Farming, Fighting and Family

by Miranda McCormick

  This four-act play, written in 1897, is a comedy of errors and confused identities, described by one notable latter-day critic as one of Shaw’s ‘sunniest and funniest’ plays, and therefore eminently suitable for raising the morale of David’s fellow prisoners of war. It concerns a certain Mrs Clandon, who has returned to England with her three children having spent the past eighteen years in Madeira, and who has recently taken up temporary residence in an English seaside hotel. Unwittingly, the children, who have never met their father, invite him to a family luncheon. One of the leading characters is the old waiter, who dispenses kind and wise advice, such as his catchphrase ‘You never can tell’. Another leading part is that of a suave young dentist, Valentine, who falls in love with Gloria, Mrs Clandon’s eldest daughter. Gloria fancies herself as a modern woman, uninterested in such frivolities as love and marriage, which makes for a somewhat stormy courtship, though Valentine finally succeeds in winning her hand. The play ends happily all round, with Mrs Clandon becoming reconciled to her estranged husband. To play the part of Valentine was indeed something of a tall order for a young man who had never previously trodden the boards, so his anxiety was hardly surprising.

  By the end of September the play had completed its short run, seemingly successfully, as a relieved David reported to Pamela on 23 September:

  I have been very busy with my acting all this week. It is all over now though. We had a dress rehearsal & four performances, & I think I managed to get through it without making too big an ass of myself! Once I got over my nerves, which were pretty bad at first, I thoroughly enjoyed it, and it has kept me busy for a long time.

  At about this time, events of a thespian nature were also taking place back at Ditchampton Farm. By late summer the filming of Strawberry Roan, based on Arthur Street’s second book, was well under way. The two main filming locations were the little village of Wishford, a few miles south-west of Wilton along the Wylye Valley, and Compton Chamberlayne in the neighbouring Chalke Valley. Pamela later wrote in My Father, A.G. Street about her role – or non-role – in the filming process, and how exotic the production team seemed to ordinary Wiltshire folk:

  I used to hang around, hoping they might need an extra, but, as a lanky untidy young girl did not appear to be on their list of requirements, I contented myself with remaining fascinated by all the queer types, especially the camera-men with beards, who pranced about and must have badly shocked the little villages of Wishford and Compton Chamberlayne …

  Many years later, Arthur described Strawberry Roan as ‘the story of how you get your pint of milk, and all the animals and all the people who go towards its production’. The ‘heroine’ is a fine roan-coloured calf, whose life is followed from her birth until her maturity as a milk-producing cow. At different stages in her young life she is sold on to a succession of local farmers. Much of the book concerns one such, a well-to-do young bachelor called Chris Lowe. Much to the disappointment of the local mothers, Chris finally falls for and marries Molly, a spirited young dancing instructress, unlikely material for a typical farmer’s wife. The first years of their married life are idyllically happy, but as the agricultural depression intensifies, Chris realises that he has spent far too much money on his adored new bride and ends up in severe financial hardship. To add to his woes Molly succumbs to a mysterious stomach complaint, and eventually dies following a complicated operation. Much of this draws on the early part of Arthur’s own marriage, though happily Vera Street survived.

  At the time Arthur Street’s account of the physical side of Chris and Molly’s early married life was considered by some readers to be somewhat racy, scandalous even, but despite this controversy Arthur remained well pleased with this, his first, ‘proper’ novel, as he admitted to Roy Plomley in his Desert Island Discs interview. He maintained that it was an author’s second book that establishes him or her, for which reason ‘I always had a sneaking regard for that one’.

  The film was directed by Maurice Elvey, and starred Carol Raye as Molly, with Chris Lowe being played by William Hartnell, who went on to become television’s first ‘Doctor Who’. There was also a part for a new child actress, Petula Clark. The plot of the film varied from that of the book in a number of ways for dramatic effect. Molly was a chorus girl rather than a dancing instructress; Strawberry Roan was a calf given specifically to Molly to look after by her new husband, whereas in the book she was simply one of several calves being reared on Chris’s farm; in the film it was Molly’s discontent with country life and inability to settle down that caused her to spend all her husband’s money, and her death was the result of a riding accident rather than an illness. The film was to hold its trade premiere in early 1945. Arthur Street travelled up to London to view it, and seemed well satisfied with the final result; in a letter to Vera afterwards, he said:

  Well, I saw S. Roan next morning at the Rialto Cinema near Pic Circus. And it is ten times better than I expected. I don’t mean it’s a world-beating film, but the trade audience liked it, and it’s good enough to show cinema people that my stuff’s worth filming …

  Back in prison camp in Germany, David McCormick was glad to read from Pamela’s letters about the filming of Strawberry Roan. On 2 September he replied:

  I am so pleased to hear about your Dad’s book being filmed. I feel it will cheer him up a lot. I remember him telling me that he hoped ‘Strawberry Roan’ would be filmed. What company is doing it and who are the principal actors? I think you ought to be the young chap’s wife!!

  However in his next letter to Pamela, dated 23 September, perhaps guessing how the character of Molly might be portrayed, the ever-sensitive David wrote:

  By the way it is a long time since I read ‘Strawberry Roan’ so that I have rather forgotten the story. When I said you ought to take the part of the young wife I thought she was rather sweet, but thinking it over I wonder if she didn’t become rather silly, did she? Of course I didn’t mean that …

  All through his period of captivity David did his best to think up innocuous snippets of news to put in his letters home that would pass the beady eyes of the German censors. On Easter Monday 1944 he wrote of one welcome development, the reporting of which might even have pleased them:

  We have been provided with a sportsfield about 2 miles away & once a week my turn comes to walk up there on parole & wander about in comparative freedom for a whole morning or afternoon. I have been out twice & how good it feels to be out of the camp after all this time & to be able to go & lie under the pine trees on the edge of the field & watch their tops blown about …

  In letters to Pamela, David constantly requested a more recent photograph. Occasionally, in the latter stages of his captivity, David was able to send one of himself back in return, for now that the tide of the war had turned – probably for propaganda reasons to show that their prisoners were being well treated – his German captors were having group photographs taken. On 8 May David wrote to Pamela:

  Darling, I think about you more than ever these days, perhaps it is because I feel I shall really be seeing you again soon now …

  I am rapidly approaching 29 which seems rather middle-aged to me – and I am afraid I am getting very thin on top. I have 3 white hairs in my moustache, which is a bad sign … Darling your hair must be beautiful now, & I should like to see you in your uniform. What about a photo? I think I may be able to send you a new one soon, if you would like it, as we have had some groups taken …

  Inevitably, cooped up together as they were after such a long period of captivity, prisoners could occasionally lose their tempers with one another. In a letter simply dated ‘Midsummer’, David described the consequences of one such falling out, though he quickly went on to comment on how remarkably few such episodes he had witnessed, and how well he and his fellow room-mates generally got on with each other:

  Your photo got hit the other day by someone throwing something in a rage at another chap & the glass is smashed, so I have had to put it away. It is really extraor
dinary how few rows we have in our room. We all get on very well. I have my old friend Quilliam, a stockbroker of 12 years standing, 2 doctors (one Scotch & one half Norwegian), 2 regular army captains (one was at school with me), 2 people who are stage struck & go about in a flat spin, 2 playboys of a fairly intellectual variety & a very vague solicitor, who is the best pianist in the camp and took a first in Philosophy at Oxford. So you can imagine there is always plenty to talk about …

  In the same letter, David painted a rather touching picture of a recent arrival in his hut:

  We have adopted a kitten in our room. It is about 3 weeks old, grey & white with the palest blue eyes, & its name is Poupon. When I am sitting back reading it climbs on my arm and goes to sleep under my chin. It is so small that I am afraid someone will tread on it …

  Sadly the hut’s little four-legged room-mate was only destined to spend a short time there, for on 19 October David wrote:

  I am afraid our kitten died within a few days of its adoption. It fell out of a window (some say it was helped out by a certain minority element in the room who disapprove of pets) & declined rapidly. We had one evening when it was very ill & we all talked in hushed tones, & next morning it was dead & a general feeling of depression prevailed …

  Not surprisingly, the factor that most influenced the prisoners’ overall mood was the progress or otherwise of the Second Front. On 17 August David wrote to Pamela:

  There seems to have been some hitch in the parcel mail … I don’t think we can expect much more now that the second landing has taken place. I should imagine that everyone is terribly excited about everything in England. We all feel very optimistic here …

  In a later letter to Pamela dated 3 November, however, David’s positive outlook had changed:

  I am very disappointed not to be home now. I’m afraid we were a bit over-optimistic at Arnhem & now the programme has been put back a few months. At present I don’t feel as if there is much chance of being home before April, but perhaps this is because we are out of Red X parcels & rather cold. We get locked into our huts at 5 these days & I have started the winter ‘bridge’ round again. I feel we are rather like a 2 act play where it reads ‘Same scene 4 years later’ & you do not know what has happened meanwhile, & these letters are like a secret light shone from the castle tower to show the prisoner is still alive – that is all they can be …

  The aforementioned ‘Arnhem’ was part of ‘Operation Market Garden’, Montgomery’s uncharacteristically bold plan for an Allied airborne assault of the bridges at Eindhoven, Nijmegen and Arnhem to establish a clear route for the passage of the British troops across Holland to the northern German plain to breach the top end of the ‘Siegfried Line’, the fortified German boundary with its western neighbours. The operation was ill-conceived, and the British airborne troops suffered heavy losses at Arnhem, dubbed in consequence ‘a bridge too far’. Following this setback a stalemate ensued for some weeks, dashing any hopes that David and his fellow prisoners may have held of being home in time for Christmas.

  The second significant setback, which was to delay the Allied advance by some six weeks, was the surprise Nazi counter-offensive launched shortly before Christmas 1944, which was to become known as the ‘Battle of the Bulge’. It was a repetition of Hitler’s 1940 strike through the Ardennes, this time with the aim of splitting the British and American forces, crossing the Meuse and re-taking Brussels and Antwerp. The German offensive was contained and eventually squeezed back, but the battle continued all over the Christmas period and well into January 1945.

  Inevitably the festive season of 1944 was a disappointing one for the entire British population, particularly so for the Street family who, for a different reason, were unable to spend it together under the same roof. Vera’s chronic stomach condition had taken a turn for the worse, and it was decided that at the beginning of December she should go for investigations and subsequent treatment to the Ruthin Castle clinic that had so successfully treated Arthur a year earlier. Arthur and Pamela would, if necessary, travel up to North Wales to spend Christmas with her.

  Unfortunately this was not to be, at least in Pamela’s case. For the past several months she had been in a permanent state of depression, suffering from rampant headaches. To make matters worse, in early December she went down with a bout of flu from which she did not sufficiently recover in time to accompany her father to Wales to spend Christmas with her mother; instead she was obliged to stay with Vivi at Ditchampton Farm. Despite her depressed state, shortly before Christmas she managed to write her mother a light-hearted letter of greetings:

  My dear Mummy,

  This is to wish you a very happy Christmas with Pop and I hope you will get well soon now. I’m sorry I haven’t done you a card but hope you will forgive me this year …

  Ever since her brief period at the Salisbury College of Art, Pamela had always drawn personal Christmas and birthday cards for her parents, a tradition she would continue in her later life. This year instead, at the bottom of her Christmas letter to Vera Street, she drew a rough map of England and Wales, with two little cartoon figures waving handkerchiefs from a big dot in south-west Wiltshire to another big dot in North Wales.

  Arthur and Vera Street were also to receive Christmas greetings from Germany, in the form of a postcard dated 25 November:

  This is to wish all at Ditchampton a very happy Christmas. I do hope you and Mrs. Street are both feeling fitter. This will be my 4th Xmas in the bag, but I am not quite round the bend yet, & I am hoping to visit you very soon. I often think of the good times you gave me & some of the dinners. Love & best wishes, David.

  Inevitably this card did not reach Ditchampton Farm until well into the new year, but on forwarding it to Vera Street, still at this stage at Ruthin Castle, Arthur commented:

  [Pamela] asked me to enclose this postcard that arrived from David this morning. Ha ha, you are already the Ma-in-law. But doesn’t that boy write cheerfully after such a long time in prison. It makes me, and I think Pam, feel very humble.

  Seventeen

  The End of the War and

  an Awkward Reunion (1945)

  With the British and American forces crossing the Rhine from the west, and the Russians now pressing into Germany from the east, David and his companions were moved to yet another prison camp, deep in the German stronghold of Bavaria. It seems that at this critical time for the Nazis, both officers and other ranks were herded together, for this was Stalag 383, Hohenfels, near Straubing. Before this, however, David wrote his last surviving letter to Pamela from captivity, dated 2 January, describing the prisoners’ recent Christmas and the harsh winter conditions, but also looking ahead to how he would earn a living once the war was over:

  We were all terribly optimistic about being home for Christmas, & now I think that most of us feel we shall be content to be released any time before next Christmas. It is all very disappointing, & I am afraid many more lives must be lost to no purpose …

  We have been having very cold weather here. Last night the barometer registered 19 below zero (centigrade) & there is snow on the ground. The days are mostly clear & sunny & everything looks beautiful, but there is not much warmth in the sun. We had a quiet Christmas here. We saved up & had a big meal & felt quite full for once …

  Isn’t it funny that I am approaching 30 & I still don’t know what I am going to do after the war for a living. Sometimes I think the Stock Exchange is the best thing, sometimes I have an idea of trying to get into the Foreign Office, sometimes of colonising in Rhodesia. I am going to take the final of the Chartered Insurance Exams here …

  Despite the fact that from early on in the war great efforts had been made, particularly by the Educational Books Section of the British Red Cross POW Department, to provide prisoners with the means to study all manner of subjects, and in many cases to enable them to sit professional exams in situ, David and his fellow prisoners had hitherto found prison camp conditions hardly conducive to serious study. Clearly
the fact that the war was drawing to a close was now concentrating their minds. David would indeed go on to use his knowledge of insurance shortly after the war ended.

  David and his fellow prisoners were finally liberated by American troops on 29 April, a week before the official armistice. During their last few days of captivity there was much concern in the camp that their guards might wreak final revenge by executing them all, but mercifully at the eleventh hour they simply laid down their weapons and melted away into the neighbouring countryside. No written record survives of how David and his fellow prisoners were repatriated, but events evidently moved swiftly after the armistice was declared, because on 10 May Pamela received a telegram from David’s father stating: ‘DAVID IN ENGLAND EXPECTED HOME THIS AFTERNOON – ALL WELL – MCCORMICK’.

  Pamela’s reaction to this news, which should have been one of rejoicing, was in fact one of profound consternation. In her novel Many Waters, Pamela described how the book’s heroine, Emily Mason, discovered that her erstwhile American suitor, Vernon Keeler, had become engaged to a new partner:

  It was not until the beginning of the New Year that she saw the news. She happened to pick up Monica’s discarded copy of The Times, open at the Court Circular. Idly, Emily glanced down the Engagements column. When she first saw the names she looked away quickly, as someone unwilling, then unable, to witness something repugnant. Then, slowly, she turned back to stare at the words which seemed to bounce back at her, stark and hideously irrefutable: