Love in the Blitz Page 17

  Miss Hojgaard (helped by the Military Censors in the Orkneys) is Learning to Forget – but (heavy sigh) she ‘doesn’t know any boys’ in Lewisham – At least, she does know one – and she asked him to tea, but it is Not Bearing Fruit – and she Will Not Stoop to Chasing Men – like her sister.

  I just let her burble trickle over me, darling – sometimes I Turn it into Copy for you – otherwise I just forget it.

  Wednesday 20 November Darling, He is not Mr Bacon – but ‘a Friend’ – She told Miss Carlyon All – and She’s only working in the City because He works nearby – Somewhere, in Obscurity. Miss Carlyon has Gathered that there is a Mr Bacon – but Nobody Quite Knows Where – or Why.

  Darling, it would be interesting, wouldn’t it, to know what Lord Nathan is going to pay me? – but he has shown a Marked Reserve on this subject – but I do hope it will be enough to enable me to meet you in Oxford every Sunday – I think it will. (It had better be – or I’ll Resign Willy Nilly.) Lord Nathan does not set my Worth at a Pin’s Fee, darling – but he likes to be thought Generous.

  Thursday 21 November Mrs Bacon is Leaving, darling – because one of the men at the Office Put his Hand over Her’s, while it was Resting on the Keys of the Typewriter. She drew herself up to her FH, Declaring that This Would Never Do – Mr Bacon Would Not Like it – Nor would her Gallant – She Was Not That Kind of a Girl – (Girl!) Talk about Human Interest.

  Monday 25 November Darling. Lord Nathan said, ‘Good morning – I suppose you want to be paid,’ which set me back a bit. I said timidly that I wouldn’t mind, whereat he asked me to Name my Figure. I said I didn’t know what I was Worth – and he said neither did he, but he’d pay me £3 to start with – and Raise or Lower it according to my Rate of Output. A brief and ungracious interview, darling – but I have become a Wage-Earner All at Once – and I have to fill in Insurance cards and Render myself Eligible for the Dole. It’s all rather frightening.

  I’m very tired, darling – I worked at tremendous pressure all day – (with twenty minutes’ respite for coffee after lunch) and Miss Burrows told me that I was the lowest paid minion in the Office, except the girl who types the filing-cards – which hurt me a little, darling, as I didn’t realize I was as useless as all that. You asked me whether I was Superior or Inferior to the Secretaries and typists, dear. Now you know.

  Darling, it isn’t any wonder at all that I haven’t a very high opinion of my capabilities – since everyone except you rates them so low. Never mind, I’ll work very very hard – and perhaps he’ll think I’m quite useful after all. (He’ll never know whether I’m clever or not – because he won’t give me anything to do which requires cleverness.)

  Of course, I’m richer than I would have been at Bletchley – and I shall certainly be able to be with you each week – and that is all that matters, my dear love.

  Sunday 1 December An Awful thing happened in the Train tonight – I was Staring into Space – in Solace – with Boccaccio on my knee – when suddenly I observed the Man opposite (He got in at Slough) looking from the book to me with Lecherous Understanding.

  Mr Turner says I may have the Second Best Bed on Saturday-week. This is a Beautiful Gesture, darling, when you think that Shakespeare did no more for Ann Hathaway – (although she was twelve years older than he was – and not much of a Solace anyway). Please don’t die before I do, darling, but if you feel you must, don’t on any account leave me your second-best bed – If you do, my self-confidence will be shattered forever, and I shall know I’ve failed as a Solace.

  Darling, I hope you don’t mind my being a rather passive mollocker – Passion is not my idiom and (my Daily Mirror says: Tell him Sometimes – he may Know It, but he Likes to Hear you Say it). I love you none the less. Incidentally, I never have told you that I love you – (I’ve written it – but never said it). Once I nearly did but I added ‘better than Malory’ in great Haste (do you remember?) I’m shy of you in some ways, darling, and that is one of them.

  I took a taxi home, dear and gave the driver a shilling tip – because he said he never got any work these foggy nights – and he didn’t drive in the day – I nearly cried – but I decided that practical assistance would be worth more to him than tears – ‘Too much of water hast thou, poor old fellow,’9 I thought, looking at the damp blanket of fog which was dribbling down his windows – but I didn’t say anything – because Unsolicited Shakespeare makes people look at one so Queerly – I’ve noticed it in Welfare. Miss Hojgaard, for instance, squints down her nose and says she doesn’t like poetry – the others (except Miss Carlyon, of course) just Look Uncomfortable.

  Tuesday 2 December Oh! darling, in between Solace, I’ve been brooding with a kind of stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief upon the thought of your being sent abroad. I see it as a vast calamity – rather as Blake saw Hell, with streaks of reddish storm in the background. You see, my dear love, all the time you’re away I’ll be wondering if you’ll still be mine when you come back – I’ll be like Hans Anderson’s little mermaid, who had to walk on knife edges all her life as a Penalty for giving up her tail for feet. She did it for love, darling, if you remember – and I think she felt it was worth it – never having been alive before – and I know that whatever happens it will have been worthwhile to have been alive for you – even if it kills me.

  While I was waiting for you in the Randolf on that first Sunday – I very nearly came back to London without seeing you – because the fear that you might be disappointed in me when you did see me was so dreadful. You see, darling, you’re so completely independent of me – I’m not necessary to you in any way at all. Perhaps it’s because you’re so sure of me that you never have to worry about what it would be like to have to do without my love – Oh! God! I don’t know – but I don’t want you to go away, darling. I don’t want you to go away.

  Darling, I’m going to have an egg for supper – a rill egg. Mrs Seidler brought a whole dozen back from Cambridge. But don’t Tell Anyone, please, or they’ll all be Swooping on us like Kites on Carrion.10

  Friday 6 December Oh! darling, we’re going to Win this War – The Successes of the Greeks and your promotion are only a Foreshadowing of things to come. The first Symptom is that we have Found an Ally at Last. The Second is that there is now one Great Man at least in a Position of Authority – Oh! darling, I’m so glad – and I like the things they think about you too – but why aren’t you paid, dear?

  Aunt Teddy wrote today to say that Jean had got her commission – You’ll outshine her yet, my dear love.

  I shall love Walking Out with two stripes, darling – I shall like mollocking with them even better.

  Monday 9 December Darling, I’m writing to you in Miss Dyce’s & Miss Watson’s room – sitting in a very hard chair and leaning on a folder marked Importantly ‘E. Alexander’. I can’t do any work because we’ve been Bombed – There isn’t a window left in the front of the building – and all our electric light & heating is off – and our room (though the windows are intact) is enveloped in the Blanket of the Dark – and, until Mr Hawes brings me some candles I am of necessity Unemployed.

  It took me an hour and a half in a choking tube to get from Chalk Farm to Moorgate this morning – and now all I can do is shiver and write to my dear love.

  Cold! Cold! My girl … (Oh! Mr Hawes has just brought my candles in – I shall have to leave you in a moment – and work).

  Darling, what I didn’t tell you on the platform yesterday was something along these lines – When you talked about your family’s Impending Sorrow, at not seeing you when you had a weekend’s leave, then you made me wish that I were an Officially Recognized Solace – because, if I were, no-one could expect you to be with anyone but me – when you had time to spare. I didn’t say it, darling, because I’m not Impatient – but you do see what I mean, don’t you, dear?

  Darling, this Dim Religious Light is oppressive – I feel faintly Pre-Raphaelite and more than a
little Roman Catholic, in a semi-circle of Candles – You know – the Swinburne touch … no, perhaps not – on further consideration.

  Monday 9 December Darling, Aubrey’s maid is Going to Have a Baby. (Tell your mother to keep a Wary Eye on Alice – forewarned is forearmed. No! Darling – Aubrey didn’t think his maid Had it In Her either.) He thinks it was a Chance Encounter in an Air Raid Shelter, and he’s thinking of Appealing to Welfare – because they Know it was a Soldier – though that is All they have to go upon.

  Aubrey and I had a hearty lunch at the Cheshire Cheese – and Aubrey looked as though he’d Grown There – with his feet among the sawdust and the shadow of Dr Johnson falling across his plate.

  Jean was here when I got back – (still in her Sergeant’s Uniform). She was Listless & Languid & obviously not delighted to see me – She didn’t care whether I was here or there – or anywhere. She seemed surprised that anyone should rate my Services as highly as £3 a-week. To her, it was clearly a sign that the Administration was Cracking Up. We asked her to stay the night very warmly – but no – I wish Jean were more of a Solace, darling – but she so obviously looks upon me as the Long Worm that Has no Turning, that it’s really rather difficult to talk to her or to enjoy her company.

  Monday 16 December Darling – I had lunch with Horace today at the Great Eastern Hotel – (and an excellent lunch it was, too.) and he exhibited a new & astonishing facet of his nature. In the taxi, he said please excuse him if he was being impertinent but had I been in Sorrow about anything the last time we’d met, because he’d never seen me so painfully flat & listless – whereas, today, I seemed unusually buoyant? Well, darling, the last time I saw Horace was on the Sunday when I ought to have been in Blackpool with you – & I hesitated for a moment before saying anything – because, fond as I am of Horace – I’m on a very impersonal plane with him – then I remembered that he’d walked 27 miles to see me in Maidenhead Hospital, and that, because I was tired, he had said ‘Don’t bother to talk, I’ll be quite happy just to sit with you’ and it seemed to me that he might not react as ruthlessly as his incisive manner suggests, so I told him All – And, darling, this Arch-Debunker, this chronic Anti-Cantite Came Over all Human – & said that Alec was a Good Chap but a bit Archaic – and he was overcome with paroxysms of helpless & noisy mirth at the thought of me as a Wanton – then he ordered dry sherry for me & beer for himself, and asked me to Drink with him to Our Happy & Undefined Relationship.

  This morning Lord Nathan came into my Office &, looking pointedly and Censoriously at my cigarette, urged me not to set the office on fire. I said I’d do my best not to – then he looked at my lists and asked me how far I’d got. I said I was getting on to the 700th folder – to which he replied repressively that there were 4,000, weren’t there? – and I said sadly that there were – and we Parted.

  Oh! my darling, thank you for our weekend. I’m sorry I cried – but, in a way, I’m glad this particular Anxiety Emerged – because it’s been rubbing my Spiritual Stomach into an Ulcer for months – and I feel a little better about it now – though you weren’t able to kiss it right out of existence – Otherwise, darling, it was all Solace. I’ll try not to be so retrospectively inquisitive in future, darling, but you see, I so much want to know how your mind works in relation to me – and you’re not very communicative, are you, my dear love?

  I had a letter from Sheila yesterday – She’s in Edinburgh with her people – bored & dégrisée. Allan is in Dorset – a Lance-Bombardier, & all out of Solace – but she says they like being married in spite of All – though everyone in Edinburgh pigeon-holes her as an Aged Matron & thinks no more about her.

  Hamish is still in Rhodesia and, like Hamlet, he lacks Advancement. Everything is so Static – she says, querulously – and adds that next time she’s in England, she must remember to call for her wedding-presents. Sheila has a touch of willy-nilliness about her, too, darling – Joan is only willy nilly on country walks, when she tends to Gambol and go Disconcertingly Pantheistic – and also, when she’s had too much to drink, which doesn’t happen very often – and only when Ian isn’t there to look after her. Elizabeth just floats when she’s had too much to drink – She goes into a Spiritual Strauss Waltz – graceful, vague & rhythmic. Sheila becomes very self-possessed. I wonder what I should do, if I had too much to drink, darling? I don’t suppose I shall Ever Know.

  Tuesday 17 December Darling, Miss Carlyon threatens to leave us – She’s doing the work of a Junior Office Girl – and she’s Bored. I can’t blame her – but it will be a heartly Sorrow if she goes – and Miss Burrows – who is about to become Mrs Douglas Bailey any day now! Oh! woe. All that will be left will be Miss Hojgaard, On the Prowl for a husband – and a few other Worthies who might as well not be there at all.

  I do love the balloon barrage at dawn. This morning when I went out, there was a very bright, round moon, and a smoky pink sky – and the balloons were almost as bright as the moon – big sluggish ones in the foreground – like something out of a Fun Fair – and beyond – little ones, no bigger than cough drops, speckling the sky. I stood & watched them while I was waiting for my bus, and I was rather sorry when it arrived. The Balloon Barrage does afford me an enormous amount of pleasure, darling. What with its perspectives & Mrs Palmer, whose husband if you remember, was in the BA. In Spite of All – to say nothing of Miss Carlyon, who in her more Harassed Moments goes about the Office, rubbing her head and muttering over and over again: ‘Why is Barrage Balloon the singular of Balloon Barrage? “Punch” wants to know – and I want to know – and nobody will tell us.’

  Wednesday 18 December A most alarming thing happened last night, as I was coming Home from Work. I was just about to cross Harley Rd., when suddenly it seemed as though all the traffic had speeded up to very much faster than life-size. The cars simply reeled towards me out of the dimness – and then, to make the illusion complete, a pedal-bicycle with a motor chugged across my path. At first I couldn’t see the motor – and I thought this was a Forecast of Insanity – but when I did, my Balance was restored & I was able to cross the Road almost with sang-froid (but not quite.) A Sinister Experience, darling.

  Miss Hojgaard told me a New & Revealing Piece of All today, dear. She said she’d once jilted a man because he took her to Blackpool for a Holiday – and then made her buy All Her Own Food – Also, there had Been a Time when he Did Not Behave like a Gentleman – (She did not Jilt him until Some Time after this, however) and later she Discovered that he’d only taken her to Blackpool for a bet. Darling, Miss Hojgaard does accumulate a sordid collection of Experiences, doesn’t she? Incidentally, her father’s Wooing has Bourne No Fruit, She said ‘No’ – He’s thinking of Trying Again – but all occasions do inform against him – and he hasn’t been able to Get her Alone since. (Is it Accident or Design, do you think, darling?)

  Monday 23 December Darling, Welfare is full of Human Problems. Look at Mrs Trench (I admit it’s not really worth the Effort, but she’s got a Heart of Gold). Mrs Trench has a Husband in the S. Staffordshires – They’ve been married for nine years & have lived a conventional Suburban life – but ever since he went into the Army, Mr Trench has been Learning More & More about Wild Oats – Now. Mrs T is Leaving us to go and Reclaim him in a Yorkshire Village – She believes it is her Last Chance – but I have a theory that she’d be better advised (if she loves him) to tarry the sowing, and, if necessary, the reaping, and to step in for the Leavening – but it’s no business of mine really.

  You know, darling, since those bombs on Saturday night, I’ve lost a great deal of my sang-froid about Air Raids. I listen rather nervously for the Guns & planes – and they’re very noisy tonight. I wish you were here.

  Tuesday 24 December A year ago today, my dear love, Lionel and I were taking shelter from the fog at the Carlton after Julius Caesar and I telephoned Aubrey, hoping you’d be there – and you weren’t – a year ago today, the Drama of the War Office Cona was simmering a
nd just about to come to the Boil – a year ago today – you’d just come back to me – from Bertha – in a black beard so that you wouldn’t feel out of place among the foreign diplomats in Whitehall – (only that was the day before.) And, darling, a year ago today, I thought I loved you – but actually I’d Hardly Begun. Do you mind the reminiscent vein? – what Aubrey would call ‘Dangerous Nostalgia’?

  Incidentally, talking of Aubrey, did I ever tell you his comment in the Union on the Blackpool Incident? He was wondering whether it wouldn’t have been worthwhile to have risked Parental Displeasure for the sake of Solace – I said I couldn’t do that, because it might have made you feel that if I meant that it might ‘Precipitate Intentions’. I said yes, I supposed that was what I had meant – and he said, ‘Well, I don’t think Intentions would be Precipitate at this stage’!! I was very much amused, but rather shy of telling you at the time – you see, darling, at the end of the Easter term I said something in a letter to Aubrey which I very much regretted. (I remember telling you at the time that I had, but I didn’t say what it was – and you didn’t press me to Reveal All, for which I was very grateful.) It was just before I went down, and, at that time, it seemed to me that you couldn’t fail to use the opportunity offered by chance, of severing your connection with me. I think you knew how desperately frightened I was – because you were so infinitely kind & gentle with me when I cried in your arms after dinner at Victoria Road. I wrote to Aubrey that night and said: ‘Oh! Aubrey, I wish Gershon were more Intentions-Conscious.’ Ever since that day, darling, Aubrey has been Unobtrusively Sponsoring my Intentions! I remember that, when he came to Cambridge during our last week-end together, you asked him what an Officer’s pay amounted to. He told you, and added, quite gratuitously, that, of course, it was more if you were married. Darling, in the midst of all my Sorrow, I was terribly tempted to laugh – because Aubrey is so incredibly self-contained and Impersonal – and when he tries to descend to a more intimate plane, he’s exactly like a Peer, dancing the Polka in full Coronation Robes. That’s a jest, I’ve always wanted to share with you, but it’s only in the last few weeks that I’ve really been able to tell you All, without any reserves at all. In the Union, his final comment on Blackpool was: ‘Well, I really don’t know what to say, because, though it may sound fantastic, I don’t know what Gershon thinks on that – or any other personal subject.’