4 Jim Sutton served in the 14th Field Ambulance, Royal Army Medical Corps.
5 See Kitty’s letter of 23 October 1944 in the Appendix.
8 October 1944
Glentworth, King Street, Wellington, Salop.
Dear Mop and Pop,
[…] I wrote to the Chambers’ Encyclopaedia people, and have had a letter back asking me to go up to London some time during the next month. The managing editor is Mrs M. D. Law, and “there have been several applications”. I suppose I must go on one Tuesday – though I’m bound to get lost in London and probably pursued by V1, V2 and V3 in rapid and cataclysmic succession.1
This has been a mixed week as regards the Library. On Monday I was depressed by hearing some third hand gossip that I was “filling the Library with filthy books” (I admit there may be some slight grounds for this, modern literature being what it is) but yesterday I had a number of bouquets about the Library being the only place in Wellington where ratepayers see value for their money and that several people were giving up their Boots’ subscriptions and coming here all the time. To quote Pop’s words, what couldn’t I do if I was really interested! But I think I must go soon: no one expects me to stay long – indeed, a London Univ. girl remarked quite out of the blue “Well, I shan’t be in again until Christmas, but I suppose you’ll have gone by then.”
Had a cheerful, bibulous evening with Bruce last night, also another young master, which ended with our being jammed in a noisome fish shop near the river and later wandering back and forward over a bridge, eating. There is a new master at Shrewsbury called Moles from Dublin, who knew Yeats and Gogarty & “AE”.2 Bruce has promised to introduce me on Tuesday. Bruce is also going to be put up for election to the Saville Club in London. I think I shall tell them about the fish shop …
I heard from Kitty, who enclosed a wedding-photograph. I thought I was supposed to have made a mess of it? This one looked all right.
Am reading “The Ballad & the Source”3 – very heavy going and I doubt if I shall finish it.
Very much love –
Philip
Enclosed is a typical A-J raving.4
1 A reference to the German V1 and V2 missiles which were striking the London area at this time.
2 Oliver St John Gogarty (1878–1957), Irish poet, doctor and politician; AE (pseudonym of George William Russell, 1867–1935), writer and Irish nationalist.
3 Novel by Rosamond Lehmann published in 1944.
4 Larkin includes a press-cutting in which Astley-Jones, Chief Clerk to Wellington Urban District Council, vigorously rejects criticisms of the council policy on street lighting in view of the government relaxation of black-out regulations.
15 October 1944
Glentworth, King Street, Wellington, Salop.
Dear Mop and Pop,
[…] I have arranged to visit the Encyclopaedia on 31 October, at Tower House, Southampton Street, Strand W.C.2 (or 1). I am not sure if the job attracts me or not, rather because I know so little about it – not even the salary. I should like to try the experiment of living in London for a bit, although I am mortal scared of bombs, and also I feel slightly impatient of Wellington. Yesterday was another record-breaking day: I haven’t had an exact count, but it is certainly 240 books issued in 210 minutes and probably a few more. So you see I have passed my book-a-minute mark!
Incidentally I should be very pleased if Pop would give me directions of the lie of the land between Paddington & Tower House.
Another letter from the Fortune Press came on Friday saying that Poems From Oxford will be out next month.1 They also add that they still want my “own collection” (which I had refused on grounds of paucity) and they “expect I have enough for their purposes”. I think I shall send them all I can muster, little as I like the idea of rushing into print alongside my gormless contemporaries. But such objections are rather quibbling, I feel: what does it all matter? I don’t think it matters two hoots whether the poems are published or not, so if I can get a little fun out of having a book done, why should I refuse? What do you think?
There’s little news here; I spend nearly all my time reading or writing poems.2 The novel has temporarily dropped from sight: I have reached a long boring section I cannot interest myself in. I have not read “What Say They” but should like to.3
I am developing a gift for epigram. Yesterday during a conversation someone said that two Bebb daughters (not the ones you know) had joined the Womens’ Land Army and were doing forestry. “Bebbs in the wood,” I said, with a triumphant leer.
Le temps fait beau so I will go and post this. Don’t work too hard. I like to think of you as two drowsy dormice, laying up a store of nuts against the winter.
Much love,
Philip
1 It was not published until 1945, with the title Poetry from Oxford in Wartime, edited by William Bell. It included ten poems by Larkin, all of them included also in The North Ship.
2 In October 1944 Larkin began drafting his poems in the first of the eight workbooks in which almost all his subsequent poetry was to be composed, ending in 1980. The first dated draft was written on 5 October 1944.
3 Reference not traced.
22 November 1944
Postcard
[Glentworth, King Street, Wellington]
13 December 1944
Postcard
Glentworth, King Street, Wellington
Thank you so much for the delicious tea, especially the orange. It all vanished before Birmingham. I have saved your bags & paper. Thanks also for the heroic lunch. I loved it, especially the shallots.
31 December 1944
Glentworth, King Street, Wellington, Salop.
My dear Mop & Pop,
“The last day of the old year dawned bright and frosty, and at 11.0 a.m. a long muffled figure might have been seen starting its porridge with an expression of distaste.” The idea of a New Year takes me aback rather, and induces a febrile session of mental stocktaking, with unavoidable depressions. One novel finished: another started: one book of poems to be printed. That is all there is on the credit side. I daren’t look at the debit.
The day of my return – Thursday – was as I predicted terrible. 256: an easy record.1 However by working like a galley-slave it passed away. Don’t let Pop forget this assistant question: I’ve got to produce something coherent within a week.2
The keynote of my return has been a disinclination to eat. Like a camel before a long journey, or a polar bear when the short Arctic summer vanishes, I have stuffed myself up against the hardship to come, and I’ve hardly finished a meal here yet. I’m just not hungry. Isn’t it queer? And talking of animals this household has been enlarged by the addition of a black kitten with a white waistcoat. It came into my room on Thursday and I lifted it out. The Lord knows where it came from.
I view the borrowers with distaste, as before: and the stock with positive loathing. I am tired of trying to rejuvenate a lot of ancient novels. Away! Away! for I would fly to thee, charioted by Bacchus and his pards!3 And from the Hertfordshire C. C., get plenty of spare time and rich rewards! (Rather a 17th-Century rhyme that.)
Speaking of poetry, the Fortune Press write: “No agreement is necessary.” But in that case who holds the copyright? In due course I correct the proofs – that’s one good thing. They gave me two misprints in Oxford P. Then they curiously add: “You might send us your criticisms of Poetry from Oxford. Would you send us a few details of your career not for publication?” But if not for publication, why do they want them? To pass on to the police? I sent a few ferocious remarks about my contemporaries, and said that my career was indicated by the heading of my notepaper – I wrote from the P. Lib.
Another letter I wrote was to the sales dept. of the Daily Express, who sent a letter asking if we took their rag, and when I didn’t immediately answer, sent a second inquiry. I answered: “The Daily Express is taken by this Library for the convenience of the public.” I wanted to put public convenience, but daren’t. I
don’t like the Daily Express.
Much love,
Philip
P.S. Happy New Year!
1 Number of books loaned.
2 Philip had asked Sydney to help document his case for the appointment of a library assistant at Wellington. Eva writes on 1 January 1945: ‘Regarding the Assistant question, Daddy made the plan of the working hours all the evening of the day you left, but did not realize the urgency of the question. I am enclosing it. He says that it can be amended to suit circumstances of which he is ignorant.’ The plan is now lost.
3 Keats, ‘Ode to a Nightingale’.
1945
9 January 1945
Wellington
My dear Mop,
Many happy returns! I hope you are less “mithered” than the creature being honoured in the picture! but Birthday cards are a refinement of civilisation unknown to Wellington, except “To my dear granddaughter, on her birthday” and “To my dear Nephew”.
Have a scrumptious time, my dear Mop, remember all your creatures are with you in spirit and would gather under your wings if they could. I shall be in Shrewsbury today & may find you a gee-gaw.
Many happy returns!
Philip
1 In a letter of 11 January, Eva recorded her delight at receiving ‘your own made birthday card’: ‘Really I felt quite excited over the breaking of the seal wondering what I should see inside. Oh, what a lovely whirl of happiness you have drawn! All the creatures are charming, even to the dear little one who has fallen over, and scattered it’s [sic] offering of flowers. Then the one which is vainly stretching upwards to catch an elusive ribbon! then the one with a mop! and the one with the victory flag, how sweet they are! But is that really me in the centre? Surely I have waxed very fat on the rations.’
14 January 1945
Glentworth, King Street, Wellington, Salop.
Dear Mop and Pop,
[…] The Fortune Press replied and said that “all they ask” is that I don’t reproduce the poems in The North Ship in any collection of my poems for three years. This seems reasonable, and Bruce approves. I forgot to include a ‘Contents’ to the book, and there is some bother over that which I hope will not impede the production of the book unduly. Did you get a copy of the Oxford Book?1 I had a letter from Ian Davie, one of the contributors, from Ireland, who said kindly that he thought my poems and Wm. Bell’s Elegies were the best things in the book and that he felt quite ashamed of his own. This is the kind of thing I never really believe.
The assistant question comes up on Tuesday at a Committee. I rather dread it. I have not Pop’s facility for arguing with the clot-pated: surely it is obvious that an assistant is necessary – if they don’t see it surely nothing but Divine Revelation will be of any help. The Oxford Appts. Board sent me notice that the Miners’ Welfare Commission have a vacancy for an Administrative Assistant (salary £300 inclusive of War Bonus) which doesn’t sound too good. They are at Ashtead, Surrey.
Do you like this paper? It cost 2/- for 35 sheets so it ought to be good: it pretends to be handwoven. Notepaper is very scarce round here.
Mop’s little dream of us in the country is a very nice one – I should like to pay you visits there but I’m afraid to stay there permanently would sap my morale. But this business of making one’s way in the world is a desolate and depressing affair, and any hint of illness – such as on Thursday – sends one to the bottom of the Pit instantly without any hope of recovery.
Oh, well, this is the evil season of winter, and my hands are cold. Let’s hope for the Spring.
With very much love,
Philip
1 Poetry from Oxford in Wartime, ed. William Bell (London: Fortune Press, 1945). On 15 January Eva wrote: ‘Yes, dear Creature, we have the Oxford Book, and Kitty said that Miss Hart had seen it in a shop in Wimbledon. What a lot of poems you have in! I think they are very, very good. Particularly the sonnet, “Love, we must part now”, which makes me think of Thomas Hardy’s poems. Another one I like very much is “All catches alight.” I shall read them many times, and endeavour to find your meaning in them.’
7 February 1945
Postcard
Wellington
Wednesday
Many thanks for your two inspiriting letters. I will “draft out” an application and you can “check up on” it.1 I’m glad you think I stand some chance. Don’t they V.2 Liverpool?
Thoroughly agree with all you say about the advance of spring. There are snowdrops outside my window. And I am so glad you penetrated to the G.B.S. I went to see the Marx Bros. in “A Night At The Opera”2 last night with Bruce & the Lawrensons, who have invited me to dinner next Tuesday. A social creature. Things here get busier and busier – was surprised to find that Non-Fiction Issues Jan 1945 were 173% higher than in Jan 1944.
Much love
Philip
1 The letters from Sydney and Eva show that Sydney actively helped in the drafting of this Liverpool application. On 7 March Sydney drew his son’s attention to the post of Senior Library Assistant advertised by Durham University.
2 A 1935 film starring the Marx Brothers, directed by Sam Wood.
15 April 1945
Glentworth, King Street, Wellington, Salop.
My dear Mop and Pop,
[…] The Fortune Press say they “expect to undertake” Jill this year”. That I suppose means next. They said they would do the North Ship in February. Charlatans: they won’t pay for it either. Still, it will delight me to see my morbid little tale in book form.
On Wednesday we finally appointed my assistant – a pleasant girl called Greta Roden. She won’t start till September. To tell the truth, the responsibility of having to train an assistant weighs on me: I know practically nothing about the technical side of Librarianship, and either I have got to learn it first or she will learn it herself and shame my ignorance. […]
Bruce is alarmed by my sudden teetotalism & abstention from smoking. He says with asperity that if I expect him to go pretty country walks when we meet I am wrong.
Much love to both –
Philip
29 April 1945
Glentworth, King Street, Wellington, Salop.
My dear Mop and Pop,
[…] Things meander along here harmlessly enough. I have heard nothing from Liverpool. Last night I finished the first version of my novel, after a fashion, and today start the doubtful pleasure of rereading and making notes for the second version.1 Bruce chortles away in Devonshire, “being hardly able to write for laughing”, and there is no sight nor sound of The North Ship. Le Bateau Nord – or would it be Le Bateau du Nord? Like Rimbaud’s Le Bateau Rose.
Noël Hughes wrote to me again suggesting a meeting the weekend before Whitsun, but I refused as I can’t afford, or decently manage it. I may see him at Whitsun. I hope the weather returns to some semblance of an English spring by then. Miss T. said yesterday apropos of the frost: “An’ all the things in the garden have come up!” I said jovially, “Well, they’ll all have to go down again!” which amused me highly and sent me cackling to work.
With much love,
Philip
1 Katherine, later to become A Girl in Winter.
27 May 1945
Glentworth, King Street, Wellington, Salop.
My dear Mop and Pop,
[…] I had a letter from Jim saying he had been to Venice & floated about in a gondola. He says that he “hopes to see me in a very short time” but also that he will be going to Austria as part of the occupation army. These things seem to cancel out, don’t they? The sandwiches by the way vanished before Birmingham and the orange is no more, and all the ginger-biscuits except one has gone the way of all flesh. Great and merciful is the Lord. I have started reading the Bible while dressing in the morning. There is only time to read perhaps a chapter a day, but so far it is quite fascinating. I have just arrived at Noah and the Flood. It’s curious how even I, in whose upbringing the Bible played a negligible
part, feel a sense of the past upon me when I read it – not my own past necessarily, but I think of all the churches where these stories have been read over and over again in times when people could not read them. I think also of the old morality plays, translating them into inarticulate buffoonery and mime. It’s like encountering something fundamental in English life – like ploughs or barns or villages. Sorry if I make myself diffuse. I hardly know what I mean myself.
Bruce has no more news, except that he has had a letter from the Chaplain of Ohio State Penitentiary asking for a free copy of the Fly as the prisoners are agitating to read it. Further, Professor someoneorother of Ohio University took it as a text for a wireless talk on the detective novel, and finally a girl named Betty E. Smith of Wichita, Kansas, has written saying how much she liked it and how clever he is. I wondered if it was Betty Smith who wrote a popular novel called “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn”,1 and if it was Wichita Faces?
Talking about “mehr licht”, as Goethe said,2 my skylights were scraped yesterday. The counter where I work is now flooded with light, which is a good thing in some ways if not in others. A borrower gave me some eggs yesterday.
I say, as a graduate have I two votes?3 How do I use them? I particularly want to vote for A. P. Herbert.4
With much love to both
Philip
1 Novel by Betty Smith, published in 1943.
2 ‘More light’: the last words of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832).
3 Philip was entitled to vote both in the University of Oxford constituency and in Wellington.
4 Alan Patrick Herbert (1890–1971): humourist, novelist and playwright, standing as an independent, had been elected as one of the two MPs for Oxford University in 1935, and was returned again in 1945. University constituencies were abolished in 1950.
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