So I Have Thought of You
Page 10
We’re just crossing to the mainland for a day’s outing. NOT on the grand hydrofoil we came on, but on the ferry boat, which I should say is an old British coastal craft fitted up by the so-called ‘Tuscan Navigation Company’ – We’re going to take an excursion to Florence, from which I’m sure we’ll return very hot and tired, but as I’ve never seen Florence and keep thinking I’m now somewhat declined into the vale of years (but that’s not much) I may not have the chance to see it again, and Maria is an intrepid sight-seer, here we are. Our hotel, which is not an efficient place though nice in some ways, has FORGOTTEN OUR PICNIC but fortunately we were able to buy some of the inevitable ham rolls in the shoddy galley. Maria has had to take to lemon in her tea as the milk here is so terrible (worse than Froggyland I’m sure) and I’m not surprised when I see the cows, each one is miserably pegged to the ground with nothing at all to eat, except some withered corn stalks.
A nice thing in this boat has been that Bruno, the CEAT man, retrieved your letters from the Arcabaleno where as you so justly point out we’re NOT staying, and we were able to read them on deck, going through the blue sea, past the misty islands (Ria wrapped in Daddy’s jacket over her unsuitable skimpy ‘flower-power’ dress) which is lovely, and we do enjoy your letters, I hope you didn’t mind my showing them at Grove Cottage as they gave such pleasure and Grandpa of course said ‘they should be published’.
Well, as I said, our hotel isn’t very efficient, being run by a peasant, his fiancée 20 years younger in a faded black dress, and alarmingly smart in the evenings, and a dwarf only 3 ft. high who is a nephew who helps out in the evenings. But the food is nice and so is the wine and the mineral water, which normally I can’t bear, but this is called (of course) Fonte Napoleone and comes from a spring high up in the mountain. It’s nice eating under the vines and the English people are not from Lunns, but decorous Erna Low clients with Nigelly sons who play ping-pong (also under the vines and glorious Bougainvillea) – they are clergymen and schoolteachers with open-necked shirts and panamas and one is actually reading Pendennis.
We’ve been to Napoleon’s town house in the capital – the one he escaped in a brig from – he seems to have done himself very well and had lavish furniture and a bed covered with golden eagles imported from France. He amused himself for a few months organising the chestnut gathering, brickworks &c. – no trace of this organisation now I may say. Vulgar washbasin, also with eagles.
We are quite tired out today with yesterday’s trip to Florence – we had to start at 6 and were back at 12, but it was a great success really, and Maria and me of course had never been there before. We crossed in the steamer this time, 21/2 hours in bus with unintelligible commentary by Bruno (Italian version of Gilbert, under Daddy’s thumb) and were shown everything in a few hours by an alarming countess who had lost everything (either in the flood or elsewhere) and was at the same time royalist and anti-clerical (you will cover your arms in the Duomo but not in Santa Croce – the Franciscans care nothing for nudities). We had lunch right on the hill overlooking the city, just like Henry James – that was lovely, and we finished up with the Uffizi (Maria still game though longing to take off Dr Scholls on the shining marble floors) and the Primavera &c. (all details remembered from Ria’s art books) and there was a coffee-place on the roof where you could overlook the square and all the statues.
So glad mosquito stuff arrived and you are coping so wonderfully with the strange aristos. We do love your letters – forgive bad writing – love from all Mum
[postcard of Napoleon]
24 August [1967]
I’m sure you won’t mind keeping these p.c.s for Ria’s scrap book (unluckily we’ve only got a primary school geography book with an Arab on the cover. Why?) You won’t be surprised to hear that we’re sitting on the harbour front drinking cappucine (?) after fatigue of walking from one mountain village to another, about 3 miles, terribly hard on those wearing Dr Scholls exercise sandals. Lovely Spanish chestnuts, palms &c on mountains.
[August 1967]
Dearest Tina – I’ve just been allowed to add a page to Daddy’s letter as we’ve just received your wonderful exam. news, I’m so delighted, not only in a school-teachery way but I did think you deserved it so, you worked so hard and were so well up to it, but I thought it might all be spoiled by the badly phrased questions, or by your being over-tired – it really is something to be proud of, an A over all the papers, and so many good things come from it – you’re justified now in having asked to take the exam. earlier than the others, and in having chosen languages as your subject; and also I think you’ll be justified in going to Miss Gray and asking for an advance from the ‘Franc Ha Leal’ for a study course in Spain at Easter, which I should hardly have thought we could have applied for otherwise, and Miss Kershaw will be really pleased, and she has tried to help, I know! Forgive this scrawl, I must congratulate you at once, this double A is not so easy to get, even by people who spend every vacation in France
much love Mum
AAAAAAAAA
[postcard]
[August 1967]
Sitting in the sun making cappuc(h)inos last – you’ll sympathise I’m sure
Please forgive me if someone has sent Napoleon’s bed before, I thought you’d like it
(Marie Walenska’s as she was the only one who’d come.) Still talking about your good news, though Maria speculating what Dish* will say about terrible Epstein affair. Absurd rumours in Italian papers about Aga Khan and Princess Margaret.
Glad Nancy** was nice.
much love Mum
Queens Gate, sw7
24 March [1968]
Dearest Tina,
Not really anything to say since you rang up last night but I thought I’d just write a few lines. It’s icy in this library as the heater doesn’t seem to work, so I’ve seized the opportunity to say that everyone who is cold must go away – and all have left except a few faithful scribblers. – But stay, Odious Mr Turner, the shady odd-job man who is running an independent plumbing and decorating business from the basement, has come in and said he’ll fix it – I wish he wouldn’t.
Needless to say I can’t wait for your letter, as we all know that it is ‘incredible’ at the Maltbys. I wonder why? I’m so very glad you arrived safely – I still think they might have made better arrangements. And I wonder what your ‘charge’ as babies are called in the ‘Nursery World’ is like?
John Probst came yesterday and ate large quantities and took Maria for a spin on his motor bike to Godstone, from which she came back so cold that she had a sort of rash all over her cheeks. She loves going fast – she always enjoys things so much. Probst is very ingenuous, and told me exactly all the quantities of bread cheese and coffee he’d ordered for his party the night before, with the exact prices, and how he’d decided to give a daffodil to everyone ‘to be thoroughly out of date’ as he quite brightly added. He’s very sympathetic and always takes a great interest in everyone else, and apparently believes all that they say – he told me a long story about a Mrs Lazaretto ? a friend of his parents who was a second mother to him, and determined to have each of her nine children on Sept 26th (I think), so delayed her labour pain by the power of thought – this is nonsense – anyway he’s off on a surveying course now, their degree seems very odd to me.
We went to Jeremy Court for lunch – Angie now tired of Peter Jones and says they are all jealous of her because she is a foreigner and can manage all the department better than they can, as they are common and haven’t the power to command: so I think it’s a good thing she’s leaving there soon. I reminded Valpy about Huelva, I think he’ll do something. He’s a good boy and I’m sure he’s happy, what else matters?
On Wednesday I make my annual pilgrimage to the school play with Miss Macrini – a small collation first at Lyons. Maria sportingly says she’ll come too (it’s As You Like It!) but I certainly shan’t hold her to this.
It seems Daddy had to walk all the way from Victoria to Claph
am – I really am sorry but money really is short – and now he says he’s ‘not certain’ if he’ll be paid on Friday – I think Lunn have given up paying altogether! My income tax problems are tiresome, as Mrs Lavender (immensely frail and ancient Bursar) is now alienated by my enquiries although I’ve hitherto been on excellent terms with her, and I still have to pay all the extra tax. Daddy must go round and see Mr Hassan, my Oriental sounding inspector, he’s a big strong man and he must face Mr Hassan. Daddy says, why are you sometimes so bold and sometimes so timid – but don’t you find that you’re also like this.
I’m quite dismayed by my book-table. – I’ll never get all these books read, and I’m still seeing double! Hard Times! Adolphe! Apologia Pro Vita Sua! Maria has started on Little Dorrit: she selected it herself – she says that she can’t bear it when other people keep talking about books,
Well enough of this: what really interests me is to hear about you and the Maltbys.
much love dear
Ma
Sir Henry Lunn
Marble Arch House
World travel (!!)
Sunday [7 April 1968]
Dearest Tina – No air-mail paper so am using Sir Henry Lunn’s shoddy lightweight office paper. – We miss you so much, but Maria pointed out firmly and quite correctly, on the station, that we mustn’t stare, as Tina was getting just a little embarrassed by us. – We had to go and have coffee and buns in Lyons to cheer ourselves up.
Quite exhausted by emotions raised by Eurovision Song Contest: We felt sure Cliff should have won, though doubtful about his dress of nylon ruffles and dandy’s velvet-effect suit. It was very odd Germany suddenly giving 6 votes for Spain, I’m sure it was a vote to promote trade. (Wollen Sie in Spanien gehen?) As usual I was quite wrong as the one I thought best got no votes at all, and Sandie Shaw looked frightful in ostrich-effect feathers and was hit by a piece of stage.
No letter for Valpy from The Economic Associates Inc: so I daresay he’ll accept the Mobil offer, and I do think it will be best if he settles his mind and accepts it, and probably Don Rafael* will be impressed and pay for the wedding (and also expect Valpy to get jobs for his relations in oil companies). Anyway, we expect him back late tonight.
Maria has given me my first guitar lesson but I’m very slow and my fingers are so stiff. I’ve done your room out and the kitchen, with not much visible effect but I feel better as it was always a great thing to have the spring-cleaning started by Palm Sunday. – I can’t stand these dried-up bits of palm, what would be the point of strewing them under anyone’s feet? I do wish we still had bunches of pussy-willow. – Meanwhile I am continuing to read the Ruskin book slowly, as I’m enjoying it so much. How ill they all were – all Victorians I mean – and how much they talk about it, and what endurance they had all the same.
It’s very smelly here this morning and I do envy you the nice pure air and wide skies of Castile. – Maria is reading a historical romance in the Loo. – She sends all her love and so does Daddy.
Longing to hear from you –
Much love always – Mum X
Happy Easter and Much Love from us all
11 April [1968]
Dearest Tina,
Very relieved to get your letter, and realise that you were not poisoned by the Cornish pasties from the cook-shop. Not surprised to hear about many deficiencies of the trip – but at least they got you there which is more than our ridiculous Escort would have done to Córdoba. Hope the 2 chicas are under your control: I’m sure they are.
Valpy still out interviewing – I quite see that he feels the Mobil job would be terribly staid and settled to start in, and wants to go abroad – they’ve written him a terribly nice letter saying that they’d love him to come for his personal qualities – no matter about degree. Better perhaps are the Economic Associates (not the wild glamorous one) who have shorter smaller projects, but more secure I think. Anyway he’s encouraged that he’s gone off to Esso and says he’ll say: ‘Let me see now, what is it that you manufacture?’ – We had a wild dinner last night with Diana and both feel poisoned. She brought back some lovely things from Bangkok – plastic flowers for idols, but they’re bright and lovely.
Angie wrote that she went to help the nuns lay out her grandmother who died recently – as it would be useful practice – I suppose it is – more strangely, she suggests that Miss Walker is a bit of a Lesbian and was quite angry when Angie got engaged – which I think quite ridiculous – being educated in a convent evidently doesn’t exclude these fantasies – I’ll be glad when they’re both safely married and settled.
Lovely fine weather here and we went to the Barbara Hepworth exhibition and ate sandwiches on the steps of the Tate. Still tearful after seeing Luther King funeral on TV. It was so cosy – they didn’t care a bit that it was a muddle.
Reading book on American poetry – have learnt that 1. T. S. Eliot first learnt to love poetry from Omar Khayyam – Funny you gave me both. 2. The planters in the Southern states took the names of their estates and their whole code of honour and genteel manners from Scott’s novels! This interested me a lot. No room left – will write again XXX Mum
185 Poynders Gardens
London, sw4
13 April [1968]
Dearest Tina,
Thankyou so much for nice postcards, and we were glad you now seem to have respectable escort, and seem cheerier, though exhausted. I wonder what time the meals are? (Maria tells me dinner at 10).
Valpy went off gaily in the end, though much confusion over various letters, contracts &c. I think he’ll accept the Economic Unit: I do hope so, as I’m sure it would suit him, with so many different assignments. The Japanese girl is returning to Japan, so I think the development of property in Oxford won’t come off.
Maria and I have been having a good weep at Dr Zhivago, or rather I would have cried if I’d been able to bear Julie Christie seen through a blue filter: but I loved all the snow and the trains and Tom Courtenay’s tin spectacles. Now we’re sitting by the fire (still cold though very sunny) and sewing – Daddy is at the launderette you’ll be surprised to hear! Wish we were in blazing Spanish sunshine like you and very glad you’re going to Valladolid as all the best images are there. Longing to hear about gay time, and bull-fight.
Maria has much depressed me by 1. Looking at Daddy and me and saying: ‘What a funny old couple you are!’ and 2. Telling me that studying art and literature is only a personal indulgence and doesn’t really help humanity or lead to anything, and, I suppose, really, that is quite true: she said it very kindly. My life seemed to be crumbling into dust.
Valpy and I went to the 8 o’clock mass on Maundy Thursday. Father Sammons got terribly out of hand with numerous processions and clouds of incense and many respectable men in blue suits and red sashes worn crossways. We finally left as I was getting worried about Ria while yet another elaborate procession was getting tangled up in the aisles.
Must finish making my nightie – in rather low spirits – much love Mum
Glad it’s not turning out too badly XX
185 Poynders Gardens, sw4
12 October [1968]
Dearest Tina,
Just a note – to say we are missing you very much, but this is not really what I meant to say – I am here all by myself watching the Olympic opening, for Daddy is at the launderette and Maria has gone out to a gay dance, carelessly tossing aside another missive from Pope, containing a smiling photograph of the three brothers, heavily hair-creamed. She took Daddy to have the first fitting of his suit this afternoon, but the fly-buttons were not on straight, however it’s to be finished properly in 3 weeks. Outside it is very wet and windy and the laundry is flapping against your window.
Valpy and Angie are coming to lunch tomorrow, I must keep off controversial subjects and be sensible, and try and get some wine, for there’s none in the house. – My new bun-cosy is not quite the right shade of red – just off – so I’ve tried to dye it a little more crimson, and it too
is flapping in the wind.
Very great difficulty in changing the ribbon of the typewriter – I don’t think it’s right yet. The booklet says, in four languages, that it’s a very simple operation.
I did so wish I could have come up on Thursday – Maria says your room* is in the front quad, which is nice, surely, handy for people to drop in? and that though small dark and smelly, as you predicted, it is also cosy and began to look really homely after you’d put out your things, and she says you’d like blue curtains, so I’ll go up to the dreaded Oxford St. next Thursday and try and get the right colour. Did you mean to leave your Swiss cow behind? Well, you’ve had to settle in to a lot of very odd places, and are pretty expert by this time. I wonder what the Linguists’ coffee party was like?
I went up to the paper shop where I was received with pathetic enthusiasm by the manager, and changed the Sunday Express to the Sunday Times, but I don’t expect he’ll remember.
Must now turn to tattered essays and hysterical postcards sent by my candidates. Aren’t you sorry for them? At least you won’t have to do that again!
Daddy back from launderette, it seems some boys came with their washing at 10 and when they weren’t allowed in they smashed the windows with a tin and had to be taken away by the police! I wonder how you’re managing with your washing, and indeed with everything – so much love dear old mum.
185 Poynders G[ardens]
London, sw4
11 November [1968]
Dearest Tina,
To start with, and before I forget, here are ‘A Room of One’s Own’ – which was in your room, and your New Poetry, which I regret, wasn’t – and the ‘Sunday Times’ cutting about Yevtushenko, which you’ll have seen of course, but I thought you might like for your ‘memory lane’ book.