another district at the end of next week.
You must if you have had previous letters be asking what happened to the kits and the cat. You remember that we had enticed the cat so far by offerings of scraps of toast as to get it to venture towards us. While I was away things progressed. Having tea in the garden Joan heard Mrs MacConnachie exclaim “Do look!” and there, coming in procession or string, were the cat and five kittens, full of terror but compelled by hunger to the feast. Last of all the little one, the weakling. Full of compassion and feeling that there was not help for it she put the whole family on a pension, rice with meat once a day. When I came back the most of them, including the little one, came right up to me as I sat on the lawn and accepted toast at a distance of two feet. And since then there has been nothing of that sort. For a black tom-cat thinking that if there was food going he might as well have it drove the whole crowd away, and they have not been seen by me since, though they have been heard in the bushes and Mogul says that yesterday, when we were out, they did come and get rice. The poor starvelings.
(handwritten addition) I envy you your fencing: I bought – no, I took out from a library – a book about this once: and it is an item on the stained glass window which will be a memorial to the things I meant to do but didn’t. The recorder you may keep: that I renounce. Of course I read a book on lion-taming once, but I don’t count that as a failure somehow. It occurs to me that I shall have to put the stained glass window itself in the stained glass window: for I shall have no strength to take up that hobby, when cleaning the typewriter this morning left me dead beat: I read a series of articles on stained glass making once.
Much love
Dad
(to Romey) Anyhow, bless you. I like your letters and read them greedily.
Much love, Dad
From LJT to Romey
8 Theatre Rd, Calcutta
My darling Romey,
We seem to be all over the shop with letters! Nothing much appears to be known about Air Mail, but there is a belief that some Air Route is being used to America, so we are attempting to send letters by it.
Directly Dad arrived home again, I got your letters from him and checked the numbers. Two are missing, Nos 39 & 40, written during November. They were probably in one envelope and got caught by the War in the Pacific. We feel horribly anxious about Singapore at the moment ---but it’s no use talking about War matters at this distance of time and space.
We much enjoyed the letters from Helen, as well as yours. It is sad for her that her health is not better. How lucky you and Annette and Grace to be able to do so much without getting tired. Isn’t it nice that Joey had her little daughter so successfully. It’s funny to think of Aunt as a grandmother. Joey and Frank seem to go in for crazes about things. You know at the beginning of the war they were ardent Federal Unionists. Now they have dropped that in favour of socialism.
Annette has chosen to have her opal set as a ring. Have you made up your mind about yours yet? Letters from home tell of the arrival of your photos there, and I feel quite jealous, for none have reached me yet. I do hope they turn up. Aunt seems to like them.
The twice I have been to Harry and Winsome’s since they moved to Alipore Rd, there have been other people there, so I have not seen over the house properly, but I think it is looking very nice. It is a big place with a lot of rooms. Winsome is a first class housekeeper and has an excellent knack of arranging rooms to the best advantage.? Brave folk, they must have been. I suppose many of them would never have gone if they had realized what they would have to face.
Every now and again I think of your notebook and wonder whether you ever got it back. Helen says you are working very hard at your telegraphy. It is new to me that there’s a correct position to take up for the work. I wonder whether H.D. know that. I am going to take them your letters to read tonight. I have been slow about letting them see them this time, but it was chiefly because Dad was away, and did not send them in a family post.
Please thank Helen from both of us for the letters we so much enjoyed. I am trying to get hold of the book she recommends “Ariel and all his Quality”. Love to you all,
Mother
Family letter from LJT No4 (rec’d Canada April 16/42)
8 Theatre Rd.
Calcutta,
Feb 8th 1942
My Dears,
More letters this week, arriving in something approaching the proper sequence. There are two from Richard, dated 9-11, and 21.11 one from Annette, d. 30.10, and one from May d. 26.10, as well as one from Grace d. 30.10 and another received a few days earlier by air mail, d.30.11, telling of the arrival of Joey’s babe, so in that case the air mail seemed to save time, though it did not save much on Rchard’s letter dated 26.11. There were also two letters from Gwen Petrie, who is manfully sticking to her emergency drivers’ work, which I think is really wonderful of her at her age, and with her weak back. It was good to hear that Joyce had managed the arrival of her little daughter so well and that both were flourishing. Thanks to everyone for the letters. You scarcely need to be told how much we enjoy them! I am glad to hear that some of the parcels I sent have arrived.
Herbert got back from tour on Tuesday, a bit tired, but otherwise well. My refugee and child went off on Monday. They were both looking all the better for the quiet ten days here. I hope they will get safely to Africa and be happy there.
Every evening this week has been occupied by something, with the result that I have had little time to attend to any of my own affairs. Walter Jenkins took me out to dinner and to see Walt Disney’s “Dumbo” on Monday. Some of it I found quite charming, but the latter half of it went on too long, and became too vague. I enjoyed “The Reluctant Dragon” much more. It was difficult to find time to prepare the necessary papers for the Himalayan Club Committee meeting, which was on Wednesday. Our “out member” from Shillong was in Calcutta, and stayed on to dinner with us afterwards, both to exchange news, and to see photos of New Zealand. It always interests me to see the different way in which a climber looks at photos of mountains, from that in which an ordinary person does. A climber likes to collect the pictures of a single peak, taken from different angles, and study them, seeing how they fit and give him an idea of the mountain in the round, and then he begins to pick out the possible routes for climbing.
One evening we were out looking at pictures of New Zealand, but they were films taken by a friend who is a New Zealander. The sad thing was that all the money she had spent on colour films was more or less wasted, for the films were extremely poor! It was not only that the exposures were wrong so that the colours were not good, but the films were badly taken, snippets jumped about from here to there, and seeing what marvellous scenery New Zealand has, she had chosen her subjects without any judgement. Still it was a pleasant evening, in good company.
Its a curious thing that if ever I do venture to ask anyone to dinner when Herbert is at home, other people drop in all the evening and tire him out. It happened like this on Friday. A certain Dr Harler, who has recently joined the Armaments Production Section of our office, was known to Herbert many years ago in Jalpaiguri, and he is an expert on many of the subjects in which Herbert is interested. Dr Harler is a chemist, and one of the few men in India who has had long experience of work with explosives. It was arranged that he and his wife should come in about 7.30, have dinner quietly with us, and go home early. I arrived back from office about 5.30, to find the Indian Magistrates of two of Herbert’s districts with him, so they joined us for tea in the garden. One of them, a Hindu, is a witty and amusing fellow, who drinks heavily. The other is a Muslim, just back from the Pilgrimage to Mecca. As they were going about 6.15, an Indian Judge and his wife arrived, Madrassis, and nice people, but my heart sank when I saw them, for I had not even had time to read some English letters which had arrived, or open the ordinary local post. Just before seven o’clock, I told Mrs Krishnaswami that I had guests coming at 7.30 and must go and dress, so she took her husband away, and I slipped off to have a bath and change. By ill luck Herbert escorted them to the front door and was caught by the Percy Browns, whom normally we are delighted to see, and their visit overlapped the arrival of the Harlers, so my poor Herbert was a bit exhausted. The Harlers are charming people and it is no effort to talk to them. For some years Dr Harler has been working on the subject of fertility of soil, and effects of soil on tea crops. He has become interested in the sister subject of erosion. Herbert lent him a copy of his Forest Report, and yesterday morning Dr Harler sought me out to ask where he could get copies of the report, for he thinks it the best short account of the causes and results of erosion that he has seen anywhere, and he wants to send a lot of copies to the planters in South India for whom he has been working. It is gratifying that someone with Dr Harler’s knowledge should speak with such enthusiasm of Herbert’s work, which the Bengal Government treated with complete lack of appreciation. If they had payed an expert vast sums to come from America to report on erosion in the forest areas of Bengal, they would have splashed the result like anything, but since it was one of their own men doing the work in addition to his own job, they took no further interest once they were in a position to tell the electorate that a commission had been sitting on the subject.
Idris got back from his tour on Friday. His plans to do it all by plane were upset by the fact that the place to which he was going after Allahabad has turned its landing ground to other uses. He therefore left his plane at Allahabad, and proceeded by train. He has been so busy since he got back, and either he or we out to meals, that I have had little talk with him, save “shop”. He looks better than he did, though I think the tour has been hard work. Anyhow, it was a change from seven days a week, which is what he does when he is here.
Getting out to Tollygunge now is difficult, with the more rigorous petrol rationing. We spent yesterday afternoon very pleasantly by walking to the Saturday Club, which is close to this house, having tea in the charming garden there, and looking at a lot of the “new” English papers (Sept and Oct numbers!) We had loaned the tennis court to a party of young people, so did not want to sit in our own garden, and anyhow this made a nice little change. I read two numbers of the Sphere which had some most interesting articles in them, especially one about the Crimea and the Caucasus. Its still a good paper of its type. We have missed seeing the American papers which the Rankins used to send us. They gave them up at the end of the year, because there were such difficulties about getting them. I hear that the Rankins are going back to New York, for which I am extremely sorry, because I am so fond of Louise, and shall miss her very much.
Last night I abandoned Herbert and went to rather a nice dinner party, about “Fifty-Fifty” English and Indian. The only drawback was that I sat next to one of Calcutta’s leading Indian barristers, and he is a dreadful bore. He tells tales, that in themselves might be interesting, but he is portentously long winded. His wife, who is a great friend of mine and has a mind that moves at the same sort of speed as Herbert’s realized this long ago, and finds him a bore herself, I fancy.
We are getting our Cold Weather late this year. For about the last three weeks it has been lovely. Most of the time, I have been wearing thin woolen clothes. It is rather astonishing that the cold should go right on into February like this. Only recently we have had news of the great Cold you have been suffering from in Europe. Strange that these war years should have brought two such cold winters, and one such hot summer.
Work is going on busily in the office. It has not appeared as yet that Mr Hughes and I have made any bad blunders during Idris’ absence. I think it’s going to make all the difference in the world having Mr Hughes take on part of Idris’ work.
As you may well imagine, our thoughts are constantly with the people in Singapore and Rangoon. For many Indians it is only now that the War begins to be real to them.
Best love to you all, dear people.
LJT
From LJT to Annette No 4
8 Theatre Rd. Calcutta.
Feb 8th 1942
My darling Annette,
Thank you for your letter of 30.10.42. I am glad you were able to celebrate your birthday at Oxford. The description of your birthday party sounds nice, and you seem to be able to find interesting things to do most times you go over to oxford. The comment on the Lady Hamilton film, “A most original story” is delightful! I am so interested in your mention of “Seven Gothic Tales” by Isaak Dikeson (You write the name Dineson, but I think it has a “k” in it, has’nt it?) I must try to get hold of the book, because I was enchanted by her “Out of Africa” which I am sure I must have mentioned to you. I read it during those dreadful days when Belgium and France Fell, and it looked as if the British Ex: Force, would all be destroyed, and I have a singularly vivid memory of it. If you have not read it, try to get hold of it.
Your photos are such a pleasure to me. I am longing to get the complete set. I think its an awfully good idea having several positions, for the trouble with photos is that they give only one aspect and one expression. It may be that is where a good portrait has the advantage of them, for the artist, if he’s good enough gets much more into the apparantly single aspect. Dad laughs about the earings! He does not seem to think that his ban on my wearing them, effects you in any way. Anyhow, I think his original objection was perhaps more in the way of a youthful bit of showing off, than anything else, and we have always kept it up as a joke! The idea of not liking earings was that flesh had to be cut in order to attach them, and he said “if that, then why not a nose-ring”. Well, in a way, why not? A little ruby or diamond stud in the nostril can look very charming.
Best love
Mother
Family Letter from LJT No 5
8 Theatre Rd.
Calcutta.
Feb 14th 1942
My Dears,
Letters again this week - - Air Mail posted about Nov 20th from Grace and Annette. It is wonderful how uniformly cheerful the letters have been all through this long stretch of the war. We are going through some bitter days now. Lets hope things will be brighter again by the time this reaches you. For days past my thoughts have been so constantly with our group of friends in Singapore, and with other Dutch acquaintances in Sourabaya and Malang. I am thankful that I have work which needs my attention all the day, so that I have not too much time to think of other things. We were so rushed in the office during the early part of this week, that I felt like a diver coming up for air when I knocked off in the evenings. As so often happens, when I am extra busy in the office, there also seemed more than the usual number of things to cope with at home. Herbert has been a bit too, and went away on tour to-day looking rather over-tired. I hope he will have a fairly quiet day at Krishnagar to-morrow, before he begins inspecting the office on Monday. He will be away for a week.
The Cold Weather has suddenly gone, and the wind has gone round to the South, with all the hot weather feel in it. The Cold Weather has slipped by so quickly, almost before I had realized that it was here.
This evening I am feeling a personal sadness, for I have been having tea with Louise Rankin, and I probably shant see her again, unless we manage to go to America or they come to England. She has been one of my best and most interesting friends out here for a good many years now, and I shall miss her sadly. She is sad at leaving India, for she has given much love and interest to the country, and learnt more about it in a comparatively short number of years than many people do in a lifetime. As a bequest to India she has left a book, just in the press, “An American Cook-book for the Indian Table”. Knowing how well one always eats at Louise’s table, I think there will be some good things in that book. Louise is the second of my American friends to leave Calcutta. Edward Groth went while we were away, and I find I miss him still. He had the personality to create an atmosphere of his own, and an hour or two spent in his company was always interesting.
The difficulty of getting out to Tollygunge is perhaps a good thing, for it gets us out of a groove. Thus we spent last Sunday evening at the Zoo, and found it delightful, and animals, flowers, grass and trees all so much improved since Herbert and I paid our last visit there in the Autumn. The birds, of which there is a specially fine collection are wearing their courting plumage, and were looking grand. Ramsey Chase has asked whether he might bring his newly arrived Colonel to see us, so we had tea in the garden, and then each armed with a bag of nuts and Cape-gooseberries, we set off for the Zoo. Ramsey and Col Birdwood were excellent companions, and seemed to enjoy themselves. There were several amusing things going on. The Barbary Sheep was giving itself a bath under great difficulties. By kneeling down in front of its water-trough at exactly the right angle, it could lay one cheek and side of its head in the water, but only just, for the long curling horn had to be fitted in. Then, rapidly lifting its dripping cheek, it rubbed it along its side or flank, and proceeded to massage the dampened portion on the sand on the floor of its pen. The toilet was methodical and through. The armadillo was bustling up and down the side of its pen, in an absurd caricature of a stout old colonel doing his fifty times up and down the deck for the daily exercise on board ship. But I think the thing that really amused us most was the effort of the hornbill to catch monkey-nuts, reaching out for them and almost overbalancing off its perch in the effort, till at last it got one. Then with great care, it split the shell open with its huge beak, and retained one small kernel. This it did not swallow, but hopped gravely along the perch, and as gravely presented it to its lady friend in the next compartment. The inadequacy of the small nut in those tremendous bills was ludicrous.
The symphony concert on Sunday night was better than the earlier ones of the series have been. The orchestra, which is partly amateur and partly professional, is working under great difficulties this year, and feel lucky if they can achieve even one rehearsal at full strength. We are getting good audiences. A tremendous number of naval and military men come. I had another late evening on Thursday, when I took Ramsey Chase and Co Birdwood to dinner with Mrs Stanley, and afterwards to “The Business Girls’ Ball” in aid of war funds, at the Grand Hotel. The large proportion of the Business Girls are Anglo Indians, and they were there in force, some of them looking very pretty, and some most oddly got up. We were quite well amused, and stayed till just after mid-night, but now I work in office all day, I find it much better to be in bed by 11,30 rather than 12.30. Its during the afternoon of the next day that I notice the difference and find myself beginning to yawn.
Did I mention to you some little while ago, that we might be going to have an old friend of ours, Coralie Taylor to live here? Her husband has just been transferred to Chinsurah. She has been working for the Women Voluntary Drivers, and though she will have to give up that, as her husband will need the car, she was keen to go on with some definite war work, and her husband thinks it is right that she should. It has just been settled that she is to be a Capt. in the W.A.F.S which are already functioning in Delhi, but are only now starting here. I am awfully glad to be able to do this little bit more towards helping forward the war effort. I think Coralie is just the right person in the right place. Yesterday I was helping her to think of possible suitable people to ask to join. The attitude of some of the women here, beats me completely. They pretend that they want to do war work, but in reality they are only willing to consider some lady-like little job that would occupy a few hours in the mornings, or on certain mornings a week, and transport must be arranged and so on and so on. It makes me quite mad. I was nearly rude to one such at a drinks party at the Percy Browns the other evening. I wish I could make two of myself. I would like to be able to help in organizing the W.A.F.S but I dont at all want to leave my present job, of which I have now got a pretty good grip.
Last week I got all behind-hand in writing my individual letters, so to-day I must plan better and stop this now.
Best love to you all
LJT
(added to bottom of family letter)
My darling Romey,
There is not really much more to say to you, but I like to add just a few personal lines. We look eagerly for the next batch of letters from you, for it must be almost three weeks since the last ones came.
At dinner last Sunday evening I met a nice couple, both of whom had been in the Education Department at home, and both asked a lot of questions about your experiences and impressions at the Manitoba University. How nice it is meeting people who have interesting things to talk about, and who can originate and use ideas. Later in the week it was my fate to get stuck on a sofa with a woman who seemed to have no ideas except how to make herself most comfortable, and best amused. I felt absolutely disgusted that anyone could talk or feel in such a way in these anxious and dangerous days, when service for the Empire and the Allies is needed from everyone. I would like a woman like that to be taken and put down to some dull repetition job, for eight hours a day, preferably having to take her turn at night shifts too. It would jolly well do her good to learn that her own comfort and amusement are not of first rate importance, nor of vast interest to others.
I have just been interrupted by a visit from Mrs. Wright Nevill and Maxie’s daughter Sally, who has grown into a pretty dog, and a very affectionate one, almost too much so, for with the slightest encouragement, she leaps upon ones lap and licks ones face liberally. She will be coming to stay here for a few days at the end of next week. I hope Dad takes a fancy to her and not the reverse. He is easily round by dogs, but he does not like disobedience, and I’m afraid Sally has not been taught to obey very well. We haven’t heard much of Polo lately. I hope she flourishes.
Best love,
Mother
(typed on bottom of letter)
No 5
8 Theatre Rd. Calcutta.
Feb 15th 1942.
Dearest Grace,
Thank you for another letter written about Nov 20th. You told of the flowers still blooming in the garden, and the good stock of vegetables. I have not got your letter before me, for I sent it to H.D. and winsome. They always enjoy your letters so much. Winsome takes a greater interest in them than in any others, I think. She loves to hear all the little details of life at Highways.
Its hard to keep our minds away from the tragical happenings in Malaya. One wonders whether we shall ever hear the truth of why things have gone so wrong there. I suppose adequate air support is the factor on which everything else hinges. Its difficult not to feel a bit down-hearted. The appaling waste of human effort involved in the destruction of the rubber plantations and the tine mines, and then the great naval base, which was to have been our sure bastion in the East and enable us to keep the sea routes open is heart breaking. The news of the escape of the three Nazi ships from Brest, is a depressing addition to the unfavourable news. Still, we must hang on and hope. America must surely get moving soon.
Having used up a big bit of this limited space in letting off steam, I must now consider whether I have anything of special interest to tell you. Actually all news has gone into the family letter, and this is really just to give you personal thanks for your letters, and assure you all of our constant love and interest.
To-morrow week I have to give a lecture to the Himalayan Club, on “The Mountains of New Zealand” and its just a little on my mind, for though I thought it out to some extent when my eyes were bad, I must make skeleton notes for it, and get a framework into my head, other wise one is inclined to wander, and not give the talk any form or conclusion. Its curious to be thinking about such a thing, while the war rages so close to us, but I suppose it is good to think of other things in the time one takes off from work.
Our very best love to you and Barney, and other Highways inhabitants.
From LJT to Annette No 5
(note written in ink) Please pass onto Richard –
8 Theatre Rd
Calcutta.
Feb 15th 1942
My darling Annette,
Thank you for a letter written about Nov 20th. I have not got it before me, for there were things in it which I thought would interest H.D. and Winsome, so I took it to them. I think I am a little sorry to hear that you did not persue the idea of changing your job, but its difficult to judge from so far away, and perhaps you are right not to want to change while the War goes on. How violently it does go on to. Its a sort of agony to listen to the news of the desperate fighting in Singapore and to wonder why things have gone so woefully wrong in Malaya. The sheer waste of human effort, not only the loss of life and suffering in the fighting itself, but the destruction of what it has taken so much energy to create, the rubber plantations, the tine mines, and the great naval base, on which as far as I remember we spent something like eight million pounds, all destroyed, or destroyed as nearly as may be, so that they shall not be made use of against us, this frightful destruction is heart-breaking. On my last afternoon with Louise we talked so much of these things, and of the reasons of the unreadiness of her people and of mine, and of the different causes of our lack of cohesion. Louise thinks one thing is the lack of some flaming ideal or belief. We are mentally defending something, and not out on a crusade. Perhaps it does make it harder to each one of us to throw every ounce of effort into the struggle. There are certainly many people, especially the women, who are not doing it out here. I dont count the Indians, who, most of them, dont feel it is in any way their war. In the course of our talk, Louise drew attention to what she thinks is a profoundly different attitude towards money and possessions in the English and the American peoples. She says that the first time she visited England, she was amazed at the worship of possessions amongst us, and at the number of people she met who were complaining because they had not inherited some money or some property, which they thought should have been theirs, or who were counting on the death of some elderly relative to bring them money. She also noticed the pity expressed for women whose fathers had not been able to leave them an income on which they could live without working. She drew my attention to the play “Autumn Crocus”, and to the theme running through it of pity for the girl, because she had been left in a position in which she had to earn her own living. That theme is so familiar to me that I had not even noticed it. It struck Louise as being something extraordinary, and a little comic. I suggested that the Americans are just as fond of money as we are. Louise agrees that it is possibly so, but she thinks its the making of money that intrigues the American, and that it has been a country of “easy come and easy go” so that new generations have grown up still with the idea that they must make their own lives and not live on the past. All this intrigued me much. I wonder whether it is true. That my own generation and older ones, were much too set on money, possessions and position, is, perfectly true. I think that your generation has got away from that to a large extent, and so will be better fitted to adjust your selves to the post war world whatever it may be like. Louise thinks we are in one of the great periods of change and development which overtake the world now and again, and she hopes for eventual good from the horrors of war. Dad takes the other view. He thinks that wars always set the clock back and bring deterioration. I like to agree with Louise, but fear Dad has much reason on his side. I am going to miss Louise a very great deal. Above all others, she was the person with whom I used to be able to discuss events, movements and ideals, without being bothered by personalities. Edward Groth was another, and he has gone too. Walter Jenkins talks of movements, but he lectures like a school-master, and does not discuss as one seeking enlightenment. Also he is a convinced socialist and can only see good in what socialists do and only stupidity, and even dishonesty in actions of the other parties.
Louise thinks that war is going to be a most wholesome medicine for America. She thinks it will shake them out of some of their complacency and self conceit, and give them something to measure themselves against. Its good to talk with her, for she is just as keen to see the truth about her own people as she is about others. Certainly I shall miss her. There are not many of her quality about.
It seems to me that this letter will do for Richard too, since he may be interested in these things.
Love and blessing to you both
Mother
Family letter from HPV
On tour, at Krishnagar.
Nadia District.
February 15th 1942
My dear Annette (name handwritten)
This place is not very far from Calcutta; only 2 ¼ hours by the fast train on Saturday afternoon, the best of the week. I came by this yesterday, and it took just on 4 hours. Start delayed by an accident in the marshalling yard, and progress by some reason unknown which may have been a troop train ahead as one gentleman announced or merely despair at having started so late. The local officials and some others who had no need to meet me but came along because there was no other amusement going at the moment waited all that time on the platform; “that time” being of course the 1 ¾ hours by which the train was late.
One of them said that the time passed agreeably because they had conversation; which shows how people vary, because I should have been fuming with annoyance if I had had to waste time on a ceremonial reception of a senior officer, and worse if his train had been late.
It was 8.15 before I reached the Circuit House. It was pleasant to find that I was to have good light, for the place was blazing with electricity. They must have turned on every lamp in the house with the idea of impressing me or the public. No blackout here; and no idea of avoiding waste for its own sake. There are clean carpets on the floors and so many chairs that they are stacked two deep against the wall in the drawing-room at one end. Down the middle of this room there are three small tables; at either end a cane seated couch thing and on either side a perfectly straight row of armchairs. This was the room where the Governor’s A.D.C.s used to sit and where visitors waited for their interviews with H.E. and the extra chairs must have been laid in when the meeting of the War Committee was held under H.E.’s chairmanship.
Another noteworthy thing is the huge table. It is oval, 15 feet long by about 10 wide. I take my meals at one end of it, lost like Ethel in the bed with the Young Visiters.
There have been visitors this morning. Fewer thank Heaven than usual when I visit a district headquarters. And two of the few who were to be here did not come. Among the comers was the Roman Catholic Bishop, an American named Morrow. I wondered if by any chance he was related to us. His family came to the States 100 years ago from North Ireland. He was speaking about the splendid work done by the Italian Sisters here and in Calcutta at the Leper Hospital, of which I am Chairman. All of them left Italy long before Mussolini started up and I do not suppose that anyone looks on them as likely to be Fascist sympathisers. But it is hard on them to feel that they may be so regarded.
Calcutta has been very muggy for the last few days; and it is therefore pleasant to find here a lovely cold weather day, if rather on the hot side. I wish that I had the energy to go about and see things a bit.
My tummy pains have been somewhat constant during this last week; and there has been weariness. Notable was the difference between my somewhat stolid reaction to the pleasures of a visit to the Zoo last Sunday and Joan’s keen pleasure. She looked with delight on the face-washing of a mountain-sheep which seemed to me a routine business though difficult for the poor beast in the small trough. And she took more interest in the otters pursuing fish than I have seen since Richard used to appreciate them. To me at the Zoo there always comes a feeling that I ought to do something about it, now that I am on the committee; and that prevents me from having a mind at rest. Anyhow I developed an acute stomach ache as I grew tired; though why I should grow tired from an hour’s lounge round a zoo, I cannot think.
The cat has been constant in her attendance and so has the smallest and ugliest of the kittens, which is the one of most interest to me. The other evening all the family came and sat at my feet and stared at me before tea arrived hypnotically. The superior three kittens are not so clever or maybe so hungry as the runt. They have missed several teas. What spoils the joy of these reunions is that so many crows come too. As soon as the cat has finished a ring of crows, openly menacing, gathers round and sets itself to break the kittens’ nerve; usually with success. Ungrateful little scuts these kittens! when I put my hand down the other day they struck at it with their claws. But pretty to see how they kill with their paws any bit of toast thrown to them!
It is sad that Archie should have bitten the ear of the placid Max. Max got a certain compensation out of his enjoyment of being an invalid, bandaged.
Much love
Dad
Family Letter from LJT No 6
8 Theatre Rd
Calcutta.
Feb 21st 1942
My Dears,
The house is rather full of people. Coralie Taylor came into residence here on Wednesday, and has two large dogs with her till to-morrow. Gwen Wright Nevill, whose plans have been upset by news from her husband that he will be here some time before the end of the month, asked whether we could put her up for a few days. She had arranged to give up her rooms in the boarding house from to-day. The children went up to school in Darjeeling a few days ago, and she was intending to stay down here in a little two roomed flat, to do war work. Till she knows what her husbands movements are, she wants to hold over moving into the flat. Major Wright Nevill has been in Iran. The other battalion of the regiment is, --- but of course one is not supposed to speak of the whereabouts of troops. Anyway, she can only imagine that he is in transit to some job, and that it is unlikely that she will be able to go with him, and will probably only be here for a few days. With her is the dachshund, Sally, daughter of Maxie, and a most attractive animal. We are all working women, for Gwen W-N is temporary Secretary to the All India Guides. The regular Secretary comes back at the end of this month, and Gwen plans to join the W.A.F. She would be an excellent candidate. She took a full business training before she married, and worked in an office in New Zealand. She has the “Guts” and independence of the New Zealander too, and would be a good person in a tight corner.
Herbert has been away since last Saturday, and is due back in time for lunch to-morrow. He has put in an intensive week inspecting at Krishnagar, and I expect he will be tired when he gets back.
My evenings have been rather busy this week, but a nice sort of business, and enjoyable, as long as one could detach ones mind from the tragedy of the fall of Singapore and anxiety about the fighting in Burma and the Pacific. Personalities of course, come into it. Those nice people, the Kents, with whom we wandered round New Zealand were in Singapore, and another man, John Crichton, who came out climbing with us. Frank Kingdon Ward was somewhere in Malaya, and so was our old friend, Shebbeare. He became Game Warden some years ago.
Music was the motive of a small party on Monday evening. We assembled at 7 p.m. in a house where our host, who is an ardent music lover, has a most beautiful electric gramophone and a wonderful collection of records. It is he who has the complete “Don Giovanni” and “Marriage of Figaro”, which I have so much enjoyed hearing in the past. We had a Haydn symphony first of all, and then some Gluck. An interval for dinner, followed by selections from “Don Giovanni”. The next evening I had Walter Jenkins, Ramsey Chase, and a nice woman, whose husband has been called up to the Army, to dinner, and we went to see an amateur performance of two Chekov comedies, “The Anniversary” and “The Wedding”. The first, with a cast of only four people who matter much, was excellently done. The second was more difficult, from every point of view, and had weak spots, but some remarkably good ones too, and it made us laugh a lot. We finished the evening by going to the Saturday Club for a drink. I like to go somewhere for a drink after seeing a play that’s worth discussing. Its so nice to be able to flavour it while it is quite fresh, and worth feeling a little sleepy in office the next afternoon, for the sake of this pleasure. Mrs Bartley, one of the guests, did a charming thing. When I came home on Wednesday afternoon, I found a book of Chekov’s plays on the hall table, with a note from her, saying that she had enjoyed herself so much that she sent the book as a memento of the evening.
Dr Harler, our Chemical Advisor, recently come from South India, wanted to meet Charles Crawford, Chemical expert in the Imperial Chemical Industries Office here, and I arranged it for Wednesday evening. The wives were there too, and somehow one or two other people turned up, so that it was quite a party, and did not break up till just on nine o’clock. It was lucky that Herbert was not there, for he hates not having dinner by 8.30. Idris and I and Coralie Taylor do not mind these later hours, so were not disturbed by it.
Idris was keen to go to the film “When Ladies Meet” which he had been told was very good, and though I did not feel keen, I accepted because I have refused to go with him twice lately, when I thought the films were indifferent. I dont like wasting time sitting through them. Idris takes them as a sort of drug, just as Herbert takes detective fiction. The film was poor, in my opinion. There is something about American love-making on the screen, which is singularly unconvincing as a rule. Tragedy in this film left one completely unmoved, for one never had the illusion that the emotions were real.
My lecture to the Himalayan Club on the subject of the New Zealand mountains takes place next Monday, so I was very glad to have an undisturbed evening last Sunday, when I shut myself up, arranged my photos and made notes. I hope I will make a success of it. I would hate to let the club down. I am glad too, that I am giving the lecture myself, for what with the blackout, the petrol rationing, and the high pressure of work under which so many people are working, I daresay we shall only have a small meeting, and I would rather that be so for me than for a guest lecturer.
After a curious storm the other afternoon, which was more wind and dust than rain, the wind has swung back to the north, and cool weather has come back. It is heavenly to-day. I would have liked to have taken a picnic tea down to the Botanical Gardens by boat, but had so many other things to do.
You notice that I dont write much about the office these days. That is not because I am any less interested, but because things repeat themselves, and I cant write the same thing over and over again. Its interesting to see how types repeat themselves. Idris and I were wondering the other day, how nearly one could tell, after years of practice, what sort of character people with certain physical features would have.
No letters have come from home this week, but one from Romey, sent by sea, and enclosing some snapshots of herself. It was a short note posted about a week before the letters we received some three weeks ago. Her big photos still have not come. I have almost given up hope of getting them.
This is being written on Saturday evening, and here is the cook to give his account and get the orders for to-morrow. After that I must bath and change, as I am going out to dinner with Ramsey Chase and some of the other Sapper friends at the Plassy Mess in the Fort.
Good bye, my dears, and best love
LJT
My darling Romey, (handwritten at bottom of typewritten family letter)
It is exciting to get a letter from you two evenings ago, but not quite as exciting as I had hoped, for it was a short note written on your birthday, enclosing some interesting snaps of you and your friends at University. You mentioned that all the news was in the letter No 39. That, and the following one, which would have been in the same envelope, are the ones that are missing. Sad!
Yesterday Mrs. Stanley told me that she had recently got letters from her daughter in Vancouver. They were written about the middle of December, and sent by Air Via Brazil. It sounds a strange route. I wonder whether I will be getting some that way from you soon. I am getting downhearted about your photos. I feel sure they ought to be here by now, and so fear they must have been lost.
You can imagine how sad we have been this week over the fall of Singapore. Everyone asks the same question. Why did this fortress, which was always said to be so enormously strong, fall with such ease? Someday I suppose we shall hear the reason. Meanwhile we pull ourselves together, and increase our determination to turn the tables on the Japs as soon as possible.
Calcutta becomes gradually more and more war-minded, as danger to this country increases. The blackout, sand-bagged windows, baffle walls, slit trenches and police and ARP Officials with tin hats slung over their shoulders, are common place here now, and we compare notes about our Air Raid shelter precautions.
***
Pause here while I ran downstairs to greet Dad, just arrived back from tour. He is reading your letter and some others that were waiting for him, which gives me a chance just to finish this off before lunch. The afternoon I must devote to arranging my notes for the New Zealand lecture, and making sure that the photos are in order.
It is a pity Dad is never as well as he looks. He looks so rosy and fit now, but it won’t make any difference to the fact that the slightest overtime work or strain will tire him out at once.
Best love, darling
Mother
From LJT to Annette No 5
8 Theatre Rd. Calcutta.
Feb 22nd 1942
My darling Annette,
There are no letters to answer this week, but I have been reading the “Seven Gothic Tales”, and enjoying them, but I don’t find a tithe of the charm in them that I found in Isaak Dineson’s “Out of Africa” (You were right about the name. My memory ahd deceived me.) Curiously enough an outstanding feature of the Africa book is its atmosphere of reality. One lives for a while in the author’s life in Kenya. These tales are remarkably the other way. “Tales of Mystery and Imagination” would be a suitable title for them, if it had not already been used by someone else. There are delightful ideas scattered all through book. The notion that Adam had the world to himself for a little time and has never forgotton it, and that Eve is still a little jealous about it, appealed to me especially.
Referring to my family letter and the gift of the Chekov plays, dont you think that was a charming little action of Elsa Bartley’s? She, I think, is a great find. I wish I had time to see more of her. She has something the same charm for me, as has Louise Rankin. She has a keen intellect, and uses it to survey the interesting things that are going on in the world. She has a great sense of fun too
Lately I have found my ability to write D.O. letters for Idris much improved. I seem to have caught his style, and can turn out stuff that might well have come from his pen. I did three fairly long ones yesterday, which he signed with practically no alterations. This is a great convenience to him, for he always found it so hard to get time to do those sorts of letters. Its rather fun trying to draft letters in some one else’s personality.
If I had had time this week, I would have read the Book of Job. Sorrow has indeed been our portion. Its an inscrutable puzzle to all of us, why Malaya and then Singapore have fallen so easily. Perhaps some day it will be possible to make public the reasons. At present the public mind here is one great question makr. Anyway, its made us grit our teeth and more detirmined than ever to get our own back –
Best love – my dear from Mother
Family letter from HPV (rec’d by Romey, Keewatin, May 28th)
Calcutta,
February 22nd 1942.
My dear Annette (name handwritten)
Back today from Krishnagar after a week’s solid inspection. I worked through every department as has not been done by a Commissioner before for years and years. Why I should have such a gadfly of a conscience to drive me to such things, I do not know; it is like a blind instinct and a foolish one: for after all, what does it matter how the routine is going if the policy is all crooked?
It is not easy to believe in the possibility of efficient work by a Bengal Ministry when one sees how things work out in the districts. I preach that the experiment must be made and was worth the making but gradually I am coming round to the opinion of all the Indians that I know: they affirm that democracy in this country will not work and is not worth having.
It was discouraging to meet the war committee and to hear that there is no prospect of getting more recruits for the Civic Guards. They might be useful to help the police if refugees from Calcutta, should there be an air-raid, start looting or running amuck in any other way. The reasons advanced why the people will not join the Guards are (1) that they are convinced that once recorded as Guards they will be sent overseas and (2) that they refuse to be subject to the orders of the police. They admit that none of them would be the least use if sent overseas, for they are the wrong type -- weedy middle class and not stocky cultivators - they admit that there is no sense in refusing to take orders from police when that is the only agency which can possibly be used to knock discipline into them or to concert action in case of trouble; they admit every possible argument that shows the whole thing to be bunk --- and then come back to the same old tale that people cannot be expected not to believe those two reasons.
Also they demanded to be told facts about dispositions of troops and explanations of failures to have thousands of troops and aeroplanes in every village in Bengal. Annoyingly because anyone should know that if I had the facts I should not pass them on: and actually the amount that I know not already published is negligible.
Matthews was outrageously pleased when I told him of a conversation with a Scotch missionary at Krishnagar; though it was not funny. He told how some men have a knack of making good with the rearing of animals and quoted a Eurasian at Kanchrapara who breeds hens without any previous instruction and with the greatest success; very good hens which produce big eggs; eggs so large that the Eurasian is able to sell them as good goose eggs, which brings him in more because Hindus will not eat hens’ eggs.
There have been disastrous additions to the household since I went away; to wit, three dogs; of which I have seen one; Sally the daughter of Max, endowed with some of his charm and a lot of his foolishness. The disaster is that they are not welcome to the kittens which now lurk instead of coming out bravely; and the little little one did not appear today. Either fear of the dogs or maybe a surfeit of dead crow, which I saw lying about. Another objection to the presence of the dogs is that they have soiled the lawn to an unreasonable extent.
You may see that I have not been doing typing exercises at Krishnagar; instead I typed a letter each night to Joan, not to mention the family letter. My first day’s letters were sent straight back to me; they reached here while Joan was at office and the servants assumed that they must be for me. Annoyance.
Joan has gone out to dinner and a concert. Kingdon Ward phoned up just after she had left the house; he was not in Malaya when the Japs came in but on the Burma frontier. He could tell us nothing about the fate of any our friends in Malaya.
As for me I intended to go to bed some 30 minutes ago but stopped to type this; for me not so slow, though also not so good as I should like. I am not pleased with my recent alphabet sentences; They are laboured. It would be easy to make more but my own rules and conditions are an impediment.
My consolation and it is no real consolation is that at the start I never expected to be able to type by touch at all and am by comparison with my initial hopes a wizard of the keys as the book says.
Much love
Dad
Family Letter from LJT No 7
8 Theatre Rd. Calcutta.
Feb 28th 1942.
My Dears,
There was such an exciting surprise in store for me last Sunday evening. I went to have dinner with Rex Fawcus at the United Service Club, and when we were sitting in the Lawn House having drinks before dinner, when in walked Frank Kingdon Ward! It was only last week that I told you we were anxious about him, for the last we had heard of him he was somewhere up-country in Malaya. Actually it seems he moved up to Burma some weeks ago, and sailed across from Rangoon quite calmly by ship, without any excitements. I was so excited and delighted to see him. We did not have much time to talk that night, as Rex had a little dinner party, and we went on to the Symphony Concert, but Frank came to the office the next morning about 1 o’clock, and Idris and I went out to lunch with him, and had a most interesting talk. I was sorry I could not offer to have him to stay here, as all our spare rooms are full. Gwen Wright Nevill still awaits the arrival of her husband. Anyway Frank had to get away to Delhi on Tuesday, and may come to us when he returns, if Gwen has moved off. Monday was the evening of my lecture to the Himalayan Club about the mountains of New Zealand, and Frank came to it. It went fairly well, but I can see that I could have improved and tightened it up in several places, if I had been able to write the whole thing out, and go through it at least once with the pictures. Giving it did not worry me at all, but I am glad it is done with, for it had been lying about in the back of my mind as something that must be attended to for such a long time.
Herbert arrived back looking very well on Sunday, but he has had one or two very slight touches of fever this week, which is tiresome for he had been without any for a long time. He finds his work disheartening these days. He says it all seems so futile, and he would like to be doing something that has a real bearing on the war.
There have been several refugees from Rangoon in and out of the office this week, three of them Australians who were connected with the tin mining industry. One of them, a short, thick-set, capable looking man, we are probably sending to one of the up-country factories as a Works Manager. When he was filling in our form, he omitted the column “Rate of Salary”. He explained that he did not have any salary as he was owner or part owner in several concerns, and when pressed, he said that his income was somewhere about 25,000 rupees a month! Makes our 1,500 look a bit small, does’nt it? However he says he wants to get on to a war job as soon as possible, and does not care what the pay is. He has been in to the office quite a lot, and wasted some considerable amount of my time, telling me a lot about his private history. He has a little son of four years old with him. “His mother was a French girl”, said my friend, “Beautiful girl, too, but much younger than I was. She found life down near Victoria Point too dull, and she walked out on us, so I want to find someone to look after the little chap”. Its odd the way I make these friends of a few days standing and then they go off to one of our factories, from where their names may crop up occasionally in some report. It would be rather fun to tour the factories and see them all.
Herbert had not been to a film for a long time, so we went to see Leslie Howard in “Pimpernel Smith”. He is charming, as always, but we did not like the girl at all, and one has to keep ones reason well in leash in order to keep up interest in the story.
March 1st
Tea-time came yesterday, and after tea Herbert and I went for a walk in the Victoria Memorial Gardens. This is the prettiest time of the Indian year. The trees are getting their new leaves, and the temperate climate flowers are still in bloom in the borders. The cool snap which came as such a pleasant surprise a little while ago has gone, and the hot weather is definitely on the way. Some men have gone into thin clothes, and here and there people turn on the fans. What, I wonder, are these next months going to bring us? Eastwards the news is grim. Luckily when we turn our thoughts to the west, things look a good deal better. At this moment we are waiting most anxiously for news of the naval engagement in the Java Sea.
Talking of the war news, and the reactions of people in and round Calcutta, with Mogul the other day, he said “An up-country man will fight better with one grain of gram in his stomach, than a Bengali with a big dish full of rice.” (Gram, but the way, is a grain about the size of a grain of maize. Its popular roasted, and can be bought on railway stations, and from the sellers of pan and cigarettes.) Strangely impractical the Bengalis are too. An Indian doctor has been appointed a long while since, to be in charge of the First Aid arrangements for the Supply Dept, a block of buildings housing some 2,500 workers. A certain Mr Case is the section leader volunteer of the men, and I am the senior lady. As the doctor seemed to be doing nothing except give a series of lectures, which were so long and elaborate that it was practically impossible for heads of departments to give their staff leave to attend them, he has done little or nothing. Mr Case and I called him in conference the other morning, and Mr Case was clever in the way that he pushed over all our practical ideas, and suggested that the doctor should have a scheme drawn up and ready to present to his workers on Tuesday. It well be interesting to see what he makes of it.
Did I tell you one of the few things about my refugee, Mrs MacConnachie which I found interesting? She was a niece or grand-daughter of the Mrs Molesworth, writer of the childrens books in which we used revel when young; “Tapestry Room”, “Cuck-coo Clock”, “Four Winds Farm”, and so on. Some of them are still about the house, I think.
A development has come in the lives of our adopted cat and kits. The mother has cast off her young. She no longer comes to tea with them, and roars at them in a most menacing manner if they approach her. It seems sad that solicitous love, should change to animosity in a few short days.
No less than three copies of “The Readers Digest” have come from America in the last few days, but still no sign of Romey’s photos. About four or five days ago another nice little present arrived from May, “The Northern Garrisons”, but its some time since any English letters arrived.
Best love to you all
LJT
LJT to Romey attached at bottom of family letter
My darling Romey,
It was fun to get your sea-mail letter posted n Nov 18th and written on your birthday, and to see the snapshots of the chemistry lab.
Curious that John should still have that streak of laziness in him. Harry and Winsome are both so far from being lazy, and I don’t think that Charlotte is, but then Charlotte’s nurse is a much more sensible woman than John’s Nan was.
When out walking on the Maidan the other evening, Dad and I met the two younger Gurners walking with their big black dogs. They have both grown tall, and are much of a size, if anything Auriel is a wee bit the bigger. They have left their mother and Francesca behind and Linette has improved in looks, but quite definitely takes after her father, and the looks are on the mother’s side. The girls are off to school in Darjeeling in a few days. Francesca is staying down, and has got permission to take, anyway, some part of her kindergarten training under a certain Mrs. Blagdon, who came to India soon after war broke out, and before her marriage was in the Education Dept at home, as Chief Inspectress of Kindergarten Institutions. She is going to teach in a small school at the same time. It seems that she has a real genius for this sort of work.
Thank you for fixing up about “The Reader’s Digest”. We enjoy getting it. Our series is complete. September came some time ago, and so did October. Last week we got Jan, Nov and Dec, in that order. Helen’s present of “The Beaver” has also come, and I am hoping to get a little time this afternoon to look at them all. Now that I have little or no leisure, I begin to realize what a lucky woman I have been to have so much all my life.
With the spring the birds are getting noisy, and the crows are at their absurd games of trying to get twigs off trees and balancing them in the most improbable places for nest building. One idiot arranged quite a collection of twigs across the fork of a tree just above our front gate, and while she was away fetching more building material, a slight breeze sprang up, and blew away what she had put in place. Poor thing! It was comical to see her sitting on the branch, with her head on one side and a twig in her beak, looking vastly puzzled at the place where she new her precious collection should be.
These are anxious days for us all, and I thank God and Cousin Susie and Helen more than ever, that you are in Canada and not here.
Best love, my darling, from
Mother