Your loving
Elizabeth
Tuesday 22 May 1917 to Beryl Poignand
20 St James’s Square
Ma Chere Medusa,
I’m quite and absolutely stark, staring, raving mad. Do you know why? Can’st thou e’en guess? I don’t believe you can!
AM I MAD WITH MISERY OR WITH JOY??
WITH
!
!! JOY!!
!
Mike is quite safe! Oh dear,
I nearly, nearly burst this morning, We had a telephone message from Cox’s [Bank] to say they’d received a cheque from Mike this morning, so we rushed round, and it was in his own handwriting, & they think he’s at Carlsruhe. Is’nt it too, too heavenly. I can’t believe it, yes I can but you know what I mean, & how awful the last 3 weeks have been.
Yours madly, Elizabeth.
9 October 1917 to Beryl Poignand
Glamis Castle
My dear Medusa
Thank you so very much for your nice ‘scrappy’ letter. I was so glad to get it. How exciting about your War Office job, I am so glad it’s near us, and I do hope you’ll like it. How beastly the air raids must be.
We’ve had such an excitement here! The Forfar ‘boys’ came to tea last Thursday, and ours gave them a concert! I got back from Carberry on the Wednesday, & was met at Tay Bridge Station by Wright & Morris, the two angelic & darling regulars. I do love them – you would too. Morris is a second Twinkley in a way. That evening we had the ‘dress rehearsal’ in the drawing room. Mother was accompanist, and the performers numbered 5. They came in at the door leading to the billiard room, & sang at that end of the room. Of course they were dressed up, & made up. It was too priceless & really excellent. About a dozen songs, including a frightfully funny thing of ‘Annie Laurie’. They all five come on and sing Annie L. When they get to the middle, Wright goes wrong. ‘Hi stop, stop, you’re wrong.’ Then to Holley, ‘You’re out of it’. ‘ ‘Oo? Me?’ ‘Yes, you’re out of it.’ ‘Alright, sing it yourself then’. And Holley departs. They start again. At the same place Wright goes wrong & the whole thing is done over again – till he is left alone to sing it. Then comes the supreme joke of the concert!! He goes wrong again, and this time it’s Mother that’s ‘out of it’! Yells & roars of laughter. Mother also says – ‘sing it yourself then’ & goes ‘off’. He sings again, & has just got started when Morris comes ‘on’. ‘The stage manager wants to see you’ – & that’s the end of the song. My goodness, what a success it was. […]
We sing every evening nearly, even me too!!! Mother plays, & we go through dozens of songs. Last night was Wright’s last night, he went this morning. We shall miss him dreadfully, he is too darling. When I was saying goodbye, he said ‘I’ll write’. So I remarked what a lot said that & didn’t. So, very seriously he said, ‘I take an oath I will’. We are all great friends – it’s like old days! Waring has black eyes, ‘ooo and they do glitter, it’s quite awful! I amused them most immensely yesterday evening, by singing ‘Wonderful Girl, Wonderful Boy, Wonderful Time’. I cannot make out the joke, I sang the ladies’ part, & they sang the man’s! I must find out what amused them so. […]
I must stop, as the post is going – people seem to think Peace is nearer now. I do hope so.
Good bye my love, & keep safe from these air raids –
Yours very coldly
(we’ve had snow here)
Elizabeth
Sunday 21 October 1917 to Beryl Poignand
Glamis Castle
My dear Medusa
Thank you so very much for your delightful letter,
I was so pleased to get it. […]
Chapel was well attended this morning, and the hymns went very well. The men are very nice just now, only 10 of them. Yesterday afternoon, Sister, Waring & I went in to Dundee to the War Hospital to see Morris. It is a horrid place, dreary and smoky. We found Morris simply miserable. He had lost 6lb since leaving Glamis one week ago, and was looking dreadfully thin and ill. He was buried for 2 days & 1/2, his chest was crushed, and he can breathe only very badly. He is simply longing to get away. You see he’ll be discharged, (he’s had 13 years’ service, enlisted at 14) & so Mother has written to Major Young. Everybody likes Morris,* he’s so nice, and very upright & honest. He quite depressed us! We took him eggs, butter etc. […]
There is a terrific gale blowing today. There is nothing thrilling to tell you. […]
Your loving
Elizabeth
26 November 1917 to Beryl Poignand
Glamis Castle
My dear Medusa
[…]
Just back from a nerve racking and terrible experience – bidding good-bye to FOURTEEN men! It really makes me weep & a lump in my throat. I can’t bear it ever. And there is such a nice dear Sergeant whom I took a violent affection to yesterday evening, he is so nice tho’ dreadfully ugly. I begged Sister to push him downstairs or give him a blister or something. I wish I didn’t take violent affections too late – it’s always the day before they go!!! I always have to say goodbye after dinner now, because firstly they go at 7 A.M. and secondly Sister likes to show me off in evening dress, because they never have seen evening dresses which embarrasses me too dreadfully. They invariably look at my shoes, except the ones that gaze rapturously into my eyes sighing deeply all the while, which are nil, nowadays that I have my hair up etc!! Some of them are charming, but oh! the difference from Dec. 1914! I was just remembering this evening, that night when Mr Brookes, Harold Ward, Teddy, David (in pyjamas) & I had a bun fight in the crypt, and David chased Nurse A round the Ward with cocoa & water to pour, & how it all got spilt on the floor, & her black fury!! It was fun – weren’t they darlings? I have been thinking so much between these lines that it is now 10.15 & I must go to bed. […]
It’s so dreadful saying goodbye, because one knows that one will never see them again, and I hate doing it. Do you remember our goodbyes on the doorstep, & waving them all the way up the Avenue? […]
We shall come down next week I expect, I’ll let you know the date later. Goodbye from your loving but at the moment depressed –
Elizabeth
[…]
‘I remember quite well thinking when I was seventeen I could never be happy again. I mean everybody was unhappy. Because one knew so many people. Every day somebody was killed, you see. It was a real holocaust. It was horrible. I remember that feeling quite well.’
5 January 1918 to Beryl Poignand
St Paul’s Walden Bury
My Chere Medusie
How splendid about your brother’s promotion. I am glad, thousands of congratters. He’s very young isn’t he? I expect you are deeeeeelighted, m’sure. Poor overworked thing.
You must come here for a Sunday soon to recuperate. The apple house is overflowing (at the moment), so there will be something.
Mother, David & I went up to London for the night on Tuesday, but I hadn’t a moment to ring you up. It was a terrible rush. On the way from the station, we were dropped at the dressmaker, & I tried on my dress. […]
The next day, D & I were slightly en retard for breakfast! Then I rushed & had my hair washed (!) (ze leetle naturrral currrls) & rushed all over London trying to get some shoes to go with my dress. Swallowed some lunch, & just caught the 1.35!! I was a white haired wreck on reaching here. […]
Oh by the way, I had a lecture the other day from Mother & David! That I ought to be more flirtatious! I nearly died of surprise. You know I daresay I’ve got rather quiet from having all those Australians & NZ (!!!) at Glamis, as one simply must sit on them! Wasn’t it funny? And the worst of it was, Major Metcalfe came here yesterday, & I absolutely forgot to try the ‘appy ‘optic on him!! It would have been such a chance! Never mind, Captain Jebb is coming this evening to stay, tho’ I know I shall be just as mouse like when he’s here!
I did laugh. Ha Ha.
What I remember of Mr Parker* was one evening at dinner, he asked me if my birthday was betwee
n August 1st & 10th or some such dates. I said ‘yes’, & he then remarked mysteriously ‘ah, that accounts for it’. I asked him what he meant, but he refused to disclose the dread secret! However, next morning I made him tell me, and apparently he’d read some book in N.Z., about stars, & dates & calculations & things, you know the sort of book. It put all the ways of finding things, & apparently he’d worked out that ‘THE’ person for him’s birthday had to be some time between August 1st & 10th!!! Somehow, you calculated between the two birthdays. I laughed, couldn’t help it.
Well, I hope he’s found a charming gurrrrl in N.Z.! That’s the best thing for him. His Father was an Englishman. Everybody liked Mr Parker, I did too, & David did, which was a good thing. […]
I am coming up on Monday, as my dance is on Tuesday (ugh), so if you get this in time, do come in, if you can get off after tea, & have supper with me. I shall be alone as Mother isn’t coming till Tuesday. So do if you can on Monday. I expect I shall come up in the morning, so do ring up if you have a moment, & perhaps you could come to lunch too.
Must fly,
V loving
Elizabeth
9 January 1918 to Beryl Poignand
St Paul’s Walden Bury
My dear Medusa
I am writing in my bedroom to tell you about the dance, & also why I didn’t ring you up this morning. Well, I trembled all yesterday afternoon! I arrived at Lady Dorothy Wood where I was dining for the dance at about 8.15. The ladies there were – Sybil Scott (Buccleuch), Vere Smith, Margaret Sutton (whose dance it was), a ‘Wood’ girl & Lady Dorothy.
The men consisted of Mr Wood (our host),* Mr Johnson, Archie Balfour, Count de Grünne & Lord Halifax. I sat between Lord Halifax & Lord St Audries who didn’t turn up. The dance was quite close, & we arrived at a little before 10. Michael Biddulph (Adèle’s† brother) was there & I danced with him, Archie, Mr Johnson, a Mr Phillips, Mr Brocklehurst, Mr Ogilvy‡ & last but not least little Willy de Grünne.§ He dances too divinely, & is at the Embassy. I danced every single dance, & Mother came to fetch me, & we departed at about 1.30. […] I enjoyed it very much. One could only dance with such few people tho’ because the dances were so long, but I loved it, and enjoyed it fearfully. Do you know I think my dress really looked quite pretty. […] I saw Lavinia at the dance, but she had an ugly dress on, & wasn’t looking half as nice as I’ve seen her look, I was so sorry. And Delia* looked so old, but perhaps she was bored or something.
Oh! When I arrived here yesterday what do you think I found? A letter from –! Yes it was! Mr Parker! He had left England about the middle of November, & so he must have sent that story thing off himself. His letter was dated Nov 29th. He said he had not been able to get off before. The two other New Zealanders who had been at Glamis, were also on board with him, rather curious, wasn’t it? So he must have arrived in N.Z. by now. Ought I to thank him for his letter? Oh dear! it’s so muddling! I expect we shall come up next week, but I’ll let you know.
Your very loving & perplexed
Elizabeth
7 February 1918 to Beryl Poignand
20 St James’s Square
My dear Medusa
Where are you? Why do you hide away? Why don’t you ring up? Don’t be shy dearie, nobody’s looking & ‘ere’s the mistletoe.
Oh dear I am so worried. You remember I told you that we were having a tiny dance tonight, sort of to ask back people who’d asked me etc? Well, millions of people have proposed themselves & it’s grown and grown, & nearly everybody is coming. I really had no idea that the Strathmore family was so popular, it’s awful. And really, people do propose themselves rather too much I think. Well, I’m so mixed up. I can’t write but I’ll tell you all about it later. Lavinia is coming. I’ll show you the sort of thing that happened. Mother asked Delia to bring a very few people, & she is bringing ten, lots of people are doing that, so it mounts up dreadfully
Such a funny thing happened!! You remember the little Lieut I told you about? (Naval of course.) Well, he rang me up on the phone last night, & we had a I-don’t-know-how-to-describe-it talk. Poor little man, I was sorry for him. You know I’ve got a soft spot in my ‘eart for a bhoy in blue, so ‘ave you and he was so pathetic! I’ll tell you about it, if it would amuse you, when I see you. And I’ve written four pages to Mr Parker, but I simply can’t get the last bit in! I wish I could talk to him, it’s so difficult writing, & I know it will just miss him in New Zealand! If you get this tomorrow do ring up – I might be here.
These young men do worry me so, I wish they wouldn’t. Do come round & give me some more of your sage (?) advice!
David is very run down & weak, & it will be quite a long time before he goes back to Eton I expect. Dr Thomas examined me ‘eart, & said it was enlarged!! I laughed! Couldn’t help it! It sounds so funny, doesn’t it? Anyhow I’m not to do much, & I suppose I oughtn’t really to dance! Must stop, I’m all trembly inside me, oh oh – do ring up if you can. Yours full heartedly (!!) Elizabeth.
I haven’t seen you for years – do come.
PS Mother wants me to ask you this. She has promised to have a small dance for Overseas Officers next Tuesday from 8–12!! Can you come? We could put you up for the k-night. You simply must, it would be such fun. You really must come, & if you have a friend – a young nice-looking one mind, send her along too. If you know anybody who could get home at night I mean. None of these fast people, my dear Medusa who are corrupting your poor mind, but anyhow you must come – Pip Pip!!
Wednesday 13 March 1918 to Beryl Poignand
20 St James’s Square
My dear old thing
Thank you so for your amiable letter, ah, what joy! What palps the mere sight of that wonderful handwriting gives me! Etc etc.
Well, Mother & I came up yesterday, and Mother went back to St Paul’s Walden this morning, & I am going this afternoon. The reason we are going back, is, that it is Father’s birthday tomorrow, & we must be there for at least a portion of it! We are coming up again tomorrow afternoon, as Lady Portarlington’s dance is in the evening, and I shall probably stay here till Monday. We went to Lady Hastings’ dance last night, it was quite fun. […] Katie was there,* looking supremely bored, till I took her up to the top of the house, & we giggled foolishly for a few minutes, then she cheered up!! We got home just before two.
The darling [Elphinstone] children came to tea yesterday. Elizabeth has lost her front teeth, otherwise they are just the same. They were so darling. I called Elizabeth ‘Toothy’ at tea, whereupon they all burst into yells of laughter, & food was sputtered all over the place! They’ve got extraordinary senses of humour, and see jokes in the most harmless things! I am going down to Pauly with them this afternoon. I foresee a riotous journey. ‘Let’s draw’. ‘Draw me a cow Peter’.† ‘No Peter, draw me a bow wow’. You know! I am writing in bed which is horribly lazy isn’t it. It’s 11.30 so I must get up.
12.30 Just as I wrote that Catherine came up to say that Lieut. Hamilton was here. I tumbled out of bed, and was dressed in 10 minutes. I always like seeing Freddy, he cheers one up so much, because he really is ridiculous! He’s just gone, as he’s only passing through London on his way to Dover, where he is joining a new ship called the ‘Murray’.
I am going to lunch with May so I must ‘urry. When shall I see you? Do ring up. I shall be here by tea time tomorrow probably. There is very little to tell you really, so I will now draw to a close hoping this finds you as it leaves me at present in the Pink. (Pretty good, that.)
Your very loving Elizabeth
I shall be late for lunch!!
Friday 22 March 1918 to Beryl Poignand
St Paul’s Walden Bury
My dear Medusa
I don’t know why I start writing letters to you at this hour! I am in bed, & feeling tired after 2 late nights, but not sleepy! I had great fun last night at the Harcourts’. Rather a terrifying dinner first, in which I sat between the Prince of Wales* & Count Michael Torby.† It was very nice tho’. As
usual I danced the first dance with P.W., I don’t know why, but I usually do! I danced three with him, & several with my faithful friend, Victor Cochrane Baillie.‡ He is very nice, but extremely ugly poor thing. Also Gerard Brassey,§ who is very nice, & all my old friends. It was the last dance for some time, so tho’ I enjoyed it very much, I felt slightly depressed at moments. Such a lot of these boys are going out quite soon – in fact nearly everybody I know. I suppose they expect fearful casualties. They are so young, a great many only nineteen. […]
Good night and do write soon, and cheer me up for losing my young men. I do hope your brother was well. Your loving Elizabeth
23 March 1918 to Lady Strathmore
St Paul’s Walden Bury
My Darling Mother
I do hope you had a good journey up to Glamis, & arrived alright. It was a bore having to go off & I am so looking forward to your return. I expect you won’t be back till Wednesday.
I got down here alright yesterday and found the children staying awake for me. Father is very well, & so far has eaten quite well. I feel very flourishing, tho’ a tiny bit tired, & have been out all the afternoon. It has been so hot, I couldn’t wear a coat or gloves or flannel petticoat or anything warm! It is too delicious for words.
I enjoyed Lady Harcourt’s dance so much, tho’ I felt a little depressed, because it was the last dance, & I expect nearly everyone I know will be gone by the next one. […]
Counting One's Blessings Page 6