Love in the Blitz Page 19

  I went into the General, and between my gasps of merriment, told him that there was a Policeman outside who said that Lord Nathan was About to be Seen by the Police – willy nilly – Case of Firearms. The General said he’d see him – and I heard him say ‘Come in Constable’ before I shut the door on the pair of them. About ten minutes later he came out again. I was Palpitating to Know All – so I said: ‘Are you satisfied now, Officer?’ ‘Yes and No –’ he answered deliberately. ‘Colonel or no Colonel – Lord or no Lord – he’ll have to pay his half-crown for owning a Revolver – and unless he does, there’s nothing for it – he’ll Have to be Seen by the Police.’ His Duty done – his Ultimatum delivered – I’m wondering whether Lord Nathan will Pawn his Butter-Ration to Honour his Debt. It’s a Beautiful thought that he will sit down to meals every day for a week looking wistfully at Lady Nathan’s & Roger’s Flags – and Hoping.

  Monday 20 January Darling, I shall have to Mend my Ways. I was just in the middle of stealing a House of Lords envelope for you, when Miss Carlyon asked kindly but in all seriousness what Lord Nathan’s stationery bills would be like if the whole of Welfare Pilfered his notepaper & envelopes – ‘Oh! but it’s for Gershon,’ I said, thinking this would Explain All – but there are none so blind as those who will not see, as the Old Saw has it, and it was obvious that Miss Carlyon was Oblivious of the Subtle Distinction between Pilfering for you and – Pilfering – so I just waited until her back was turned, darling, and then I stole it – but I mustn’t do it too often.

  Tuesday 21 January Darling, I got a lift to Buckingham Gate from a Square-Jawed Naval Commander who was on his way to Admiralty Arch, A very Civil man – I was grateful because it was the nastiest morning I’ve seen for years – wet, blackish fog, dribbling all down my collar. As a rule I like fog, when it’s grey and attenuated – because then the cars and ’buses start as a blur and grow sharper & sharper in outline as they get nearer – like Djinns taking shape out of a bottle.

  It occurred to me last night that, in all my life, I’ve only really wanted two things – one of them was a First at Cambridge and the other was you. The trouble with me, darling, is that I’ve got Exclusive Taste. I like the Genuine Warranted Best – or nothing.

  And talking of Firsts, I never told you, did I, that, although actually, you were responsible for my getting a First (I did get a First, darling – d’you remember? You never remind me now) you were very nearly responsible for my not getting it – because during the last Paper, after I’d had lunch with you, I kept being held up to listen to your voice which kept cutting in across my train of thought – and which was so much more beautiful than my ideas on Restoration comedy & Bunyan. By that time, darling, I knew I loved you but I was pretending wildly to myself and everyone else that I didn’t – and I mentioned this voice business to Elizabeth Knapp as an oddity at which she just looked Wise and said nothing.

  Wednesday 22 January Darling, Miss Burrows is probably getting married on St Valentine’s day – and Welfare will be Bereft – What a Sorrow. Her Douglas wants her to be married in black – but she’s Strongly Opposed to black – for Weddings. The situation calls to my mind another friend of mine (Paul Rolo’s uncle, as a matter of fact) who Clung to Bachelorhood & Was All Overcome on the very Eve of his marriage – All was in Readiness but, about three days before the wedding he said he wouldn’t marry her unless she wore Cloth of Gold. She loved him (& I don’t blame her – He’s a very attractive man, darling) so she wore Cloth of Gold – and there he was – catched.

  When I was last touring the Italian Lakes – I remember thinking rather desolately, ‘This is the place for love’ – and that if I intended to live a barren sister all my life … I’d better not go there anymore. I was about eighteen then, darling, and Bent on Celibacy – but the Italian Lakes – and the Egyptian Moonlight and ‘Antony & Cleopatra’ made me wonder if I wasn’t making a Grave Mistake.

  Thursday 23 January The other day, darling, Lord Lloyd’s Secretary rang up my mother (Lord Lloyd has German Measles, dear, but it’s a State Secret – lest it should raise an undignified Snigger – as these things will – Oh! the small vanities of those who have Arrived!) and, inter alia, asked her what I was doing. She mentioned the Home Office interview and said I’d heard nothing further, whereat he said: ‘Oh! we’d better jog their memory.’ So perhaps Something Will Happen Soon, darling, and then again, perhaps not.

  Wednesday 29 January Darling, last night my mother said: ‘You’re not going to Reading this Sunday, are you?’ and I said I was – and she Registered Displeasure and said: ‘Can’t you leave the poor boy alone – Have you ever thought that he might like a Sunday to himself – especially when he’s been with you half the week?’ Whereat I was in Great Sorrow, darling, but you don’t want a Sunday to yourself, do you, my dear love?

  Thursday 30 January Tomorrow, darling, half the Welfare staff (including me) is moving into the top storey of 22 Buckingham Gate – It’s cold and cheerless – and terribly vulnerable to Air Attack – and the ceiling is on its last Joists – but there is a window – There is also a lift – it doesn’t work but it will at least give us Class – so we mustn’t grumble.

  Wednesday 5 February Pa has just left for Liverpool – in Heartly Sorrow at Lord Lloyd’s death.

  Oh! darling, I’m sorry about your commission, but let’s start hoping and hoping that your next application will be successful. Darling – once I loved you as an Academic Civilian – then I loved an A.C.2 and then an acting-Corporal – Perhaps Providence did not think it Seemly that I should transfer my Affections to a Pilot Officer too quickly.

  Thursday 6 February It was Nancy Burrows’s last day at the Office and she came back here to tea and to look at my vinaigrettes – and, darling, at lunch she asked my Advice about Birth-Control – as she & Douglas can’t afford children yet – (my Advice!). I looked Very Wise and said I believed there were Clinics where she could Learn All – but I thought she’d be better advised to ask her Family Doctor first – but she said she couldn’t do that, as he was an Old Friend of her mother’s and would want to know if Mrs Burrows had been Told – & Mrs Burrows is Rigidly Anti-Contraception – Well, darling, what with Ruth Walker asking me What to Do about Living in Sin – and Miss Burrows asking me What to Do about Birth-Control, I begin to think that I must have a Worldly Air. Would you say I had a Worldly Air, my dear love? No – somehow, I thought not.

  Darling, I don’t know whether or not you’re a ‘born-letter-writer’ but I doubt whether Keats’s Fanny was as happy to get a letter from him as I am every time I get a letter from you – You know, dear, letter-writing is undoubtedly my medium – I’m not being vain, but I’m able to work off all my creative energies in my letters – because when I’m writing (and particularly when I’m writing to you, my dear love) I have the feeling that I’m living my experiences all over again – but living them more richly, because they’re being shared with a friend – and are coloured by their outlook & idiom as well as my own. Every other literary form is less personal & intimate than the letter – and I’m a very personal little cluck, aren’t I darling?

  Monday 10 February Miss Carlyon is thinking of moving out of London with her mother who is deaf – Since their little dog died, she doesn’t feel that it’s safe to leave her alone in a London flat – (The little dog seems to have Gone into a Decline, darling, since the sand-bagging of London’s Lamp-posts – Needless to say, Miss Carlyon didn’t see it in this light – and it’s not very kind of me to jest on a subject that caused her so much distress – but in these times, darling, I take my smiles where I can find them, willy nilly and notwithstanding). If she leaves Welfare, there won’t be anyone left who speaks my idiom, and I feel more and more that I must make an effort to get back to Cambridge and Chivalric Love.

  Lady Nathan has moved into her office on this floor today – I went in to see her, and she asked me what I was doing – As I was Fresh from the first paragraph of my letter to you, darli
ng, I said absent-mindedly that my chief concern at the moment was Frustrated Love. She waited – startled and breathless, for a Revelation of My All – and when I Explained what I’d meant, she looked definitely Relieved. Poor Lady Nathan – for a moment I think she felt that if, in taking over the Organization of Welfare’s Anxious Soldier Department, she was also expected to settle the Love-Troubles of her Staff, she had Bitten Off more than she could reasonably be expected to chew and, in due course, Digest. Furniture, her eye seemed to say, is one thing – but Frustrated Love – ah! Different.

  Wednesday 12 February Oh! darling, Solace is bubbling up in me like a warm current through a soft bank of mud – I didn’t understand a word of your letter but neither did Mary when Gabriel Announced that she was going to become the mother of Christ, but she was no less happy for that.

  Am I to understand that Yatesbury5 is to be your Headquarters for some time to come? – (but oh! my dear love, I see all those Waafs as a Vast Field of Wild Oats). And when are you getting your Commission? – and Bless the Air Marshal’s heart for Knowing your Worth – although he couldn’t do anything about it because of your age.

  I’ve been so anxious and depressed about you, darling, in the last few days, that I still can’t get used to the idea that All is well with you – but the Awakening will come.

  Monday 17 February My cousin, Lionel, called last night, full of Leers and Bawdry and wearing the Uniform of the King’s Royal Rifle Corps – (In which, darling, just to show you that Welfare has taught me Something, are incorporated the Queen’s Westminster’s and Queen Victoria’s Rifles, to say nothing of the Tower Hamlet Rifles (oh! darling, I wish I were a Tower Hamlet Rifle – I’d wear a kirtle of Lincoln Green and Shoot Down Aeroplanes with my Cross-bow – oh! no, I mean that’s what I’d do if I were a Green Howard – I’d like to be a Green Howard better than a Tower Hamlet Rifle, darling – It’s not as Obvious as being a Sherwood Forester – and yet it has a Tang of Romanticism)). Miss Carlyon, hearing my pen scratching on the paper like a mouse in the wainscot, as she picturesquely said, coining a neat Tennyson phrase, says she hopes you’re well, darling – she says you can’t possibly be as bored as we are, which is Something – and she says Please will you Expedite the Conclusion of the War as we’re Sick of It. (Her idiom, darling, not mine.)

  Darling, I came home crushed beneath a burden of boredom heavy as frost and deep almost as Life – to find a letter waiting for me. It was from the Ministry of Labour and this is what it said:

  Dear Madam, (It meant Me, darling)

  With reference to your enrolment on the Central Register, you have been selected, amongst others, for consideration for a post in the Air Ministry at a salary of about £260 per Annum. If you are available for consideration for this post, will you attend for interview at the Air Ministry, Ariel House, Room 204, Strand, WC 2 on Friday 21st February at 11.15 a.m.

  If you are in employment, you should ascertain from your employer whether he would be willing to release you, were you offered such a post.

  It would be appreciated if you would let me know immediately by telephone or wire whether you are keeping the appointment.

  So, darling, perhaps I shall find myself in the same Branch of the Service as you after all – perhaps they’ll send me to the Air Ministry at Harrogate – perhaps – but my fancy is Playing Havoc with my Good Sense, my dear love.

  Darling, I’ve only got two cigarettes left of my ration, so I can’t be expected to make the fullest use of my pen – After all, ‘Kubla Khan’ would never have been written but for an Opium Dream.

  Tuesday 18 February Darling, what a day! I went into the General this morning to ask him if I might be released on Friday morning for my interview at the Air Ministry – He looked at me severely and said ‘If you go we Shall Have to Begin All Over Again’ … I said please could I go to the Interview, anyway – and he needn’t worry as I probably wouldn’t be leaving Welfare – He said ‘Yes’ and ‘I hope not’ and gave me a Courtly and Beautiful Smile.

  Then I came upstairs to find Miss Page Launched on a Literary Discussion Class – She Worked Up from the novels of Mary Webb through Anthony Adverse and Gone With the Wind to Kipling. She assured me that Kipling would Go Down in History as a Great Writer, darling – I said, well if he did, it was a pretty poor lookout for History. This went on all morning – and I was just on the point of having a stroke when Jean came to fetch me for lunch – with a Chauffeur-driven car and one of her Air Commodores (only, actually he was a Squadron Leader, darling) In Tow – But we Shed him at his Club – and went on together to the Cafe Royal. (You can eat a four course lunch at the Cafe Royal for 3/6d darling – and see most of London’s stage and Political Celebrities feeding there – free of charge – I mean you can see them free of charge – doubtless they have to pay their 3/6d like anyone else).

  She had a slight Altercation with the Wine Waiter who came up to her with a Confidential Leer and said that last time she’d lunched there she’d ordered two small lagers, for which she had Never Paid. She said: ‘The Devil Damn thee Black, thou Cream-Faced Loon’6 or Otherwise Indicated that she Never … and then we ate a Rill Mill, during which she Curled her Lip at the Civil Service – and looked Sceptical when I talked of £260 per annum (approx.) until I showed her the letter, at which she said ‘Hurrum’ and shed several inches of her FH.

  Darling, Jean Swills Pink Gin with a Terrific Swagger – It’s my private opinion that she’s a bit of a Wild Oat. You know, my dear love, one of these days you’ll have to marry me – to save me from a Libel Action, because, if I remember my lessons on the Law of Tort aright – (I learnt them on the River, darling – do you remember?) Letters from a Wife to a Husband, however Libellous, do not constitute a Libel. There are more ways than one, my darling, in which a girl may feel the need of becoming an Honest Woman.

  Darling, Miss Page went all Hurt because I sighed & said I wished she were a bit more Willy Nilly – She said I shouldn’t Judge People before I Knew Them – and then she Threatened to Walk Home Through the Rain with her Soup-Saucepan on her head – just to show me how Willy Nilly she was – but I said it was No Good – If Chamberlain had danced the Can-Can on the Top of the Albert Memorial in the Height of Noon – he couldn’t have turned himself into a Willy Nilly – either you were born that way – or you weren’t – and Miss Page Wasn’t.

  Thursday 20 February Darling, last night was full of Adventure, and when I tell you All, you will understand why, at the Instigation of my mother & Peggy Davies, I smoked three extra cigarettes.

  It All began with the HE Bomb7 – which Whistled Ostentatiously past our window at about 9.30, blowing the red curtains of the morning-room inwards – and landing with a dull thud about a mile away.

  My mother and I went on with our knitting, being accustomed to that sort of noise – but Peggy, who had never spent an Air Raid outside her Shelter until she came to stay with us, tried to crawl under the sofa between the whistle and the thud – Then she sat down again, trembling violently and the effort of Reviving her was such that I had two extra cigarettes in rapid succession.

  Then my mother and I went upstairs and looked out of the bathroom window to see What Was Going On. Well, darling – our Vigilance was Rewarded because in the Far Corner of the Garden, near the tomato-patch – there was a Red Glow. ‘Incendiaries’ announced my mother with Intense Satisfaction, ‘Sand’ I replied, (I have a neat turn for Repartee, darling) at which she, not to be outdone came back with ‘Shovel’ – and then, as a brilliant afterthought ‘Coats’. No sooner Said than Done, darling. We put on heavy overcoats – armed ourselves with a bag of sand & a shovel each – rang up and asked the Police to Call when They had the time – and went out to Stalk the Incendiary. Peggy came to the dining-room window – watched the glow for a few moments, and then said that it didn’t look much like an Incendiary to her – and if it was, it had burnt itself out.

  Mrs Wright, hearing all this from the sh
elter – opened the door a crack, and asked what was the matter. ‘Mrs Wright, Mrs Wright we’ve got an incendiary bomb in the garden,’ carolled my mother in the voice of the Herald Angels announcing Mary’s Happy Event to a Gaping World. ‘Where?’ said Mrs W. Sceptically – ‘Over there,’ my mother said, pointing to the Glow at the Bottom of the Garden, which was now very faint, owing to the impact of a heavy rainfall. ‘Oh that,’ Mrs Wright said, with a Hollow Laugh – ‘That isn’t an Incendiary – It’s the Bonfire.’ ‘What Bonfire?’ I asked angrily – ‘The bonfire the gardener made this afternoon,’ she said coolly, ‘he must have forgotten to put it out.’

  Well, darling … my mother and I walked boldly up to it with our sand and shovels and put it out. About ten minutes later the Police arrived – We Explained All – and the three Stalwarts Squelched across the lawn and emptied a can of water over the ashes.

  ‘Thank you very much,’ said my mother. ‘Would you like a drink?’ ‘Yes,’ they said – as one man – with heavenly harmony.

  While they were having it, I smoked another cigarette – just to be matey, darling, and they went all Tender over us, and asked us if we were being Fire-Watched. ‘If you get an Incendiary in the garden,’ the head-man said affectionately, he was All Teeth, darling, with a Heart of Gold. ‘Take no notice – If you get one on the Roof or in one of the Gutters – Creep up to it and empty a bag of sand over it – but I shouldn’t wait to see what ’appens if I wos you.’