1944 June
Family letter from LJT No 21
Arthur’s Seat Hotel
Sea Point
June 4th 1944
My Dears,
Apologies for not writing last week! We were rather excited, and still are so, at the idea of not being much longer in Cape Town. I had a lot of sewing to do, and wanted to prepare some notes for a talk I had to give to the Theosophical Society on Friday.
The nice old Dr Davies and his wife, whom we met in Elgin, are Theosophists, and through going to lunch with them at the Society’s rooms, I met the President and her husband. Talking there, they found I came from India, and wanted me to talk to their weekly gathering about experiences or impressions. India was too difficult to tackle, so knowing that Theosophists are always especially interested in Tibet, I said I would talk to them about my journey to Gyantze, and Lamaistic Buddhism. Of course I was not satisfied in what I said. I did not concentrate enough in the beginning. In spite of that, they seemed interested, and when my three-quarters of an hour was up, asked me to go on. and finally, with a lot of questions at the end, kept me talking for an hour and a half.
Our weather has been up and down in quality, and Herbert has been up and down in health. We had lovely days at the end of last week and the beginning of this, and he was in good form. Taking Mr Whitehouse, who now sits at our table with us, we went for some excellent walks, both along the coast, beyond the last bus stop, and in various directions up and round about the Lion’s Hd. Its grand weather for walking when it is fine, for one can climb steeply and not get over-heated. Also there are not nearly so many people about, and there is no dust. Its been very stormy and chilly the last few days, and on Friday Herbert developed one of those nasty liver attacks, which make him feel so wretched. It may have been partly due to food, and partly to coming out into an unexpectedly cold wind when we had been having morning tea with Esme Cramer Roberts at the Empire Club. Its so disappointing when after a few days of feeling comparatively brisk and cheerful, he has to endure this tiresome condition of feeling chilly, depressed and generally “no-how-ish”
There was a very pleasant happening on Tuesday. We were lunching at the Civil Service Club with Sir Roger and Lady Wilson. Sitting at the next table with his back to us, was our old friend Robert Burnett, well know to the Bevington family. He had taken over as Naval C-in-C, Simonstown the previous Saturday. I sent him a little note. He read it, and, shouting out “Joan” and waving it in the air, he jumped from his chair and dashed over the seize my hand! It was heart-warming to receive such a response. He looks much the same, except for a little extra weight. He chatted for a minute or two, and said he could take an extra half hour off from office, if we could join him and his wife, Secretary and Flag Lieut. after lunch. We put a lot of talk into a short time, both about himself, our old friends, and some of his experiences. He says after two years on that northern convoy route, he never wants to see ice again except in the bottom of a glass. His wife, who seems a pleasant, rather quiet woman, told me, when I walked to the station with her later, that she still cant realize that Robert is settled ashore for a reasonable period, and that she still finds herself thinking “Now how many more days of the leave are left.” Robert told me to be sure not to forget to send his love to May and Grace. If we are still here, we are to lunch with them at Simonstown next Sunday. I wish we could have seen him before, but he if frightfully busy, and says for the moment he fears to make private engagements in case he has to break them at the last moment. Simonstown is about 35 miles from Cape Town, but connected with it by the electric railway. For the information of those who are interested (the others may skip it) here is news of our old friends. Tubby Simmons is back in the navy. Robert saw him recently, and reports that he seems much the same. Jim Jolly is head-man of all the paymasters. David Burton says he will soon have to be retiring on the age limit.
Our evenings in the small lounge, in company with Sir Charles and Lady Rey, are often most amusing and interesting. Herbert and sir Charles get on excellently together, and encourage one another in innuendo and other delights. On the serious side, there are discussions about theories of government (sir C is a die-hard, as I think I have mentioned before) and tales of many countries and people, for his work in the board of Trade took him to a variety of places, including Abyssinia.
I am still helping in the office, and shall be sorry to say good bye to my friends there. I am glad I was able to complete the whole of the filing, and several other “tidying-up” jobs. Miss Bean and her staff have been awfully nice to work with.
I see the page is nearing its end, and I shant start another.
My love to you all
LJT
(handwritten addition at end of letter)
No letter from me this week: it would be gloomy in my present state. But I am pulling round.
Much love
Dad
Airgraph from HPV to Annette (addressed to Miss Annette Townend P.O. Box 111. Bletchley Bucks England)
June 16th ‘44
My dear Annette,
Still here and still in hopes (as for the past two months) of getting away next week. Two days ago we gladly received your A/G of May 31st; quick work. And good stuff. I sympathize with your accidental broadmindedness when listening to political enthusiasts; Peg suffers from having never read anything serious seriously, trusting to native wit to make up for ignorance and afraid of committing herself if she listens sympathetically; I feel like that when caught by Christian Scientists.
My liver slowly recovers tone and my tongue slowly passes from rich orange to pale yellows, greys and pinks. The weather has changed from bitter cold to a fresh warmth. I take twelve little pillules each day. Joan has provided me with grey flannel tummy-bands and collapses into helpless laughter when she imagined me to be addressing one of these as “Mousia” whereas I had merely ejaculated “No! I see.” after having mumbled complaints about not being able to find the pins and release me from it. Other similar and inexcusable collapses were when I asked very reasonably if there was a village called ‘Much Haddock’ (she urges me to eat the stuff) and when I commented on her lying curled up snugly under the blankets “like some rich pig” and summoning me to turn the light out.
My activities have been inconsiderable; not so Joan’s. On Sunday we went out to lunch at Simonstown with Admiral Burnett (pronounce Burnit, without the emphasis on the ‘ett’ whereon some pride themselves) and had the luck to have sun though the wind was cold. On Monday “Tunisian Victory”, pretty good in my opinion. Tuesday inquiries in the town about permits and such, with revolting discoveries about the possibilities of red tape; and in the evening a walk, marred by a biting cold wind and by the formation of a blister on the sole of my foot which resulted from the need to gallop without cessation if chill was to be avoided. Wednesday saw Joan excursioning all day, with Mr. Whitehouse, to Hout Bay by bus, there to walk and picnic-lunch; satisfactorily; a lovely day spent by me quietly owing to the blister. I went into the town to ask news and got none; walked with my toes curled under my foot, to spare the blister and so gave myself a mild cramp in the calf for the rest of the day. Thursday morning hot; no wind, and no cloud; we walked with content to the Round House for morning tea. Today Joan has gone off to climb Table Mountain, taking sandwiches and Mr. Whitehouse; I have visited the dentist who did nothing – an ominous thing, showing that my pain must be due to a root gone wrong and not to a mere decay easily remedied.
Of compliments; Joan’s – Mr. Whitehouse expressed incredulity that she was 51, mine – Cecile Cramer Roberts to her mother “I ought to live with Herbert because he knows everything and I know nothing”. Yet this seems to indicate less respect for me than disrespect for her mother, who shares with Joan intense appreciation for the remark.
Sir Chairles Rey shares my senile pleasure in the tales of my childhood; and he has produced the revolting heresy that the name of the hero in Henty’s “Cornet of Horse”, that superb tale, was Rupert and not Ralph. Went forth Mr Whitehouse like the dove from the ark to search the Library and then a second-hand bookshop; in vain. If I do not return to England you must discover the truth and inform Sir Charles at Arthur’s Seat. Much love Dad
Family letter from LJT
Arthur’s Seat Hotel.
Sea Point.
June 18th 1944
My Dears,
Whether it is a fortnight or three weeks since I wrote a family letter, I cant remember. We thought we were going to get our orders to move early this month, and ever since have been waiting for them to come at any moment. It has destroyed my inclination for letter-writing. I apologize for being remiss about letters, but hope the air-graphs have kept you well enough informed of our doings.
The weather has been a mixture as varied as anything England can produce. We have had patches of wet weather with cold winds, and days that were cloudy with very cold winds, such as last Sunday, when we went to lunch with Robert Burnett and his wife at Simonstown. It takes just an hour by the electric railway from Cape Town to Simonstown. One goes through all the eastern suburbs, and then down the east side of the peninsular, where the mountains rise up so steeply from the sea, that the railway has to run along the top of the beach. Simonstown is in a neck under the mountains, looking across False Bay to the Hottentots Hollands Mts. A beautiful situation, and Admirality House is an old and beautiful house, built by the early Dutch Settlers. Just as we often told you what good proportions the Dutch gave to our old house at Chinsurah, so, in a completely different style of architecture, they had the same lovely sense of proportion in their S. African buildings.
It was fun seeing Robert at more leisure, and I like his wife, and wish I had a chance to get to know her better. Robert told us a lot of interesting things, and I enjoyed being back in the atmosphere of the navy, after so many, many years.
Talking of Robert has diverted me from the good old topic of the weather. Sandwiched between the bad days, we got some glorious ones. The latter part of last week was perfect: so perfect that it tempted our friend Mr Whitehouse, and myself to make two most agreeable expeditions, in which alas, Herbert was not able to join for fear of getting over-tired. One morning we took a bus at 9 o’clock to Hout Bay, which lies about 14 miles from Cape Town, down the West side of the peninsular. From there we walked for an hour southwards along the splendid ‘corniche’ road, which has been built up and carved out of the mountain-side above the sea. It was a grand day, with a brilliant blue sea, and a cloudless sky, but cool air which made walking a delight. We had left our sandwich lunch at the small hotel where the bus stopped, as we planned to return by the 12.30 bus, for with the cut down service there was not another till 4.15. The day was so good and the scenery so fine that we regretted this, and wished we could have walked another few miles, had a picnic lunch and returned for an early tea and a later bus. Since plans had been made we stuck to them.
A couple of days later, the splendid weather still lasting, we decided to climb Table Mt by an easy route up the west face, and enjoyed the outing tremendously. I felt the less guilty about leaving Herbert for so long, as he had to go into Cape Town to see the dentist, (who found nothing to do for him), and he always rests in the afternoon. As Mr Whitehouse and I sat on the topmost peak of one of the great buttresses called the “Twelve Apostles”, and looked at the calm blue sea, with collections of little fishing boats which have been out after shoals of snoek all this week, and at the peaceful landscape of the mountain top and the country beyond, we thought so much of the invasion, and the fighting going on in so many places. We both, I fancy, had a sort of deep regret that we were not in some way more closely involved, and working and suffering in some way to help. I am not even giving the small sop of work in the office to my conscience these days. Ten days ago I told them it was unlikely I would be able to come any more, and as I have really finished up all the special jobs I had been doing, and the past week has not been a period of the month when the routine things to do with petrol and free tram tickets for the troops, and other things of that sort come up for attention, I decided not to go any more.
Besides these two long expeditions, Herbert and I have been some nice shorter walks, on Signal Hill and Lion’s Hd. He is slowly getting the better of his liver chill, but we are being careful, for it would be such a nuisance if he were out of sorts when we want to move from here. By the way, Mr Whitehouse and I climbed to the summit of the Lion’s Hd just on a fortnight ago. It was a sudden inspiration, after Mrs Smuts had been lunching here, and not only did we have the pleasure of the climb, but we saw a perfect double rainbow arching from Cape Town on one side of the mountain, right over Kloof Nek, and coming to earth again in Clifton on the other. More exciting still we saw that strange phenomenon, “the brocken”. It was almost five o’clock. The sun was low over the sea on the west. Between us and Table Mt was a curtain of grey cloud. Projected on that cloud in monstrous size, were our shadows, surrounded by an oval glory of pale rainbow. And here’s a strange thing. Standing only a few yards apart, neither of us could see the shadow of the other, but only our own. If the climb had not been worth it in itself, it would have been so for the sake of seeing this most beautiful and interesting thing.
In earlier letters I must have mentioned Mitford Barberton and his wife, with whom we have struck up a friendship. We have exchanged several after-dinner visits (they live quite close) and I spent yesterday morning at their house, while Mrs Barberton made two pencil sketches of me, one of which she gave me. I had never “sat” before and for a limited time found it quite interesting. She exclaimed, while working, that she was making me look twenty years too old, and Herbert agrees that she has. Its hard to judge ones own likeness, and I think this sketch is like me, but H says it is not the least so.
Lady Rey has been ill for the past week, and he has not been sitting in the little lounge after dinner, so we have not had the riot of talk in there which his presence causes. We miss them both, and hope they will be back there in a few days.
Of other friends we have not seen a great many, for we feel quite ashamed of turning up, when we have said we shall probably not see them again. By chance our friends the Ruffles, from Elgin lunched here to-day. They had to come in to Cape Town for some meeting, and came out to lunch here on the chance that we were still to be found. It was nice seeing them again. The Roger Wilson have also kept in touch, and to-morrow, weather permitting, I climb Devil’s Pk with Sir Roger. On Tuesday we go once more to enquire for news.
It is a matter of great regret to us that there is no wireless in this hotel. Now, of all times, one wants to hear what the B.B.C. has to say two or three times a day. I wish we could have been at home to give some sort of help in this tremendous time. Thank goodness reports say that the wounded are being flown out quickly and that a far greater proportion are being saved than in any previous war.
I perceive that I am becoming dull, - - a sign that its time to stop.
My best love to you all
LJT
Written at bottom:
Darling Romey,
It is odd the way the Canadian letters come in great bunches. We are beginning to look forward eagerly to getting news of you again. I so often try to picture what you are doing. There is such a big time-lag that it’s difficult to keep a clear understanding.
You would have enjoyed these walks and climbs we have been doing, and you would enjoy Mr. Whitehouse’s stories of animals, both wild and tame, that he has seen on his years on the Game Reserve in Kenya. He is such a nice person. We shall be sorry to say goodbye to him.
You have surely heard from Aunt the tragic news that Bernard Tennant’s wife was killed by a USA freight lorry trailer, while riding a quiet pony along a wide road. I have just been writing an airgraph to him, but it is hard to know what to say. How difficult it will be for him to manage the house and the children in these war days when it seems almost impossible to get domestic help. Sorry I am writing such poor letters these days. It is not that you are not almost constantly in my thoughts, for you are.
Blessing and love as always,
Mother
(handwritten addition at bottom of letter)
My darling Annette
No personal letter – as I hope it is not necessary – so to speak, and if you follow me!
But as always I send my love and blessing. Mother
Family letter from HPV
c/o Standard Bank of South Africa,
Cape Town,
June 19th 1944. Monday
(Arthur’s Seat Hotel, Sea Point)
My dear Annette (name handwritten)
A comedown to be writing circular letters to the family again after our period of dreaming that we should be off so soon as to make it useless to write them. But the feeling that we may be off any day grows keener in spite of the repeated disappointments over a series of weeks; and while still in South Africa I find myself looking back on it as if I had left it already.
What gains? Health better certainly though less so than I had hoped; and I have on the other hand lost the belief that some day I should recover sufficiently not to remember the whole time that I am a wreck and must be careful to avoid setbacks such as chills and horrid liver-attacks and weariness. Memories of beautiful scenes and kindnesses; nothing to set off against these which are pure profit. Great success with dealing with the libel of the fallen arches and visible restoration of the toes; say that this has been worth at least the six pounds demanded with menaces by the chiropodist – and much more because he would have proved a failure, being a frowsty old man and lacking beauty. A dozen new typing exercises; if indeed they will pass the standards when compared with those approved already; and against this set the complete failure to do anything with the books and figures so confidently brought from India. “Joli bilan, hein?” . . . . as the clerk of the consul said in Dekobra, the one who told of the tooth falling into the roulette wheel and scoring vastly. Add then on the debit side the loss of five teeth and of trust in my Calcutta dentist who might have taken them out before and saved me seediness. On the whole I make a poor show of my stay in the country.
Experiments today with the typewriter to see if I can fix it in such a way that the tendency to omit spaces is lessened. Tying a strip of leather along the top of the space-bar; it seemed to work for a bit and then the charm failed. Strange how merely looking at one’s results is a preventative! The cause is, I suppose, weakness in the thumb; and practice must be the remedy. My interest in practice is less than it was but maybe it will revive when I get hold of my papers again and have access to the sentences. It is a nuisance to have sent all one’s papers to the censor; everything is now sealed and I cannot get at my address-book even. All right for a day or two as was expected when we submitted the last lot, but annoying now that there has been a delay.
Having written airgraphs I have little to say about our doings and Joan has said that little for me. It was interesting to talk to the Mitford Barbertons about the technique of architectural sculpture. He has been responsible for a frieze representing the history of South Africa on the big insurance-office building near the post-office; some eight feet wide and hundreds of feet long. The process is to model in clay; then make moulds in gelatine; then cast in plaster of Paris; then send to the workmen to reproduce in granite by means of pneumatic drills, with careful measurements off the originals. The workmen tended to be a bit ham-handed with the drills as is not amazing; and the completed work, to judge by the photos of the originals, is clumsy compared with what was intended. The later work is better than the early; and the result is that the front of the building is not so good as the side or back. Added difficulties were changes of design by the architect which necessitated alterations of the size of the panels, and a clamour by the builder for quick delivery in order that the erection of the walls might not be held up. He spoke with decision and point on these matters and pleased me; not so enthralling his description of travels in the Congo and so on – with photos of volcanoes though it is true that as Joan says we have never met so vivid an account of the interior of a volcano. Mrs. M.B.’s sketch of Joan I thought a complete miss; she had said beforehand that she was out of practice. It seems that portrait-makers have to keep their hand in by practice as constant as a ballet-dancer’s.
The most grisly thing seen in this land was the eye of the Bar Cat, a less prepossessing beast, opened suspiciously to glare on Joan as the animal lay with its head upside down in a sleeping posture. I stroked this same cat today and found that its hair fell out in clutches. The other cat, the agreeable black monster, delights in roughhandling; tail-pulling and buffets on the thighs: my dear Richard would have enjoyed sporting with him and throwing him about by the tail. There are dogs also who give us a certain amount of hmble pleasure but these I voluntarily omit.
Much love,
Dad
From LJT to Annette
From Mrs. H.P.V. Townend. c/o Grindlay and Co. 54 Parliament St London
In Harbour
My darling Annette
There’s a good deal of difference of opinion as to whether it is of any use sending letters by Air Mail, but it seems worth taking a chance on it –
When you read the enclosed note, you will see that the voyage is very much less trying than we expected, in fact, except for the last few hot nights, I am rather enjoying it. Perhaps I have a preference for simple, friendly boats, for I look back at our early voyages, when you and Richard and Rosemary were babies, and we travelled from Calcutta by B.I. boats, with pleasure.
Dad felt a bit off colour with an upset tummy for a few days, but has recovered now and is cheerful. He has found a man on board with whom he can study Malayan, for which he has such an odd fancy – I have been talking a little French to one of the crew, who is a Breton – He first spoke to me when he heard I had been in India – He has been all over the world and speaks many different languages.
In some ways a voyage on a ‘tramp’ steamer is more full of interest and incident than a trip on a luxury liner. There always seems to be something going on, and there are always people about who are willing to tell tales of adventure and strange places.
Its amusing that Denise Pennefeather Evans should be one of my cabin mates – She is a nice girl, and pretty too – She sends you her love - Her mother is very nice, and wonderfully plucky, for her Mother is a prisoner in Shanghai and her husband in Hong Kong, and she has a son fighting in Burma.
The 3rd Mate has been entertaining us with a long tale of how they pulled the leg of the war-correspondent of one of the big newspapers. He (the 3rd Mate) is a born buffoon, with a very broad Lancashire accent, to whom everything appears irresistibly comic.
Will you please send the enclosed on to Highways?
Love as always
Mother