Forbidden to undertake work of any kind, including journalism, Arthur contented himself with putting his literary talents to use in humorous letters to Vera and Pamela, describing his daily regime at the castle and the treatments to which he was being subjected. For example, in a letter to Pamela dated simply ‘Wednesday morning’, he details his experience of a ‘douche massage’ as follows:
A small rotund Welsh nurse convoyed me along the corridor to the lift – rather like a fussy little tugboat pulling along a somnolent but huge tramp steamer. Then down we went to the lower or bath regions, where she installed me in a heated chamber with orders to take off jamas and array myself in a huge bath towel … This done, a cadaverous individual named Meredith, clad solely in a towel girt round his loins, came in and invited me to follow him into a chamber that dripped with water everywhere.
I then lay, stark and supine, upon a drippy couch, and over me was a long tube from which streams of warm water jetted out at intervals upon my helpless person. Note – it tickled.
From that moment for ½ hour Meredith prodded, punched, kneaded, and slapped me all over from chin to big toe both sides. The finishing touch was a fierce hosing down as I stood in a corner.
After a swift rub down to take off all the actual wet I was enveloped in a huge warm towel and sent back to the warm room. There the Welsh roly-poly told me to lie on a warm couch, and then she swathed me from head to foot in 6 warm blankets. She then left me like a helpless cocoon for a 15 minute sweat.
This over she came at 5 minute intervals to take off one blanket so that I cooled gradually. Eventually, done to a turn, and rosy all over, I returned to my room for dinner in bed. My nurse said I looked lovely, just like a Glaxo* baby, and that I was to be allowed 2 plums for pudding as a reward for good conduct.
In another letter Arthur explained how all the patients at Ruthin Castle were put firmly in their place by the sympathetic yet formidable matron in charge. In particular he described what might typically take place during one of the main features of the day, afternoon tea:
This is a nursery tea around a big table, presided over by Matron, who is ancient, white-haired, 1066 and all that, and verra verra Scottish. She is, however, very nice, although she calls every one of her huge tea party of 20 people, dear. And in a sugary voice. Presumably this is a Scottish custom that has stood the test of time, but it is amusing to watch the reaction of newcomers to it. You know, some fat old tycoon of a business man, much worse for wear than your Pop, the sort of bloke that has a whisky throat, a port wine nose, a belly like a porpoise, a wife somewhere and a blonde somewhere else … He may be a hell of a gun at home and in his office and his club, but you should see his face blench when first he hears Matron address him in front of the crowd, ‘Ay now, dear, will ye no have a scone. They’re nice, dear.’ I tell you, after that he is wax in the hands of his nurse …
Very soon Arthur Street became known as ‘Uncle Arthur of the South Wing’, and a familiar sight in the neighbouring countryside:
I keep pretty cheerful, my billiards is improving, and I am fast becoming a feature of the surrounding roads and lanes and footpaths. You know – that old gentleman from the Castle who always carries a shooting stick. Ye gods – what a fall was there!
In between such descriptions of his life Arthur also commented on how remote life at the castle seemed from what was currently going on elsewhere in the world: ‘Up here you wouldn’t know there was a war on – we hardly ever see or hear an aeroplane, and a soldier is a rarity.’ Arthur’s letters to Pamela never failed to include a few words of praise and encouragement. At one point, comparing their current circumstances, he wrote: ‘your O.C.T.U. sounds much more trying, and I do congratulate you on getting through thus far so nobly.’
One can well imagine how frightened, frustrated and impotent the workaholic Arthur Street must have felt during his stay at Ruthin, but his letters to Pamela betray none of these emotions. On the contrary, he made out that he was having the time of his life and enjoying his enforced idleness. His letters clearly reassured Pamela that her father was in fine spirits, making good progress, and not in any obvious danger. As her course progressed, her main concern was whether her work was up to the mark. In one letter home she describes the official reaction to her attempts at lecturing:
I got through my lecturette this morning. It might have been worse. The criticism from Miss Malden afterwards was that I had a very friendly manner. She almost thought we were sitting round a dinner table rather than me lecturing or something like that – but my voice was too small & I would have to louden it …
Eventually assessment time arrived, and Pamela’s anxiety was at its peak, as can be seen from a letter she wrote to her mother whilst waiting for – and then receiving – her results:
Oh dear one girl has come out & been told she isn’t confident enough & she’s ten times more so than me – oh dear this is terrible waiting …
Well it is over. I think very fair on the whole. My Cy [Company] Commander said my work was good, she had every confidence I would deal very fairly & sympathetically with anyone under me but I must cultivate a firmer manner & have a bit more self-confidence. She said not to ‘push’ not that she thought I ever could but must be confident in myself so that others would have confidence in me …
Then at the very end of the course Pamela wrote to Vera Street:
We all saw our reports today! They were frightfully complimentary on the whole. I cannot remember for certain but I think it was:
‘She has made good progress all round during the course. Has a methodical brain with attention to detail (Ha!). She is essentially loyal and should do well in a company.’
Well I could scream with laughter over the methodical bit – they should see me sometimes & look in my barrack box, but I was awfully pleased with the ‘essentially loyal’ bit.
Up in Ruthin Castle, having read about these reports, Arthur wrote to Vera Street: ‘Your news of Pam is excellent, and I am so glad that she must now realize that she has some worthwhile qualities that are recognized by others.’
Despite all her misgivings, Pamela had succeeded, receiving congratulatory telegrams on 7 November both from her father in Ruthin and from her mother back at Ditchampton Farm; these read, respectively: ‘CONGRATULATIONS AND GOOD LUCK = DADDY’ and ‘HEARTIEST CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR PREFERMENT TO HIGHER ESTATE LOVE AND KISSES = HOMEGUARD’. The next step was the Passing Out Parade. It was customary for family members and friends to attend such an important symbolic ceremony, but obviously Arthur Street, to his chagrin, could not do so. He hoped and expected Vera Street would make the journey, and wrote to her encouraging her to do so. Shortly beforehand, however, the delicate Vera went down with a heavy flu-like cold, and her attendance became uncertain. Pamela, writing to her mother a few days in advance of the ceremony, was at her most solicitous and understanding. Having given Vera detailed suggestions as to how and when to get to Windsor and where her mother might eat and stay, she went on to insist:
Please don’t come if you’ve still got a beastly cold & don’t feel like it because it really wouldn’t be worth it – so don’t feel you’ve got to drag yourself here on my account will you? I shan’t mind at all & would only be worried if you tried to make it under those circumstances.
In the event Vera Street did indeed feel too ill to make the journey, a considerable blow not just for Pamela but also for Arthur, who on 16 November wrote to his wife as follows: ‘Darling, You are an unfortunate person. I know that you and Pam will be very disappointed that you can’t go up to her P. out, but from all up here I can only say that you know best.’ The letter ends with a postscript revealing once again Arthur Street’s pride in his daughter’s achievement: ‘Please tell Pam how much I’ve appreciated her letters – one came yesterday – and also how proud and glad I am that she has done so well, for I realize that it did not come easy to her.’
From family correspondence it seems that one person who did eventually attend Pa
mela’s passing out parade was a certain ‘Mary B’, Arthur’s literary agent who had become a personal friend. The Streets evidently considered it politic to ask her to take their place by way of a thank you, for she had recently pulled off something of a coup in selling the film rights of Arthur’s novel, Strawberry Roan, which was due to be filmed the following summer. Arthur had previously given his daughter the film rights of some of his books, including Strawberry Roan, and Pamela now found herself in possession of a sizeable cheque. She evidently asked her father how best to invest such a considerable – in her eyes – sum of money. Arthur’s answer is revealing as to how he and his contemporaries viewed Britain’s financial prospects once the war had ended:
I don’t know what to tell you to invest your money in at the moment, but I’ll dig into possibilities when I get home. If you want dull safety and a poor return Defence Bonds might suit; if you would gamble mildly you might try industrials. You see when the war is over I can’t see a £100 Defence Bond that only brings in £3 per annum being worth much more than £60 although it will cost you £100 to buy today. On the other hand when goods become available won’t everybody be buying clothes, and every woman curtains and linens. If so, surely shares in shops like Harrods, Pontings etc ought to go up as those businesses must flourish after the war. Again you might care to invest a hundred or two in motor shares for everybody’ll want a car, or even in aircraft as many will want private planes, and passenger air travel must boom.
Once Pamela had received her ‘pip’ she came home on leave whilst her first posting was being decided. She had been expecting to be sent to Torquay, but at the last minute was sent to Hilsea College on the edge of Portsmouth. Her stay there was short-lived, for within a week the ATS section was evacuated to make way for American servicemen. Probably on account of her experience of doing the pay at Ditchampton Farm as well as her officer training, Pamela found herself immediately chosen from the new intake of junior officers to undertake what seemed to her an awesome responsibility. In a letter to her father at Ruthin Castle she described her first few days as an ATS officer as follows:
Well I’m still alive but I’m not sure if I’m me or not. Pop, you can have no idea. Every so often I look at my pip & wonder if they knew what they were doing when they gave it to me. I arrived in Hilsea on Monday night – the officers (5) are all v. nice but didn’t seem to do much so I wandered about vaguely & got used to being called Ma’am which gave me an awful jolt …
At the moment you’ll never guess where I am. I was sent this morning to Gosport to take Pay Parade for an isolated platoon here & am staying the night. Together with £50* I started off clutching my suitcase for dear life and hoping my guardian angels would look after me … I had to come by ferry and feared I would drop the £50 in the deep blue sea. When I arrived at 11.00 and counted my money etc the C.O. rang up and was on the phone ages to the Sergeant about some form or another which made us ¼ hr late starting Parade & then suddenly the sergeant began to faint but didn’t quite but I had to fly round for water etc. She revived in time and said she was all right & we started off … This afternoon we finished pay and according to the Sergeant are 6d up – I am praying that’s right as I have sent off the Acquittance Rolls & feel something is bound to be more wrong …
During her short stay at Gosport, Pamela evidently found fraternising with male officers rather than with her female colleagues altogether more congenial. In a letter to her mother she says:
I messed with the men officers’ mess & the colonel was all very jolly and what do you know sort of thing & we got on fine. How I wish I felt so at home in the A.T.S. officers’ mess as I do in a man’s. It is shocking, isn’t it?
Following the evacuation of Hilsea College, Pamela and her fellow new officers were posted to nearby Cosham. Their accommodation was a somewhat spread out series of houses referred to by Pamela as ‘villas’; certainly the term lacks today’s more luxurious connotations, for she went on to describe them as ‘rather sordid somehow’. Four of the five newly commissioned officers in Pamela’s ‘villa’ were due to be posted elsewhere, and on account of her father’s illness Pamela immediately put in for a compassionate posting in order to be within striking distance of Ditchampton Farm if needed. Winchester was her first choice, being on a direct rail line to Salisbury, and her hopes were raised by a visit from the adjutant at the ATS base there: ‘Today the Adjutant came from Winchester & the C.O. asked me how compassionate my posting had to be so I told her I didn’t want to go on the doorstep but should be within reach.’ An even more pressing reason why Winchester was a more attractive prospect was that Holden Bowler was due to be posted there, as Pamela intimated in a letter to her mother, all the while trying to make the best of her current situation: ‘One thing is the air is bracing I think because I always feel better in a bracing place & I really do think this is. I try and cheer myself up by saying Winchester is damp but it would have been more fun especially if Holden was there!’ Unfortunately for Pamela, however, her new commanding officer procrastinated endlessly about her compassionate posting, and Winchester became more and more unlikely. Evidently impressed by her new junior officer’s conscientiousness, she appeared to do everything in her power to persuade Pamela to stay put, heaping more and more responsibilities onto her, as she went on to complain in a letter to her mother:
I do hope you aren’t terribly disappointed about Winchester not coming off … As far as I can see now I’m a fixture … If only I’d been a bit more pushing I’d have got Winchester. I’m blessed if I know why I’m so accommodating & conscientious. Now I’m landed with Messing and Q [quartering] and an Admin platoon I think. Today I nearly broke my heart sorting laundry for all the A.T.S. that have been posted & I just couldn’t get it done & tied up so I came away and left it & the Sergeant says she’ll help tomorrow. I must say the N.C.O.s are wonderful & will do anything for you …
In Pamela’s next letter home she once again reveals her resentment at her commanding officer’s attitude:
I realise she just wants to keep me & I don’t think she has any right to, being up for a comp posting and she makes more use of me so that t’other officers say I’m not to be so willing or I’ll get worn out … D’you know Mummy the whole army’s a wangle it seems – all they talk about is where they are going etc & trying for different jobs so I’m blessed if I want to stay here & be the C.O.’s stooge which I’m fast becoming …
I am struggling with messing & Q and how. I went through the whole store with the 50 yr old sergeant yesterday and none of her books tally & the C.O. says she is famous for hoarding & is going to take her off rations, so that is another little job for Pamela. Drat …
The quarters for some of the girls are awful and make me so depressed & sorry for them. I went & paid a personal visit to a Lieut in the R.E.s [Royal Engineers] to see if something could be done & he was very nice about it and said all he wanted was the A.T.S. cooperation as usually they gave him none. However in spite of my valiant efforts no workmen have arrived and the sergeant-major says ‘they’ll break their legs if something isn’t done about those steps soon’.
Pamela goes on to describe how she and her fellow officers were being looked after in their own quarters:
Oh Mummy you would laugh. We have 3 privates looking after our house (villa) & cooking for 5 of us & about 4 sergeants & themselves & they hate the work and they try & get out of cleaning our buttons and I’ve been lucky to get my shoes done the last week. The other officers grumble like hell and say the food’s awful but I think it is wonderful compared to O.C.T.U. The cook however is very dumb & hates the world so we are really all quite frightened of going in the kitchen.
Pamela’s letter ends with a rather telling assumption that she and David would set up house together after the war: ‘Don’t let me & David ever live in a villa. I want a flat.’
It was almost inevitable that, given Pamela’s increasingly demanding workload, she soon went down with a heavy cold, and found herself laid
up in bed. Fortunately she got on well with the company’s medical officer – a sympathetic Scot – who was summoned to examine her, as she later told her mother:
Capt. Rossiter (M.O.) came in at six and was perfectly sweet & I have quite taken to him and he said, ‘Well lass, why don’t you get into bed like a Christian?’ So I did & he has given me some jollop & I am to stay here until he comes this afternoon. The C.O. fussed round this morning & lent me her mittens & couldn’t do enough for her blue-eyed baby – the wretch …
It seems that Pamela’s conscientious, considerate manner was appreciated not only by her superiors but also by her subordinates, for her letter continues:
I have completely thawed out the kitchen staff & nothing is too much trouble for them. They pop up every so often & say ‘Would you like a hot drink ma’am?’ and light my fire and are kindness itself. Treat people like humans I say and they’ll do anything for you. One of them said yesterday (the fierce one who we are all frightened of) ‘I don’t like to think anyone’s in bed and no one doing little things for them’ …
One welcome piece of news to reach Pamela during this period was that Arthur Street had made such good progress at Ruthin Castle that he was to be allowed home in time for Christmas – far earlier than had originally been planned – with orders to stay on the Ruthin regime of no work and strict diet for a further six weeks. In a letter dated 7 December he confirmed the good news to Pamela as follows:
Farming, Fighting and Family Page 27