and the ceiling is tangential to the top of the circle. So a frill or pelmet such as I have pencilled would spoil the whole effect. They are coming to fit the bedroom ones tomorrow.
I have been having a great time with draught excluders. I bought some of the metal strip variety, only to find that the first direction was “remove the door from its hinges”, which I thought rather a tall order! However, even if I could have done it, it would hardly have been back the same night, for it’s a very slow and painful job hitting a small tack through a thickness of metal every 1½" for about 80", especially when (if one doesn’t remove the door from its hinges) the bottom end has to be done lying on one’s back on the floor. Subsidiary operations have been carried out with long strips of putty, newspaper, and plastic foam. The job isn’t nearly finished yet, but whether it will make any noticeable difference I am already beginning to doubt.
Well, I mustn’t go on about the house all the time. […]
All love to dear old creature P
23 November 1956
Lettercard
Hull
My dear old Creature,
Hasn’t the weather turned nasty! It’s very grey and shivery here this morning. This has been an irritating week: Kingsley announced his intention of paying me a visit this weekend, & I had to borrow a bed; now he says he isn’t coming!1 I don’t mind – in fact I’m glad – but I wish he hadn’t put me to the trouble in the first place. Curse all friends, at least of that variety.
Isn’t the petrol business a mess?2 I’m glad I haven’t got “a little car”, even though I could then go for drives with a certain old party –
Very much love, d.o.c.
P.
1 Amis never visited Larkin in Hull, travelling for his funeral in 1985 only as far as St Mary’s, Cottingham.
2 Supplies of fuel from the Middle East were cut off when Gamal Abdul Nasser, President of Egypt, blocked the Suez Canal when threatened by an Anglo-French-Israeli attack in late October 1956. The government in Britain restricted fuel sales from the end of November, which led to panic buying.
28 November 1956
Lettercard
Hull
My dear old Creature,
Many thanks for the extra letter – it was nice to hear that you had been sleeping in your own basket for once, though not because you had a cold.1 I love to hear the little details of your life. I bought a tea-set yesterday – 21 pieces, Wedgewood, fairly ordinary but quite nice. Also the 3 Sassoon books! After lunch I shall take things to the cleaners & buy some bacon. How kind of Kitty to buy violets. Expect me on Friday.
With all love Philip
1 Eva had partly broken her habit of sleeping at Kitty and Walter’s house rather than her own. She wrote on 24 November: ‘It seems to be a “head” cold and my nose and eyes “streamed” all the time on Thursday and Friday. I stayed here last night, and shall do so tonight, for I think it is more comfortable not having to turn out in the cold, and there is really no need when Walter is at 53.’
1957
3 January 1957
My dear old Creature,
This is my new paper: rather nice, isn’t it? I love the smallness of the address: highly smart, I think.1 It was very nice to have a letter from you on New Year’s Day. I smiled at you thinking the end of the world was imminent – and sympathised about the snail in the cellar.2 Poor creatures, where do they come from? Surely there can’t be anything for them to eat down there. Perhaps they can sense the Guinness.
I stayed in all Tuesday afternoon waiting for my studio couch, and occupied my time with cleaning. It came eventually, & looks all right, but I don’t think it’s a very comfortable object. However we shall see. Monica’s picture was also here, & looks splendid.
I find it hard to get up here just as at home! I set my alarm for 7.30, but this seems too early, so I usually lie till 8.15 as I should have done anyway.
A travel agency has sent me some literature. Have you any idea when old Walter’s holiday will be? I expect he won’t know. All the literature is of “tours” – Wd you like a trip down the Rhine? I really don’t see how you can possibly book a holiday to match Kitty’s if you don’t know when it’s to be until very late. Could you ask her?
Oh by the way, The Critics are doing A Girl in Winter on Sunday next. Oh dear!3 I must end now, but thank you for your letter & all creaturely wishes for the new year. It’s good to be alive, no matter what we may say to the contrary now & then.
All love, Philip
1 When writing from his flat Larkin used paper with the above letterhead consistently until the early 1960s. By 1964 he was using it very rarely, but in mid-1965 he seems to have obtained new supplies and resumed its regular use.
2 On 31 December 1956 Eva wrote: ‘To-day has been a most miserable affair regarding the weather. At lunch time it became so dark that one would be forgiven for thinking that the end of the world was imminent. It has rained most of the day and is still doing so this evening. / I’ve put another snail out of the cellar.’
3 The text continues up the right margin, across the top and down the entire left margin.
10 February 1957
My dear old Creature,
I feel rather sluggish today – the time is just after 1 p.m., and I haven’t done anything but rise, breakfast, and wash up. This despite my eat-more-and-better-food campaign! Yesterday I bought a large pyrex dish, a large saucepan, & piece of silverside, a bag of potatoes, a cabbage, a bag of carrots a bag of onions … Very shortly I shall buy a cookery book. I’m tired of hating my Sunday meals.
The week has been rather trying in that my building has been worrying me – it is such a rottenly-planned affair, full of wasted space and old-fashioned ideas that I shall be held responsible for, and wch I accepted only to hurry the thing up. I’ve no faith in the architect: he is a bungling fool. It’s all very worrying, and keeps me constantly on the jump.
I shouldn’t pay any attention to Walter & his money-making schemes. It is all right for him: his needs exceed his income, & he is driven to find other ways of making money. Yours don’t, so I should just forget about it. Money should be like a skin, something one’s not aware of unless it goes wrong.
My photograph was taken by Elliott & Fry, a well known firm, but I’ve no hopes that the results will be successful. I tried to look grave, kindly yet humorous withal, but shall doubtless emerge as the popeyed small mouthed fat-cheeked balding gold-rimmed version of Heinrich Himmler we all know so well. No proofs have arrived so far. […]
I am beginning to be terrified of the “short paper” I have to give to a local club on Feb 25 – I haven’t written it yet, & the prospect of doing so makes me turn cold, let alone the prospect of delivering it. Then the London Magazine wants 500–1000 words on should writers be political or not – and I’ve got several reviews hanging over me. “I’m coming! I’m coming! Beware o’ me!”
Monica is going home next weekend, wch is a pity, as it means I shan’t see her if I come: but I think I had better come for all that, as I’ll need the pre-25th weekend to prepare my talk. Only if you too found something unsuitable in next weekend wd I postpone my trip. Let me know if you do. Wd you, please?
It’s a quarter to two. What shall I do with this beef, eh? We shall see. I hope you are finding plenty of little things to interest you. All my love,
Philip
14 April 1957
My dear old Creature,
I refused to get up this morning until 11.30 – not because I needed more sleep but because I felt I could do with more rest. Anyway, up I got in very brilliant sunshine which seems to have abated rather by this time (5 to 1). The view out of my bedroom window over a number of back gardens and allotments is lovely – all the trees and bushes opening their fans of fresh green in the sun. It makes one despair of ever saying how g
lad one is to be alive! At the front of the house of course the park is equally impressive, but there are more fish-faced citizens & their brats wandering about. […]
Some time today I ought to face my income-tax return: awful bore it is. I earned £178 by writing etc. last year – I shouldn’t get very fat on that; should I? […]
The weather still looks only half-fine.
With very best creaturely love,
P
19 May 1957
My dear old creature,
[…] Well, the royal visit went off quite all right: the weather was bright but sometimes showery & with a very strong wind. There was a small crowd of about 2,500 at the University, & the plan was that the Queen & the Duke shd arrive at the central building and meet certain big bugs & middle sized bugs (not me), then walk about 200 yds to the Students’ Union where the “coffee party” wd be held, students presented, & so on. That’s where I was. For me the biggest thrill was seeing, after a wait of about an hour, the line of big black cars crawling in at the distant gates, & the royal standard being swiftly run up to leap out in the wind from the university flag staff, all red and gold. Then it was quite exciting to see her close at hand – she is quite slim, & looks very young still, & was wearing a blue coat, white hat, & black bag & shoes. Rather ordinary clothes really. If I had edged nearer to her during the time the party was on I’m pretty sure I should have been presented, for she had apparently expressed a wish to meet more students, but since none were available made do with staff, & anyone within reach was being presented. I’m sorry I wasn’t in a way, but I was only meekly obeying orders to keep back & not crowd the centre room. Others not so scrupulous were more successful! Ah, well, one day I shall meet her as Philip Larkin, & not as the paltry librarian of a piffling university. Or so I like to think! I only wish I was doing more about making it possible.
My new secretary starts tomorrow, but I can’t say I feel in the mood for her. The old one has less than 14 days now, & I expect is feeling pretty low about it, as she avoids all mention of her departure.1
Well, you will be seeing me for Whitsun: actually I shall be going to London next Friday but one (31st May)/ & probably staying overnight: my plans are vague, but I shall be “on the move” at any rate, Next Saturday I am going on this book-collecting expedition. My very best love – be of good cheer!
Philip
1 Hilary Penwill was leaving to get married, and had encouraged her friend Betty Mackereth to apply for the job.
26 May 1957
My dear old creature,
[…] I wrote to Bruce not long ago & had a reply from his Secretary saying he was too busy to write himself – I don’t know what things are coming to. I may see him next weekend in London when I go. Then again I may not.
I have washed my terylene pyjamas and hung them over the sink to dry. The seam has not come undone any more, but they look a poor job really, & the trousers do need shortening. I’ll bring them at Whitsun! I must remember to send laundry today, as I shan’t be here to do so for the next two weekends.
My new secretary has begun, & seems all right in a way: no doubt she will learn.1 She’ll probably stay all her life, though, now.2
Haven’t much in to eat today, but shall no doubt survive! Shall now put my shoes on & go out for a pint.
All best love, Philip
1 On 28 March Philip had written: ‘She seemed rather concerned about the loss in pension if she gave up her present job, where she has been for 12 years.’
2 Betty Mackereth did indeed stay, retiring only on her sixtieth birthday, 27 June 1984, the year before Larkin’s death.
2 June 1957
My dear old creature,
We are just moving out of London – 10 a.m. on another beautiful morning. I’m bound for Leicester, to see M. who’ll be away next week when I come to see you.
Well, my stay in London was short, but very enjoyable. On arrival I went to lunch with some businessmen & some librarians at the Junior Carlton Club in Pall Mall, wch is of course a v. high-class place. We had lunch in the library at a table where Disraeli used to sit planning his political schemes. It consisted of (the lunch I mean) foie gras, salmon trout, & strawberries, with hock to drink. Of course all this was done with a purpose! But I don’t expect they will bear me any hard feelings if they don’t get the job. After that, I attended my committee, wch went on till about 5: checked in at my hotel, & immediately went out again. I spent the first half of the evening drinking beer in a bar near Gower Street with a few acquaintances, and the second working my [way] through an enormous plate of food at a Spanish restaurant with the Egertons. Almost anything seemed likely to turn up in the plate – mussels, chicken, lobster, for instance. Yesterday (Saturday) was again fine, & I felt very keenly the pleasure of strolling about in London, not dead yet, with money in pocket & nothing to do. I went to Hatchard’s, & looked over the books, then to Simpsons in Piccadilly, where I bought a suit (2 piece) at what seems a fantastic price now of £25. They are retaining it for a few alterations. At lunchtime I met Bruce, who had come up from Devon for the day, & we had lunch at one of his clubs (cold salmon). After going to see one of his absurd science-fiction films, we went to the Authors’ Club and sat on a kind of covered-in verandah sipping & talking, till Bruce felt an urge for high life & we went off to somewhere I think was the Ambassadors, where we had a quite nice dinner costing £7 (I’m afraid B. paid for all this, but he says he’s earning £10,000 a year) with a hock so marvellous that I shan’t easily forget it. Unfortunately B. then felt tired & gloomy & went to be de bonne heure as the French say, wch suited me quite well. He enquired after you, & seemed in fairly good shape. In all this was a day I shall remember for a long time. The great drawback to this weekend is that I’m wearing a suit that’s much too hot. At present I feel as if I may dissolve before we reach Leicester – if we ever do, that is, as the train is crawling. You can tell by my legible writing. Ah, now we’re quickening up.
I can’t think that Whitsun is a very convenient time for going to Lichfield, as I shall be at home only for the 3 days wch are bound to be very busy ones as far as travelling goes. Still. I wonder if it would be possible to go on Sunday? Honestly I don’t know which of the 3 days would be least unsuitable. But I agree we ought to go some time. Perhaps you cd find out what the Sunday ’buses are like.
We seem to be loitering about on the edge of Kettering. I can’t think we shall be in Leicester by 12.16. I wonder what you are doing? I hope on such a fine day you have at least been out in the garden to see what the bees are doing.
See you on Friday evening, all being well – probably about 10.15 or so.
All love,
Philip
1 September 1957
My dear old Creature,
Well, here I be, back again in my own surroundings. We had quite an interesting time in London, which is still full of foreign visitors, mainly Americans. As you know, we stayed at the Ivanhoe. It’s an odd place. I notice that it’s run entirely by women, except for the porters – woman manager, woman receptionists & accountants. It’s a temperance hotel, in that it hasn’t a bar, & a lot of the guests seem to have a feminine appearance. I wonder why Pop chose it? What was it like in your day?1
On Thursday evening we roamed about. We had a drink in the Café Royal, where Oscar Wilde used to dine, & then went to a pub in Leicester Square we like for beer (a low drink the C. R. wdn’t dream of selling). After that we went to a Lyons for roast beef & baked potatoes. On Friday I went to the big camera shop that supplies the Duke of Edinburgh, & bought a new camera: at least, it isn’t new itself, but it is a German camera, a Rolleiflex, & they are regarded as being very good indeed & above £120 each when new. I won’t tell you how much I paid! But I insured it on the spot.2
Then, as I said on my
card, we went to Lord’s, & saw a really good day’s cricket, in wch the match was won in the last over by Monica’s county, Worcestershire. It was also the last match in wch Compton & Edrich play for Middlesex: they have been very famous for the last 10 years. In the evening, we went to see The Prince & the Showgirl, the Laurence Olivier – Marilyn Monroe film, & rotten it was.3
The journey back was dull & slow, but we endured it, & spent the evening in my flat. M. admires my Welsh tapestry bedspread, wch is now on the floor & looks quite at home.
M. wants to know how you like your navy skirt – I couldn’t tell her, though I remember you having it on one day at Portmeirion.4 She ordered a dress in New Bond Street on Saturday morning, a cream brocade affair by Frederica. When we got in we ate some cold beef brought from London, & a pickled walnut or two. She was sorry to see that her cake had grown whiskers! She said she had never dreamed it would have any competition – I related how you took yours to Portmeirion & then took it home: she said “I think I should have given it best by then.”
Have you asked about the immersion heater? How is the cellar?
Very best love to O.C., Philip
1 Eva replied on 3 September: ‘What a queer place the Ivanhoe sounds now. I cannot remember much about it, except that it was then a temperance hotel. Perhaps we went there because it was cheaper than other places.’
2 The shop was Wallace Heaton in New Bond Street. The Rolleiflex was a German camera introduced in the late 1920s. It became very popular with reportage photographers such as Brassaï, Bill Brandt and Lee Miller. See Mark Haworth-Booth, ‘Philip Larkin as Photographer’, About Larkin 42 (October 2016), 5–15.
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