A Very Private Eye: The Diaries, Letters and Notebooks of Barbara Pym

by Barbara Pym

  Throughout her illness she had maintained a cheerful stoicism, very down-to-earth and practical, never self-pitying. She was sustained, certainly, by her strong faith and still able, as she had been throughout her life, to draw comfort from small pleasures and ironies, and this is, perhaps, the greatest gift she has bequeathed to all who read her. H.H.

  1977–1979

  22 January. In the Times Literary Supplement of January 21st I was cited as ‘an under-rated novelist’ by Philip Larkin and Lord David Cecil. Paul Binding and Philip rang me up on Friday night to tell me. Then on Saturday it was referred to in The Times and my name appeared on the front page. Cape apparently said they ‘might consider a reprint’. (That’ll be the frosty Friday!) Saturday afternoon at 5 o’clock Sarah Fuller from Radio Oxford came and I gave a little interview. During the week letters from kind friends but no agent or publisher approaching.

  To Philip Larkin

  Barn Cottage

  30 January 1977

  Dear Philip,

  Thank you so much for sending me The Times cutting – I had already seen it as we take that paper (I had wanted the Telegraph, but now Hilary’s choice is justified!) but I’m very glad to have another copy to send or give to people. Funny Cape’s ‘might consider…’. I can imagine some minion being phoned up on a Friday evening when everyone else had gone home! A pity they had already rejected Four Point Turn. Of course I haven’t had a word from them.

  I am struggling to get that novel into a fit state to send to Macmillan (as Pamela Hansford Johnson recommended) but I have no very high hopes. It is not the same person [James Wright] there that you once gave me an introduction to, who wrote very kindly about my work but thought it not a commercial proposition. I now rather regret having gone so far with this last one but perhaps we can’t help ourselves. I am really better at making marmalade (very successful this week!) and doing patchwork.

  A nice girl from Radio Oxford came and asked me a few questions and this was broadcast in the early morning programme on Monday. And somebody who had just been rereading A Glass of Blessings, heard this and wrote me a v. nice letter, so you and Lord David have certainly done a lot for my morale (if that’s the right word).

  Romantic novel reading is now finished so I can read what I like. I had the letters of Sylvia Plath from the Library. How is she regarded as a poet? I was amazed at what a simple ordinary sort of girl she seemed to be, writing about clothes and hair-dos and boy friends. I must say it put me against Ted Hughes but maybe there was something to be said for him. You probably know him? Then perhaps I shall reread that not overrated novelist A. Powell. Or perhaps not read at all, except for the odd Larkin poem, and The Times obituaries?

  Excuse a short letter. I just wanted to thank you again.

  Best regards,

  Barbara

  5 February. Tomorrow is Septuagesima. The question is do we have flowers in the church? Perhaps a few evergreens, but one would have thought not daffodils etc. Suppose somebody had given unsuitable flowers and hothouse plants? Some titled person.

  7 February. The novel (Last Quartet) has arrived at Macmillan and the girl who acknowledges it addresses me as Mrs Pym. This puts me into a different category altogether.

  To Bob Smith in Ibadan

  Barn Cottage

  8 February 1977

  Dearest Bob,

  I don’t know whether you will have seen the TLS of 21st January in which various people were asked to list authors whose works they considered under – or over-rated. And Miss Pym was named twice as under-rated both by Philip Larkin and Lord David Cecil – and there was no collusion, as Philip afterwards told me!

  Quite a lot of people rang up and wrote but of course Cape has been totally silent. Having just rejected my last novel what could they say, indeed? Anyway that same novel is now with Macmillan. I am not ‘overly’ hopeful but I did make it a bit longer as Hamish Hamilton had suggested. Difficult to pad things out, though. I made two more chapters – Edwin going to a memorial service and the three of them, with Father G, having lunch after Marcia’s funeral at the crematorium. Then I added a few more ‘bits’, remembering that you had wanted more of Norman, I described his Christmas in more detail and the first morning of his holiday, though I did not dare penetrate too far into the bedsitter. (Didn’t they say that Jane Austen never has two men talking alone together in her novels? I’m afraid I have been bolder than that). But don’t let us forget that you were the first person to write an article about Miss Pym.

  Life in 1977. Concorde, costing I don’t know how many millions, flies over our heads, clearly visible from our cottage window, while the road outside is as full of potholes as in the 16th century.

  Much love,

  Barbara

  ‘Rethink Motorways’, ‘Save Bath’ (which I had read as ‘Save Bathwater’, referring to the drought last Summer). And now we see that there are some people who always have a Save Something sticker on their car. Save Me – a man might say, who wakes up in the watches of the night and thinks of death.

  10 February. Letter from Tom Maschler!

  14 February. No Valentines but during the morning as I sat at the sewing machine, Alan Maclean rang from Macmillan saying that they would love to publish the novel. Can hardly believe it can be true but he said he would confirm by letter (with 8½p stamp).

  To Philip Larkin

  Barn Cottage

  21 February 1977

  Dear Philip,

  I haven’t dared to write to anyone until I actually saw it in print, though Alan Maclean rang me up last week to tell me that Macmillan would like to publish Last Quartet! But now I have the letter before me, and it seems from this that you know (perhaps?), so this is just to say my inadequate thanks.… If it hadn’t been for you, and sending it to Pamela H.J.… not to mention all those years of encouragement. What can I say that would be at all appropriate? I hope anyway (12.10) that you will be having a good lunchtime drink. We are about to have one – poor Hilary has a bad cold so hers will be whisky – mine sherry.

  Alan Maclean said you had promised to send him your TLS piece – I do hope it hasn’t been too grinding a chore – and that it or some of it might be used as a foreword if suitable. He says they will publish in October.

  Of course the whole business of the TLS ‘tribute’ has meant that, for the first time ever, Tom Maschler of Cape has written to me! He says they intend to reissue some of the novels, though they haven’t decided which ones, and he also enquired tentatively about Four Point Turn (as it was then called) which Cape rejected in July. I don’t suppose for a moment that he has ever read anything of mine. I find it rather difficult to compose polite non-committal sort of letters to him, not of course revealing that I know about the rather unkind crack of the writer in that Bookseller article you sent me.

  We have had practically continuous rain for the last few days, but spring is on the way with bulbs coming up in the garden and things beginning to sprout. And I have been spreading horse manure (‘gift’ from kind neighbour) over the place where we might grow some vegetables.

  Last week we had a terrible meeting to decide what (if anything) Finstock is going to do for the jubilee. I suppose similar meetings have been taking place all over the country in dark village and parish halls, with the same jumble of ideas. I sometimes amuse myself by trying to guess what sort of poem (or hymn) you would have written if you had been Laureate instead of Betjeman! Jake Balokowsky, biographer – an impossible task for poor Betjeman because (presumably) you have to produce something that will be understood and appreciated by the great mass of loyal subjects who care nothing for literature – as well as being criticised in the quality papers.

  Have you been following The Times correspondence about Keats and Claret? Rather pleasing, I thought. I suppose the beaded bubbles might have been something like Mateus rosé, unless it was just poetic fancy, and obviously a much darker-looking wine.

  Thank you again!

  Very best wishes,
>
  Barbara

  3 March. A lovely sunny day to go and see my new publishers, Macmillan. I was put to wait in the what-would-you-call-it, foyer, waiting room, reception – fresh daffodils and books and girls making lunch dates with each other. Alan Maclean is rather tall and elegant-looking, James Wright is smaller, with dark, curly hair (cut by his wife).

  To Philip Larkin

  Barn Cottage

  4 March 1977

  Dear Philip,

  Thank you so much for your champagne-jumble letter. Isn’t it splendid the way good news, when you’re older, sends one to the drink of some kind – even if not M. et Ch. at least a glass of something extra! (When I was much younger unrequited love caused me to buy and eat halfpound slabs of Cadbury’s coffee-milk chocolate. A good thing one’s tastes change!)

  Of course what I really wanted to know was, what kind of jumble. I dare say you’d have some old books from that Library of yours?

  Yesterday I met and had lunch with my new publisher(s) – Alan Maclean and James Wright from Macmillans. They both seem to like my book and so of course I found them totally sympathetic and congenial! It was nice for me revisiting a part of London I know so well, having worked in that area from 1953 to 1972. After lunch I had a wander into Fetter Lane and gazed briefly at the spot where my old office stood, now occupied by a hideous office block advertising space to let in it. I even knew the restaurant at the bottom of Chancery Lane where we sat and discussed titles. They like Quartet in Autumn – a sort of compromise or mixture of various ideas – what do you think?

  Of course the TLS article will be a pleasant surprise and I will see it however you prefer – certainly wouldn’t want to see it in proof. Only let me know when it is coming out so that I can tell Hazel and others. Somebody did write and ask for a photograph but I don’t know if they’ll include one as I hadn’t anything very suitable – two snapshots and another, with a rather worried but innocent expression. I suppose I ought to have some more taken when the book (Q. in A?) comes out but I hate being done.

  Caroline Moorehead from The Times has asked if she can come and see me. Hilary says we must clean the windows! Do you have a window cleaner in Hull?

  I feel this letter is being rather incoherent, but I can still hardly believe it has all happened. One of the funniest things has been the reaction of Tom Maschler in Cape who has been writing me some quite cordial letters and I gather that he and Alan Maclean have spoken about me on the telephone. Hilary and I invented a Maschler pudding – a kind of milk jelly. Which brings me on to say that you would be most welcome to come here any time to lunch or whatever – perhaps a choice of puddings ought to be provided – nothing milky for a librarian. And why was/ is there that delay in getting cards into the catalogue? Did you solve the problem?

  Very best wishes,

  Yours ever,

  Barbara

  18 March. Went to see Dr S today. He is kind and efficient but so brisk that one wonders if one had a psychological problem how much time he would be able to give it. In this connection – the doctor’s surgery is crowded but the vicar’s study is empty. And there could be a sort of rivalry between them when it comes to dealing with life’s difficulties.

  To Philip Larkin

  Barn Cottage

  14 April 1977

  Dear Philip,

  No proofs yet or other news at the moment though James Wright says they hope to get finished copies at end of July and to publish in September. Now, having no complete copy of the book with me I feel I could have made it much better – will it seem very thin and meagre in print? Anyway, not to worry, as they say. Did you notice, by the way, that there was a little tiny Larkin quote at one point, where Marcia is in the ambulance [‘Unreachable inside a room’]? I never asked the author’s permission! I felt in some superstitious way it might bring me luck, as indeed it did. Thank you again!

  As that was intended to be the last thing I ever wrote I hadn’t got anything else in mind, though I have always wanted to write something vaguely about this place and its environs and I have now started to think and make a few notes and bits. There is so much rich material, of course, if only I could do it! Now Macmillan want to see the one about Leonora and James which James Wright saw and liked in 1970 (by coincidence) so perhaps they will take that.

  Hilary and I sat up late one evening (bathed and in our nightwear) hoping to see C. Isherwood on Tonight but all we got was the Stetchford by-election. I suppose it served us right. One gets very tired of all this publicity by the ‘media’ when a book comes out. I have not watched Roots either, only seen cruel, horrible trailers.

  Do be careful that when you go to the Hull Jazz Record Soc. Eamonn Andrews doesn’t pop up and get you for This is Your Life! But we shall see you before that date so can give more practical advice and warning. I look forward very much to seeing you.

  All good wishes,

  Barbara

  15 April. Went into Witney on the bus – excessive exuberance of daffodils in Ramsden. Who is that woman sitting on the concrete wall outside Barclay’s Bank reading the TV Times? That is Miss Pym the novelist.

  23 April. Philip Larkin to lunch. We had sherry and then the wine (burgundy) Bob gave me for Christmas (was this rather insensitive to Bob?). We ate kipper paté, then veal done with peppers and tomatoes, pommes Anna and celery & cheese (he didn’t eat any Brie and we thought perhaps he only likes plain food). He’s shy but very responsive and jokey. Hilary took our photo together and he left about 3.30 in his large Rover car (pale tobacco brown).

  24 April. ‘Dialogue service’in church with Mr M. (from Ramsden) explaining the service to the children (of which there weren’t all that many). He looked like a driving examiner with his clipboard. Said we were invited to a ‘meal’ and we had a picture of sliced loaves and fish fingers. He did quite well apart from that.

  To Philip Larkin

  Barn Cottage

  5 May 1977

  Dear Philip,

  Many thanks for your nice (All Souls) letter. We did enjoy seeing you and I only wish it could happen more often. Perhaps it can now that you know the way from Oxford. (Or do you? I very much hope you didn’t really get lost – it is a pretty tortuous way but the one we always go. Then it occurred to me that you might be a motorway man – or your car might be!)

  I had meant to write sooner but I have been expecting those photographs every day but they still haven’t come, so I feel that if I write and post a letter to you they will arrive the day after. I called in the last time I was in Oxford but didn’t like to bully the nice middle-aged ladies. I can’t suddenly start developing a sense of urgency in my old age!

  My proofs have come and I have corrected them and sent them back yesterday – those rather nasty greyish computer-set sheets which took me back to I.A.I. days, when latterly we had our books done like that. The novel reads quite well in parts – rather short, and of course it could have been so much better – Hilary was enthusiastic as she was reading it for the first time and helped me with the proofs. Then this morning James Wright rang and apparently both he and Alan Maclean like The Sweet Dove Died so it looks as if that will be published too. I don’t remember if you saw it in its final form – perhaps you will now!

  I meant to ask you about Samuel Beckett but of course I don’t suppose you saw the plays that Sunday night on the telly. I fell asleep in one which made me ask myself if these Irishmen aren’t making fools of us!

  I’ve been reading the diaries of Evelyn Waugh – what a lot he drank, though he often felt ill after it or was even sick. The book is too big to read in bed which is a pity. As for fiction (usually of a size to read in bed) I haven’t found anything very good lately. Seeing all the reviews of these sexy American female novelists it makes me wonder if anyone will review mine! I suppose I can’t expect that Lorna Sage or Jacky Gillott will notice it – I suppose it rather depends what else is available at the time. I don’t really mind, though of course one would hope for one good review in one
quality paper.

  All good wishes,

  Yours ever,

  Barbara

  10 May. The contract for The Sweet Dove Died came from Macmillan and James Wright and I are James and Barbara to each other. Ghastly PCC meeting in the evening. I must have an organist in my next novel, being paid in bottles of sherry left at his back door. ‘ The opportunity to play a remarkably fine instrument’.

  18 May. Dorset. Stopped for tea in Sturminster Newton and went into the church. We admired all the hassocks and kneeling cushions, hand-embroidered with flower motifs in tapestry. A woman with a slight foreign accent (perhaps the vicar’s wife, met all that time ago on a walking tour in Switzerland?) showed us round and explained about the embroideries but did not comment on any other aspect of the church.

  19 May. Tea with Lord David Cecil. A comfortable, agreeable room with green walls and some nice portraits. They are so easy to talk to, the time flew. We had Lapsang tea, brown toast, redcurrant jelly and ginger cake. He told me he had been inspired to write after reading Lytton Strachey’s Eminent Victorians (just as I had been inspired by Crome Yellow). He said that Anthony Powell and I were the only novelists he would buy without reading first. A.P. was his fag at Eton. Lord D. said he thought comedy in the novel was out of fashion now – not well thought of – we agreed on this.

  20 May. Seeing a handsome Dorset woman at a petrol pump I thought a Hardy heroine of today might well follow such an Occupation. Tess for instance.

  To Philip Larkin

  Barn Cottage

  22 May 1977

  Dear Philip,