by Mary Wesley
Toulouse – 8.5.45
I heard the news yesterday at 8pm …
Last night the collaborationist mistress of the English captain in the next room, the non-combatant US forces and the youth of the town made a certain amount of ‘tapage’. I celebrated the occasion by staying on the waggon (which I had ascended since my troubles began), going to bed at 10 and getting up at 7 …
There is a public holiday for two days. My balcony is decked with flags and the students are marching past in single file in the street, hands on each other’s shoulders, cheering. Ages 17 to 12. (What will they cheer in their lifetime?) … Are your children on your bed? What do they say about V-Day? …
I’m amused that the Glucks spoke of brother Charles.fn67 He and I have not been on writing terms since the war, but family love exists … We were brought up as rivals, rather a bad thing. Especially for me, as I was the brilliant one who would achieve anything, and he the plodder. The result was that for 10 years I thought myself so clever that it was quite unnecessary to do anything; and by that time it was a bit late …
The feeling [here] about Pétain is ‘au Poteau’ [‘to the stake’] …
Arrive, slightly to my surprise, my driver (Spanish, hatless, dirty and red-eyed) and my temporary assistant, cool, neat and dressed in blue.
Boskenna – 9.5.45
Just a little hangover from yesterday. Even the children lapped champagne. Diana arrived and then left, and Bill Armstrongfn68 from Germany, and Hugh and Constantia from Scilly and all the neighbours flocked in and the children went quite mad putting out more flags. At first I felt very flat. Nothing seemed real. They have all gone now except Bill who leaves tonight and Hugh Sellonfn69 who is just coming for the day. London on the wireless sounds bedlam and Betty reports that it’s in an uproar and no one has yet gone to bed. I would have loved to be there if you had been at home. As it was last night I was alone with Toby, everyone else having gone to the village to get drunk …
Boskenna – 10.5.45
I was interrupted by celebrations gaining momentum. I now feel absolutely defeated by The Victory. Bill and I spent yesterday morning in Lamorna pub with Gluck, Edith and Vicky Williams, getting back very gay to meet a completely sober Hugh Sellon. He caught up rapidly. Betty telephoned from London that when she arrived at Paddington tipsy Americans were letting off rifles so she’s under fire at last. Yesterday was boiling and the sea rough. I half sprained my ankle and by the time I had got Hugh S. and Bill off to London and done the last lap of celebrating with Colonel P. in St Buryan I’d had enough. Diana is coming again tonight but she’s in a filthy mood so I don’t relish the prospect. Tomorrow I’m taking Mrs Grant to hear Michal Hambourgfn70 who is playing in Penzance. I look forward to it.
Nice announcement on the wireless yesterday that the law against spreading alarm and despondency has stopped. So that we can now be as alarming and despondent as we please. I feel both about Pétain.
Hugh and Constantia’s visit passed off admirably. No awkward subjects raised. I seem to have been an unconscionable time writing this letter. You must forgive me … The house has been so full and as we’ve hardly any servants there’s been little time …
I love you most dearly and I hope I shall see you very soon. Three months is a long time to go without necessities …
M.
Boskenna – 12.5.45
I am so glad to get your letter written on the 1st. I rather like disaster and its subsequent battles so don’t let that worry you … You sound as if you were having to swim for it through glue, but it may bring you back sooner …
Yesterday … I took Mrs Grant to a concert – the Penzance Orchestral Society, Michal Hambourg was the attraction. How she plays … I think she is very beautiful as well as a considerable artist. The Orchestral Society arrived with a mass of musical instruments and began the programme by battering through The Bartered Bride and the Serenade for Strings, glaring at one another [as] they fiddled and trumpeted faster and faster. Feathers flew and Mrs Grant in a clear voice commented that the conductor seemed to be making a soufflé. Then Mozart and Michal Hambourg at the piano. My heart warmed to her when I saw her go pink and begin to shake with giggles as the orchestra bolted. Knowing her to be a friend of Lydia Phillipson’s in Brussels I went to see her in the interval. She is enchanting and we made friends in the Mayor’s parlour while the orchestra massacred Beethoven’s Second Symphony. Never have I heard it sound so like ‘The Ride of the Valkyries’. Laughter and a victory hangover from which she was suffering should have put her off when she came to play again but it didn’t, and the way she played Chopin was sheer bliss …
Visited Gluck and Edith on my way home and we drank gin among the bluebells. It’s hot again and lovely and this afternoon I propose to fry in the sun …
Sylvester has turned tough, armed himself and threatened to murder both Paul and Mark and they are terrified. Everyone is reported to be happy except Paul but it’s nice for her too. Mrs Newtonfn71 used to say to Mrs Grant ‘Poor little Pauline, her face gets wizened with scheming’.
Complete faithfulness here and no American bruises but a lot of scratches from Ernest [her pet rook] who is learning to fly and uses me as a landing ground, which is agony …
I love you. It will take me years to show you how much.
M.
Boskenna – 13.5.45
Victory Sunday so I carted all the children to church except Nicky who is a papist. Rather a moving church parade of British Legion, Girl Guides, A.R.P. etc. Moving because it was so simple. The farmers in bowler hats and Colonel P. – ancien militaire – giving crisp orders (which no one paid much attention to). In church I was impressed by Roger’s pious and hypocritical behaviour. Butter wouldn’t melt. Sonya sucked sweets and Toby asked loudly pointing to a stain glass window whether the man with ferns round his head was Jesus. The parson preached on the absence of God at the San Francisco conferencefn72 and the downfall of the League of Nations for the same reason … My fancy strayed into visions of The Almighty in top hat and spats clamouring for a bigger say among the representatives of small nations.
Undaunted Colonel P. marched three miles in a Victory Parade in P-Z [Penzance] in the afternoon, coming back to tea undefeated. He answered my anxious enquiry with the retort that he ‘wears out’ three partners in The Flurry Dance so this was nothing. I love him …
Boskenna – 14.5.45
I’m glad of your letter of the 6th … Your troubles come from crying in the Wilderness of Fascists. The breeding grounds in Spain, Portugal, Ireland and South America are [preparing] for the next war and the excellency of your opinions will be recognised as our children reach military age …
I shall find a house to suit our means. How fortunate that I love cooking as well as you, and have practical tendencies. Darling I do so love you. I shall put up a small tablet in memory of Pauline in our house, in token of thanks that she enabled us to meet (even though we slam the door in her face!) …
M.
Toulouse – 14.5.45
Mary, Mary … this is all blowing up like a grotesque Russian tragi-comedy. It is known as ‘the Siege of Toulouse’ and I am sorry to say that – so far gone am I – it was an American colleague who drew my attention to its comical aspects.
The latest is that the French officer in charge of the [Allied] mess went up to Paris and complained of my attitude to our Air Attaché who seems to be sending for and getting reports on me which strikes me as rather comic.
I saw Bertaux, the Commissaire de la République for the region.fn73 He expressed friendship and approval of my work; but admitted that … there was an ‘atmosphere trouble’ around me at Toulouse. And he’d obviously said so to the Consuls and spies who’ve been sniffing, which is as good as to say that he agrees I ought to go …
I shall arrive with exactly £30 in the world – which is stimulating.
The play is completely held up … but 60 pages of notes for Is There a New Francefn74 round themselves off nic
ely at the Capitulation ceremonies. I had luncheon yesterday with Julien Benda, the writer, and he greatly approved my title and subject …
Boskenna – 16.5.45
My Darling,
Another letter from you this morning was sheer pleasure …
I think that everyone except the crowds in London who sound jolly enough felt a great flatness. To my children Victory has meant junketing, flag waving and holidays from school though whether this is due to St Buryan Feast week or to the Victory I have not yet fathomed. I heard a shout of ‘Peace!’ from Betty when I was out in the fields with Toby and said to him ‘the War is over’. He went very pink and said ‘It isn’t’. His thoughts are his own. Roger is instilled with potted patriotism at school and fairly well informed. Toby prays fervently for the Japanese and Germans when he is annoyed with me. Most of the village POWs are back. They tell me they feel flat too.
St Buryan Feast bazaar was in the chapel this year. Colonel P. and I adorned the platform with the Minister (who is new and presumably uninformed as to my divorce since he asked me to make a speech). We sang jolly Methodist hymns, prayed impromptu and everyone made speeches, all of which started with ‘It is my privilege, and I might say a pleasure …’
Diana is here again, rather cross. Gluck and Edith left today. We sat round an emptying bottle yesterday afternoon and Edith discoursed on Yeats’s funeral. I’m sorry they are gone.
News of houses is poor. Ronnie has ratted and won’t part with his house. Betty is searching hard – but so is everyone else. We shall find one I know and am by no means desperate. I would like Gluck’s in Hampstead which is for sale freehold for £6000. It is Queen Anne and has a garden. Harry might buy it as an investment.
Ernest comes for walks and when I jog holds onto my hair with his beak for balance … The trouble with him is that he makes no effort to fend for himself. He may be with us for life – and rooks live about forty years …
Very warlike noises of exploding mines off the coast all afternoon. There is a lot of clearing up to do. I am now going to weed with Ernest. I have a theory that the reason Englishwomen are such keen gardeners is that they are sexually unsatisfied, so my enthusiasm is temporary …
Toulouse – 17.5.45
Mary darling,
Your Victory letter came yesterday … Your letters fill me with such joy … I adore your three styles: narrative, jokes and ‘bits’ …
As to victory, we seem to have had the same reactions, except that with my taste for paradox I celebrated by not drinking for the only time in my life …
It is an unfortunate trait that I tend to exert myself only in trouble and I have never felt more vigorous or determined. I am manoeuvring the MOI and the FO rather along the lines of the Communist Party versus the Résistance here … The game is to guide events through the following stages:
1. The Résistance are not necessarily against the Communists. 2. Therefore only those who are not against the Communists belong to the Résistance.
3. Therefore all Communists are of the Résistance.
4. Therefore all others are traitors.
… I have been thinking about our future and I am convinced that I must live in London … Feeling that something must be done I have cut off my wife’s allowance!
… We have spent less than a month [together]; and on that we are building our future …
The elections here were Left in their results, although I believe the country is Right; but with 60 out of 80 municipal seats in Paris, to the communists, one can hardly imagine France taking part in what the communists (maliciously I suppose) are announcing as ‘the war to liberate Germany [i.e. from Anglo-American rule] which is being prepared’ …
Love and courage (which I know you’ve got) –
E.
Toulouse – 19.5.45
First swim yesterday in the Ariège. The French told me with horror that it was snow-water, which would cripple me with rheumatism. But it wasn’t too cold. The current is too strong, and one has to walk barefoot upstream, plunge in and come whizzing downstream with the current. A duck was treading a female duck underwater in a way I’d never seen; I didn’t know if it was loving her or drowning her. He held her head well under the water …
The expected attack has been launched and exceeds anything that might have been expected … I am accused of antagonising Frenchmen, breach of confidence, drinking too much and even bad debts …
By involving himself in local politics Eric had made enemies in the Foreign Office. In London, Eric’s superiors in the Ministry of Information decided to terminate his mission. This was to be the first in a long line of jobs from which he managed to get himself fired.
Boskenna – 28.5.45
Little news but much love for you …
Yesterday we had blazing sun and were able to toast in the afternoon and after dinner using Bill’s leave petrolfn75 but feeling extremely guilty all the same, we went to the pub at Sennan which was packed with singing fishermen. A competition between two crooning WAAF’s was very funny to watch. Each had her following at one end of the bar and there was the makings of a real fight when they got back to their billet …
I am anxious to hear the result of your fight, imagining that you are getting it about now. Prayers go up in little puffs …
Toulouse – 30.5.45
Darling,
‘Get out, and come back’ is exactly what I’m doing. I shall leave here by car on Friday (1st June) and I hope to leave Paris on Monday …
I shall have to see the Marines, as presumably I revert to R.M. uniform (captain) on July 1st: I don’t expect they want me. It would be a bore to be sent to the Pacific – but convenient to get a job in Marine HQ in London (most improbable).
We cannot afford to gallivant; but we must have our reunion in comfort (possibly at the Mayfair, where I left my trunk) …
I feel like giving the future a square look in the eye with you; an intimidating look. The wolf has been at my door before, but this time he is going to get a surprising reception …
Darling, I adore you! Facing disaster with you is exhilarating. Let’s make an end of disaster.
E.
Eric’s suspicion that the Royal Marines no longer required his services was correct.
Boskenna – 30.5.45
Colonel P. and I are looking forward to tomorrow when Bill Blackwood and Pauline leave – having a great craving to be free of visitors! Pauline has applied herself assiduously to the consolation of Bill, but I find she bores me …
I am being turned into a bureau for the search of lost prisoners of war by various anxious parents in the village. And there it is. I write for them to the Air Ministry, the Red Cross and to Alec. None of it’s any use of course, as all the men were last heard of being liberated by the Russians – only to be thoroughly lost immediately afterwards. How infinitely better in these cases if they had methodical German minds. They are pathetically trusting people and I writhe at the empty words of solace I find myself giving out. One of them said, ‘We parents feel it very hard that the R.A.F. have flown Lord Haw Hawfn76 back and not our boy’ …
The fathers are goaded by the mothers, all of which are having the change of life, to goad me. The fathers don’t fuss as they go to the pub and let off steam and in take beer but it’s not the thing for the mothers to go, so they let off steam at me.
I know I can do no good but am too cowardly to say so – it means votes for Alec, but I’m not altogether sure I approve of that either …
I am very sure I love you though.
M.
Boskenna – 31.5.45
Pauline got very drunk last night, boringly so … I am reading Thomas Mann, weeding the garden, keeping house and keeping sober and feeling well, in fact treading water until you come back. Ernest can now feed himself, and Toby has worn a false plasticine nose since the circus – but there is nothing new. Colonel P. a propos the visitors – ‘What Devils!’ We are gradually whittling them down …
One th
ing about the visitors which startles me is that they toss the newspapers aside exclaiming ‘How boring the papers are now, nothing in them at all’. I find them absorbing and it takes me all my time to get the faintest grasp of Polish, Trieste and Syrian crises apart from anything else.
Boskenna – 1.6.45
Delighted with your long letter of the 27th, pleased by the departure of the last visitor and contented with a bottle of claret produced by Colonel P. in celebration of our emptied house …
I want to go to Provence with you. I loved Arles which I saw in September in a lemon yellow haze of heat after a long hot summer. I loved Les Beaux, unspoilt compared with Carcassonne, I swam in the river at Pont du Garde [correctly ‘Gard’] instead of looking at the Roman Aqueduct and I loved Nîmes best of all. I went with John Pollock and the Macartneys in 1935 – we ate a lot of grapes.fn77 I want to go again. I have a water colour of Edwin John’s by my bed of a bit of country near Les Beaux. I remember disappointment at missing a bullfight at Arles I think, and being caught by a shocked Cook’s Tour declaiming on the stage of one of the Roman theatres for John who, being an architect, was interested in the acoustics …
A propos finance – to add to your impressive capital, don’t you get £100 or £50 from a grateful King and Country on leaving the Marines? And you owe me £60 not £80. I have £140 most of it to be spent on trimming the house when I find it, it won’t go far either. But it worries me not at all.
Today Romie and I lunched at Mrs Grant’s to meet the last girl friend of her generation, a Miss Dennison who is attractive with lazy drooping lids. We ate delicious turbot cooked in butter with herbs and cider and chocolate soufflé with lavish cream (I mimic your menus) and drank and laughed a lot. Afterwards I took Romie to Mousehole where we had tea with Jenny Heber-Percyfn78 who is thirty-three and her lover who is twenty-one. He had a badly scratched nose and she two black eyes. Their conversation was of no interest and I left very soon. The children had been to the Corpus Christi Fair and returned satiated with roundabouts and ice cream, having seen a lion (asleep) and had a lot of fun with Alice’s false teeth in the salle des glaces.fn79