Philip Larkin
Page 34
My book continues to be noticed here and there: it’s reviewed in today’s Observer and reference is made to my “vivacious melancholy”. I think that’s a very good description of me. They misquote a passage: fools. Tell Kitty Vogue has written for a copy: it may mean a mention in People are talking about.
Next Friday night it is being reviewed on the Northern Ireland Home Service – the Arts in Ulster, 9.45 to 10.15. Do try to listen. I expect I shall get pulled to pieces. I am also agreeing myself to introduce a programme on the 3rd in the early summer. […]
Do let me know how you are getting on: I long to know.
Very much love, Philip
14 February 1956
200 Hallgate, Cottingham, East Yorks.
My dear old creature,
Just a line, written in the deepest of winter, the coldest I have ever felt as I can remember, to say that my x-rays show nothing seriously wrong with me. Apparently the pain or discomfort is caused, as I felt, by nervous spasms that contract the oesophagus when I eat & prevent my food getting into the stomach at all. The only sure cure is to stop worrying! So I’m to try to relax before meals, & go on taking belladonna medicine, & hope for the best.
In compensation I have got the beginnings of a horrible cold.1
Really, I don’t know that the weather could get any colder. There isn’t much more than a fairly light covering of snow everywhere, but the roads are glassy with ice and the air is like the finger of death. Yesterday & today a “friend” of mine, the novelist Wm Cooper,2 visited the university and I stood dinner at a hotel at night. Can’t say I greatly enjoyed it, but it makes a change.
At Needler Hall tonight when I unrolled my napkin I found a valentine in it! Much mirth among the students.3
Now dear old creature, do take special care to keep warm – leave electric radiators on all over the place, & be glad you have them to leave on! Warmth is life these days.
All best love,
Philip
1 On 16 February Eva wrote: ‘When your letter came this morning I really felt afraid to open it. When I did open it I felt overjoyed, and so relieved to know that the xrays showed nothing seriously wrong. Of course I had to look up oesophagus in the encyclopaedia and it means what I thought it did. Somehow I suspected that worry was the main cause of the trouble, so now dear Creature, you must not let things worry you – but it is easier said than done as I know. Above all don’t worry about me for I’m quite all right. […] I’ve had another busy day, thoroughly cleaned the bathroom, also did landings and stairs. I took a radiator with me, had it on the stairs even!’
2 Harry S. Hoff (1910–2002), author of Scenes from Provincial Life (1950), wrote under the name William Cooper about his experiences as a teacher in Leicester in the 1930s.
3 On 16 February Eva wrote: ‘P.S. Fancy having a valentine! Would it be from the girl students – or aren’t there any at the University?’
13 May 1956
192A Hallgate, Cottingham, E. Yorkshire1
My dear old creature,
Quarter to twelve when I sit down to write to you! This is because I invited the Hartleys round last night and they stayed till about 1.30 a.m. Fearful! They are the first visitors I’ve had since arriving in Hull, & I didn’t do it very well. Still, they wouldn’t mind. Hartley, who is as you know my “publisher”, talks largely of giving me cheques, wch I agree to receive, but shall believe in when I see. I have really been very foolish in allying myself with him, I now realise, but such foolish behaviour is all of a piece with the general conduct of my life. I wish this next edition wd hurry up & come out.
[…] I send you all my dearest love on this bright warm Sunday –
Philip
1 Between April and October 1956 Larkin lived here, a short distance from his previous lodging.
29 July 1956
192A Hallgate, Cottingham, East Yorks.
My dear old creature,
[…] This has not been a very remarkable week, by any standards: did I tell you that last Sunday I cleaned my gas-cooker, or tried to? A vile coat of slime slid down the sink at the finish. Every evening I come back to my room & try to write poetry, but am varyingly hindered by the row in the house. It’s quite awful at times – well, not awful, but enough to put me off. Talking of poetry, there is a sharp criticism of me (for a change) in this week’s Time & Tide, apropos of this New Lines book.1 If you pass the public library it might amuse you to read it. I am on cool terms with George Hartley at present, so don’t know if the 3rd edition is ready or not. Curse the whole stupid farce! […]
Dear old creature! My thoughts are with you as always. Much love,
Philip
1 New Lines, edited by Robert Conquest, was published in 1956. It included eight poems by Larkin, and works by Amis, Davie, D. J. Enright, Thom Gunn, John Holloway, Elizabeth Jennings, John Wain and Conquest himself. For Conquest, see note on the letter of 11 April 1961.
19 August 1956
53 Glanmor Road, Uplands, Swansea, S. Wales
My dear old creature,
Well! I hope you made the journey safely, & that you found someone waiting at the other end. I expect we are both in very different environments now, from our luxurious little apartments in Stratford!1 Kingsley & Hilly are both well, & so are all the children – especially Philip, who seems a charming little boy now.2 There seem other children about too, also lots of dogs and cats. The new house is a bit larger than the last, but not unduly palatial: certainly the guest room is as rigorous as before. Breakfast was frightful, but I shall be more explicit about food henceforth. The weather seems sunny but with showers now & again: it rained heavily last night.
In retrospect Stratford seems quite fun! The Sunday papers today both praise Alan Badel (Lucio) very highly.3 Do you remember the swans all asleep on their little island?
There’s some mention of me in the TLS this week, in the supplement. Give my love to everyone.
Love to you too, of course! Philip
1 After a holiday in Skye with Monica in July Philip had spent a week with Eva in Stratford, 11–18 August. She was now on a visit to Nellie in Hyde.
2 The Amises’ first son was named after Larkin, who was also his godfather.
3 While at Stratford Eva and Philip had attended a performance of Measure for Measure at the Shakespeare Memorial Theatre.
2 September 1956
192A Hallgate, Cottingham, East Yorkshire
My dear old creature,
[…] Miss Wrench writes to say she will start on September 24!1 I feel a little scared. It’s not that I’m afraid of her, but I’m afraid she will discover that she is out on a limb, socially. You see, all the rest of my staff are either graduates, & members of the common room, or local girls with their own friends. Poor Miss Wrench will be neither, and I’m rather afraid lest she will find herself intolerably lonely. Perhaps she will leave quickly! Perhaps, on the other hand, she won’t.
I’m “nursing” my stomach along, trying not to get worried or angry, & so far am not doing too badly. I enjoyed my Sunday with you – it seemed a real holiday, after all my troubles. All the papers say “Lucio stole Measure for Measure!” M. has gone to relations in Durham.
All love, P.
1 Bored with her work in the London Institute of Education, Mary Wrench, a poetry-lover, had applied for an assistantship in the University of Hull library out of curiosity, just to see what a poet was like. Larkin, flattered, had charmed her at the interview and she had taken the job.
9 September 1956
192A Hallgate, Cottingham, East Yorkshire
My dear old creature,
Another dull Sunday, but it may very well clear up – there was a faint grin of sun on the wall not long ago. I am glad of a day to myself. Last Monday I went along to Hartley’s, to pick up 6 copies of the new edition: it is now available again, so Aunt Alice (her aunthood is a very tenuous one really, isn’t it?)1 will be getting her copy. On Wednesday I had a forced dinner with a fool – a chap who is
going to Nottingham as head of the fine arts department – a good dinner really, but I couldn’t get it down – & on Thursday I had a well-meant but really rather nasty dinner with the Hartleys again – this was pure “sociability”, to mark the end of a period of coolness between us, caused by me I suppose, but me irritated by him. So I’ve had more than enough company for a while.
I’m glad you heard the two programmes. I purred with pleasure at Stephen Potter’s appreciation,2 & have sent him a copy – he read the few lines very well, didn’t he. The Hull programme was all right, but I though[t] the poems were read badly. The one about Pigeons was written at Grantham, when we were there at Christmas – they were on a roof opposite the hotel, and I watched them through the short afternoons as we sat in the lounge. Do you remember them? I expect not. You were asleep most of the time!3
Monica is in Co. Durham at present, visiting one of her mother’s sisters who is in hospital and worse than they expected. So she is not very cheerful. They are in the very heart of the country – Rookhope – and staying with near-farmers.
My present finally turned up from Kitty, with a note saying she’d read it but didn’t think it much good! I wish I’d worn her stockings for a bit. Tearing up one of her letters recently I found I’d torn up some pictures of Rosemary that were inside – ssh!
Auntie Nellie wrote thanking me for the book, and said she had enjoyed your visit & that, though you still worried about things, you were better than last year, she thought.
I am pretty well decided to take the flat:4 the thought of winter here is too dreary – it’s so damp! The pegs that were put in the wall in April are rusting: I’ve never known anything like it. But when I shall move in I don’t know. It’ll have to be painted first, & I shall have a gas fire put in (shades of you!). I expect it will have its drawbacks, but so will anything, really. I looked at furniture again yesterday but this time it all looked horrible. I’m very afraid of the whole business, but I think it is just fear and not indecision – I’m sure this is the right thing to do, at the moment.
Is your ear improved, old creature? What a funny thing to get all of a sudden. I hope it goes as quickly as it came.
I had a letter from the Librarian of Coventry yesterday asking for one or two minor items for their “local collection” – it’s nice to think I am a “local author”, like George Eliot. His name is Simpson. Next time I go to Coventry I must call on him. […]
Yesterday I paid another call on Hartley, but in his shop this time, Austin Reed’s:5 there I ordered an overcoat, as Pop’s, wch never really fitted me, is too shapeless to be worn another winter really, though what to do with it I don’t know. He also let me have a shirt reduced to 25/- for 20/-! I think I like George better as a shop assistant than as a publisher.
There’s no more news of Miss Wrench, but she’s due to start two weeks tomorrow – fortunately I’ll be away at a conference in Liverpool for her first day. I’m sure she won’t stay – hope not, anyway! My very best love,
Creature
1 As the second wife, now widow, of Ernest Larkin (1878–1948), fourth of Sydney’s five elder brothers, Philip considers Alice’s aunthood tenuous.
2 Stephen Potter (1900–69), author and broadcaster, best-known for the satire Gamesmanship (1947).
3 Eva replied on 11 September 1956: ‘I have a dim recollection of the pigeons at Grantham and I don’t think I was asleep most of the time, but only had my eyes closed!’
4 On 27 October 1956 Larkin moved into a high-windowed, top-floor flat at 32 Pearson Park, a Victorian house belonging to the university overlooking a leafy park between the university and the city. Here he stayed for nearly eighteen years, until he moved to 105 Newland Park on 27 June 1974.
5 George Hartley worked as a sales assistant at the gentleman’s outfitter, Austin Reed.
23 September 1956
The Charlton Arms, Wellington, Shropshire
My dear old Creature,
You’ll be surprised to get a letter from me from here! It hardly lies on the way from Hull to Liverpool, but it can be brought into the journey without too much trouble. Anyhow, I’m here till 5.57, when I entrain for Liverpool. Ruth is here too of course, much the same as usual. I haven’t seen anyone else I know, thank God. It’s a curious little town, ugly & graceful all mixed up together. The Library was shut when I arrived, but I could see they have altered it a good deal. I’d love to have gone in: inspected my erstwhile prison! I remember Pop rather romantically saying that the centre of the town reminded him of Germany. Most of the names over the shops are still the same.
There is not much flat news, except that my cooker is on its way from Falkirk. It’s curious that both the cooker & the gas fire should be the same as I had at Belfast: the whole thing will be alike a superior Belfast – I hope! If only I can find a superior cleaner to go with it!
The weather is astonishingly warm here: much warmer than Hull. I expect it will cool off again as I go north. […]
The “Residents Lounge” at the Charlton Arms is so depressing a place that I am eager to be up & out of it, so when I’ve finished this I shall take a walk up King Street, & look at Glentworth – what grisly remembrances that name calls up!
Goodbye for the present, dear old creature.
With all love, Philip
28 September 1956
192A Hallgate, Cottingham, E. Yorkshire
My dear old Creature,
Yes, Wellington was not much altered, except for the people – I found I recognised nobody, except an idiot who used to misbehave in the Reading Room. […] Ruth was all right, very nice in her way, (nicer than I am in mine), and undeniably living more for others. Her mother & grandfather (I didn’t meet them) are still alive: he was almost blind, but has slightly improved since I mentioned it to you.1 […]
Miss Wrench has arrived! and seems all right so far, though not liking her digs(!): what will happen to her I don’t know. She has a cheerful way with her. Actually there are times when one dreads all one’s staff, for fear they ask you to do things, or organise things, or for fear they grumble. Trials of a boss! Still, my secretary returns on Monday, & I shall feel less badgered, I hope. […]
With all love, Philip
1 It was Ruth Bowman’s grandfather who insisted that she destroy all Larkin’s 400 letters to her.
28 October 1956
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My dear old creature,
Well, this is the first morning in the new home: I suppose I’ve been in occupation just a day, as I arrived by taxi at just about 10.30 yesterday morning, with the residue of my belongings. The rest of the day I spent shopping, & trying to sort things out: the task today will be cleaning, for a good deal of surface dirt seems to have collected since my last efforts.
I expect you wonder what I think of it: well, it’s very nice in itself, & will be nicer when it’s cleared & cleaned & curtained & carpeted. The sitting- & bed-room are much larger than I’ve previously had, though, and I can see they won’t be easy to keep warm. The hall & bathroom are cold places, too: the bathroom in particular, for the window is stuck open a little. This also lets smuts in. These are new to me, & I don’t like them. I tried to have a bath last night, but through misjudging quantities & behaviours found myself with only a lukewarm one. All sorts of little draughts sneak in & out! One can’t really understand where they are coming from, or how. But I had a very good night’s sleep in my striped sheets: a double bed seems warmer than a single one, though I don’t see how it can be. I have about 5 blankets on, plus a candlewick bed cover. The down pillow was fine!
I nearly had a dreadful accident: when making up the bed, I upset a bottle of marking ink with wch I had been marking sheets, & it missed my sheepskin rug by inches only! In fact it left a spatter of nasty spots on it, but I quickly soaked them up and cut them off. It wd have been the most awful calamity & suppose I’d had my yellow carpet? It’s funny how there’s a lucky side to everything.
I have just found
your letter. I am so glad you listened to the wireless: there are few things more comfortable than doing some simple job (like cleaning the silver) & listening to some witless wireless programme. Do you ever hear Wilfred Pickles? I find his programmes interesting in a sometimes rather awful way.1
Actually, I bought a small portable wireless on Friday (12 gns) to have in the kitchen. I thought of you & your old Bush.
You would like to see my view as I sit, a wide vista of tree-tops, most of them nearly bare, & nothing else. All trees. I shall feel like a bird. But then, I hope you will come when I have somewhere to put a second creature. In the meantime, I shall be seeing you next Friday night – as it happens, I’ll be arriving about 8.15 for once, as I have a committee in Leeds on that afternoon & shall come straight on. I expect I shall be going to Leicester on Sunday, as before. Looking forward to seeing you – hope you enjoy the play! If you leave the key with Kitty I can go in & make myself at home. All best love, Philip
1 Wilfred Pickles (1904–78), actor and radio presenter, was the first newsreader on the BBC Home Service to speak in a regional accent, and his radio show, Have A Go, was the first to give out money prizes. It ran from 1946 to 1967, giving currency to such catchphrases as ‘How do, how are yer?’, ‘Are yer courting?’ and ‘Give him the money, Mabel.’
18 November 1956
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My dear old creature,
[…] Yesterday some of my curtains came, & I was able to put the sitting room ones up myself. They are “oyster velour”, lined with wine sateen. So the room now looks more civilised, though several points about them displease me. For one thing, I ordered them too short, & they rest on the sill (no doubt the bill will be long enough); and they would look better with a long frill at the top to hide the rail. But if I have that I also hide the top circle of the centre light – as you recall, my window is 3 lights: