The Townend Family Letters

1943 January

From LJT to Annette

“Drumearn”
Elgin.
Cape Province
Jan 4th 1942 (should have been 1943)

My darling Annette

Airgraphs because of the limit set to space, have a certain restraining quality, so that one does not let ones thoughts run on in the same way that one does in an ordinary letter – Therefore I write in this way –

Letters written by Aunt in Sept, have just followed us from India. Her deep grief about Richard makes me realize more than ever how much the home with her and Uncle, has meant both to you and to us. Scarcely any of my friends in India, have been able to arrange a permanent home, that really is a home, for their families -

As time goes on one has to realize that the probability that Dicky is still alive grows less – Still I dont give up hope and shall not do till the war is over, for there is always the one-in-a-million chance that he may be hidden up somewhere.

Every now and again a wave of grief sweeps over me but it is tempered by an increasingly strong belief that we do go on in some way, to another plane of existance and that grief indulged in to any major extent by people left behind, must worry and distress those who have gone on. How Dicky, and indeed any of us, would hate to think that love ones left behind, were miserable and “kicking against the pricks.” – so many dear lads have given their lives to save the world from what we believe would be a terrible slavery to a grossly material creed – It is up to us, who are left, to use our strength to pull the world to-gether again, and to preserve and improve the civilization and the ideals for which they sacrificed everything.

It is a sort of cliché to talk of the waste of young lives. I am not so sure about this – With all its ghastly horrors and sufferings, war saves us, perhaps, from the worst traps of self indulgence, greediness for possession and selfseeking, which seem to mark world history after long periods of peace. Indeed it seems hard that some should suffer because of the sins of others, but how do we know that with age and nothing to keep us on the alert, we should not come to the attitude of caring more for physical comfort safety and influence, than for anything else.

Stray remarks from one or two people have made me realize that glib talk about coming home as soon as Dad’s health is re-established, or as soon as the war is over, may be entirely hollow, for passages to England are, and will be desperately difficult to get. Its no good worrying till the time comes, but I want to warn you, and keep the fact in mind myself, so that we do not feel too desperately disappointed if we find that we have to wait months and months for a ship. I do want you to take a good long holiday at our expense as soon as possible after the war is over. You do so well deserve it. I hope Uncle and Aunt will be able to get away too. I would like to get home if only to look after Highways while they do get away. If I can arrange it, I should like to take some cooking lessons in Cape Town, so that I may be a little better prepared for life in England.

You would love this house. It is stacked with all sorts of books. There are so many I want to read, that I have almost a sense of frustration, knowing that I cannot possibly tackle them in six weeks. At the moment I am concentrating on books connected with South Africa, but there are several on Canada, I would like to read, and this morning I discovered Lady Hosie’s “Two Chinese Gentlemen”, which I have been looking for for ages and must read before we leave – Col Gordon, who died last June, was a great reader, with wide interests, and had books sent out regularly from England. He evidently did not allow his farm to obsess him –

There is an interesting woman staying here – She came out to this country years ago as Secretary to one of the Ministers, and she knew Smuts, Hertzog and all the political notabilities. She has an interesting knowledge of S. African politics – She married and lived for some years in Portugese East Africa, till her husband’s death a few years ago. She is interested in psychology and in what one might perhaps term, religious philosophy centring of late years on Krishnamurti –the young man, who was adopted and brought up by Annie besant, but who has left the Theosophists and says there should be no creeds or parties, but that every individual should search his own mind for his beliefs, and not rely on any props in the shape of teachers or cults – Edward Groth is a great admirer of Krisnamurti. He went to hear him speak in India and studied many of his books, some of which he lent to me. – In the last letter I had from him from America, he said he had spent a day at Krishnamurti’s ashram in America (I forget at what place) and that it was wonderfully interesting – From what I read of Krishnamurti’s lectures, it seemed to me that he is an impractical dreamer, but I suppose one can make that criticism of many of the great teachers – Christ and Budha especially. I have a book of Krishnamurti’s on the table beside me now, lent to me by Mrs Iron – I intend to read it during these quiet afternoons, when everyone else retires to their rooms and “the pink cat” (a very light coloured sandy, called Rufus) and I have the verandah and stoop to ourselves. One needs quiet and solitude to read those sort of things, dont you think?

There’s lavender just coming into flower on the rough stone stoop beyond the verandah, and below it, in the small bit of flower garden, some late roses are blooming – I get wiffs of scent from both – Beyond vistas of undulating ground covered with orchards and banded by wind breaks of pine-trees and gums, lead away to the mountains, not unlike the hills north of the Clyde behind Helensburgh, but on rather a bigger scale – Truly a lovely spot! I wish you could share it with us.

Dearest love and good wishes for 1943.
Mother

Family letter from LJT No 1 (Last no 47)

“Drumearn”
Elgin. Cape Province
Jan. 6th 1943.

My Dears,

A happy new year to you all! The words seem to hold more hope and meaning this year than they did last year. I wonder whether we shall be able to get to England before 1943 runs out.

Though we have only been here a week, we begin to feel well established inhabitants. In some ways the atmosphere of this house is not unlike Highways. Having found that Mrs. Gordon is grateful for help in the garden and in other little ways, we find lots to do. Herbert has been doing noble work in the flower garden, and has made a big difference to its general appearance. He has been dealing with hedges of rambler roses, which had been following their own sweet will for months past, and were encroaching on the drive. I have done a little gardening too, and we have both helped a little with picking fruit for the house. The professional picking for market is hard for amateurs to get in to, and so is the sorting and packing. I have also found some war work to do. The local people run a tea room and garden just this side of the village, in aid of war funds. It is open from 9 a.m. till 6.30 p.m., and supplies breakfasts, morning tea or coffee, light lunches and afternoon teas, and has made a very considerable sum during the past year. I am doing one morning and one afternoon duty. One is busy all the time. Many of the local inhabitants drop in, and people going to or returning from Cape Town. Local effort also runs a little shop just at the point where the road from this farm abuts on the main road, in which fruit and vegetables and home made jams, honey and flowers are sold on Saturdays and Sundays and holidays. We heard that it has cleared a thousand pounds during the year, which seems almost incredible. Mrs Gordon is also the local agent for the Navy League work, and I have just taken over wool for a seaman’s jersey, which should keep me busy for some time.

The people round about are very friendly. We are bidden out to tea on Friday, and other folk have asked us to go and see them. Many of the fruit farmers round here are not African born, but are English settlers. We have an introduction to the owners of a delightful looking house on the edge of Mrs Gordon’s property. They retired from China (Shanghai) a few years ago, and travelled widely in New Zealand, Australia, and Africa before they settled on the site for their present home. It would be hard to find a more beautiful one. We had a chat to Mr Gale in his garden the other afternoon, when we were out for a walk, and are to go and see him and his wife one day soon.

8.1.43. It seems astonishing that in a place like this, I should say that two days have passed and that I have not had time to go on with this letter. A minor disaster occurred just at the time of our arrival. Mrs Gordon’s washerwoman took herself off, and has not returned, nor has she been able to find another. I have therefore been doing all our washing, and it has taken me some time, as we brought quite a bag full from Cape Town. I still have some more ironing to do after tea to-day. It was a hot day yesterday, hot enough to make people who do not know tropical heat, say that it was dreadful and unbearable, and such epithets. It was my afternoon on duty at the tea room. I had been working there the previous morning. The duties are quite long, and take a big slice out of the day.

One way and another I am finding a lot of sewing and mending to be done. There were all sorts of things that I forgot or did not notice before we left India, so that I have spent many afternoons busy on the stoop which the rest of the household takes a rest.

Mrs Cooke, one of our co-guests, took us for a drive up to the top of the Sir Lowry Pass over the Hottentot Mts the other evening. There is a splendid view from the top. Looking west, one sees Table Mt etc across False Bay, with the Flats bordering it, and fine mountains to the north. To the east, forest and fruit orchards and mountains. Besides the beauty of the landscape, the air is so lovely, for though the weather is warm, the air has an exhilarating quality, so lacking in India, and which I missed in the mountains of Java.

Our other co-lodger here, Mrs Iron, is an interesting woman. She also is a widow, but where as Mrs Cooke has few real interests, and is rather a lost person, Mrs Iron is keenly interested in many things. She is an artist, and her work is of excellent quality, judging from the few things she has with her here. I have been getting her to tell me something about Portugese East Africa, where she spent most of her married life. Her account of Lorenzo Marques is so different from the impressions of casual travelers. She represents it as a cosmopolitan city, with interesting people living there, and a constant coming and going of people of all nationalities.

A nice sight has just gone along the orchard road outside the garden. A big farm wain, piled high with wood in the form of large pine branches, drawn by a team of four mules, driven by a couple of “coloured” boys, and with the fifteen year old twins perched on the wood. Its interesting to see these boys having become complete South Africans in their outlook in one generation. Their minds are set on taking over the farm. Out of its 260 acres, only 140 are cultivated at present, so there will be some room for expansion. The boys were having a discussion with their mother and with us one evening on the subject of education. They say what is the good of learning Latin and science, when they are going to be farmers. Our exposition of the benefits of education for its own sake without direct bearing on the profession they hope to adopt, ran off them like the proverbial water off the duck’s back. Perhaps a little of the idea may stick, though. One never knows. Mrs Gordon says its difficult to get the boys to read much, for the weather is almost always good, and there are always so many things they want to do on the farm, that it leaves them little time for sitting down with a book. I cant help thinking that no amount of fine weather or outdoor jobs and amusements would keep some children from books.

Did I mention that there are three mulberry trees at the edge of the orchard just in front of the house, which are full of ripe fruit? I have never tasted mulberries so deliciously sweet. I wonder whether they never get enough sun in England to bring them to this state of perfection. They are not picked for table use, but we go and eat off the trees whenever we feel inclined.

This morning Herbert and I went down to the river for a walk. Since the forest was cleared from its valley, a weed, rather like big pineapple, has over run the banks and filled a large part of the bed of the river, so that one cannot get near, or see the water. Mrs Gordon says she wants to burn it off when she can get the labour and the time. In spite of this, it is pretty down there, and the flowers must have been lovely a week or two ago. There were still a few wild gladioli in flower, and the plants show that there must have been thousands there. A few stray blossoms of mauve broom and pale yellow “everlastings” also point to past glories. We tried to find tracks through the jungle, but were turned back every time, and had to return more or less by the path on which we went out. It was the first time that Herbert has stepped out when we have been walking, as if he were in normal health. He has become so keen on cleaning up the front drive that I am afraid that he will over-do it. He has got a hoe and is cleaning up the small dandelions which have run riot everywhere.

There are a lot of discussions going on in the papers here about the conditions of native and coloured labour. There was a riot in Johannesburg lately, and the evidence given at the trial, and the remarks of the judge, are causing ventilation of this sore subject, which is one of the country’s great problems.

We are hoping we shall soon get letters both from home and from Canada, but I suppose the sea-mails are very chancy.

Best love to you all
LJT

Family letter from HPV

c/o Standard Bank of South Africa
Cape Town.
January 12th 1943.

My dear Annette (name handwritten)

My failure to write last week was due only in part to my devoting so much time to good works in the garden, weeding and cleaning up. There was the further cause that this house is so built that all noises in any room are heard to some extent in any other. It is single-storied and the walls between the rooms go no higher than the ceilings, which are of thin compressed fibre sheeting by no means noise-proof. So typing is not popular at any hour when people may be resting and this knocks out most of the afternoon. Much of the time when I might otherwise have typed letters was pre-empted by Joan who settled down to her letters with much more enthusiasm than I ever show. For both of us to type together might have been too much for the household even when no one was actually resting.

There is not much to write about when she has given news of our doings; we live so quiet a life that news is scarce and when her letters are so full I am left with no materials for mine. The chief feature of our existence here is the fruit; I have eaten more peaches in a week here than in the whole of my previous history and other fruit in profusion. An attack, mild, of indigestion led me to renounce the eating of the mulberries of which there are many on three trees and I had to refuse the raspberries produced yesterday for the same reason. However there was less difficulty about the renunciation of the raspberries because I am forbidden the cream which makes them tempting to ordinary folk with strong digestions.

We are lucky to have fallen among people so nice as the Gordons. How fed up she must become with her lodgers! She is very firm about her taking boarders and not paying guests because the latter would have to be entertained; but even so she does give up a lot of her time to seeing that we are comfortable and in effect does entertain us. The twins are interesting; at 15 they are in many ways far more childish than boys of the same age in England would be but in many ways again far more grown up. They can turn their hand to practical jobs in a most amazing way and help a lot on the fruit farm.

The pest of this part of the world is ticks. It is difficult to go out without picking up a few, unless one sticks to the roads carefully which means sticking to the dust. However, they are far less of a problem than the sand-fly of New Zealand and less of a nuisance than thunder bugs or harvest bugs at home. Of house-flies, which we so rarely see in Bengal there are many and they are most annoying but any English house would be as bad, I suppose.

My labours in the garden have helped to restore my health a good deal though I am sadly weak in the back. Of late I have been going about with my hands bandaged or covered with strapping -- having gashed a finger dramatically while cutting a branch off a rosebush with a small penknife which slipped, undignified and like a small boy’s accident, and having developed numerous blisters of which several have rubbed off. Weeding stone walls is no easy matter when the only tool is an inadequate and clumsy trowel.

Interruption for lunch and a day has passed since. It occurs to me that I might have made a letter out of my meeting with the agreeable snake; it sat on the stoop in front of our bedroom and remained calm and so I treated it in kind. Generally speaking the odds against any snake being poisonous are so large in India that it is a waste of labour to set to work and kill chance met individuals; and it seemed to follow the rule here. However it appears that this was a poisonous type though not extremely so and I could wish therefore that it had taken refuge in some hole not quite so near our door as that finally entered by it.

Twice we have been out in cars since Joan last wrote; three times if we count in a real trip with some purpose other than a view of the country. Both the jaunts were to the pass that leads to this place from Cape Town direction; and a very fine panorama it gives too. The real trip was in the same direction but we went on down into the valley past the site of a big fire which destroyed a lot of woods lately and to the little town of Somerset West. Joan profited by the visit to buy stockings for dispatch to England; visiting shop after shop because only one pair is sold to a single customer. Afterwards there was a picnic on the edge of a lovely bay, marred by a howling wind that spread sand on the victuals; more fires here with several houses burnt out. There has been a drought and the whole countryside is like tinder.

Twice we have been out to tea. Once to the house of a most witty old lady (81 years old, she told me) who plied us with ginger cordial mostly brandy and insisted on our taking her Guards Cake, made after the recipe used by some Guards Regiment in the days when wine and cake was a usual refreshment during the day. Solid, black and fortified by brandy; it was good but I fear that it was the cause of a certain windiness which overtook me later -- for it obviously was not due to the Ginger Cordial that I thus misbehaved. Joan says that my misfortunes were due to eating an obviously unripe plum; but I prefer to disregard this as calumny.

Letters forwarded from India have come in since I started writing this. Yours told of a cut hand which prevented you from typing; the same was true of my cut finger, the gash on which came on the knuckle so that it was not easy to bend the finger. What a difference it would make to typing if my little fingers had any strength in them! The weakness is horridly apparent when I type with a dead ribbon like this. My efforts to buy a new ribbon in the two little towns visited on the day of the picnic were vain; such things were to be had only on special order.

It is some measure of my progress towards renewed health that today I weeded in the garden for a total of 2 ½ hours this morning, walked for 1 ½ hours in the afternoon or rather evening at a quite brisk pace and did this typing.

Have we told you that the standard time here is now two hours ahead of sun-time? We have all the pleasure of arising bright and early without feeling virtuous about it; a sensation familiar to you all in England but to me new. There is no electric light here; the batteries of the lighting set have worn out and new are not to be obtained. Paraffin lamps are produced in numbers and we do not do badly. But it means sitting in the drawing room after dark; and that means conversing with the old ladies which I find a bit dull to tell the truth.

It would be better if I felt less futile and useless; but I do not think that I regret Bengal or believe that I should be better occupied if I had stayed there. Now I shall go out into the garden and maybe cut deads.

Much love
Dad

Family letter from LJT No 2 (Last of 1942 was No 47)

c/o Standard Bank of S Africa
Cape Town.
Jan 14th 1943.

My Dears,

A huge mail sent on from India arrived yesterday. There were letters from so many kind friends and relations sending us their sympathy in our anxiety about Richard. I hope to answer the letters bit by bit, but meantime, here are my thanks to those who are likely to see this letter. Actually those are only Len and Susie. There were letters from Gwen Petrie, Poppy Dunn, Hugh Carey Morgan, “Nannie” Wynyard-Wright, Miss Capstick, Florrie Pearce and many other friends of ours whom you are not likely to know. In times of sorrow it is good to know that one is not alone. There was a most welcome letter from Annette, written 3.9.42. Earlier in the week we got a letter from Cecil, for which many thanks to her. I am so glad to know that parcels of stuff from Kashmir arrived safely.

My belief that one is far busier in a country place than in a strange town is proving true of Elgin. I did an afternoon duty at “Thumbs Up” tea room on Sunday, as well as my usual Tues. morning and Wed. Afternoon. We had tea with dear old eighty-year-old Mrs Pratt on Friday, and with General and Mrs. Tanner, (friends of the Harveys who were so good to us in Cape Town, and great friends of the Gordons) on Tuesday. On Monday MrsGordon had to go over the Sir Lowry Pass to the town of Somerset West, a nice farming centre, set in a semicircle of impressive mountains, with the sea a few miles to the south. She and her daughter Barbara had some business to do there and suggested that we should go with them, and they would take us for a picnic to a charming little sea-side resort called Gordon’s Bay, nestling under the mountains where they run down to the water on the eastern side of False Bay. There was a strong South-Easter blowing, but certain trees have a charming habit of growing down to the top of the beach, so we were able to find a reasonably sheltered spot, protected and shaded by trees, where we lunched in comfort. There were all the beauties you could wish for spread out to please us: pale yellow sand, black rocks, running out into blue-green water, topped by small “white horses”: Table Mt and the other peaks of the Cape Peninsular in the western distance, and the fine rugged Hottentot Mts sweeping round from behind us into the middle distance behind Somerset West. While Mrs Gordon was busy in the town, Herbert was able to get a haircut and I did a little shopping, principally some cotton stockings and a few other things to send home to Annette. There are quite good shops which have better stocks than most of the big places in town.

Mrs Iron took us for a drive to the Pass on Saturday morning, as she had to go to the village, and wanted to run her battery up a bit, so in spite of petrol rationing, we have moved about quite a bit in cars. Small cars like Mrs Irons Morris Ten are getting 8 gallons a month, and larger ones get ten or twelve, according to size. Its a long time since we had that quantity in Calcutta, but to South Africa, which has just been cut from more liberal rations, it seems very little.

The Tanners are such delightful people. He was in command of the S. African Brigade in the Kaiser’s War, and has held many interesting posts out here. Consequently he knows most of the outstanding personalities, and can talk shrewdly about them. He is keen on birds, and in the well-filled book-shelves which occupy much of the wall space in the drawing-room, he has a lot of bird books. History, especially military history, is his passion, and he has collected a considerable library dealing with the subject. Mrs Tanner is a woman whom to meet is to realize that she is the impersonation of warm-hearted hospitality and kindness. Every one speaks of her with affection Their house is large and charming, roofed with the beautiful fine thatch, which the natives do to perfection. Like most of the houses in this neighbourhood, it stands on a hill, looking across its orchards to splendid views of the mountains in many directions.

These beautiful thatched roofs are rather a feature of the district. Mrs Pratt’s charming cottage, and others we have visited, are finished with them. Herbert was a great success with the old lady. She has a gay, mischievous, quick mind, and enjoyed his quick wit. Her comment to me was; “How naughty he is! Of course its quite impossible to educate a creature like that. He’s as slippery as an eel!”

During my work at “Thumbs Up” tea room, I have met many of the local people, some because they happen to be on duty at the same time, others because they drop in for a cup of tea or a drink when they come down to the village. On Sunday one of my co-workers was a Mrs Ruffle. During a pause in the middle of the afternoon, while we were sitting knitting our seaman’s jerseys, she talked of her daughter who is working in Colchester, and asked me if I knew Essex. Hearing that I was born in that county, she enquired where. When I replied “In the little village of Castle Hedingham” she gave a squeak of pleasure and surprise, for her brother-in-law lives in Castle Hedingham and her daughter goes there for her leave. Later when Mr Ruffle came to fetch her, we had a great Essex talk. He was born at one of the villages in our part of the world. (I knew the name, but its gone clean out of my head) and as a youngster used to hunt with the East Essex occasionally. Very frequently our customers, who are all very friendly, ask for local information. “Is old Mr. So and So still alive”. “Are the This-or-Thats still here”. “How’s the fruit crop on such-and-such a farm,”. When I tell them that I have recently arrived in Africa from India, it starts them off on questions about India, and if there is a rush of customers, its sometimes difficult to finish off the conversation politely.

Herbert’s work in the garden becomes more and more vigourous and far reaching. The approaches to the house look very different for his efforts. He must have hoed up thousands of a small, deep-rooted variety of dandelion. Mrs Gordon is delighted, for she had no prospect of being able to spare a man from the farm to do it. This has been an exceptionally dry spring, and its not possible to water the garden much, for all the water now has to be pumped by an oil pump from the valley just below the house. Most of the house water and the same supply for the garden, used to be pumped up by a wind-mill, the original water-supply for the estate. Unfortunately this has broken down, and its impossible to get new parts for it, so the flower garden, being the least important thing, has to go dry.

I am sorry to have to report that one or two frocks that were made for me before we went away to New Zealand, and which I have not worn since I have come back, proved to be tight for me round the seat, so I have let out one, and must do the others. I asked if I might use Mrs Gordon’s machine. She kindly consented, but said she must show me how to work it, for probably I should not have seen one of the sort before. It turns out to be a Wilcox & Gibbs, of just the same pattern as Mothers famous old machine with which we all used to dressmake. Although it is probably nearly thirty years since I used a Wilcox & Gibbs, I remembered perfectly all the little tricks directly I sat down to it.

Did I tell you that my dear friend Edward Groth who was for about five years at the American Consulate in Calcutta, is in Pretoria, at the Legation? I was told in Cape Town that he would be coming south for the Session. I wrote off to him in great excitement, and had a reply a few days ago. Sad to say he stays in Pretoria while the Minister is in Cape Town. He asks if we cannot go up to stay with him in Pretoria. Its a long journey, but if we cannot get home during the next few months it may be possible. His warm-hearted pleasure that we are at any rate on the same continent was very comforting.

This letter is nothing but trivialities, but life is simple out here. All the people round either earn their bread by fruit farming, or have retired from it. The few houses I have been in have good libraries, and people have wide interests, though their own daily life is simple, with the satisfying simplicity of things springing directly from the soil. Of course there are the usual little local tiffs and politics, but the general atmosphere is friendly in the extreme.

There is no wireless here, which we regret. The newspapers come just before breakfast, and in these days it is nice to look forward to them and each day to be rewarded with good news.

Love and greetings to you all
LJT

My darling Annette – We were so pleased to get your letter of 3-9-42, sent on from India – I was anxious to hear more about your eye, and now want very much to hear what happened when you went back to see the doctor after an interval of a month. It makes me sad to know that the news about Richard upset Aunt so much and that unfortunately it should have come at a time when she was being run off her legs – I find other people’s courage reinforces my own. The General Tanner with whom we had tea the other day, lost a son in the R.A.F. two years ago – and he spoke about him beautifully – There is really no other word to describe it –

The family are just off to the village – so I send this to post –
Dearest love
From
Mother

Romey, I hope all goes well with you. You are never far out of our thought. The ex-governess of this family, who is now head-matron of a big school in Cape Town, is staying here. She is a dear person and still looks only about 30. She and her Mother stayed in Winnipeg with her brother a few years ago. The brother is no longer there, but was brought up by a padre uncle by the name of Biggs. I wonder whether Cousin Susie knew him. Edna Biggs has told me lots about Winnipeg and other places in Canada.

Love and greetings, best love,
Mother

Air Graph No 2 from LJT to Aunt (GCT)

Standard Bank of S.Africa.Cape Town.  Jan 15th   1943

Dearest Grace, a big budget of letters, sent on from India, reached us two days ago, bringing sympathy from many friends.  There was also a letter from Anne dated 3.9.42, with some news of her eye.  Does the winter weather, with all its hardships, give you a trifle less work, I wonder.  I long for you to get a holiday.  Remember that my invitation to you to take a holiday at our expense, as if you were our guest, holds good at any time.  We are getting well dug in here, after almost a fortnight’s residence.  The atmosphere is not unlike that of G. Leighs, & there are many people of the same sort of type as those in your district.  “The village” has about the same capacity as ours, but boasts a hotel & a boarding house.  Now that I am doing two or three duties a week at the tea garden run for war funds, I meet many of the local people, who are most friendly, & we have been to two or three neighbouring houses.  Herbert is doing noble work in the garden, & has made it look a different place.  he is much stronger than he was.  Yesterday he was weeding with a hoe all morning, rested in the afternoon, & after tea we walked hard for 1 1/2 hrs, & he was not tired.  That is a considerable advance.  Our friend Edward Groth, of the American Diplomatic service, who was in Calcutta for so long, is now in the Legation at Pretoria.  Unfortunately, though the Minister has come to Cape Town for this session of Parliament, he has to remain in Pretoria.  He asks whether we can not go & stay with him later on.  If we have to stay in S. Africa for some time, I hope it may be possible.  I would love to see him again.  For the first time for years, I have been doing some alterations to dresses, which I grieve to say, were tight for me round the hips.  They were ones made before I went to Australia, so this does not denote a sudden increase in girth.  Mrs Gordon allowed me to use her machine, which is a Wilcox & Gibbs.  Though I had not worked one for twenty years or more it seemed familiar when I sat down to it.  The Gordons had to go to the town of Somerset West on Monday, & took us with them.  It was a lovely drive.  We did some shopping, while Barbara & Mrs G were busy.  I got some things for Annette.  Later we went to a little sea-side place for a delightful picnic lunch.  It reminded me of Sea-view, for we lay on sand, under the shade of trees, with rocks & sea before us.  Gen. Tanner, with whom we went to tea the other day, commanded the S.A.Brigade in the last war, & has held many important posts since, so he knows most of the important people in the country, and his talk was most interesting.  He & his wife have a beautiful house & splendid library.  He told us quite a lot about Col. Deneys Reitz, the new High Commissioner for S.A. in London, whose book about the S.A. War, “Commando” I had just been reading.  Small personal touches & character sketches of the sort Gen. Tanner gave us are always interesting.  Of course we are thrilled by the news from Russia of advances day after day.  This year seems to have opened under much happier auspices than last.  Will you tell me whether there are any particular things you need in the way of clothes.  Woolen things are not easy to get but exist, there seems to be still a good stock of cotton & art silk.  Best love to all.  Thanks to Len & Cecil for letters

Airgraph from LJT to Annette (addressed to Miss Annette Townend P.O. Box. 222. S.W 70. Howick Place. London S.W1 England)

No 2 Jan. 18th 1943

My Darling Annette. Thanks for letter 23 of 4.9.42, sent on from India. There is some of the much-longed-for news about your eye. Now I wait anxiously to hear what the doctor had to say a month later. I am glad that you were able to be home with Aunt for a little while soon after she got the news about Richard. It seems to have helped her to have you with her. When I feel a wave of grief coming over me, I try to think of all the others who have lost husbands & sons, so many of whom have no-one left. It helps to dispel the gloom, & restore balance. I wish I could see a clear way of getting home to you all quickly. Circumstances force one to live in the present, & not worry, otherwise one would get all on edge. Probably Romey will have difficulty in getting home after the war. I wonder what you will be able to do. You deserve a long holiday. Have you any ideas beyond that? Two lots of letters came two days ago from Romey. They took 2 ½ and 2 ¾ months respectively to come. I am sorry she is not useing air-mail. She seems to be living her life vigourously & putting a lot into her time. Hope she gets her degree.

We are posting a parcel to you to-day. It contains a dull pink linen dress that was made for me, but is a little too tight round the hips. It will easily be taken in for you. Enclose are also an elastic corset belt, a card of elastic, a lip-stick and three prs of cotton stockings. There were bought at different shops in Somerset West, so are all different, but I hope they will be useful. Sorry I forgot to get mending to match. Will try to send some later in some other parcel. The dress has been worn & washed. There is talk of clothes rationing in this country soon. Stocks of many things are very short. Parliament has opened its new session in Cape Town, so there will be more local political news in the papers, to which I look forward. Except for war news, it has been “the silly season” for the papers since we arrived. Dad has made good progress since we came here. Working in the garden, weeding, tidying up the rambler hedges & cutting off “deads has suited him well, & delighted Mrs Gordon. The garden looks very different since he began ministering to it. The quantities of fresh fruit has been good for him too. He has never been fond of the Indian fruits, but revels in the plums & peaches we get here. The considerable library in the house suits him. He browses in many books & picks out tit bits to read aloud. Often he says “Annette would like that”. Its lucky you & Romey are intelligent. He would hate to have stupid daughters. We are somewhat tried by one of our co-guests whose intelligence is of a meager order. You would be amused at the fuss made in this country over matriculation. There is tremendous talk because the papers are not publishing the results from all the schools this year. They do as a rule, & seemingly it is a matter of vital interest to the public to read these huge lists & see who has achieved this honour! Bad English in many of the books he has been reading, has roused Dad’s ire. I am reading, or rather skimming, a book on Canada by one Joseph Adams, written in 1912, which exhibits all journalistic faults! Best love from us both Mother

Air Graph No 2 from LJT to Romey

Standard Bank of S. Africa.  Cape Town.  Jan 18th 1943

My darling Romey.  Thank you for letters nos 10 and 11 of 25.10 & 1.11.42,which reached us two days ago, after taking 2.1/2 & 2 3/4 months to come.  It seems that the sea mail is chancy.  If letters just catch a boat, they come quickly but often they have to wait ages.  Miss Biggs who has been staying here & has a brother in Canada says they find that with his letters.  If we have to stay long in Africa, we shall probably go up to Pretoria, & stay a week or two in Johannesburg en route, so I hope Cousin Susie will send us her sons’ address.  Its nice to have the enlargement of the snap-shot of you, though the definition is not very good.  The family here know all about Marais & the trek Songs.  There is no radio here, but probably will be in the hotel in Cape Town, so I shall look out for some in the local programmes there.  Most interested to hear about the winter coat with the chamois lining.  Sounds a most sensible purchase.  I got a thick overcoat made in Calcutta, with the same idea of laying it in while it was still possible to get it.  Glad to hear your money is lasting out well.  I do hope Cousin Susie is accepting enough  for your board.  You know by now that the money will be sent as usual from India.  What are the U.S.Ois, of which you say a branch is being started in W.?  Also we are in the dark as to what the conference was, which you hoped to attend in the U.S.A.  I am glad you may have had a chance to go over the border.  I am hoping my book parcel may arrive to-day.  It probably came on the same boat with the letters.

Dad is considerably stronger than he was when we came here.  Work in the garden has suited him well.  He generally spends most of the morning dealing with weeds, the rambler hedges, & is cutting off “deads”.  The garden has benefitted too, &looks all the better for his ministrations.  We had a huge mail sent on from India, mostly letters from kind friends, sending their sympathy about Richard.  I have been busy answering these, altering some of my dresses, which I did not have time to pay much attention to in Calcutta, & doing morning or afternoon duty at the “Thumbs Up” tea-garden run for War Funds.  Some evenings we go for walks.  Two or three times we have been out to tea, & find the neighbouring people both nice & hospitable.  They all seem to be fruit farmers, either settlers from England, or one or two generations away from it.  There are few Africanders here, but lots over the mountains in the wine-growing country round Stellenbosch.  Last Monday Mrs Gordon had to go to the town of Somerset West, & took us with her.  We shopped, & Dad had his hair cut while she was busy, & afterwards she took us to a darling little sea-side resort called Gordon’s Bay nestling under the mountains on the Eastern curve of False Bay.  It was very windy, but we managed to get shelter & enjoyed ourselves.  The country round here is very beautiful.  I don’t remember mentioning a book about Australia, called “The Timeless Land.”  Shall be interested to hear what you think of it.  I am skipping through a book on Canada, called “Ten Thousand Miles through Canada” by Joseph Adams, written in 1912, in such bad style, but some interesting things in it.  Best love to you all.  Will you use Air-mail?

Family letter from HPV

c/o Standard Bank of South Africa
Cape Town.
Thursday January 21st 1943.

My dear Annette (name handwritten)

It has been raining for nearly twenty four hours, not hard but persistently and the hearts of the fruit-farmers are uplifted. It is weeks since there has been rain and the prospects of the apple crop were threatened. The twins had luckily chosen the previous day for burning off the patches of waste ground immediately near the house. A most enjoyable afternoon for them, entailing all manner of dirtying of shirts. They set about the job in a manner most competent, avoiding all risk of allowing the fire to spread either to the gums and pines on the one side or to the orchards on the other. Although in many ways childish they have much practical sense: there is near by a wind-engine, called in these parts a wind-mill, which for two years has been lying derelict; the wheel with the vanes came off then and the agents said that repairs would cost 40. Scouting around I found it, and suggested to Mrs. Gordon that it might be repaired cheaply if spare parts could be obtained from another derelict of the same type of which there must be several near by on other properties. The idea did not appeal to her because she said that without a handyman able to see what was needed and to do it there would be failure. It was therefore a pleasure to me to find two days later that independently the twins had tackled the job. They did marvels in straightening out the badly buckled wheel by slogging it with a sledge hammer and they are now engaged in trying to get it up again. It is much too heavy to lift up to the head of the tripod in a complete state but the scheme is to take it to bits (as they have already done) and to rebuild it on the top; yesterday, before the rain started I went out to see how things went and found that they had struck a snag. They couldn’t drive the hub sufficiently far home; and there things rest. I hope that they bring it off because it would be a veritable triumph.

One of them summoned by his mother to wash before lunch replied “My hands are quite clean”; trial showed that much dirt came off when soap and water were used on them and Mrs. Gordon exclaimed “Quite clean!”: to this he replied “Quite average clean.” Being late for lunch by a few minutes I apologised for being average early.

Never have I used my mind so little as during our stay here. I have been working so vigorously at the weeding that after stopping each day, I have lacked energy for anything else. Except that I have wound countless balls of wool and by countless I mean at least a dozen; with extreme care, trying to equal the regularity of the machine-wound string balls which always fascinate me. I have been wearing shorts, and have been amused to get back from the wash my khaki shorts with the ends carefully turned up. South African troops wear their shorts so short that there is scarcely any leg to them; and what leg there is they turn up. So the shorts scarcely show beneath their tunics and the effect to us is comic; but our method of wearing shorts is to them equally comic and so criticism is out of place.

I have been reading the worst historical book ever written as I suppose; Louis XIV and such. The style is so bad that one can believe nothing in the book; but if the facts are true, how revolting! In spite of Hitler and his followers (how offensive to the harmless louse to describe the Nazis as lice as the Russians have done!) things are far better now than in those days. Every form of offensiveness and low cruelty was favoured and thought well of; and I am inclined to renounce the reading of history altogether. A book which I have read here with real interest and almost enthusiasm is Henry Ford’s “Today and Tomorrow”. Really there are few better; in spite of crudities there is a sense of possibilities worth any amount of the poppycock so popular in these days about the prospects of progress through political changes. I would much like to know how things have turned out for Ford since he wrote this or had it written for him.

It has been pointed out to me that there is great truth in the saying “Here we go round the mulberry bush” for that is precisely what mulberry-pickers do. It is so difficult to find the ripe fruit that people go round and round the tree, peering; and there is a regular track going round it. I have not taken part in this search since the first two days, having a suspicion that indigestion is a by-product of mulberry eating. And anyhow, I am very bad at detecting what is ripe enough to eat.

Mrs Cook, a fellow lodger, accused me of snoring the other night on the strength of hearing an owl; the owls of these parts snort, rather than hoot.
Much love
Dad

Family letter from LJT No 3
From Mrs H.P.V. Thownend, c/o Standard Bank of S.Africa. Cape Town.

“Drumearn”.
Elgin. Cape Province.
Jan 21st 1943.

(received in Wpg April 13 with Rosemary’s notation “opened by censor”)

My Dears,

Another week with no letters from England, but we got two weeks letters from Canada, which had taken respectively 2 ½ and 2 ¾ months to come. When letters from home do come there ought to be a nice budget for us. We feel qualms of anxiety when we see reports of occasional small raids over East Anglia, and still more so when we read in to-day’s paper of that horrid lunch-time raid which destroyed a London School, and killed so many children. The news during the last week has been splendid on the whole though. It gives one much hope.

As far as we have been concerned, life has been placid and peaceful. Herbert remarked to me last night that he had seldom led a less intellectual existence, or used his brain less. That is just what is so good for him. He is sleeping better than he has done for years, and is very much stronger than he was when we came here three weeks ago. His gardening activities go on. He takes pride in what he has accomplished, and almost feels that it is a waste of time to go for a walk of an evening. We have not been out so much this week - One evening we called on a Mr and Mrs Gale, a couple from Shanghai, who settled here a few years ago. We had been told to look them up and had previously met him. The poor fellow recently had an operation for a tumor in his throat, and just before we went to see them he had had a setback. Some infection had got into the throat and made it agonizingly sore, so that he could scarcely speak. His wife insisted that they would like us to stay for he enjoys hearing other people talk. It was a slightly awkward visit all the same, for he kept on wanting to tell us things.

A couple of evenings ago the Essex people, Mr and Mrs Ruffle invited us to go to “Sundowners”, which take place about six o’clock, which is a good deal earlier than cocktails in India. The Ruffles are nice people, and have a pretty little house, with nice old furniture in it. Mr Ruffle had retired, but is now running his son’s timber business, while the young man is a prisoner of war in Germany. I had some quite interesting talk with him about the possibilities of future careers for young men in this country. He thinks everything in Africa hinges on the future of gold. If gold ceases to be the world standard of value, then Africa is in for an extremely bad time, for her prosperity has been chiefly in her gold mines. Agriculture is a minor source of wealth, and much of the country is useless for cultivation.

We have been for one or two very nice walks. One has to try to keep off all roads except the main road, which is macadamised, for on the others the dust is frightful when a car or a lorry passes. Luckily there are a good many tracks through the various farms, which by common consent are used by the public to get through from one farm to another, and one can get some nice walks on these. Its strange to me how people can live so close to fine ranges of mountains and know so little about them. There is an attitude of surprise in response to any questions about the different peaks and whether people often climb them. The notion does not seem to occur to the young people, perhaps because they are always busy about the farms. To some extent the same thing is true of reading. Take the fifteen year old twins, Antony and Ian on this farm. They are busy from morning till night with jobs of different sorts. Intellectually they are young and to tell the truth, somewhat ignorant, but in practical matters to do with the farm, they are shrewd and capable. At supper in the evening we hear what they have been doing. Many mornings last week they spent putting to-gether the boxes for the fruit, which come from the factory in parts. Its a pleasure to see the precision with which they put the bits together and hit in the nails. Some afternoons they have been down to the woods by the river with a couple of native boys, cutting what they call spars, but we should be more likely to describe as poles. They are both good carpenters and have their own small work-shop They were given a vice not long ago, and as they had no bench which they considered firm enough for it, they asked permission to cut down an old fir tree close to the hut they built, in order to use its stump for a bench. Permission was given, and Mrs Gordon says they were most business-like in cutting and roping the tree to get it to fall in the right direction. This is not as wasteful as it might sound, for timber is needed and fetching good prices, with the result that a lot of thinning of the wind-breaks is going on, and there were younger trees just behind this old one, ready to take its place. Herbert has been specially pleased with the boys over their activities with the broken wind-mill. The key of the wheel sheared off in a storm, and the sails fell to the ground and were badly crumpled. Professional quotations for repairs were 40, which included a new set of sails and the framework which holds them in place The other day the boys climbed up the mill, unshipped and brought down the head, no easy job, considering that there are only a few iron cross-bars on which to stand and work, and those at a considerable height above the ground. Having taken the head to bits and reassembled it, they decided that there was nothing wrong with it, and that all that was required was a new key. They then tacked the wheel, or rather the sails in their framework. They took the whole thing to bits and with a sledge hammer beat each sail into shape again on their pine-stump block. They have got the village blacksmith to make a new key. Yesterday they rigged up tackle and hauled the head up, but up to last night they had failed to get it into place. It turned cold and wet yesterday afternoon, and Herbert suggested that the difference in temperature, may have caused the metal to shrink enough to make the difference in getting the ring into its place. The boys are at work on it now I think. Herbert has been a most interested onlooker at all this, and is keen that the work should be a success, for he feels it will be an enormous encouragement to the boys if they make a successful job of what the professionals said would cost 40. Some of their useful jobs, take on the form of a game. Rats are a nuisance in the grain loft above the mules stables. Two friends were here the other afternoon, and the four boys, armed with old swords which had belonged to their father and grandfather, went off to hunt rats. I happened to be in Mrs Gordon’s sitting room a little later, when suddenly a sword was pushed through the window with a rat impaled on it! Mrs. Gordon begged that reports only should be given of the slaughter of rats. She had no desire to inspect the corpses personally. We like the boys very much, in spite of this bloodthirsty strain! The place will seem quiet when they go back to school next week.

Clouds blew up yesterday morning, and to the joy of everyone, it began to rain soon after lunch, and rained pretty heavily all afternoon. Rain is very badly needed for the fruit, for there has been none for months. It rained off and on all night, and is still grey and showery this morning. Mercifully it has come without wind. What the farmers dread at this time of year when the apples are approaching maturity, is a Southwester, which is the normal winter storm quarter. Luckily they rarely come during the summer, but when they did it means thousands of pounds worth of losses to the farmers. Mrs Cook and I were on duty at the War Services Tea Garden yesterday afternoon. We had to rush the tables and chairs into the shed, and spent the afternoon knitting and reading in the small tea-house. We only had five customers all afternoon. Cars dashing past preferred to get to their destinations.

My time has been more or less usefully employed with small things. I have written a lot of letters, done some dress-making jobs, collected seeds from the garden for Mrs Gordon, and done a small spot of weeding, and after dinner each evening, given myself training in reading a book and knitting at the same time. I am getting fairly good at it now, and my seaman’s jersey is getting on well. I use a small narrow cushion on my knee as a prop for the book, not having a suitable sized dog such as Romey used to use for the purpose at Highways.

Time is slipping away fast. Already half our visit here is done. I hope Herbert will be happy when we get back to Cape Town. He wont have all these healthy out-of-door jobs to do, which is a pity, but he would get bored if we stayed here too long, I expect.

I am always wondering what the next few months will bring forth!

Best love to you all
LJT

My darling Annette – As I sent off an air-graph to you a day or two ago, I’m not writing a personal letter this week.

Dad has made a lot of progress lately – We went a walk, stepping full out, yesterday evening and kept on the go for just on 2 hours. Till recently Dad strolled like an invalid, and could not have kept that up for very long – He will probably have a few set-backs, but he is beginning to get confidence in himself again –
Best love, my dear –
Mother

From LJT to Annette

From Mrs H.P.V.Townend. c/o Standard Bank of South Africa. Cape Town.

“Drumearn.”
Elgin. Cape Province.
Jan 25th 1943

My darling Annette,

To be answering a letter written by you on Sept 3rd, seems an outrageous gap. It is one which missed us in India.

In it you mention going to the Service in connection with the Day of Prayer at the Village Hall, and being well impressed by it. You go on to comment on Aunt’s belief that because sometimes in battle men find themselves praying, that is a proof of the truth of religion. Aunt is one of those people who is able to combine an unquestioning faith in established thought and order, without stupidity, or narrowness of mind. I dont quite know how she does it. Its perhaps because she has travelled so far on the road of selflessness. I never remember her being selfish as a little girl, nor as she grew older. Auntie Puff was the same. In a way this links up with ideas which I have been pondering much of late.

Some years ago I may have written to you a little about the teachings of Krishnamurti, the man who was adopted by Annie Besant when he was a boy. She saw that he had exceptional spiritual gifts, and said she believed he would be a second Christ. He was educated in England and France, but after going back to the Theosophical College in Madras, he broke away from it entirely. He goes about the world talking to people and telling them what he has found out for himself, and begging them to think and experiment for themselves, but on no account to form themselves in societies or religions, for he says “Religions represent frozen thought”. His idea about that part of one which is not tangible, visible, and which is known variously as soul, spirit, mind etc, is that each one of us is originally a speck of energy which gathers to itself all that it needs to build up body and mind. During that process, it almost always builds up a strong ego, to which he gives the name of “The ‘I’ process”. In most cases this ego is allowed to become predominant, so that most of us spend our time wanting comfort, safety, and a thousand other things for ourselves, and also wanting a religion which will assure us of comfort, safety and well-being in some future state. From this springs the unhappiness of the individual and of the world. (There is a strong tinge of Buddist thought throuout his writings) He maintains that if we can fully comprehend this, not just know it intellectually, but feel it through and through, we shall begin to get rid of the ego, and share in the great energy of the world or rather the cosmos. We shall also be happy and serene in a way that is not possible as long as we are straining to attain peace and happiness for ourselves, for this “ego”. Some of his ideas are a little difficult to grasp and to follow, but the broad lines of what he says, seem to crystallize the ideas I have been slowly forming through my life, as I have been searching about for what I could believe, in many different religions and amongst many different philosophical writers.

It seems to me that all religions in their early origins, had visions of this idea, but the visions were overlaid by custom, and by the apparant necessity of giving to unthinking people those very promises of eternal safety and happiness, which encourage the ego.

If you study the people you know carefully, I think that you will find the most truly happy are the ones who are truly unselfish, not the ones who are unselfish because they are consciously “laying up treasure in Heaven”, but the ones, like Aunt, who are unselfish without ever thinking of it.

When we go on to conjecturing why some people seem to be born with this egoistical attitude and some with almost none, we get into the difficult country where we can only guess at what is beyond the horizon. Is there a life after death? If so do we go on as entities in something the same fashion as we have been entities in this terristial existence? Or do we become absorbed back into some cosmic spirit or energy? Do we follow a long series of existences during which we are gradually forged into finer and finer implements? About all these things I do not feel sure, but I incline to the belief that something of the spiritual personality we have formed here, goes on into some other form of existance, perhaps reincarnating again on earth, till it is ready for some more advanced form of existance. The whole trend of the life we know seems to indicate a pattern of this sort. There is a general upward grade combined with a blotting out of forms which are a complete failure. It might be that this blotting out happens in the extra-mundane plane too, of spirits who have been a complete failure. The question of number and quantity making any form of re-incarnation impossible does not seem to me to weigh much as an argument, for size, both upwards to biggness and downwards to littleness, we know to be far beyond our powers of understanding, and one has only to meditate for a few seconds on what we know of the stars, to realize that there must be plenty of room for all sorts of experiments to be going on.

Although Richard did not write much about it to me, he said enough in some of his later letters to give the impression that he was interested in speculations on some sort of future existence, and that he was neither worried nor afraid. It is a comfort to me to know that on the one occasion when I was consciously near death, I did not feel at all afraid. It was when I had cholera, five months before you were born, and the only things that worried me were that if I died, the new life in me would be wasted, and the problem of how Dad would look after himself. I greatly hope that when Richard had to face death, he also was not afraid, whether he passed through it, or whether he escaped it, and will come back to us.

I still have not quite given up hope, though I recognize that all probability points to the fact that he has done.

In thinking of Richard, I have drifted away a little from trying to tell you what I have been thinking in the realms of what, for lack of a more exact term, I suppose one would call religious philosophy.

In the short visit here I have met two people who have been thinking freely of these things for many years. One is Mrs Iron, who was staying in this house and left about a week ago. The other is the eighty-year old Mrs Pratt, with whom I spent nearly two hours the other evening, discussing these things. There are two points I want to talk further about. One is the possibility of making oneself a channel for the general cosmic power or energy, and the other is the use or abuse of will power. There is no time now, for lunch is almost ready, so I will either add more to this later, or write further next week.

27.1.43.

Yesterday was my morning on duty at the tea-room, and the afternoon I dont like to use the typewriter, because sound travels all through the house.

The main stream of the thought concentrated in the various systems of Yoga philosophy centres round the ability of individuals to put themselves in tough with the power that lies in and behind everything. Krishnamurti believes that it is possible to “tune in” to this power or energy in a natural way, when one gets rid of the ego. This is putting a subtle and difficult thing, shortly and crudely, but that is briefly the impression I get from his writings. To some extent I think I have experienced this many times during my life. For years past, when I have been in difficulty or ill, I have tried to throw myself open to this power, and I believe it works. Recently in illness I tried it when I had dengue fever. At the beginning of the second half of the attach, my throat became frightfully sore with swollen glands, so that by lunch time I could scarcely swallow. I lay down on my bed, relaxed completely and consciously emptied my mind, inviting the cosmic power to flow in. I fell asleep, and waking after about an hour, found that my temperature which had been 102° was almost normal and the pain in the throat had gone. I have done the same thing seeking strength to carry on under the sorrow about Richard, and I feel confident that I have got extra strength that way. I am so deeply sorry that it is impossible to discuss anything of this sort with Dad. He becomes angry and distressed at the very mention of any ideas of this sort. It is doubly a pity for I think could he relax and let the strength of this all-pervading spirit flow through him he would be cured of many of his ills. Old Mrs Pratt has had similar experiences just recently. She has been suffering from a bad attack of shingles all round her thighs. The pain and irritation became so bad that she felt it difficult to get her mind off it. She tried this same idea of relaxing and trying to put herself in tune with the cosmos, and she says although the appearance of the shingles is still there, the pain has gone. She just does not feel it.

This links up with the use of will. Krishnamurti says that one has to get rid of the “I will” before one can get in tune with the cosmic power. This getting rid of will is puzzling me a great deal. I discussed it with Mrs Iron before she left, and she threw some light on it, but I still don’t feel I have grasped it properly, so I shall wait to write of it till the subject is clearer in my own mind.

I wonder whether you will think me quite cracked to write like this. So many people are shy of writing about their beliefs, though I fancy most people do think of these things. Best love from Mother

Family letter from LJT No 4

“Drumearn”
Elgin. C.P.
Jan 28th 1943.

My Dears,

The weather since I last wrote last week, has been more like English summer. It continued gray and showery till Sunday evening. Then came two glorious clear hot days, and yesterday it was raining once more, and gradually turned cold, so that we enjoyed a log fire in the evening, and this morning I am wearing a tweed skirt and wooly cardigan and feel none too warm. Guided by the glass falling rapidly, the Gordons shut the pack shed completely on Tuesday, and turned all hands on to picking, so that they had plenty of indoor work to do yesterday when it was impossible to pick. Its cloudy but fine to-day, so I suppose picking can go on. A young couple who bought a neighbouring farm a year ago, not having a glass, did not suspect that the weather was going to break again, and concentrated on packing on the last fine day, so were badly caught by the rain yesterday. How many traps there are for the inexperienced!

The cool cloudy weather with the dust laid by the rain, has been favourable for walks. Last Thursday evening we started off across a corner of this estate, creeping under the barbed wire fence, which is quite an accepted thing to do, and cutting across some heath-land belonging to a very large adjoining property. From there we went on to a private road which runs to a bridge which they, in conjunction with the manager of the property on the further bank, have built. This was supposed to be the walk of about half an hour or a little more, and then home again. Once at the bridge Herbert’s dislike for returning by the same route asserted itself. At his instigation, I went to a cottage near the bridge and asked how far it was to the village by the road on the far side. The woman I asked guessed it to be 2 ½ to 3 miles. I knew that from the village to this house was 1 ½ miles. Herbert plumped for doing it, though it was a great deal longer than any walk he had done before. By this time it was misting hard, but it was pleasant walking, and one could step out without getting hot. The round tour was extremely pretty, all up and down hills, with lovely views of the mountains from the tops of the ridges. We were sometimes walking through orchards, sometimes over heath, covered with several different kinds of erica, not unfortunately, in bloom this season, and big bushes of protea, about the size of gorse bushes, with their big curious flowers dried on them. The private road ran for some way between wide wind breaks of pines, and soon after crossing the river, we came into an area of forest, with quite a different sort of beauty. As we were marching up the high road from the village, Mr and Mrs Ruffle passed us in a car, and stopped to offer us a lift. As we were only half a mile from home, and pretty wet, we declined. With an incredulous laugh, Mrs Ruffle said “So you are doing this for pleasure!” Herbert did not seem tired that evening, but I think he was a little tired the next day. He did not feel inclined for walking the next evening, which was also misty, so I went to see old Mrs Pratt, the eighty year-old lady, whom I like so much, who was, I think, genuinely pleased to see me, and we talked for nearly two hours about all sorts of things. What a charming thing a wise and happy old lady can be!

Since then we have done some other lesser walks, and carried on with our usual activities. The boys went back to school yesterday, and the house seems strangely quiet without them. Mrs. Gordon got them off with the minimum of fuss. The quiet way she gets her multiplicity of jobs done reminds me of Grace.

The newspapers are full of reading matter these days, besides all the thrilling war news, and tremendous events like the meeting of Roosevelt and Churchill, there is all the political news of what is going on in Parliament here. A great many people in S. Africa belong to the anti-war party, called the Ossewa-Brandwag (The boys tell me that these Afrikans words mean the Trek-wagon sentries). Everywhere here one hears people say “Oh! He’s an OB!” It is sad to be in a country so divided against itself. Oddly enough the Dutch parties are always splitting and reuniting in different groups, and so lose much strength. The last few days in Parliament a lot of remarks made by Dr Malan’s party, have been brought up against them. Apparently they have openly prophesied defeat for the Allies, and urged the country to throw in its lot with the Axis. It must be awkward for them to have their own words quoted against them in the House.

It is this dissension between the white people, and the terribly difficult problems of the rights and treatment of the Cape Coloured people and of the African Natives, that would make me fight shy of settling in South Africa. I have been reading, and am still on, books dealing with these problems, and it seems that it will require a great deal more unselfishness and public spirit on the part of the white population than is at the present apparent, to give the native and coloured people the fair share in wages and opportunity which to an outsider seems only just and fair.

The Indian coolie in his cotton loin cloth looks an aristocrat beside the lower types of the coloured people, who all attempt to wear European clothes, and whose physique is in so many cases miserable. There are obviously many grades amongst these coloured folk, and the better ones make good servants and work-people, but the marks of bad inheritance seems to stamp so many of them. The Natives are entirely different from all accounts, but we see few in Cape Colony, so all I have learnt about them is from books.

The very nice and capable cook in this house is from St. Helena. MrsGordon says that a lot of the best servants in this neighbourhood cone from that Island. Its few inhabitants are very poor, and glad to go out into a wider world to earn better wages. I have had one or two interesting talks with Sybil about her home. She is dark skinned, but looks more the Asiatic type, with no apparent Negro strain. I must find out what the history of the St Helena people is.

A small Coloured girl called Nellie, who is aged twelve and was born and lives on this estate, has recently come to be trained for housework here. She has picked up a lot in these few weeks, but is very amusing the way she gazes at one, with the roundest and blackest eyes imaginable. If you smile back at her she ducks her head and puts her hands over her face. I noticed that she always stopped to stare entranced at me when I was typing, so yesterday I let her type her name, and she skipped off with the paper to show her mother, full of pleasure. Herbert says I should not have done it, as now she will be tempted to use the typewriter when she does not think anyone is looking. I hope I have not opened a gulf of temptation before her. I certainly did not mean to.

A few days ago a new guest arrived here. He is an ex-naval padre of the name of Martin. He was ship mates with Barney in the “Diana”, and after the last war, he was Chaplain at Eastney. He knows so many of our old friends. He settled out here, and was working at Somerset West, the town at the foot of the Hottentot Mts, but has recently been transferred to Simonstown, where the civilian church was in a bad way. He has been working frightfully hard, I hear, and has come up here for a short rest. He is a pleasant man of the type who would do well in the Navy. We were telling tales of Marine servants the other evening and he said that his man who was with him for years, identified himself so closely with him that on Saturdays, he used to come and say, “Now, Sir, we celebrated ‘oly Communion in such-and-such a ship last Sunday, so we must celebrate in the So-and-So tomorrow.” This talk filled me with memories of old Jelly and what a good fellow he was.

The peach season is getting over. Plums are full in and pears just coming, but the main stay and crop, which is the apples is not ready yet. There have been a good many windfalls since the rain started but they are gathered up and sold to the jam factories.

I am writing in the dining room and the maid, assisted by Nellie has come in to lay the table for lunch, so I must clear up.

Before finishing, I want just to say that I had a letter from G.B. Gourlay’s wife by the last mail from India, in which she said that Tim Bevington had been to see them in Madras, and that they like him very much. I am so glad Tim has got in touch with them, for they are dear people.

We are longing for letters. There was an English mail in a few days ago, but nothing seems to have come for us.

Best love to you all

LJT

(added in pencil) PS Your letter No 2 of Dec 13th just in – Many thanks.

Family letter from HPV

c/o Standard Bank of South Africa
Cape Town.
January 28th 1943.

My dear Annette (name handwritten)

Time passes quickly. Doing nothing to speak (or write) of. It seems only a day or two since I wrote last. Since then, it is true, I have finished weeding the rambler roses which fall over a bank of large stones; these are a perfect nest of dandelions and the thorns protecting them ought to be cut by a barrage of high explosives before anyone ventures into them. They look less cheerful now than before I started to work on them. Hardly a branch but has been twisted this way and that to enable me to get at the dandelions, which in my opinion well deserve their ill-sounding French name. The heavy rain of recent days has undone my work; I had removed every trace of weed from the bed but now there are thousands of seedling dandelions sprouting in all directions. There are acres of seeding dandelions all round for it is one of the South African pests; and the whole place has been so neglected for months that the weeds would take months to eradicate.

The twins finished their work on the wind-engine and it did pump up some water; but it needs so much wind that I doubt if its practical value will be very great. By the way Joan’s description of the operations was inaccurate; not that this mattered. Had I known that she would mention it I should have abstained from telling of it and I feel that I owe you apologies for repetition. The twins have gone off to school equipped with 100 feet of strong rope and 100 feet of cord. They use these for plays of their own in the trees; and it may stimulate them to invent new ones that they were taken to see a Tarzan film in Cape Town on the day of their return.

I have not mentioned that there are on the farm and on the farms near multitudes of wild guinea fowl; these are not native to the district but there used to be guinea fowl here in the old days that were. They were shot out and someone introduced a new strain from another part of South Africa. Now no one shoots them and they multiply and do good in destroying insects in the orchards. The most we have seen together at a time is nine but they are sometimes to be seen to the number of 130. The twins remark “Goo! but you can’t get near them with a gun”; so we see the direction the thoughts of the twins took. Actually they seem to think that it is fun to shoot any and every living creature within reach but the cost of ammunition keeps down the mortality and in practice they devote their attention to such beasts as hawks for destroying which the farmers will pay handsomely.

Did we mention that the pigs are named after German generals? The cats on the contrary are named after countries which the war has brought to the twins’ notice; such as Libya. There were two she-cats which both kittened and Libya, an amusing little beast, is the sole survivor. I wonder whether it gets the benefit of the milk from both the cats and will grow to a portentous size like the dappled fowl in the fairy tale.

Last Thursday we went for a walk down to the second bridge across the river; a private bridge on a farm. We ought to have come back the way we went, but that is a thing that I hate and so we went on and round by the high road and eventually through the village. It rained (a cold rain) like blazes and we were two hours out walking which is far longer than anything that I have done since Australia; at least 6 miles and probably more. Since then I have been more or less tired and I have been troubled by liver which may have been brought on by fatigue; but to have been able to walk so far indicates that I am far and away stronger than when I left Cape Town. I should have got over the weariness more quickly if I had abstained from arduous work in the garden; and might then have avoided a certain extreme depression which has been afflicting me. It is a mistake to think about India at any time and especially when one’s liver is swollen as one might say, inaccurately.

Letters from home today, very welcome. They indicate that there have been some which have not reached us. I shall stop. It is quite dark and I have not been able to see what I am writing. Joan has just brought in a lamp but this has brought it to my notice that the room is cold; and I shall go off to the drawing room where there is a fire. All are commenting with amazement on such unseasonable weather; it is like having to have a fire in July in England. But we cannot complain; the weather on the whole has been marvelous.

(handwritten addition) One letter was your’s. Good!

Much love
Dad

Airgraph from LJT to Grace Townend (addressed to Mrs ABS Townend, Highways, Great Leighs, Nr Ghelmsford. Essex. England)

c/o Standard Bank of S. Africa, Cape Town. Jan 29th 1943
AG No 3

Dearest Grace,
Your letter No 4 d.8.12. & A’s d. 13.12.42. reached us yesterday. It was lovely to get them, but I fear at least two weeks are missing. How sad about Peg’s babe. It must be a dreadful disappointment. Let us hope she will have better luck in the future. There is one favourable aspect to the matter. It will not mean such heavy work for you. We were feeling anxious at the idea that you would have so much extra to do. I hardly dare think how much I want to be able to get home and carry on for you while you get a holiday. Interrupted yesterday, & went out for the day at 11 o’clock. In newspaper this morning it says mails from U.K. posted between Nov 12th and 17 were lost at sea, so the absence of letters is explained. I wonder what news was in them. So interested to hear that Maj. Odell lectured in the village. He is a nice person. Did he mention his wife? He went home from India because she was very ill. A new guest here, Mr Martin, was padre in the Diana with Barney, & remembers him well, as well as many of our old friends. The weather has been more like English summer for the past week, with days of rain & cloud & some evenings so chilly that we have enjoyed fires. The rain has been a great blessing to the farmers & to the gardens. It’s the sort of climate that encourages one to walk more energetically than the very hot dusty weather. Herbert’s health continues to improve, but he gets depressed at the thought of hanging about for months doing nothing. I wish I knew what was best to do for him. Perhaps the end of the war will come this year & solve our difficulties. We have only just over two more weeks here. Maybe in Cape Town we could find some mild war-work not needing much head-work, with which he could help. I rather wish we could have stayed on here for another month, but that cannot be arranged now. I have been talking to many of the women here about the W.Is in England, & all the things you do & what a difference they have made to village life. Circumstances are different in this country, but there is much talk of improving the status of the Coloured People, & and it seems to me that some society run on the lines of the W.I.s might meet the case very well. H had a nice letter from Mr Cape by this mail, & recently heard from Father Low from whom we had had no news for ages. At the age of 69 he is still running his school almost single handed. Bill & Rene had been living with him for some time, & suddenly went off & have never written to tell him where they are or what they are doing. Although he does not say say, we sense that he is somewhat hurt. What a pity they are so odd. We read the papers greedily these days, & were thrilled to hear of the meeting of Roosevelt & Churchill. There is interesting reading about the S.African parliament too. Its astonishing that the opposition can still go on making the speeches that they do. The United Party have been giving them some rather awkward reminders of the assertions they have made during the past year or two to the effect that the Axis would win the war beyond all doubt; that Stalingrad had as good as fallen & that it meant the defeat of Russia, & and so on! Best love to you all Joan (Townend)