Philip Larkin

by Philip Larkin

Philip

  1 A. A. C. Burton, Headmaster of King Henry VIII School, Coventry, 1931–50.

  [Summer 1939]

  Tuesday Night & Wednesday Morn.

  Hotel du Cinquantenaire, 21 Rue Juste Lipse, Brussels

  Dear Fambly,

  Excuse pencil but pen is empty & I don’t feel like haggling with Belgian hotel manager about “de l’encre”. Thanks for both of your letters:

  1 Pop: glad you enjoyed Bishes1 tergy2 – he was Judas, as you probably know. He produced and wrote it all himself – bar my swingeing verse, and where is Albania anyway? I don’t know.3 Thanks for the Hersill instructions.4

  2 Kit. (Good God, I am tired – time: 11.15) sorry about ‘rollicking schoolboy’ tone of letter. I have rather been overdoing it at times, but an early night is promised tonight.

  Still, a holiday is by definition, a complete change, so it is all logical. Thanks for news of what you have been doing. – I suppose Ashworth is saying “Don’t draw laike a mep – a mep of Albaniah!” every time he sees Wilson’s work. Did you get my postcard? Might show it to him!

  Thanks for both cuttings. I presume an arrest is expected quite soon as far as Hodge goes – (“Ooh – it wasn’t my fault – the teacher rubbed it out!”)

  You needn’t worry about me getting locked up at all, or dancing with any hostesses. The nearest I got to the latter was sitting for about an hour in a beastly stuffy room, right under the band, drinking an orangeade – yes, an orangeade – and watching Sheppard gnawing his fingernails and wanting to dance, but as the floor resembled Smithford St5 on Saturday night and the band kept playing tangos & rumbas, he couldn’t do anything. Afterwards a section of us left him to it & went on to a café to play cards.

  Yesterday we went a full time trip to Spa6 and a few other joints near the German frontier (“them Nazis”). […]

  We went over another mineral water factory at Spa & got ourselves blown out. Lousy muck, this mineral water. Tonight we hope to get seats for the “Folies Bergère” who happen to be in Bruxelles.

  I’ll see what I can do about the notepaper.

  (“er – pourriez-vous me donner –”

  “le prochaine, s’il vous plaît” (next please))

  Philip

  P.S. Hope K.7 is cutting out my countryman’s diary.

  1 Nickname of Frank Smith, one of Larkin’s school friends.

  2 Conjectural reading; perhaps a deliberately illiterate abbreviation of ‘dramaturgy’. Possibly ‘elegy’.

  3 Larkin had written blank verse choruses for a Holy Week passion play by his High Anglican school friend Frank Smith. See Noel Hughes, ‘The Young Mr Larkin’, Larkin at Sixty, ed. Anthony Thwaite (London: Faber, 1982), 17–22.

  4 Obscure.

  5 Street in central Coventry.

  6 Spa had been the headquarters of the Imperial German forces in the later stages of the First World War.

  7 Kitty: Philip’s sister Catherine.

  [Summer 1939]

  Picture postcard1

  [Brussels]

  Dear Mop,

  This is another of the Wiertz collection2 – Sent it to you because it’s rather like how we look in the mornings. Weather continues fine, and Brussels is a marvellous city. You wouldn’t like me to bring you back a Belgian maid, would you?

  Philip

  1 Une Tête Coupée – A Severed Head: Musée Wiertz, Bruxelles

  2 Antoine Wiertz (1806–65), Belgian Romantic painter and sculptor.

  1940

  11–12 October 1940

  St John’s College, Oxford

  Dear Mugs in General,

  I might as well start writing to you now though I probably shan’t finish it at one sitting. Not that it’s going to be very long or very detailed. Up to the present I haven’t done very much at all except join the O.T.C.1 and see Gavin Bone about lectures, tutorials &c.2 The former was rather a swindle altogether. We gang of shivering freshmen were herded into the enormous hall: august figures in stately robes gazed down at us from the picture frames. August gentlemen (gowned) gazed at us from the high table. Forms were served out to us by obsequious college servants. We were augustly & curtly commanded to fill up & hand in both forms (one matriculation: one O.T.C.). This most of us did. Only now, when we’re gaining a bit more confidence do we realise that the whole thing is a purely voluntary affair & that not even the Chancellor himself can make us join if we don’t want to. We feel rather strongly about this. But we hope to be slung out when any medical exam comes off.

  The second event, seeing my tutor, was more congenial. I am to drop Pass Mods altogether because the College now decides that two groups (i.e. of special subjects for War Degrees) is equal to Pass Mods & when they are passed (in 2 terms I hope) I can go on with the Honours Course as usual. You may not like this but the advantage is that I do get started on English at once: and especially Anglo Saxon, which will take (for me) God’s own time to learn.

  Tutorials take place once a week on Friday at 12 noon. Lectures I shall attend aren’t particularly brilliant (not by their famous names, anyway) but the subjects look interesting. The one that most interests me actually is Lord David Cecil on “English Poets since Tennyson”. (This however is only about a thousand years out of my period.) So as regards work I shall do Shakespeare & Anglo Saxon this term, taking a Shakespeare Group at the term’s end.

  As regards friends & society, everybody of my year – bar one or two – seems very pleasant. (The Seniors don’t even look at you – yet.) Up to the date of writing, I have not been asked:

  a) Who I am

  b) What I’m reading.

  c) Who my father is.

  d) Who I think I am.

  e) What I’m doing in this part of the College?

  Money is being spent pretty freely. Still, I suppose it’s all necessary initial outlay. I’ve bought a new cap & gown (the other one was really just too short, even for a commoner) which were 12/6: (Hughes’ were 22/6 – who’d be a scholar)3 then I bought three pictures – Cézanne’s “The Smoker”: Van Gogh’s “The Artist’s Bedroom” and one by Gauguin. They were 8/- each. Hughes gingerly inquired the price of a glass virgin & child and was equally gingerly told “3 gns”. Then we bought a clock (10/-) and then of course there are odd expenses that one hardly notices. The other large thing remains, perhaps, a College scarf. But I’m leaving that for the present. Neither do I feel like playing any games. I feel I’ve got no team spirit so what the hell’s the good of joining teams. And anyway the O.T.C. will probably take up all surplus joie de vivre.

  Last night (Friday night) we had a sort of clan-gathering of Old Coventrians in Dupénois’ rooms at Jesus, proceeding for coffee at Smith’s rooms in Hertford.4 While we were there, the secretary of the O.U. Labour Club called: previous to going out, we at St John’s had received a visit from the secretary of the corresponding Conservative league. A very smooth young man, like a guinea pig. When we got back, we found that the respective secs of the O. Union & the St John’s league for Nukel5 affairs (or something) had called in our absence.

  Yesterday, too, Roe6 turned up for tea, bringing some cakes &c so we scoured Oxford for milk & managed to make some tea. We have since placed a standing order for ½ pint of milk per day at the buttery.

  I am enclosing the receipt for the £40 cheque. I suppose that’s the right thing to do. PS. Note the spelling!/

  The food here defies comment. Hughes & I agree that we are the only people here who can really plumb its depths, all the others having been ruined as regards taste at their public schools. Breakfast begins with porridge. We had some the first day. I had one mouthful & Hughes had 3. Since then we have had no more. The coffee is black. When milk is added it turns grey. It neither looks nor tastes like coffee. Yesterday we had “grilled herrings”. They tasted simply awful: as if all the fishwives and fishmongers in Billingsgate had contributed a gob of spittle to their glutinous horror. Other meals are less horrible: the bread & cheese at dinner is perhaps the only food that is posit
ively pleasant to eat.

  Hughes was yesterday informed at dinner that “all freshman scholars must meet at staircase 1 tomorrow morning at a quarter to 7”. Needless to say, he didn’t go: this is only the first of the long series of practical jokes freshmen are subjected to. When mine comes perhaps I’ll let you know. Things probably won’t start in earnest till Sunday; however, we have hidden our caps & gowns away in the most inaccessible place we could think of.

  I don’t know if it’s an official secret to tell you that Oxford is continually bothered by airplanes (pardon the slang)7 all day & night. English of course. Very queer to hear the noise of a ’plane at night, & look out to see a moving light in the sky. English, you see. Rumour had it that a German plane circled over here yesterday afternoon quite unnoticed by anybody, but it did nothing. Rumour also has it that Baginton aerodrome was dive-bombed on Thursday afternoon: if so I hope you’re all right.8

  We have been here three mornings: I have had 3 baths, Hughes 2. (He overslept today.) We find that a charge is made of 7/- for using the college baths, so we are wasting our money.

  The clock is going very nicely & fits in well with the mantelpiece. But I wish I’d brought that calendar, because 3 pictures, however good, don’t exactly fill up 4 huge blank walls. I suppose you couldn’t send it, could you?

  So far (Saturday morning) I have had no post at all, bar a circular from St. Aldate’s Church. Cheerful. Hughes periodically slinks off to drink sherry with Alphonso de Zuluetta (commonly known as “Zulu”) who is Catholic chaplain of the University, and talk of “Ronnie” (Father Ronald Knox).9 Also he consorts with the Black Friars over the road.10 Comic Black Friars, they all wear white!

  As yet I am doing no work. Before I can, the College library has to open, & I’ve got to be admitted to the Bodleian as a reader. The latter I can’t do till I’ve matriculated: this happens on Tuesday afternoon at 3 pm or so. If you like you may think of me then serenely parading down Broad Street in cap, gown, & white tie, to meet the Vice-Chanc. & be addressed in Latin.

  Later. We have just been “activating our social side”. We asked someone called Ross to tea and gorged him on sausage rolls & cream buns – with a cigarette thrown in for good measure. I don’t think we’re really a success at this social game – it’s too hard to keep up. But we form our friendships now on the: “Are – you – in – the – O.T.C. – awful – rot – isn’t – it” plan that seems to work all right. I’ve spoken to no one yet that really is keen on it & a good many that are decidedly antipathetic. Anyway, we’re having the Old Coventrians in our rooms tonight, so we can relax.

  Another bogey at the place is – anyway, the idea is that, after today any fresher at dinner may be demanded to “sink a sconce” – i.e. 2 pints or more of beer – at one go. Or you pay for the sconce for the whole table. The Senior Scholars do the dirty work: anyone whom they pick on (beforehand) is “sconced” for the most trivial offence – wearing gaudy clothes, staring at the oil paintings, being a minute late for dinner – anything they can trump up. God knows how long it goes on …….11

  ———

  Has anyone sent off any of those poems of mine? If so, where? And shoot along any two guineas that turn up – we need more pictures.

  ———

  Today I went into the College library. Pretty good. Can see myself doing very little real work – but reading a good deal.

  Well, I don’t think I’ll prolong this letter further, even though I’d like to include Norwood’s Sermon tomorrow.12 But tonight is my last night as a sort of half-member: term & work starts tomorrow. This time on Tuesday, too, I shall be full-blown.

  Worry not about me: everything seems relatively harmless.

  All love,

  Philip

  1 Officer Training Corps.

  2 Gavin Bone, an Anglo-Saxon scholar, was Larkin’s tutor in St John’s.

  3 Larkin was sharing his rooms with his school friend Noel Hughes (‘Josh’). Hughes had gained a scholarship in modern languages. Larkin was merely a ‘commoner’ with a shorter gown.

  4 Georges Dupénois and Frank Smith (‘The Bish’): Old Coventrians who had also come up to Oxford.

  5 A guess at Larkin’s word, which is illegible, perhaps deliberately so.

  6 Ernest Roe, another Old Coventrian, was at Exeter College.

  7 ‘Aeroplane’ was regarded as the correct usage, ‘airplane’ being an Americanism.

  8 The Baginton aerodrome was close to Coventry.

  9 Fr Alphonso de Zulueta (d. 1980) succeeded Ronald Knox, broadcaster and writer of detective stories, as Catholic chaplain of Oxford in 1938.

  10 The Dominican priory is on the corner of Pusey Street opposite St John’s across St Giles (built 1921–9).

  11 This Oxford tradition is usually termed ‘sconcing’.

  12 Sir Cyril Norwood (1875–1956), President of St John’s between 1934 and 1946, was an Anglican layman and President of the Modern Churchmen’s Union. His The English Tradition of Education (1929) praised the character-building effect of public school discipline. Larkin and Hughes ridiculed his elegy ‘To a Fallen Airman’ (The Times, 16 January 1941) in the College Junior Common Room Suggestions Book: ‘Surely, sir, the ability to scan throughout eight whole lines is not to be despised, and to produce three good rhymes out of four is no mean achievement.’ See John Kelly, ‘Philip Larkin vs Sir Cyril Norwood: St John’s College, Oxford, 1941’, About Larkin 44 (October 2017), 5–6.

  15 October 1940

  St John’s College, Oxford

  Dear fambly,

  Thanks for the bulky parcel of correspondence that arrived yesterday. Very sorry to here [sic] about Saturday’s raid: it must have been hell. Jim came up on Sunday & told us what he knew, which wasn’t much. So I was relieved to here [sic] that nobody was injured at all apud Penvorn.1

  To answer Mop first: at present we are using Hughes’ “toilet cover” which is as bad as mine in a different way – silky and très chic. As for the rest of the paraphernalia, the coffee strainer is invaluable. Ours are the only rooms in Oxford where coffee free from choking grounds can be drunk. Work – as yet – is rather tentative. One might as well try to work in a hotel. So far – I am warm. I have the eiderdown on the bed which is also invaluable.

  Now for Pop: Thanks for the poems, & the addresses. The latter look fishy to me, bar “new verse” – rather too traditional. You see, a traditional paper would never print a modernist poem. Still, I’ll try.

  As for the line in question, I am surprised that Mr S.2 should find it difficult – if he really does. The last sestet is far more obscure – involving a whole rigmarole of private philosophy and so on. However,/ when Rupert B. returned from Tahiti to join up in 1914, he wrote five sonnets, of which the most famous is “If I should die, think only this of me …”. These sonnets have been “taken” by “the old” politicians, editors, archbishops &c to delude the young of the last generation & of this too into fighting the “old”’s battles for them. This may not be true but anyway that’s what the lines mean. Confirmation can (I hope) be found in the intro. to Kitty’s edition on her bedroom shelves, whence all the data for the poem was found.3

  ——————

  Before continuing this letter, I am going to do some work. (!!!!!) By the way, Hughes was introduced to Arnold Lunn4 last night. As far as social activities go, Hughes is outstripping me by yards …..

  Wednesday. On Sunday I attended my first and (I trust) last chapel. Norwood drivelled in a cultured manner. On Monday I attended my first lecture – Edmund Blunden talking about biography.5 Very strange. B. was a nervous man with a shock of hair, a nose like a wedge, and a twitching mouth. He delivered his lecture in staccato phrases, semi-ironically, only half concealing his genuine enthusiasm for his subject. After that I heard Nichol-Smith talking about Dryden, and yesterday Prof. Wyld on the History of English. The latter was very interesting but hard to follow.

  Yesterday, too, we were Matriculated. This entailed dressing up i
n all the full apparel – I didn’t look half bad at all – and shambling down to Divinity Schools to receive the Statutes of the University and being blessed in Latin by the Vice Chancellor. This was only a very hasty affair – cut down to a mere nothing – and conducted to the accompaniment of bombers overhead. God, there are hundreds! My Latin name, by the way, is Philippus Arturus Larkin.

  I withdrew three pounds from the P.O. yesterday & the fellow complained that the Coventry people had not stamped their stamp in the first place, which he then left blank, advising me to send it back to be done. This I am doing. If this is necessary, could you please get it done? He suspected me of further hanky-panky when I signed “Philip Larkin” instead of “Philip A. Larkin”. Not that he was at all nasty about it.

  Last night went to resee “Charley’s Aunt”.6 Great humour at the Oxford scenes.

  Jim complains that he is the only wholly male person at present at the Slade.7 “70% women: 30% half-women.” They look a peculiar crew.

  Later on Wednesday. We are just awaiting our first game of hockey. This is a result of being pestered by other numerous gentlemen who are anxious not for our souls but our bodies. One particularly unpleasant fellow was from the Boat Club. He sat down at our table & talked, beady eyes glittering. We protested that we’d never touched an oar in our lives. He said that a year ago nor’d he. We whimpered that it would interfere with our work. He said that he’d passed all his exams. We whispered that we were weedy, unhealthy, weak & generally debilitated. He replied that one of the best oars suffered from infantile paralysis. Following his advantage, he said that we couldn’t frowst all the time. We inaudibly replied that we sometimes opened the windows. Anyway, when the hockey fellow turned up we rushed into his arms in eagerness to “do” something & so provide ourselves with an excuse. Now it’s so near, we rather feel nervous. Pray for us sinners now and at the time of our death ….