1944 May
Family letter from LJT No 18
Arthur’s Seat Hotel.
Seapoint
May 6th 1944
My Dears,
We moved out here on Monday, and are comfortably settled. This is a big well-run hotel, and we have a good sized room, with private bathroom, and a stoop. Unfortunately it looks over the main road, and the noise of the traffic is considerable, not only by day, but also by night. I get over the trouble by using wax ear-plugs, but Herbert does not like them, and has been rather disturbed. Probably we shall get accustomed to the noise. If we dont, perhaps we shall get a chance to move to a room the other side of the building, facing the sea. We feel our private bathroom and stoop are worth serious consideration before suggesting a change.
Its an odd experience to be swept out of ones own life and live almost entirely in someone else’s, as has happened to me for three days this week. When I was in office about 2 o’clock last Tuesday, I was rung up by the vicar of the parish in which Esme Cramer-Roberts lives, and told by him that he had a tragic mission to perform. He had to break the news to Esme that her husband had died suddenly in his sleep in Beyreut.
Esme’s grown-up daughter was away on a course in Pretoria. She had only the thirteen year old school-girl, and the fifteen-year old son of friends of ours in India with her. I got leave from the office, and went out to her at once, only returning to our temporary home in time for dinner on Thursday evening. Esme dislikes the coloured maids here so much ( that is the type that temporary people like ourselves can get hold of) that she does not have one, but just a ‘char’ who comes two days a week. She was courageous as I knew she would be, but the shock was tremendous, for her husband had been in excellent health. A few hours after the news was broken to her she began to feel terribly sick, and altogether uncomfortable, and developed a terrible head-ache. The shock had evidently stopped the working of the machinery of the body for the time being. Cecile, the young daughter was a little brick, and only thought of what she could do to help her mother. Martin, the boy, was most tactful and useful. The headache and digestive trouble gradually righted itself on Wednesday, and that night Esme slept quite well, and looked a different woman. I went out and did marketing for a couple of days, cooked lunch, and made things ready for supper on Thursday, and about 5.30 left her, with a fairly easy mind, knowing that her elder daughter would be with her early the next morning.
This incident means that I have not much material to write about. There has been some excitement about the ban on travel to England, but it appears that it is not complete, and it is doubtful whether it applies to people returning to England for good, and who have already got exit permits. We are not bothering the Ministry of War Transport at the moment, as we dont think it will advantage our case. One of us will probably go in next week, and see whether any rulings have been made.
It was lucky I got back on Thursday evening, for I was just in time to say good-bye to Edward Groth, who left yesterday morning, and stopped here on his way to bid us farewell. This is the third time I have said good-bye to him, thinking we should not meet again in S. Africa. This time there is little chance that we shall, but I am sure we shall meet again in other parts of the world. He is an inveterate traveller. I’m sorry he has gone, though he has been so over-worked that we have seen comparatively little of him on this visit to Cape Town. Still his friendship and hospitality have made a great difference to our stay in S. Africa.
Herbert had done rather a lot on Thursday, and I found myself a little tired yesterday too, so we decided to be lazy, and go to a film, “Heaven Can Wait” at a cinema only about five minutes walk from this hotel. It was in Technicolor, and produced by Lubitsch. Though in no sense a great film, there was good acting in it, amusing situations, and excellent period settings and clothes dating from 1887 till the present day, so we quite enjoyed outselves.
Did I mention that I have rearranged my office hours? It suits the office that I should go all day on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and on Saturday mornings if I am wanted while Miss Bean’s Secretary is on leave, and this suits me, because getting back to Seapoint for lunch is a desperate business, and may mean queueing up for a bus for twenty minutes or so. Luckily there was nothing special for me to deal with this week, and leave to stay with Esme Cramer Roberts was willingly granted.
Even at this distance from the centre of things, we are constantly conscious of a feeling of tension - - a sort of hush before the storm - - waiting for the great push. It must be extraordinary to be in England now. I wish we had got home in time to share any work that comes. What tremendous personal anxieties many of you must have! Oh! That something should happen to make Germany collapse before the slaughter is too great!
Best love to you all
LJT
(handwritten addition at end of letter)
My darling Annette – All these delays have made coming home seem rather unreal again! Probably the call will come when we are least expecting it!
I do hope you have a really nice holiday. I wonder what you will choose to do – Love as always Mother
Family letter from HPV
c/o Standard Bank of South Africa,
Cape Town.
May 7th 1944 Sunday.
My dear Annette (name handwritten)
On the verandah of the hotel outside our bedroom, where we have a few square feet portioned off, writing in a watery sun and wondering whether after all it is not chilly. Breakfast just finished; the sun moves off the verandah soon and this or never in the day is the time for sitting here. General atmosphere of anticlimax; for although there is no official news that sailings will not be allowed till the invasion crisis is over so far as permanent residents of England are concerned there is a general feeling that we are not likely to be allowed to get away. We have abstained from visiting the Ministry of Transport office to ask questions, for we know that the man there agreeable though he is tends to become peeved when too many inquiries are made.
This week Joan has not hogged all the news, and I can fill quite a piece with prattle of the doings. Last Sunday for instance, heavy rain all day; gloom; I relapsed into apathy and did none of the packing that I had promised myself, preferring instead to slouch and read tripe. Heavy sleep in the afternoon, from which I was roused by Joan’s being called down by the arrival of a caller. It turned out to be the lively and charming Miss Davies, who is the Secretary of the American Minister; she had ventured out not only to avoid the fatheadedness appropriate to those who stay in all day but specially to say goodbye to us. We had tea in a little lounge which at tea-time is empty because the tea for residents is served in another; and repulsing an attempt by the repulsive old lady to butt in exchanged chitchat and beautiful thoughts for some time. When Miss D decided eventually to go I walked along with her; the rain had stopped for the time being and it was pleasant walking. That day the electric heater was a boon.
Monday saw me packing hard and Joan finishing off her suitcases. Giving of such treasures as my pot of paint and various bottles to the Club. Decision to call on Cooks to take some of the things into store. No ceasing from activities till eleven. After tea I rushed out to return books to the Library and then to the Club office to settle our bill; as always of late mistakes to be rectified. Inability to add or to multiply had caused our bill to be 12 guineas short the week before and a pound this. Ten minutes early our taxi arrived and we hurried off. Sad to reflect that not many days ago when we came back this way from a walk I had remarked that probably we should never see the house with the china animals gnomes and toadstools again! now I see it daily. They have added more china dogs and rearranged the whole exhibit. But it is to be admitted that the other day I saw school boys hanging over the gate and exclaiming that it was a fine show.
It was only a few weeks ago that H.D. whom I mention honoris causa remarked in a letter that it was time for him to see Pygmalion again. That is what we did on Monday afternoon. Expecting to find only a few spectators we were astonished to see the house packed; for a three o’clock matinee this was amazing. The first half was good enough not to be annoying; and the main film remains excellent. I had remarked to someone that the thing to be cut out was the bath-scene; but I should add also the scene which raises such a laugh when the whole circle of persons at the tea-party stir their tea in turn, starting from the left. Playing down to the spectators. Such is my pleasure in seeing Wendy Hillyer and Leslie Howard that I conceived the idea, probably most profitable to producers if adopted by them, that it would be well for all concerned if the parts of the film rejected when cutting is done were gathered together and shown after the main film has proved a howling success; when the success is in part due to the appearance of any actor. Just as there were short stories in which glimpses were given of incidents relating to the Forsyte family. I assume that the parts rejected were not merely alternative shots of the same scenes but subsidiary or alternative scenes.
Tuesday saw me going into town to pick up letters at the Club, tell the Bank of our change of address and settle up with the Library where I obtained a refund of my deposit. Sad farewells to all the girl assistants who have done me proud and always maintained an appearance of affability. On my way back I called in at the Sea Point Library and fixed up subscriptions for the two of us; sad to say, the agreeable damsels who were there last year have left and there are now two gigglers; one of whom a dashing blonde says Ta (pronounced “taw” languidly) when other folk would say Thenks or thanks according to taste. I do not know if I shall go there very much; I went twice yesterday. I had forgotten that last year I had read most of the books that they have; changing books every day and sometimes twice a day. Another change not too good is the removal of the Dont ask what or why notice on which I commented last year.
Monday
After lunch the message came from the padre about Mr Cramer Roberts’ death; I put him onto Joan who phoned later that she would not be coming back that night. In the evening I walked along the sea-front, which is much corrupted by yellow scum, described by Edward Groth as merely the I-O-dine but more properly suspected of being churned up mucks from the purlieus beyond the harbour.
On Wednesday I typed a letter to Cape whom I have neglected for months and took tea at the Pavilion on the front before going along to Edward’s hotel to leave a note about Joan’s doings and then back to the Library. I used last year to go to the S.A.W.A.S place opposite when I missed tea at the little hotel, but it is less agreeable now in that they serve tea in cups only and not by the pot and, in the South African style, slop in a lot of milk. On the go all morning and slept heavily, so that I was not awake to greet the Davies (Dr and Mrs who were at Elgin) when they came in for tea; they were disappointed not to find Joan here. I walked with them along the front and they went off by bus from the Cape Town end.
On Thursday I went in to Cape Town to fetch my fountain pen which had to have a new sac fitted; cost as I thought exorbitant; four shillings and sixpence, for they had unnecessarily fitted a new brass gadget. Also I went to Thos. Cook’s and found that although they had our luggage they had made no note of it in their register. Tea at a tea shop in town not too good and return via the library. In the evening a walk with Mr. Whitehouse and a doctor from Tanganyika which included a visit to the Aquarium. This is not nearly so well kept as before; whether because the season is over or because it grows more difficult to obtain new specimens I cannot say. I had run into Lady Symes in Cooks; she was most gloomy as to prospects of getting away. Joan returned just before dinner and after wards we went out to see if we could find Edward in his hotel and say goodbye to him. We couldn’t. I ended the day rather abject.
Friday started with the arrival of Edward in his car at the sea-front entrance to the hotel on his way to the north. He was to inspect an office up the coast before making for Pretoria. Then Joan wrote letters; I fiddled around and went off to the Library to change books. Rather in the dumps, feeling as if I had a chill. I had maybe done too much the day before. So we did not go a walk in the afternoon but patronized a movie. Not bad but decidedly not good. Tea after the show in a little milk bar which proved rather gay, like a Saturday Evening Post cover. On Saturday I nipped into town to fetch a pair of shoes for Joan from the repairers, a pair which had gone to bits after being worn only three times on their return from them before. Amiable relations with the girl in the shop who told me various soothing lies by way of preserving face. Return via the library and tea in the hotel; where I fed one of three cats, a delicate sipper of milk. Sat in the sun afterwards feeling cheap. Walk in the afternoon and again visited the library, but felt heavy about the legs and found that my temperature was well sub-normal.
Yesterday typed this letter till the sun went off the verandah; then had tea with a cat down stairs and went for a stroll with Joan. Intended to spent a lazy afternoon as usual of late sleeping; but the Gills rang up to say that they wanted to take us a motor run round Constantia Nek; which proved very agreeable. We returned about six.
Nature notes are fewer here. The most prominent feature in the landscape is Dachschunds, but they keep their distance and provide no matter for letters. Far otherwise the hotel cats. One black and heavy walks with the stiffest possible tail round and round our end of the dining room; suddenly one becomes uneasily aware that something black has passed. Joan compares him to a head waiter prowling but I liken him rather to the uninvited guest at the masquerade in Poe’s tale, who turned out at the end to be the Black Death. There is the same uneasy hush as he goes by. The other cats are less worthy; one blotched black and white is a sloppy drinker and I have cast him off as a recipient of favours; the other nondescript is also humble and frequents the back premises – why do I use that word? like one ignorant and without learning. There is a man here who carries a budgerigar in his pocket, to the great stirring of interest among the cats. Also there is an aviary where the cats sit hopefully outside the cages most of the day; like French fisherman hoping without real ground for hope.
Would that I did not make so many mistakes so soon as I try to type as fast as I can write!
Much love
Dad
Airgraph from HPV to Grace Townend (addressed to Mrs. A.B.S. Townend Highways Great Leighs Near Chelmsford Essex England)
No 10 11th May 1944
My dear Grace,
I write as a substitute for Joan who has accumulated vast arrears of miscellaneous duties owing to having given up so much time last week to attendance on Mrs. Cramer-Roberts: I assume that Annette will have handed on to you the A/G telling how Joan went out there when news came of her husband’s sudden death in Syria. But before settling down to the news of the week let me announce the arrival this morning of your airgraph No (40) dated 23/4/44. There has been a large English mail in but we naturally enough did not profit by it. However we did get an A/G from Rosemary telling of her promotion from routine to laboratory work. How enterprising of Roy and Eleanore!
Many rumours about stoppage of all passages to England, all based on a misunderstanding of a cable from U.S.A. which received the honour of a huge headline in the evening paper. But though there is no formal bar to departure yet for some reason the hopes of it have receded: we had come to assume that there was quite a likelihood of our getting away in April but only a few have left here lately and all must have high priority. Everyone is astonished to meet us in streets or shops, for we are known to have left the Club and are therefore assumed to have sailed; all are too discreet to ask questions at the Club as to our destination when we left.
We are comfortable here in the hotel, in spite of the amazing noise made by the traffic under our windows at night; for some cause unexplained there seems to be a great deal of heavy lorry traffic at night and much changing of gear at this corner. However we grow used to it. Joan, as I thought, has been looking rather tired but she denies it; and she certainly gets about as briskly as could be. I have been out of sorts and feeling unequal to walking much; possibly I got a slight chill the day after coming here – and I was only just getting over the effects of the influenza-y cold picked up from Mr. Bowker.
Not much to write about. Joan has been writing a lot of letters and doing sewing darning and the like. She went out to see Mrs. Harvey and yesterday to lunch with Mrs. Cramer Roberts and to tea with Sir Roger and Lady Wilson. Mrs C.R. is much better; the elder girl Benita is back from Pretoria on leave and has taken hold of things. On Sunday afternoon we had a treat. The Gills rang up to say that they were going out in their car; and they eventually took us round the Mountain by the seacoast road and along the high-level Drive back into Cape Town. Tea at Constantia Nek in the open but in the sun; with a lovely view across the flats towards False Bay. There was there the widow of the man who did the Tut-en-Khamen photos; interesting, though there was no talk about her husband’s work. Miss Gill, always a wisp, looked better than for some time.
They put us onto friends who are in this hotel, an ex-Governor of somewhere and his wife, Sir Charles Rey by name. He amuses me, being die-hard beyond the possibility of caricature and getting a lot of relish out of bitter little sayings about this and that. Sound views about the ideas of politicians as to African and Indian problems and a hearty dislike of Sir John Anderson which I do not share at all. They have asked us to lunch to meet the Gills whom they are coercing to come out, a thing normally repugnant to them. What more? We gave tea to Mrs. Biss (You remember? ex-Bengal education) and Joan had a sandwich lunch with Dr. & Mrs Davies. Much love HERBERT
Family letter from LJT No 19
at Arthur’s Seat Hotel.
Sea Point. C.P.
May 14th 1944
My Dears,
As the weeks of waiting lengthen out, my letters seem to become duller and duller. I am sorry! Its the result of hanging between two states of existence, I suppose.
We went into the Ministry of War Transport on Friday. As always they were pleasant and optimistic, but I grow to distrust their optism.
After starting the week with the most glorious days on Sunday and Monday, the weather turned wet and cold with a bang, and we have felt the Cape’s lack of thought about draughts and heating facilities. Its strange that in a country where they get several months of quite cold weather, they should care so little about suiting their houses to cope with even moderate cold. Perhaps its because after a few cold showery days, more glorious weather comes along, like the climate to-day, and they forget the bad ones.
An unexpected invitation enabled us to take advantage of last Sunday’s beauty. The Gills rang up at lunch time and asked us to go for a short drive and have tea out somewhere with them. They picked us up here, drove on the coast road, cut out of the Constantia Nek, south of Table Mt, and so back by the High Level road on the east. We stopped at the tea house on the Constantia Nek, and had tea in the open, with a lovely view across False Bay to the distant mountains, and close to us fine views of the southern spurs of Table Mt. It was deliciously warm in the sun, and we lingered talking, and enjoying it all.
The Gills told us to make ourselves known to a certain Sir Charles and Lady Rey, who are living at this hotel. He is a retired Colonial Civil Servant, lately in charge of Bechuana land, and the deepest dyed die-hard I have ever come across, but quick witted and amusing with it. They have been in many strange countries, including Abyssinia. We see quite a lot of them, for they always sit in an inner lounge after dinner, a place which few of the guests seem to discover. I smelt it out, so to speak, and at once decided to patronize it, when I found there was an electric fire that could be turned on there. After dinner of an evening we share it with the Reys, and an old retired artillery colonel and his wife.
Most of the people in the hotel dont appear very attractive, and we have not talked to many of them. Our nice friend Mr Whitehouse from Kenya, is here, and went walking with us the other evening. Herbert got tired and turned back, but Mr W. and I walked on along the coast road a couple of miles or so, to Clifton. It had been a day of showers, and just past the Clifton Hotel, we saw that a heavy storm was sweeping in across the sea, so we waited in a bus shelter, and returned by bus. It had been a pretty evening with grand clouds and rainbows and good lights on the mountains and the sea.
Herbert does’nt seem to have picked up well after his influenza cold, and gets tired distressingly quickly. I think he should go to the doctor again, though I cant imagine what he could do to help. This morning (Sunday) for instance, in weather just as lovely as it was last week, we decided to go by bus to Clifton, and there walk along the beach, gathering shells, and finishing up at a tea room at Camps Bay for morning tea. Between the sandy bays, we had to clamber over great piles of rock, which is the sort of thing H normally likes, buteither it, or stooping to get the shells, seemed to knock the stuffing out his to-day. Its a pity, both for the immediate reason, that the day and the place were so lovely, and it seemed a shame that he could not enjoy them, and also for the long range reason that it indicates that he is still far from strong.
I wanted the shells because I was packing another case full to go to Jo’burg, and found that there were not quite enough to fill it. I have quite a good collection spread on the stoop to dry now.
There is no doubt that this coast is far nicer now, when there are few people about, and when it is no longer scorching hot. I spent a good part of Monday by the sea. Martin Pinnell, the school-boy son of friends in India, came to spend the day. He arrived about 11 o’clock, and after the usual morning tea, he and I walked along to the aquarium, only to find that it is shut on Mondays. We went along the beach a little way, and out on to some rocks running out into the sea, where we sat, baking in the sun, and discussing Martin’s future plans. We had thought of walking across the Lion’s Head slopes and having tea at the Round House, but after our baking and a large lunch, we both felt a bit lazy, so we decided to bus to Clifton and stroll on the beach and have tea there. Martin is a most charming boy. He is a long legged, gentle creature, who reminds me a little of Richard. He has something of the same simplicity and unselfconsciousness. He delighted in walking as close to the waves as he dared, and having to skip like mad to avoid getting his feet wet. He is bothere to know what to do about his own education. He will be sixteen in July, and wants to work with a view to trying for an Oxford scholarship. At the school he has come to in Grahamstown, there seems little guidance for boys doing post-matric work. I have the impression that most S. African school expect boys not to take matric till they are sixteen or seventeen, and then go straight on to the University.
Later I had to stop for lunch, and am now trying the experiment of typing on my knee in the garden. It seems quite comfortable. The stretch of garden between the hotel, and the beach is a great asset. I long to redesign it, but it has the merit of a stretch of lawn, with five enormous, stuupy date palms on it, where at this time of year people to not sit very much. Here one can sit in sun or shade, with shelter from the wind. I patronise it quite a lot when the weather is fine, and have it to myself now, while Herbert is resting in our room.
I dont seem to have had a great deal of time to do “home jobs” in this week. Monday, as I said, was mostly given up to Martin. Tuesday was an office day, when I took my sandwich lunch to the Theosophical Society Rooms, almost next door to where I work, and ate it in the company of Dr and Mrs Davies, who are always on duty there on that day. I had thought that during the lunch hour they would be alone, but quite a number of people came in, mostly young men, and hearing I came from India, they began to question me about all sorts of things. Another woman came who had spent several years in the Punjab, and we found ourselves giving a sort of joint talk on Indian Affairs, and received warm invitations to come again. That same day we had friends to tea, who stayed till it was almost time to change for dinner. After dinner it is really too chilly to sit in the bedroom and downstairs one can only read and knit or talk. One cant very well take domestic mending in to the public lounges after dinner.
On Wednesday I had promised to go to lunch with Esme Cramer Roberts, catching the 11 o’clock bus from Town, but as Herbert wanted some new socks, we went in and did some shopping before I left. I found Esme looking wonderfully better, and her elder daughter, who has got three weeks leave, looking after her. In the afternoon, I went to tea with the roger Wilsons, as they live fairly near Esme, and again, I only got home about 6.30. Another office day comes round on Thursday, and the showers having cleared off, Herbert and I went for a walk as soon as I got in.
Having failed to get socks on Wednesday, and decided that it would be wise to get H a few more sports shirts too, we went in to town to shop on Friday. Luck was in, and we got all we wanted. We paid our visit to the Ministry of War Transport, and then went to see the exhibition of pictures by the “New Group”. Herbert said that at least it freed one from the vice of envy, for there was nothing there which he would have cared to have, even if offered as a free gift. At those sort of shows I always wonder how much is incompetence, how much affectation, and how much genuine attempt to portray the truth.
I was actually able to devote the afternoon to mending, and the time was enlightened by Mr Whitehouse’ company. He seemed to be at a loose end, and settled down beside me.
On Saturday mornings I go to office, and in the afternoon we went to tea with Edward Groth’s friend, Marischal Murray, in his flat hanging over the sea, at Bantry Bay, about a mile beyond this place. Its astonishing how the weeks fill themselves with trivial doings, and how much more difficult it is to get things done when one is living in a hotel. The meals take much longer, of course, and one spends time talking to people.
During this pause in war news, more and more S. African politics are finding space in the newspapers. There are always discussions about the native problems going on, and many plans are aired for improved facilities of every sort for them. It makes a stranger feel hopeful, till some old resident blows the gaff, so to speak, and says that talk of this sort has been going on for years, but nothing ever springs from it. I am in no position to judge whether this is true or not.
Parliament is still sitting here, and the session is likely to go to the end of the month, though it usually finishes early in May. There is so much legislation to get through in these days, that peace time habits wont meet the case.
I wonder what the weather is like in England to-day. Here the sky is a deep cloudless blue, and the sea is blue-green and sparkling. As Herbert and I went towards Clifton this morning, there was a great bank of cloud running from the coast out Westwards, and looking so exactly like a great range of mountains, that we felt we could easily be deceived had we not known that there was no land there. Pretending it was the Himalayas seen from the Plains, we could almost identify the pearks.
Some other folk have just come to sit near by, so I think I shall stop, in case the clatter of the typewriter annoys them.
Best love to you all.
LJT
(handwritten addition at end of letter)
My darling Annette, How I had hoped that we should be on our way home by this time – Luckily the ban on certain sorts of travel does not seem to effect us, as many people gloomily prophicied it would, and we still stand the same chance of getting away whenever there is shipping space. Its bothersome that Dad’s store of energy is still so small. I suppose when anyone has been as worn out as he was when we left India, it does take a long time to build up again. Thank goodness you and R. have such robust health – I think you would be amused at Sir Charles Rey – not only is he anti-communist and anti-socialist, but he is also anti-democratic too. He says that one only has to look about the world to realize that at least three quarters of the people in it are fools – and that therefore it is patently absurd to expect that they will be able to rule their own country satisfactorily – As for America, he says, “how can you respect a people whose constitution is founded on a lie”. He thinks it a monstrous mis-statement to say that all men are born equal, when obviously they are not. Regretfully I have to agree that I dont think men are born equal, though it has a grand sound to say they are. Beyond that I split from him emphatically. I dont see why all men should not be given an equal chance to make good, to make the most of their abilities.
You would have enjoyed the lovliness of the sea and the mountains to-day, and I am sure you would have laughed to see me clambering in a most gingerly manner over the rocky headlands, wearing slippery leather-soled shoes!
I’m awfully pleased that Romey is working with Mrs Volkoff – Its always a good thing to be frequently under the eye of the boss.
Louise Rankin has written again begging us to go and live with them on their farm till the war is over. She says “as for money! I think nothing of it! This farm is the one place you dont need any!” – Very very nice of her and Everett – but of course quite impossible at present. Perhaps someday in the future a chance will come to cross the Atlantic.
The evening is growing late – I am writing in the lounge with the electric fire, at one of those tables supported on tubular metal legs – It shakes in a strange quivering sort of way. I begin to grow sleepy – Lately I have been dreaming a lot – I dont know whether the noise of the traffic prevents deep sleep and keeps one on the edge of consciousness.
Bless you, dear daughter – My love and thoughts are with you as always.
Mother
Family letter from HPV
c/o Standard Bank of South Africa,
Cape Town.
May 15th 1944 Monday.
My dear Annette (name handwritten)
Not much doing these days to put into a letter. Yesterday’s walk of which Joan has told was a setback or perhaps merely a show-up. As I scrambled stiffly over the rocks I could not help feeling that it was an exhibition of all the characteristics of old age; but it was a shock to find when we reached the goal of our expedition which was naturally a tea-room that I was gone in the back. I slept for an hour before lunch and for nearly two after it; which was like my custom in 1931 after the anarchist bust-up.
The days are not worth recording in detail; mostly the high spot was a visit to the Library. I took out one book that was above average good; on Manual Training by Booker Washington. Oh, admirable man! what wisdom! what courage! I wish that our Bengalis could read and appreciate. But I know well that they would feel annoyed at any suggestion that they could learn from a negro, just as they were infuriated by the remark that they might attain prosperity by imitating the Punjab. I was particularly interested by what he had to say on the advance in booklearning made by those who train the hands thoroughly, - instances of students who had been very slow to learn before they went out to work in the school farm and galloped ahead with their books afterwards. “Working with the Hands” is the name, an old book but in interest comparable with Henry Ford’s. Another book in which I have found pleasure, but not comparable with this, is Aldous Huxley’s Art of Seeing. It deals with the training of the eyes to see without spectacles and is probably in itself dull. But I like that sort of thing and it is satisfactory to have an explanation of my failure to get results from my efforts at White River where I did eye-exercises for weeks on end but almost certainly did not avoid strain owing to over-eagerness. Like pressing at golf.
There is an amusing thing to be seen on the beaches here; small boys in tiny tin canoes, too small to carry anyone but a very small boy, paddling about among the rocks. Canoes six or seven feet long and light enough to be carried down to the beach like toy sailing boats almost.
As we sat in the tea-room yesterday or rather on the stoop outside it looking over the sea, among cheery flocks of trippers and such talking in a lively way, there blared out from the loud speaker a church service of the drawling kind; most inappropriate. Someone must have felt this for it was suddenly switched over from the second lesson for the day to an American singing some common stuff. Offensive. Out side the hotel in the afternoon, just after tea, we were regaled likewise by a broadcast service; a strange time for anyone to have a service and a stranger to broadcast it. Perhaps the idea is that eating makes one thankful.
The earlier part of this was typed at a table on the verandah outside out bedroom; but from the middle of the last paragraph I have been sitting on a bench in the sun in the garden with the typewriter on my knees and without my classes. Hence the more frequent mistakes. I ought to go back to exercises; but conditions do not favour this. Which reminds me that since I sent you copies of six new All-the-Alphabet sentences a fortnight ago I have had several relapses and have produced another half dozen. It is a nuisance that my original lot has been sealed up by the censor; for I cannot remember what words I used and it would be a shame to put forward professedly new sentences with old features. The temptation to revert to this substitute for crossword puzzles is almost irresistible when I see a sentence in a newspaper or book that contains almost all the difficult letters.
We have had a really cold snap and I feel the lack of winter clothing. I have no really thick suits, having given my last and that an old one to Gage when he came through Calcutta destitute from Burma. It was foolish not to get new thick suits here but it is so long since I experienced really cold weather that my summer suits seemed thick enough and I could not believe that I should really feel the need of anything thicker. Now there is the difficulty that if I go to a tailor we shall undoubtedly have to move off before the suit is ready; though on the other hand we shall probably still be here for months longer. The Ministry of Transport people give us comforting words; but they did so before; and probably they do so to all comers.
(letter continues handwritten) Hurrah! A letter A/G from you today! I sympathize with you for having to pig it in a hostel: and for finding letter writing difficult when work is piling up.
My spirits have revived with warmer weather. But I have not the energy to set myself to write to you worthily.
Much love
Dad
Airgraph from LJT to Annette (addressed to Miss Annette Townend P.O. Box 111 Bletchley Bucks England)
No 10 May 17th 1944
My darling Annette: It was a great pleasure to get your a-g of 2/3 yesterday. I can well understand that you feel tired after days nine hours or more long, & in no way inclined to write letters on top of them. Added to this there must always be the feeling that the a-g may be too late to reach us. We are disappointed that we have not got away before this. The Ministry of War Transport were friendly & optimistic when we visited them last Friday, but they have been both those things before, & nothing has resulted. However the only thing to do is to go on hoping. After all, how lucky we are! We are comfortably housed here, & can leave at a day’s notice, and we have not got to make special arrangements at home. To-day we are moving from this room with its S.S.E. aspect, which gets no sun at all at this time of year, to one with an E.N.E. aspect, which gets full morning sun. Also, although we shall not have a private bath, the room is about twice as big, & will be must more comfortable. Dad & I ran a little shopping in with the visit to the M. O W.T. & then went to see an exhibition of pictures by “The New Group”. Most of them we thought poor & self-conscious, though there were a few worth looking at. Cape Town seems to have developed a liking for spending its surplus money on “original paintings” but in many cases has little idea how to select them. This impression of mine was borne out by Marischal Murray, when he dined here last night. A few cold showery days last week, have given way to glorious weather, & I have spent several agreable bits of time sitting in the garden writing letters or sewing. Did does not seem too grand. He does not seem to have got back to the health level he had reached before he had that influenza cold a month or more ago. He flags so quickly. On Sunday, as I had been packing another box of sea-shells for the Occupational Therapy, & had not quite enough to fill the case, I suggested that we take the bus to Clifton, & walk along the beach to Camps Bay, gathering shells as we went. The walk entailed crossing several small sandy bays, & clambering over the piles of huge rocks between them, which is the sort of thing Dad generally likes, but he quickly became very dim, so that I felt quite worried about him. I know we ought to be used to these ups & downs, for he has always suffered from them, but we find they still disappoint us. We are getting a good deal of pleasure from talks with Sir Charles & Lady Rey (Lately in charge of Bechuanaland). His outrageously die-hard attitude to life, combined with a quick & biting wit, but what appears to be an amiable disposition entertain us much. After dinner of an evening, we penetrate to a small inner lounge, which seems only to be patronized by the Reys & an old retired army couple. We sit round an electric fire, reading & exchanging views on this & that when so disposed. It’s a great improvement on the big, cold, draughty, noisy general lounge, where I found it impossible to read. Yesterday I had lunch at the Theosophical Society with old Doctor & Mrs Davies & there I met a S. African sculpter & his wife, whose work I had seen & liked both here & in Jo’burg. Mrs Mitford Barbeton is Secretary of the society, & wants me to give a talk on the Himalayas to the members one evening, so, if we are still here I am going to do so on June 2nd. Mrs B. promises that the Friday evening members’ meetings are quite informal, & that I shall probably be asked lots of questions. I think its good for one to have a shot at these things. Further more it often brings one in contact with interesting people. The Barbetons have asked us to tea to-morrow, &, since he is mad about Kenya, & has done a lot of work there, we are taking Mr Whitehouse, our Kenya friend. He is staying in this hotel & we see quite a bit of him. Hope the extra hard work was only temporary. Love Mother
Family letter from LJT No 20
Arthur’s Seat Hotel
Sea Point.
May 19th 1944
My Dears:
A big English mail came in a few days ago, and wonderful to relate, we got some letters, which we scarcely hoped for, as we thought most people would expect us to have left before this. We are immensely grateful for the air-graphs from Grace and the girls, which continue to come regularly and keep us in touch.
Although we are waiting for news of passages, the weeks seem to slip by fast. The company of Sir Charles and Lady Rey is an asset to life in this hotel. He is a most entertaining card, and he and Herbert egg one another on in flights of rather bitter fancy about governments and their doings. Reading Lin Yutang’s “Moment in Pekin”, I came upon a thing which I felt would please Sir C, and it did. It was as follows: Under the pre-revolution government, when an official document passed from one department to another, the words “Bright Attention” and “Noble Judgement” were always written respectfully at the top of the page. Lin Yutang goes on to say that the philosophy behind Chinese official style was expressed in eight succinct words, “Not praying for merits: only praying no demerits”, which might also be expressed as follows: - “Do more, err more; do less, err less; do nothing, err nothing:”. It was a complete guide to official security. Alas! Such sentiments were not found only amongst the officials under the Manchus. There are plenty of them about in modern India, and I imagine in many other countries too.
The Reys had the Gills to lunch on Monday, and asked us to join the party, which was an extremely pleasant one, with plenty of interesting and amusing talk. The Gills drove me in to town later, where I was due to meet Mrs Harvey and go with her to the beautiful old house in Strand Street, which is kept as a museum of the old Dutch-S. African life. We spent a happy hour wandering about, looking at the old furniture, glass, china, pictures and curios of many sorts. Holland, China and India are all represented there, as well as copies of Dutch and English styles made by slaves in the Cape, giving one a little vision of the trade lines that once ran through Cape Town, putting in there to pick up fresh supplies, especially the vegetables grown in the gardens where we now go to look at the lotus and the roses, and to feed the squirrels. Mrs Harvey is a kind gentle person, not very strong since some illness she had a few years ago, and she gets tired easily, so has great sympathy with Herbert. This week I have begun to suspect that the influenza cold, affected his liver, and that that wretched organ is what is making him feel so sleepy, heavy and depressed. The series of medicines given to him by Dr Wright were to clear up liver trouble as far as possible, and I think they did, so Herbert is going to see him again on Monday, to see whether it would be advisable to repeat them.
To-day, actually, he has been energetic. A wet early morning, cleared into what looked as if it was going to be a beautiful day, and as I was not going to office, I suggested a walk. We went across the slopes of the Lion’s Head by footpath, taking about an hour to reach the Round House, where we had morning tea, and watched a heavy rain-storm sweep in from the sea, nipping out as soon as it was over, to get down to the road at Camp’s Bay, before more rain came. The sea was fine to-day, dark greens, blues and greys, with white horses out at sea, and fine breakers coming over the rocks. It looked like ‘home waters’. Talking about Nipping, when we came back from the cinema just now, walking via the sea-front to have another look at the waves, Herbert said “Let us go in by the side door so that I can nip into the nippery.” I said I had never heard it called that before, to which he quickly replied that it was the Japanese name for it.
This little tale already tells you that in spite of being out this morning, we went to the cinema this afternoon. It was a ridiculous film, called “They Got Me Covered”. There was not a word of sense in it from beginning to end, but it made us laugh!
This is the second cinema we have been to this week, for we went to see Walt Disney’s - “Victory Through Air Power” after dinner on Monday, and thought it good. It was the first time that Herbert has been to a film after dinner for years almost. Of course the cinemas, always early in this country, have been made earlier still, because the bus services all stop at 10. p.m. They have developed a convenient habit of showing the ‘shorts’ before the ‘Feature’ and announcing the time at which each begins. The ‘shorts’ are shown again afterwards, so that one can wait for them or not, just as one fancies. This suits Herbert, who always finds the cinema shown too long.
From time to time I have mentioned a friend of Edward Groth’s, one Marischal Murray, who lives close to this hotel. He dined with us on Tuesday, and Mr Whitehouse joined us. Mr Murray started to motor right through Africa a few years ago, but after reaching Kenya and spending some time there, he fell ill in some remote place in the Congo, was nursed by missionaries, and had to return home by plane, while his friend went on. I like to get people who know a country that is strange to me, together, and encourage them to talk about it, for I find in that way, one hears more than one does by asking questions oneself. So often one does not know just what to ask in order to unseal the fount of information. Mr Whitehouse loves his Marsai, and likes to talk of them. There was another chance to get him to do so, when we took him to tea with a local sculptor and his artist wife on Thursday. Mitford Barberton has two, if not three, brothers in Kenya, and has both farmed and prospected for gold there. He adores Kenya, and has done a great deal of work representing its tribes, as well as other African types, in stone and wood. Mr Whitehouse had seen and liked a head of a Marsai in the Jo’burg museum by him, and we had all liked a collection of different native types in the art gallery here. I met the Barbertons by chance last Tuesday. Our old friends Dr and Mrs Davies, who gave us such pleasure with their stories of Canada, when we were in Elgin, are Theosophists, and every Tuesday they are on duty at the Theosophical Society’s rooms, so occasionally I take my sandwiches across from office and eat my lunch in their company. Last Tuesday the Barbertons were there. She is President of the society, though she looks quite young. We talked a lot, and she has asked me to give an informal “Talk” to the Society on June 2nd (if we are still here). She also asked us to go and have tea with them, which was particularly nice, for they also live quite close, in the quaintest house, balanced on the steep mountain-side above the beach road, where it curls round the point at the far side of Bantry Bay. Mr Barberton wears a small beard, like one of the younger Apostles, and in the odd way that bear(d)s so often do, it gives him almost an effeminate look.
Thursday was one of the holidays, which abound in S. Africa. Not only are all the English Bank Holidays strictly observed, but the Saturdays preceeding them are often taken as holidays too, since it seems such a pity not to make a job of it. Thursday was Ascension Day. Then there is “Union Day” and ‘Dingaans’s Day”, and I am sure several more which I dont clearly remember. Thus I was not in office on Thursday, but went yesterday instead, and still find plenty of work to do.
The weather has been glorious, but almost too hot for the time of year during the whole week. Last evening clouds were gathering, and to-day has been a period of violent showers with beautiful intervals. Most evenings Herbert and I go for a short walk after I get back from office, or earlier on the days when I dont go, but till to-day he has not felt like anything more ambitious. He walks to the local library at least one a day to change books, and that I suppose is about half a mile each way, or a little longer if he goes by the front as he often does.
The newspapers have been full of the news that the 6th Division has gone overseas. For once I cant be infringing the censorship by mentioning this, for all the papers have been full of it. Its rather strange to be in a country where the men going overseas is such a novel event. All Britons are so used to the idea form babyhood, I suppose, and we have seen the men from New Zealand and Australia going three years ago, without a question, not, of course, to mention Indians. We saw a lot of picture of them at the cinema, and they look a good tough lot. The break-through on the Italian front has given the papers more to bite on the last two days. They had been resorting to using local news for headlines on the front page during this period of waiting.
Possibly in earlier letters, I mentioned a book, “Smuts and Swastika” which has caused a good deal of talk in this country. It is a strong criticism of S. Africa. Herbert and I, though recognizing that many things said in it were true, doubted whether the sum total was a fair picture. We advised Sir Charles Rey to read it, and are interested to hear that he, a strong critic of many things S. African, is vastly annoyed by it, saying that so many facts produced by the English journalist who wrote it, are simply not true. He says he would like to interleave the book with blank pages, and make notes on all the statements which do not agree with fact. I wish he would do it, for one would like to arrive at the truth.
The time has come for me to change my frock and make myself tidy for dinner. Even in a hotel of this sort, people do not dress in these days, and very properly too, but I like to get out of the frock I have been in all day.
By the way, I have started drinking coffee without sugar, so that I shall be used to it when I get home, and I think I like it every bit as well!
Best love to you all
LJT
(handwritten to Romey)
My darling Romey. I am not going to write a letter but like just to send you love--and tell you again how much we appreciate your letters and airgraphs, and how glad we are that you have found friends and have settled down cheerfully in Montreal.
Thoughts as always,
from Mother
(handwritten addition at end of letter)
My darling Annette – It was grand to get your air-graph – and we appreciated the letter from Sheila Legat too, more especially as it contained a photo of you. Dad looking at it, made the following remarks – “How much nicer Annetta looks than the others” – After a pause – “How much better the plain black bathing dress looks than fancy ones – but –“ (with a broad grin) – “why does she always look as if she is bursting with laughter.” – This goes back to memories of the time when you had to stand at attention to be kissed and invariable popped with laughter when Dad’s face was a few inches from yours – Do you remember?
Love as always
Mother
Family letter from HPV
c/o Standard Bank of South Africa,
Cape Town.
May 20th 1944. Sunday
My dear Annette (name handwritten)
The preliminaries which are lamentations as to our continued presence in this country may be taken as read. Things have improved for me; the extreme cold passed away and simultaneously we changed rooms. Joan showed her usual enterprise and thoughtfulness by selecting the sunniest room in the place, which was to be vacated by the Johannesburg businessman whom we called the Moralist, and calling on the office to show cause why it should not be made available for us. Before that there had been a pretence that no other room than the one which we were occupying would be vacant, and had Joan not got the dope from the man this would have been kept for some other applicant not yet in the hotel. Until we moved in here and took to using the bedroom for sitting in I had not realized with what vigour the rooms are cleaned. There is a complete turnout like a spring-cleaning every morning.
Two very hot days have been succeeded by cold again. Yesterday a lovely day for walking; we went up the hillside in spite of the risk and eventually the reality of heavy showers. It was fine to see them sweeping in across the sea. An unusually enjoyable walk. When we arrived back, by bus from Camp’s Bay which is a 5d. fare from here, we at once retraced our steps as far as the Movie Theatre (one stop) to book for the afternoon, and then I walked along to the Library. As I emerged, there came a shower and I returned to read Punch, rather dull, and to wait for sun before I ventured home. Result the whole morning had gone by the time I was back. Sleep for half an hour after lunch and then the pictures; much laughter but, on reflection, not satisfactory; not the type that brings well-being. The cheiropractor told me to laugh for five minutes each day before a glass, but I have not managed to do it.
Mr. Whitehouse says that among his beloved Masai it is the custom of bridegrooms to stay at home for the honeymoon, while the best man goes off with the bride. No explanation given for such a course. A book on the Caucasus says that among some tribes it is considered a sufficient reason for divorce if the wife has a baby during the first three or four years. Elsewhere it is the duty of a murderer to fire off a gun near the Stable where women go to have their babies, in order to scare off any evil spirits. The book is George Sava’s Valley of Forgotten People which ought to be interesting but somehow falls short; perhaps because it reminds one of the more extravagant things in Punch.
The name of the artist where we went for tea on Thursday was I. Mitford Barberton; Mr. Whitehouse remarked that the name “Mitford” was strange and I commented that it could not be very unusual in South Africa in view of the writings of Bertram Mitford from which I first as a schoolboy learnt of the existence of his Masai; he replied that he had never heard of the books. It makes me feel very old to realize that the well-known writings on which I was nurtured are forgotten. On the other hand I have read very little of the modern stuff and so ought to feel quits. The town of Barberton which pleased Joan so much with its circle of hills round the gold mines was named after the Barber family; and then the family in order to emphasize the connection with the town changed its name to Barberton. So the newspaper said. I did not think very much of our host as an artist. The heads of natives in the Gallery seem good and the frieze of South Africans on the Insurance Buildings interesting; but his house has some weak stuff on the outside and the whole lay-out is not such as the real artist would tolerate. Our dear Mr. Pierneef for instance, would not have a place like a suburban villa (upended on the hill-side or cliff) with embellishments; he would have an artistic house. It has above it a small chapel, big enough to get into but no more; occupied chiefly by an altar --- I did not like it.
Among new books read, books newly read I should say, I number Henry Ford’s third; and it causes me to miss discourse with brother Harry. Not so good as his previous two but good; admirable ideas. I relish his dislike of Government as an owner of businesses. In this he says nothing about farming, which I regret; I should much like to know if he has tackled the problem of humus.
I dreamt that I heard Joan remark casually “Of course, Herbert is a Jew” and was much distressed by it. What this portends I cannot imagine. It is raining hard and is growing cold. Enough.
Much love
Dad
Airgraph from LJT to Grace Townend (addressed to Mrs. A.B.S. Townend Highways. Great. Leighs. Nr. Chelmsford. Essex. England.)
No 11 May 24th 1944
Dearest Grace: With this heavy fighting going on in Italy, I keep thinking about the men who are getting killed & wounded, & wondering how many of our personal friends are amongst them. Also I wonder about Guy, & if Hilda has had any news. Romey’s surface letter No 5 of early March, reached us yesterday! Its good to know that she is trustworthy enough to be left in charge of the penicillin “inoculation” plant at the old factory, though subsequent airgraphs say that she will be working at the new plant. Our move of room is a great success. We have sun, space and comparative quiet. Our evenings after dinner are usually spent in an inner lounge to which few people find their way, so we share it with Sir Charles & Lady Rey, and an old Colonel & his wife, sitting round a good electric fire, reading or talking, & as far as I am concerned, knitting. The Reys are good company, & he pays Herbert the compliment to say that he is the first person he has met at this hotel with whom he has been able to exchange ideas. I must say they do see rather a dull & unattractive crowd, with the exception of our nice Kenya friend, Mr Whitehouse, who has been several walks with us lately, & whom we took to tea with our newly made friends the sculptor, Mitford Barbeton & his wife, last Thursday. Mr B. has brothers in Kenya, & had done fine studies of many of the native types in both wood & bronze. The weather has been a mixed bag of wet, chilly days, interspersed with beautiful ones, & since H. has been feeling better, we have done quite a lot of walking. Its so much nicer now than when it is hot. From various signs I came to the conclusion that H. was suffering from liver again, so he went to see the doctor on Monday, & got general advice about treatment, not only now, but whenever his liver is more troublesome than usual. The odd thing is that he seems to have improved even before he began taking the medicines.
You can imagine that he must be feeling better, when I tell you that we went to see Walt Disney’s “Victory Through Air Power” after dinner one day last week, & on Saturday in spite of the fact that we had been a good long walk in the morning, we went to see an absurd film “They Got Me Covered”. There was not a word of sense in it, but it made us both laugh. By the way I dont know whether I ever mentioned that I sent a parcel off to you from The Wellington Fruit Stores on April 26th, & on May 22nd, parcels from C.T.C. Stores to Barney & Annette. I wonder whether my December parcels ever arrived. The question of refusal for a permit to take a small amount of stuff out of S. Africa with us was sent right up to the Minister concerned, by our M.P. friend at the Settler’s Club. The reply was that it was at the request of the British authorities, that permission was being refused. It was a great disappointment to us. It makes me rather sad when I think of all the days slipping by when we might be helping you. I do hope our permission will come soon. The doctor says nothing will be better for H. than digging, so long as he does not over-do it. He has bought a splendid overall in preparation for dirty work, & a few days ago I had a letter from Gwen Petrie, telling what a wretched time Christina had, & incidentally what a burden of work fell upon Gwen. I feel so sad that there is such a rift in that family. Gwen seems to dislike C’s husband more than ever. There has been a riot of colour in the flower-sellers baskets lately. There is a scarlet & yellow gladiolus, which grows wild in Basutoland, & almost so in the Cape, once introducing, which is about everywhere in masses. Also enormous, & brilliant Iceland Poppies, & the orange calendulas. Very fine! Love to you all, including H.D. & W if they are with you. Joan
(handwritten addition) *and “127”, 129, 130, 131 and new series 4 and 7 today May 25th
Family letter from HPV
c/o Standard Bank of South Africa.
Cape Town.
May 30th 1944. Tuesday.
My dear Annette (name handwritten)
No letter from Joan this week; there is a feeling in the air that we may get away soon. Based on faith. We take it in turns to visit the Ministry of Transport on dates fixed by them, only to be told to come back on another. But we have a quasi assurance that we may count on having passages in the next lot; when that will be there is no saying, but the expectation of them makes letter writing difficult. Meanwhile it is cold and my fingers are numb enough to make typing mistakes frequent.
Joan has been going to office regularly, doing a lot of mending (mostly for me – I kept out old shirts when we packed for the voyage and they have gone back on me), composing a talk or lecture for Dr. Davies’ Society and looking after me. But I have been doing strange things. Having fixed up a date for a visit to the doctor, I suddenly started taking the yeast tablets which Joan got for me at White River and which I did not take then because I went to the specialist instead. Their effect seems to have been superb; unless by some coincidence there was a change in the old body brought about by nothing in particular. The doctor pronounced me to be suffering from liver, at sight; at sight of my bare body, rather, for the clue to bad liver is a row of little congested veins just below the level of the breast-bone. – I came away with new prescriptions and an assurance that really nothing was wrong with me; note the absence of the postscript that neither was anything right. So I felt emboldened to start doing Muller exercises again and thus to make a frontal attack on the liver. Also I abstained from taking the medicines, in order to check the belief that he yeast was proving sovereign. During the week that has passed since there has been a falling off and gloom has returned somewhat; yet the fact remains that I have developed the feeling that recovery is not impossible whereas I had come to look upon such a thing as beyond hope. Besides doing exercises twice or thrice a day, I have been more energetic about going on walks; and though I cannot say that I have renounced the lying down after lunch enjoined by the N.Z. doctor and approved by the others since, I have done less of it.
One morning I walked with Whitehouse, the Kenya civil servant, round the skirts of the Lion to tea at the Round House and back by road; fast. One afternoon with Joan we did the same walk to start with but went up to the Nek instead of dropping down to the round House and then behind the Lion onto the col behind here and so down to the hotel. Another after taking the bus as far as could be along the coast we walked on for half an hour and back again; very beautiful both ways and an illustration of energy. Another afternoon, yesterday’s, we took the bus not so far, walked up a valley to the Nek and by the high path in front of the Lion returned to Sea Point. An outing notable for the sight of more than two dozen dassis in a small patch of bushes below us; very fine, though we were too far to see their silly faces. Short walks along the front I do not mention; everyday I went also to the library, except on Empire Day. Add that I had my hair cut (the barber when told that I did not want it very short had the sense to ask when I had had it cut last and judged from this what was needed) wrote two airgraphs on the one day, visited the Ministry of Transport and the Customs on Saturday morning, and set myself the unnecessary task of going in to say goodby to Mr. Bowker yesterday, and you will see what comparatively overflowing energy has been mine.
I am rather sorry that I have bought eighteen and sixpence worth of liver medicines.
We had Blake Pinnell late supper on Sunday and he talked anarchy; some time ago he came across a book of extracts from Kropotkin and was fired with enthusiasm, bought twelve books about it from England and started in to reform the world. Rather tedious but he was calmed down a bit when he discovered that I had read something about such things at Oxford and knew the jargon. On Saturday we had him to lunch and afterwards went somewhat doubtfully to see ‘My friend, Flicka’ which proved a flop. Why do they spoil books by departing from then and by trying to squeeze the last drop of sentiment out of every situation? and why do they show mobs of horses on a ranch all beautifully groomed and shining like race-horses?
Again I have achieved a record in the matter of absent-mindedness, in putting on a shirt without first taking a hanger out of it. Joan said that Imagination boggled at the thought; and set me wondering about the exact meaning of ‘boggle’. She says that one speaks of thread becoming all boggled in a sewing-machine.
Presumably I boggled the carbons; one sheet of the letter has been lost to me by winding itself round the cylinder and receiving double impressions, a thing annoying beyond words. Sir Charles Rey, the Last-Ditcher of last-ditchers, joined in a discussion of the meaning. He was full of bright thoughts last night and told me this morning that he did not know when he had laughed so much. For those of the family who like French, I repeat the following comment by Clemenceau to Balfour at the post-war conference “Je sais un peu de tous les mondes: le haut monde, le bas monde, le demi-monde. Mais de tous les mondes, le plus immonde est votre Mond”. Yet Sir Charles who loves not Jews says that though Alfred Mond was all that the stage Jew is represented to be he was an admirable fellow and might be exempted from the general destruction so admirably prescribed by Adolf.
Another of his yarns related to Rumania which he praises highly because the people are so delightfully ignorant of the existence of morals. When he first visited the country it was told him at a dinner party as the story of the week for Bukharest by his partner. At the expense of a British official so popular in Rumanian circles that he was called Brownescu; mocking his folly and innocence because when caught by a Secretary of State in such comprising circumstances that denial of intentions upon the Secretary’s wife was impossible he compromised for £10 as if £5 was not the recognized tariff in that family. This yarn he told with a blunt disregard of the decencies to be excused only by his impish desire to scandalize old Mrs Grey; a demure old lady whom nothing could shock though she would be left with her own opinion about those who tried to shock her. It occurs to me that the suffic “-escu” may be no less that the English “Esq” spelt phonetically “SQUE”; and that the two countries may thus be allied in some respects.
Whitehouse contributed a tale the other afternoon that pleased me. He heard an Indian in a train at a station in Kenya calling out to a man who was walking along the platform “Station-master! Station-master!” The man, another Indian, turned at last and said testily “Why you calling me Station-master? I am not Station-master.” and received the reply “Then why you walk so proudly?”
Joan dropped a pat of butter in the milk-jug the other morning at breakfast. People frequently drop napkins at meals in south African hotels: are the chairs so arranged or are the napkins specially glazed? Old Mrs. Beachy Head met the difficulty by placing one edge of her napkin on the table before her and anchoring it beneath the side of a plate; very practical. South Africans pay no regard to the convention that wine should be passed from right to left round a table. A much advertised mattress in Cape Town is styled the EPEDA mattress; it reminds me of Heda-wada, our dog at Sandhurst, and I think it to be the poorest possible name for a mattress if one wants to sell it.
The Last Ditcher becomes more and more angry as he reads more and more of what I inadvertently called “Swats and Smustika” and detects more and more untruths about South Africa. This attitude I do not understand for he is a great one to tell tales about certain persons here; such as the saying that the one thing grown by the Dutch farmer without a subsidy is his beard and the riddle What is the difference between a Dutch Farmer and a cow chewing the cud? to which the reply is that the cow has an intelligent look.
This week of nature-studies none; except the look of a surprised indignation on the face of a terrier when he found a man sitting at the extremity of a bench beneath the which the terrier as we have before seen is wont to strop his back; he came on this occasion straight across the road from his house with obvious designs on the stropping-place. I might add for good measure that Joan has fallen to giving scraps to the big black cat at meals.
The customs said that each of us might take 11 pounds of groceries out without permit provided that they were to be bonafide presents.
Much love
Dad