Philip Larkin
Page 29
Postcard
[30 Elmwood Avenue, Belfast]
So we shall be alone for Xmas after all? How jolly. We’ll mull some wine & eat nuts. I’m sorry my cards don’t reach you on time: they’re surely postmarked Friday? Perhaps the post-creatures read them & decide they aren’t important. But they are, post-creatures.
I’m sorry too that you aren’t going to see M. – She asked me if you’d come if asked & I’m afraid I said you would. I’d forgotten you didn’t like dark nights.1
Looking forward to the pie,
Philip
1 On 25 November Eva told Philip that Monica had asked her to tea, ‘giving me the times of various buses and different ways of getting to Westgate Road but somehow the journey rather bothered me, particularly the journey back in the dark. I wrote, as nicely as I could, and said I wasn’t at all happy about the return journey, and I would rather postpone any visit until the lighter evenings.’
1953
4 January 1953
30 Elmwood Ave1
My dear old creature,
And a happy new year to you too!
Well, I’m back again in my flat: the crossing was quite uneventful, though cool: I had an outside cabin, & I think these are colder than the rest. Belfast is covered in white frost and my two rooms need a good bit of warming up. Your letter & the gloves awaited me: I will change them for the next size larger as soon as I can.
London was not very eventful, but it was certainly warmer than Warwick. So that was a good point in its favour! Of course we spent a ridiculous amount of time & money eating and drinking: we also saw the negro opera Porgy & Bess, wch was good, and a film Quo vadis which wasn’t!2 I noticed one night after midnight that the air is full of twittering in London – flocks of sparrows & starlings that never sleep but sit chattering till all hours. I also devoted some time to trying to fit London together in my mind – walking about, trying to connect it up, but I find it extraordinarily difficult. There’s so much of it, & it all looks the same. […]
Monica was delighted with Warwick, & indeed it did look a very picturesque & pleasing spot. To my great delight peacocks were picking about in Castle Lane, but when I turned to Monica to see what she thought of such oriental quaintness I found she’d backed about 10 feet in half a second, nor could she be induced to approach them. However, she admitted such a sight was unusual, if she personally could not call it delightful … They fly over the wall and the cottagers feed them. Don’t you think it strange for any old lady? A queen in her palace couldn’t have more than peacocks at her door.
I noticed Mr Harrod’s name amongst the CBE’s, but nobody else’s. He’s Chairman of some Committee to do with Poles. How Pop would grin.
Of course I was too lazy to buy any rations in London, so lunch today has been a poached egg, macaroni & tinned spinach, quite nice, but not unduly filling. However, I daresay I could do with a day’s fasting after some of the meals I’ve had. My New Year resolutions are: Eat fruit and sugar! but I do hate sugar so! Perhaps it will be enough if I eat my chocolate ration regularly – that may help anyway.3
Well, my dear creature, I am a bit flat today, but I enjoyed my Christmas & look forward to seeing you again. Daddy’s watch is going well & has already been much admired. I didn’t see anyone in London except Bruce & Peter Watt, & a man called Jiggs who is Bandmaster of the Irish Guards. Quite a change for me.
Much special love,
Philip
1 Address inserted in pen; Queen’s Chambers letterhead crossed out.
2 George Gershwin’s 1935 opera and MGM’s 1951 Technicolor epic film starring Robert Taylor and Deborah Kerr.
3 In her letter of 6 January Eva remarked: ‘I think a better New Year resolution would be to get up in time to prepare and eat a good breakfast. After all, to have to be at Queen’s by 10 o’clock is no great hardship, is it? If you got breakfast by 9.15 a.m. you would be in good time.’
18 January 1953
30 Elmwood Ave, Belfast
My dear old creature,
[…] Things have been going on much the same as usual here: no, you didn’t meet Winifred last year.1 As you may divine I am feeling a bit balked concerning her – my paw was raised to be brought down on her – and now she scuttles away into the shadow of a rock! Bah!2 […]
My very best love, dear old creature:
Philip
1 Larkin addressed ‘Lines on a Young Lady’s Photograph Album’ and ‘Maiden Name’ to Winifred Arnott, an English Library Assistant at Queens. They discussed the pros and cons of marriage and went on long cycle rides together. Their relationship never became physical and on her return to Queeen’s after Christmas 1952 she announced that she was engaged to be married.
2 Eva wrote on 25 January: ‘You mystify me somewhat about Winifred. Why should you feel balked? I can only think of one reason. However I hope you are not too miserable about her engagement.’
1 February 1953
30 Elmwood Ave, Belfast
My dear old creature,
I have just turned your calendar over to February, & sat down to do as much of your letter before lunch as I can. You’ll be interested to know that I am trying a tiny pot au feu today – beef for boiling, turnip, carrots, a leek, onion, & a cabbage I shall have to do separately. It smells lovely. I’ve also ½ a bottle of claret (4/-) & some new potatoes. I wonder what you have got? Anything like this?
[…] I must thank you for your last long letter. I’m sorry the telegram was not an unmixed blessing.1 My “other ailments” are the music hall jest of non-acting bowels – this has been going on for five weeks now & I’m heartily sick of it.
So are all my friends, I can assure you, as I keep them well informed of my day to day progress or otherwise.2
My social evening went fairly well, but it was hellish dear. As well as ham sandwiches (which go with anything) I did cheese sandwiches – cheese & pickles, cheese & celery, cheese & tomato. Also chocolate biscuits. I had another one last night – the Strangs, Winifred, Leo3 & Archie – more free and easy, & much cheaper. How did you get on with Effie?4 I’m sure, though she must be difficult to talk to, that you get a good deal of private fun out of her. Next Sunday I have to go out and listen to some records of Bartok, a very nobbly modern composer that I doubt I shall enjoy. Today I dedicate to myself & to my cooking.
I’m sorry Kitty is in such a poor way. I can quite imagine that the strain must tell on her. If I had the time to write letters I’d take her onto my rota, but perhaps I might send one. I wore her tie on Friday, having assembled suitable clothes to match it, & it didn’t look too bad.
At present I’m starting The adventures of Philip by Thackeray. The title caught my eye, So far he is just a young man who doesn’t like his father, but I don’t know why.
Well, now I will go and see to my lunch: & leave a little space to tell you what it was like.
Later – I wish you could have seen my lunch table: blue & white check cloth, claret, brown bread, celery, cheese – it looked like an advertisement! The lunch was nice – much too much of it, of course! – but not quite so nice as those made by a certain old creature of my acquaintance, not long ago. I didn’t have any peppercorns, but I had cloves & bay leaves.
I enclose a para. about Spring. I have a bunch of snowdrops in my room & another in the kitchen. My special spring time love,
Philip
1 Eva wrote on 27 January: ‘The telegram, you might like to know gave me, and my next door neighbour a slight shock. I was standing at the front door speaking to Mrs Coleman, who is rather under the weather just now, and also has a sister very ill indeed, and a brother just recovering from a very serious operation (the Doctor gave him up) as well as a mother, over 80 who had just had a fall and hurt herself, when the telegram boy cycled up. Of course she thought it was for her, and turned pale.’
2 On 3 February Eva sent detailed dietary and physical advice from ‘the Encyclopaedia’ on how to avoid constipation,
concluding: ‘I hope you won’t be tempted to try a cold bath for it might make you ill, as you are not in the habit of taking it cold. Wait till summer!’
3 Leo Japolsky, Lecturer in French at QUB. On 5 March 1954 Larkin wrote: ‘I went to Leo’s piano recital last night, which was taken at top speed in a very cold hall, but was quite good.’ See Plate 9C for Larkin’s expressionistic photograph of this unstable colleague, who was eventually committed to a secure hospital after killing his father.
4 Effie McNichol.
14 March 1953
Greetings telegram1
10.0 AM BELFAST N 13 =
GREETINGS = LARKIN 21 YORK ROAD LOUGHBOROUGH = CHARMING LETTER ENJOS [sic] YOUR WEEKEND **
LOVE = PHILIP +
1 15 March was mothering Sunday. On 17 March Eva wrote: ‘In what a delightful manner you remembered “Old Creatures’ Day”! As a matter of fact on the Saturday morning I hurried away from Kitty’s early (they were only just getting up!) in order to be in, if the postman should knock, perhaps a card too large to be pushed through the letter box, because knowing what a kind-hearted Creature you are I somehow thought there might be something un-usual. At 11-a.m. the postman knocked and handed to me your lovely “greetings telegram” which made me very happy.’
2 May 1953
My very dear old creature,
I’m writing to you on Saturday evening this week-end, because tomorrow I shall be occupied all day, and of course old creature must have its letter! Anything can be missed rather than that. My inside feels a trifle congested at the moment, for I have eaten nearly a whole tin of salmon for supper, & nearly a whole tin of asparagus.
But I’m not so bloated that I cannot send you my most special love & sympathy this week, hoping that you have had a more enjoyable time this weekend than you had to chronicle in your letter. There is nothing more grisly than the rattle of house agents’ keys – I mean that nothing is more unsettling than the slightest hint that one isn’t settled in one’s domicile. And of course I know that you are ridden by this particular dislike of thunderstorms, which seems quite reasonable to me as long as there’s one actually in progress, but not when there isn’t.1 You really must remember that in a temperate climate like ours there are always plenty of clouds about, & that they don’t necessarily mean any harm: they are always forming and dissipating, and I think if you kept a little diary and marked every day when you were worried about storms, and every day that there was a storm, I think you’d be astonished at the amount of worrying about nothing that you’d done. As for the larger questions, I am coming to think that you would be happier in a flat (less work, less worrying responsibility) & that if all our special belongings are an obstacle to your happiness then it’s time they went. Your object in life should be happiness, now you have come into the quieter waters of old creaturehood, & I hope to see you achieve it.
This week held one or two small worries for me – my cleaner & my caretaker are squabbling, also some people in the library who are nominally under my aegis. And then my driving lesson gives me the jitters – I get frightfully nervous & do things all wrong. And also of course I am wondering what Walter will do.
The volume called Springtime that includes six of my XX Poems turned up on May 1st – in the introduction they call me an Irish poet, “rooted” – I don’t quite know in what, but rooted anyway! They seem to imagine I am some kind of rural Irish creature!
Tonight I have to go to a play by St John Irvine,2 which you will hear us talking about on Thursday at 9.15 p.m. (N.I. Home Service). I hope that goes well. Probably I shall gibber gibber gibber. I understand a man is going to differ from me violently.
I think I’ll break off now, & go to the theatre: perhaps I can finish this when I return. Goodbye for about 4 hours!
20 to 12. Phew! Home again, and after a fairly boring time. It was a first night, crowded, in the little theatre we went to with the Wilsons (funny night that!). I was so hot & bored, I ran away at the end, probably offending the B.B.C. creatures I was with, but really I couldn’t stand any more of anything. Tomorrow I have a day out: six of us have hired a car down to Dublin, where we shall see Tristan & Isolde done by the Munich State Opera Company. Can’t say this will be exactly my cup of tea, but I’m always interested in new experiences & I’ve never seen any Wagner before. Of course I’m not going to drive, in case you think I am! I couldn’t drive a dodgem car at present. […]
When I go onto a third sheet I really have to ferret things out to tell you!3 I bought my nylon pants in Oxford, and they’ve been wearing quite well – I wash them at night, & am thinking of putting in a special hook in the rafter to hang them on to dry. My housekeeping is an endless round of bacon & eggs, cheese, spaghetti & soups – but now the season is coming in again there’ll be more variety. Isn’t it nice to have spring again? You remember Housman’s lines “And since to look at things in bloom Fifty springs is little room …”4 and I do agree. As the dawn song of birds is supposed to represent their joy at finding that the light did come back, so I feel we ought to make some similar rejoicing – well, I suppose Easter is our festival, the Resurrection thanksgiving. How I do drivel on. But, dear old creature, do remember that there are more things in life than thunderstorms – trees, stars, rivers, all costing nothing to look at. It takes quite a bit to crush any human spirit, so take courage! Now I must go to bed.
My best love,
Philip5
1 In a six-page letter of 28 April Eva considered her future should Walter take a job in Wolverhampton, where he had been living in digs during a long assignment away from home: ‘I could stay here if only I weren’t so afraid at times. Ever since Saturday I have lived in fear and trembling, all because of the weather, and the thought that I may be alone if a storm comes along. If I don’t get better soon, I really shall have to do something about it. Can you, or Patsy tell me how I can overcome these fears. I do wish I wasn’t like it. / About letting the house furnished, I think it would be very difficult to clear all the rooms of our especial belongings. […] Then again, I think what I really want is company in the house. You see, I should be just as worried if I came to Belfast and just as much alone. I wonder if I tried to get a companion help, even though it might be costly, it would be worth it if my mind was more at ease. I might cease to think of the weather in time.’
2 St John Ervine (sic.; 1883–1971), Irish author and playwright.
3 He is now at the bottom of the recto of his third page (the 5th side).
4 A. E. Housman, A Shropshire Lad 2: ‘Loveliest of trees, the cherry now’.
5 He finishes, as almost always, at the very bottom of the verso of the final page.
7 July 1953
Postcard
[30 Elmwood Ave, Belfast]
Tuesday.
A little more stable by now! but not much. Glad you received and liked the book. It makes one want to go on the moors, doesn’t it?1 Our weather has cleared up somewhat but is very windy. Yesterday I bought a new pair of bathing trunks – fashions have changed rather since my young days! These are very scanty & sporty & I trust will not get me arrested. The moths have been wearing my old ones.
Very best wishes to our special old creature P.
1 Perhaps this book was Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights or Richard Blackmore’s Lorna Doone.
17 July 1953
Postcard
[30 Elmwood Ave, Belfast]
Many thanks for your letter. Don’t be flurried, old creech-haugh! I shall be in B’ham long before you, on the 25th July, & will meet you.1 Before I send this card I’ll look up the train-times for you. – Friday. In Glasgow, after safe though slow journey. As far as I can see, your train to B’ham must be the 8.30 a.m. from Leicester, arriving at 9.39 a.m. – but I really cannot find how you manage to be at Leicester (London Rd) by 8.30! Wd you please ask at the Nut Shop? As I said before the train on the day is the 9.49 but it arrives too late – our train goes at 11
.35. No, I ain’t forgotten Kitty: mea culpa. Quite fine here.
All love,
Philip
1 On 13 July Eva, worrying about travel arrangements for her forthcoming holiday with Philip in Weymouth, had written: ‘I feel more than a bit perturbed about meeting you in Birmingham. I’m so afraid I shall miss you. I suppose though, if your train gets in first, you will enquire which platform mine comes in [at] and wait there until it does come in. I do hope I don’t have to change. If my train gets in first I must find out where yours is expected to come in. Where will your train be coming from? If, however, I can’t find you within a reasonable time, and the worst comes to the worst I shall get the station authorities to call you on the loud speaker.’
6 August 1953
Welcome home, dear old creature!1 I hope you had an easy journey and that your little home looks snug & neat. Last night I asked for the lawn mower, but was told it had gone to be mended. I breathed again!
Now don’t go worrying about any old weather: summer’s pretty well done, so old creatures can sit round the fire & roast chestnuts.
All love, P
1 An unusual one page letter with blank verso. It awaited Eva on her return from the holiday she had spent with Philip in Weymouth, following his holiday with Monica in Mallaig, Inverness-shire.
23 August 1953
My very dear old creature,
This is a dull day of the kind I expect you like: no one could find a thundercloud if they rooted about all day, & I think a fine steady rain is falling. I’ve not dressed yet: I’ve made my bed, but apart from breakfasting & shaving that’s all. There is a curry made in the kitchen, ready to be restarted: how it will taste I don’t know. I think there’s too much lemon in it. I’ve no “duties” today except innumerable letters […]