Philip Larkin
Page 25
My best regards & affections to Kitty, Rosemary & Walter, & particular remembrances to yourself —————— Philip
1 On 22 October Philip had mentioned that the copy of Dostoevsky’s The Possessed that Eva was trying to read was ‘a Q.U.B. Library book’. She asked on 28 October: ‘By the way, what does O.U.B. mean. Oxford Union ——————?’
2 Eva was attending a series of lectures on psychology organised by Dr Edith Folwell of Victoria Park Road, Leicester. On 28 October she described a visit to her mentor: ‘She received me in her usual gracious way and brought me a cup of coffee and biscuits and was oh so altogether kind and comforting. I stayed there till 12.15. I told her all my worries, and broke down & wept. However she cheered me up once again and made me promise to go to the lecture here on Monday evening (Derek Neville) and said I was to sit with her. I told her that she must send in her bill – but she wouldn’t hear of it. I can go and see her again, when I like, she said.’ At the lecture the secretary announced that subscriptions were due: ‘I really feel that I ought to pay as I have been so regularly since I came here […] It is 6/= per year and a silver collection each fortnightly lecture. I think one is supposed to give a shilling. I wonder if it is too extravagant?’
3 On 31 October Eva wrote: ‘My very dear Creature, Your letter once again gave me so much joy, and when I came to the sketch of me I laughed outright!’ She recounted her interviews with prospective live-in companions, Mrs Pell, Mrs Gamble and Norah Barlow (‘about forty-something and exceedingly bright and cheerful’). She continued: ‘I hope you insist upon the tailor making the jacket long enough, and do have it loose-fitting so that it is comfortable. / I am puzzled when I think of buying a costume. I don’t know whether to get a good one (£15.15.0) or a utility, composed of unknown material £8.8.0.’
4 Eva had been kept awake by gnawing sounds outside her bedroom (letter of 28 October). Walter put down three mouse traps, but no mouse was caught.
5 Eva had been ‘rather disappointed’ by Mrs Pell, who ‘looked so much older than me, and very countrified’ (28 October). Two people named Gamble had responded, one of whom was a man. He had requested that Eva engage in ‘respectable’ but ‘private’ correspondence.
5 November 1950
Queen’s Chambers, Belfast
My very dear Mop,
It’s another very fine Sunday morning here, quite warm, and people are strolling up and down the road outside. Have two open windows and have just opened a third but I fancy I shall close that one. Moderation in all things! I’m wearing my fat white sweater so feel well muffled. The central heating is on as usual.
There was quite a lot to digest in your last letter and I have just been reading it through again – in fact, if this letter is disconnected or not very long it will be because I sit & think in between each sentence! I realise that the question of choosing a companion is extremely difficult and delicate, & I must say I shouldn’t like to do it except after two or three fairly long meetings, when I had begun to grasp the person more clearly, and to form an opinion whether I liked them or not once their strangeness had worn off. Of the people you mention, the French one sounds as if she would not give any companionship & was anyway not what you asked for. No two to one! You say you liked Norah Barlow – that is the great thing: she sounds a bit “fierce”, though, and I do think you want someone who’ll grow more friendly rather than becoming self-sufficient once she has found somewhere to live. As for E. Jepps (is it?) perhaps you will have seen her by now and can report on her: she does not sound too bad from what you say.1 It is an extrememly hard choice to make & I do wish sincerely there was some old acquaintance of yours who wouldn’t be too strange, for I realise very well that a new person is much more of a risk and also more of a strain to live with until you know them better. It all worries me a good deal, not so much from the financial angle which I think would be all right, but I do not like the thought of you forced to live with someone who does not allow for your private ways of doing things & with whom you can’t share jokes from time to time. A good person wd be very good and would I think help you to get much more fun out of life, but a misfire would create more problems than she would solve.
Your balance-sheet certainly looks encouraging[ly] low – of course clothes & fares – & a holiday, cats should have holidays – will swallow up the balance very quickly.2 I don’t think the figures you quote are wrong, & I can’t think of any omissions: the new Chancellor has remarked, however, that prices will rise still further, which of course is no news to anyone. I should buy a good suit now. I might add that I do not think a serious “candidate for the post” ought to be put off by the absence of [a] house if you convince her of your goodwill & if she herself is as I say serious. Though I can imagine it might dash the spirits of some one eager for a house.
The house you described sounded a nice one – what condition is it in? Good? <[in left margin] The price sounds all right if the state of it is good.> I’m afraid there will always be some drawbacks in any house, you know: the garden sounds rather large though a lovely asset if you could benefit by it. Regarding Clemerson’s list, have you to “accept” it? If so I suppose you might say that you queried the absence of certain items. Have they really been over everything? Ten shillings does not sound too bad – it’s a sort of compromise increase, I fancy.3
About Christmas, what I mean is to come & spend seven consecutive nights in Loughborough: I might look in on Monica on the way home & on Kingsley on the way away again. That is, I might arrive in Loughborough on the 22nd & depart on the 29th. I shall have to confirm all this as soon as I can as booking will be brisk at Christmas: I shall look forward to seeing you once more though not to seeing our dear Lichfield relatives once more! However, I promise to take you.
This is not a very interesting or even very helpful letter, I’m afraid. I spend much time wondering how you are.
I have not much news this week. I was measured for the suit & it may be ready for Xmas, I don’t know. On Thursday night I had to go out on a ghastly drinking evening with the people I lied to previously. God! why can’t one be really rude? Yesterday Graham, Bradley & a man called Terry4 & I walked to Lisburn – some 7 or 8 miles I suppose – & Bradley & I stayed there for the evening. This was all right, but O! I do get bored so easily. A few hours of anyone is always enough for me. Then I long for a book & my own uninterrupted thoughts. Regarding my “new life”, it is superficially quite bearable, but at bottom all lives are impossible. I don’t mean I’m not quite happy, but it doesn’t do to analyse it all.
I’ve read all the papers about Shaw & shall make a selection of cuttings for my diary.5 By all accounts he was very thankful to see the end of life: what a splendid show he put up of recovering. GBS to the last. The Manchester Guardian gave him the best write up.
Must “dress for lunch” now. Sunday lunch is v. respectable – gowns!
My very best & dearest love:
Philip
1 Elizabeth Jepps, who appears in Eva’s address book as living a minute’s walk away from her at 123 Ashby Road, later became her friend, and initiated her into a charitable sewing group.
2 Eva’s letter of 31 October included a list of her expenses at 12 Dixon Drive for the previous year.
3 In her letter of 31 October Eva wrote: ‘This morning I also received a list of all the articles stored at Clemersons. Their revised price is 10/- per. week or part of a week. Do you think I ought to let Walter raise objections about it or not? I think not.’ Clemersons was a removal and furniture storage company in Loughborough.
4 Arthur Hubert Terry (1927–2004): assistant lecturer in Spanish; later professor at QUB (1962) and Essex (1973–94).
5 George Bernard Shaw died on 2 November 1950.
12 November 1950
Queen’s Chambers, Queen’s University, Belfast
My dear old Mop,
The sun is looking in with a watery eye, & I am looking out
with a watery eye at the Q.U.B. cadet corps drilling. Perhaps it will be a nice day after all. If it is fine after lunch I shall take out my bicycle. – Quite exciting opposite: a wreath-laying ceremony has suddenly started, with some bright robes and a military band. I remember giving half a crown towards a Chambers wreath, and this must be when it is due to be laid. I didn’t buy a poppy this year: no particular reason, except that the hags are so confident when they approach you. – Now the last post is sounding: echoing all along the front of the building in velvet rather than / bright notes. […]
My best love to you & kindest thoughts
P
26 November 1950
Queen’s Chambers, Belfast
My dear old Mop,
How I did laugh at your ‘wild Mop’: a really skilful & comic drawing.1 Well, today is fine but frosty, the grass opposite in front of Queen’s is quite white & the wreaths I described being here a fortnight ago are all frosty. It would be nice to go out a walk or ride but I don’t expect I shall, having quite a lot to do today. And I expect the best of this day will be gone before lunch. […]
A very furry week to you, best loving wishes & a lilt of slightly cracked Irish laughter to Kitty, Walter & Rosemary. And extra love to yr goodself – Philip
1 On 21 November Eva told Philip that she did ‘feel wild’ that the linen she needed to make Philip the bag he needed for his clothes was in storage. She added a pen-sketch:
On 9 January 1951 she drew a similar mop version of herself drinking sherry with her friend Effie McNicol.
31 December 1950
Mumbles Road, Swansea1
My dear old Mop,
This is just to report that I did arrive – 90 mins late – after a boring journey which didn’t get any warmer as time went on! I hoped you returned to your burrow and found comfort in a fire.
I haven’t much to report from here – conditions are the same or worse – & a very very small cold has perched on my shoulder. Curiously enough I don’t at all want to go back to Belfast!
However, I must thank you all for such a pleasant Christmas. I hope your upsets have subsided, & that Walter has thrown off his embryo influenza. I shall think of you & your Real Turtle Soup!2
Will write more lengthily later on.
All love,
Philip
1 Philip was staying with the Amises.
2 This is the first appearance of the ‘Old Creature’ wearing a mob cap.
1951
2 January 1951
Picture postcard1
1 MV Ulster Monarch. Larkin was returning to Belfast via Liverpool.
7 January 19511
Queen’s Chambers, Belfast
My dear old Moth,
I am sitting in the Senior Common Room for a change, still in this place however, listening to a good coal fire flapping behind me. Outside, the sun is shining wanly, & the snow just beginning to shrink at the edges. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more depressing sight than Belfast when I returned – worse than England by a long chalk. They’d had 9 inches of snow in the main streets the day before: everything was grey, hopeless & slushy – then it froze again. Then there was fog. Then about half the population is ill with influenza, all hospitals are closed to visitors. After a day or two I cultivated the little cold I told you about & have spent about 3 days indoors. This is just as well as where I should have got my food from I don’t know. As it is I have lived pretty comfortably, but have not much news for you as I’ve done nothing since arrival. Except that the Graneeks had me to lunch on Tuesday, when the fog was so bad. He is not going to Canada, I’m happy to say. I mentioned the likelihood – or should I say suggestion – of your coming here & he nodded vaguely but said he didn’t suppose I should stay here, as if he had just put in a confidential report on my complete incapacity to the Senate. If you’re interested in the lunch it was soup, shepherd’s pie, apple tart, & cheese, with the offer of beer, which I refused – ay! You’ve got to con-sider what yer boss it thinkin’ of yer! Ruth was much in evidence. She is a most utterly spoilt little girl.2
The Amises are living even more sluttishly than usual, & their children are wondering, wandering tow haired little boys, really rather pretty, but quite squashed & timorous.3 Even their crying seems subdued. Kingsley & Hilly had just visited both sets of parents and felt done in: Hilly’s lot only burn peat & Kingsley was frozen all the time: & Kingsley’s mother had made a lot of tactless remarks about Hilly’s general incompetence to run a home or bring up children or do anything at all: all of which is probably quite well founded, only not at all the right thing to say & especially not likely to win Kingsley’s sympathy as she seemed to suppose, somehow, that it might. However, as I may have said, Hilly has come into some money & they will be buying a house shortly, so that cheered them up a good deal.
So far I’ve not had a chance to settle down: my belongings are littered over four rooms at present, and I shall have to do an enormous amount of work to settle into this new one. I haven’t unpacked my suitcase yet, except to discover that a record I brought back has not survived the journey.
I wonder very much how you are faring? Have you undertaken the fraud of the British Railways yet? And have you had the turtle soup yet? I expect if I mention it much more you will pour it down the sink. By now I hope the weather is better on your side of the Irish Sea than here: once it all clears up we shall see the first signs of spring sooner than we expect.
There’s a suggestion now that I should go to Dublin on Feb 4th.
Please excuse a shortish letter this week – for I’ve really nothing to report, & they got me up very late this morning. Let me have a good bulletin of news, & give my love to R. & K.4
Especially love to dear
Philip
1 In an envelope postmarked 14 January; the delay presumably caused by the snow.
2 The Graneeks’ daughter.
3 On 9 January Eva wrote: ‘I was interested to hear all about the Amises. Somehow they make me think of the “Constant Nymph” or am I making a big mistake and mixing this up with some other book. I often think though that little boys are quieter than little girls – they seem when very small, much more shy and inclined to hide behind Mother.’ Margaret Kennedy’s 1943 novel The Constant Nymph depicts a bohemian domestic ménage.
4 Rosemary and Kitty.
28 January 1951
Queen’s Chambers, Belfast
My dear Mop,
A sunny day here, with frost on the ground. I am wondering if I might go out somewhere for lunch after writing to you, it seems a shame to waste the fine air. Since writing last I have progressed satisfactorily & am now quite all right again, enjoying life as far as it’s my character to do so. Really I work quite hard here: there are days when I am rushing about from about 9–5.30 (with a break for lunch, of course!) doing all my various jobs. Then at night I sit up here undisturbed by anyone. Curious! While writing that last sentence I suddenly became overcome by an enormous sadness, from hearing a phrase of opera wafted up the stairs, making me think of London & operas I have seen. Strange. The sense of happiness is easily overthrown.
People here do seem (I mean Queen’s people) less interesting than at Leicester: I don’t know why. I suppose I really am among the barbarians, or else I’m becoming blasé. There is not much to report on this week: you know I planned to go to Dublin next weekend and meet Bruce at Stephen’s1 – as before Christmas – well, now Bruce writes to say that when all the world has ’flu he had got mumps, so won’t be able to come. Nuisance! Still, I shall go (D.V.) and see what the real Ireland is like. Talking about the real Ireland I was looking in a Catholic trinket shop in Chapel Lane here yesterday, & spied a little card about the size of a visiting card headed “When I say ‘Jesus’” – it went on to explain how the holy name was in itself a prayer & meant firstly &c and secondly &c. Keep this card in your pocket & under yr pillow at night, it said, for the holy name will ward off evil spirits: and try to say ‘Jesus’ as often as possible th
rough the day. It seems to me that I’m in a fair way to achieving sanctity myself! (Better not tell Miss J. this).2 I remember Pop making great game of the hymn ‘How sweet the name of Jesus sounds’. It is curious how the atmosphere of Catholicism is so oppressive & irritating: one begins to chafe as soon as one looks into one of these shops, with their awful saccharine saints & little leather purses stamped “my rosary”. I shall be joining the Orange Lodges soon!
I’m returning yr coding notice: if your bank is going to do yr Income Tax this year – & I don’t see why they shouldn’t – you should pass it to them. What £27 means is a mystery to me. The main thing you will have to watch is that now Dixon Drive is off yr hands anything depending on that will be altered. I think there’s a space in the declaration form (which you won’t have had yet) to say if you have lost or gained any property through the year.
Thanks for the Egoist – or Eogist as you called it! – extract: it was remarkable.3 Meredith is supposed to be a master of words; they come pouring out of him like bees out of a hive, though oddly enough I’ve never read any of his books.
If you come to Ireland – & I do hope you will, just for a few days – you will have to get a passport photo & a travel permit: No more now –
Fondest love to you & all the others,
Philip4
1 St Stephen’s Green Hotel.
2 Elizabeth Jepps, Eva’s religiously inclined friend.
3 In a letter of 23 January Eva had quoted from George Meredith’s novel of 1879: ‘He placed himself at a corner of the doorway for her to pass him into the house, and doated on her cheek, her ear and the softly dusky nape of her neck, where this way and that the little lighter-coloured irreclaimable curls running truant from the comb and the knot – curls, half-curls, root-curls, vine-ringlets, wedding rings, fledgeling feathers, tufts of clover, blown wisps – waved or fell, waved over or up or involutedly, or strayed, loose and downwards in the form of small silken paws, hardly any of them much thicker than a crayon shading, cunninger than long round locks of gold to trick the heart.’