Philip Larkin
Page 44
Bob Conquest came up on Wednesday and stayed the night here – I find I am rather unadaptable when it comes to having visitors! Their conversation palls rapidly & their presence is a strain. I travelled down to London and stayed at his flat on Thursday, wch was not much better – I hardly slept at all. I saw a very nice TV children’s programme, though, with a sweet little animal puppet that watched a chap painting. Bob lives in a basement flat in a house belonging to his married sister – it was her husband who is the specialist I spoke of.
Then on Friday I lunched with a Telegraph music critic (I paid!) who got me the job of jazz reviewing, then went to an Arts Council Committee. I couldn’t get on the Pullman,1 so had to take the 6.12 which got in about a quarter to eleven. Saturday was a lunch & meeting in Leeds, from wch I returned about seven. So you see I had quite a full week.
Today I have caught up with The Archers & remade my bed. I don’t know what to do with my white sheets: they are six or seven years old, quite sound as far as I can see, but disgustingly grey, almost greyish-yellow. Sending them to the laundry makes no difference.
I have finished the cabbage and need another – there seem to be none round here. I have bought two different kinds of cress instead.
Bob took me to a party on Thursday where I met a man who said he’d just finished reading Jill, and funnily enough in Friday’s Guardian it was mentioned in a review of a book on post war English fiction – where, again, it is apparently mentioned. Dead but won’t lie down, unlike its author who lies down without being dead – yet.
I wonder if anything is coming up in your garden. From the train I saw plenty of lambs, but few buds. Fancy you commissioning the new electrical fittings! I don’t expect they’ll be very extravagant – you won’t use mine much. Best love dear old creat.2 P
1 Originally Pullman trains were run by the British Pullman Car Company (PCC; founded 1874), and offered a luxury first-class service with stewards on board on mainline routes. On nationalisation in 1948 agreements with the privately owned PCC were continued by British Railways, and in 1954 the PCC was bought by the British Transport Commission (BTC). After 1962 ‘Pullman’ coaches were included in some trains in some regions. The final Pullman coaches were built by BR in 1966 and the last Pullman service, operating between London and Manchester, was discontinued in 1985.
2 The text continues up the right margin, forcing a cramped conclusion.
17 March 1963
My dear old creature,
[…] I have been terribly busy recently. There is something about March that puts a tremendous strain on one. Both at work and at home I have had more than I can handle. However, I am trying not to get into a state about it, and last night got my two current poems finished after a fashion – I shall have to work on them some more, but there is a great relief in seeing your way through a thing and knowing how it will end, or can end. Fabers appear willing to republish Jill! I don’t know if I told you, but a new American (and not very good) book on “Post War British Fiction” begins “In 1946 Philip Larkin published Jill …” This may arouse interest in it. I am hoping to go up & see them soon, & shall suggest that they do my next book of poems simultaneously. I hope I have enough now. But I rather shrink from the publicity. “Mr Larkin has not fulfilled his early promise …”
This seems all about me. Last Sunday I pasted all the Bunny cuttings into a scrapbook. They look very quaint.1 There are a few snowdrops in the front garden here – so pretty and heartening, The stairs still smell of cat. I spilled some disinfectant down them this morning. […]
I have had a report from my bank about share transactions I can’t make head or tail of. They seem to be buying and selling. One day when I have time I shall have to go & see them.
Wish I had nothing to do all day, like some people!2
Try to go up & down the garden for pleasure when the sun is shining.
All love Philip
1 This may be a white lie. A good number of Bunny cuttings remain in their original envelopes and there is no Bunny scrapbook among Larkin’s surviving effects.
2 On 26 March Eva wrote: ‘Yes, it is a hard job to get any spare time, although I know you will hoot at the idea of me not having any.’
31 March 1963
My very dear old creature,
[…] Mentioning food reminds me of your teeth. What a serious blow that the new/ lot don’t fit any better than the old new lot! I can understand your dislike of going back & reporting failure time after time, especially if he is a bit irascible, but what else can you do? It’s strange how a set moulded from your actual gums still don’t suit.
My literary news is that I am getting rid of my agent, & I have broken to George Hartley that I am giving Faber’s my next collection. He was depressed about it, as I am about the only big name he has left, but I don’t see the point of being published by a tiny spare-time back-room concern when I can be distributed by a proper publisher. Not that it makes any difference to the quality of the poems, wch is the main thing, of course. […]
Very best love from Philip.
12 May 1963
My dear old creature,
[…] There’s not much to report this week. I have been typing out my poems slowly, in preparation for this next book. I’m afraid they are few & not very good. Brett1 came in yesterday & said he was feeling rather worse – the shock treatment seemed to be wearing off, and his doctor was going to revert to “drugs”. He seemingly feels depressed & unable to carry on. This doesn’t really sound much like him, because he’s a really very sane & humorous chap. Still, there you are. Betty says no more about her ailments. I do wonder about it! Anyone can have an operation, but two to four months! It must be serious. I asked if she was fit to go on working now, & she said she was. She is I think very tough & quite devoid of self-pity – a kind of character I find it hard to understand.
On Friday Maeve magnetised me to a dance at the University, where I felt my usual fish out of water self.2 However, people were fairly tolerant. I do think I ought to know how to dance & drive a car! How badly educated I was! Quite unfitted for the modern world!
[…]
Has your sore spot from your teeth cleared up? I do hope so, & that you are “putting the bite on” all & sundry.3 I wonder if you heard Scrapbook for 1938 – ugh, what an awful time it was. Love!!
P.
1 Raymond L. Brett (1917–96): Professor of English at Hull (1952–82); best known for his edition (with A. R. Jones) of Lyrical Ballads by Wordsworth and Coleridge.
2 This occasion was the context for Larkin’s unfinished poem ‘The Dance’, which he intended at first to include in the forthcoming Whitsun Weddings. Eva replied on 14 May: ‘I’m glad Maeve got you to the dance. It would be a relaxation. You know I once said to Daddy “I think Philip should learn to dance”, this was when we were at Warwick, but he thought it would put you off your studies.’
3 On 5 May Philip had written: ‘P. G. Wodehouse calls borrowing money “putting the bite on” people. He also calls it “getting into their ribs.” Both expressions make me laugh.’
16 June 1963
My dear old creature,
[…] Faber’s have now got my new book of poems & for the moment it is called “The Whitsun Weddings” […] They say they like it, & will publish it “next spring”, whatever that means. We must all try to live till then. Having typed all the poems out I find them gloomy &, in the main, mean-spirited.
My friend Bob Conquest is in America, & wrote to say he was off to Hollywood “to see Kim Novak” – this is a beautiful film star. I didn’t bother about this, but I had a postcard yesterday “Greetings from Hollywood” signed “Bob & Kim” – “Kim” had written her name in wavering green biro & added 5 kisses! This sent my stock up considerably in the Library.
Talki
ng about celebrities, I had been fearing the coming to this University of Edith Sitwell, who was due to get an honorary doctorate – the VC asked me to dinner with (among others) her on Friday 28 June, & I went to great trouble to construct an excuse, arranging to go to Cambridge to see the architect. Now she isn’t coming! and I have to go to Cambridge. It will be funny if I meet her there. […]
I wonder what you are doing today, & if you have arranged to visit anyone. What a lovely tea you gave me & Monica, the cucumber sandwiches & cherry cake! Only at your house do faint traces of civilised living linger for me – sitting at table, etc. I haven’t got a table, even. Nor has M.
Love!!! Philip
24 June 1963
Hull, of course!
My very dear old creature,
[…] In the course of turning out letters I have found a lot sent me in hospital in 1961 – people were very kind. I really have no idea what to do with them. To destroy letters is repugnant to me – it’s like destroying a bit of life. Yet they mount up so. By the way, I don’t think the card from Kim Novak was genuine – it was Bob pulling my leg. Well, I believed it for a while. Gullible creature! […]
Very best love
Philip
15 August 1963
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My dear old creature,
I don’t expect this will reach you till mid-afternoon on Saturday, when no doubt it will have “gone dark” & sea will be breaking over the promenade.1
It was very kind of you to send a letter when you were so busy. I’m sure the weather has got on your nerves – it has been so grey and sad here, I’ve been restless & depressed. Yet Monica said on the telephone last night it had been sunny all day there!
Do have a good time. I hope the hotel is comfortable and you find some congenial spirits –
let me know how you get on.
Love to both – I’ll do a separate card for A. Nellie.
Philip
1 The letter is addressed to Mrs E. E. Larkin, Cliftonville Hotel, Cromer, where Eva was on holiday with Nellie.
1 September 1963
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My dear old creature,
[…] Betty didn’t come back to work, she just called in to have tea.1 However she looked at what I’d been doing & pointed out mistakes that had cost the University some £38. I don’t think she will come back till mid-October! Apparently she tires easily, if she gets about much.
I smiled at the thought of you looking at the birds.
I sent Jill off yesterday, but the man who deals with me has gone on holiday, so I don’t know what their reaction will be. I am on the point of signing a contract for it. I have written an introduction full of gossip about Kingsley & Bruce: I expect they’ll be cross, but it’s all quite complimentary gossip. […]
Much love,
Philip
1 Betty was still on a prolonged medical break.
15 September 1963
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My very dear old creature,
[…] I have felt rather hunted recently – an awful literary layabout tried to force his company on me on Thursday night – I got shut of him – then I was in fear & trembling of two “fans” from Doncaster who announced their intention to be in Hull on Friday & Saturday. I didn’t answer their letter – didn’t answer the telephone on Saturday – didn’t answer the doorbell – but eventually there came a tapping at the glass & the dark shadow of bodies … They turned out to be two quite nice young men, & I gave them large gins & tonics while I ate some sausages & got dressed in order to go out to Betty’s.1 But it took 1½ hours of my time, during wch I had meant to write a letter … Awgh, awgh … […] I went out to Betty’s to play cards, which was all right. She was in fine form: the surgeon says she can come back to work on Tuesday week – and play badminton! – so she is full of high spirits. […]
Love Philip
1 The visitors were Harry Chambers and David Selzer. See Harry Chambers, ‘Visiting Mr Larkin’, in Thwaite, Larkin at Sixty, 61–2.
6 October 1963
My dear old creature,
Well, I am back after my tour, which I am afraid was too crowded to enable me to send my usual Saturday card. I went to London on Tuesday, where I handed in my final version of The Whitsun Weddings to Fabers and had a short talk with T. S. Eliot, who said, as he said before & as I expect he says to all young (!) authors, that he was glad to have me on their list. […]
Very best love
Philip
17 November 1963
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My very dear old creature,
I feel in rather poor spirits this morning (for a change!), perhaps because of a late night last night, but I will try not to sound too doleful, as I expect by the time you read it I shall be in better fettle – I shall, as a matter of fact, be in the train going to London, as I have to spend tomorrow visiting the architects. A tiresome business, going there & back in one day.
My irritability (!) continues, and I really do find the people below noisy with their doors. The other night I counted the number of times they shut one or other (not necessarily banged) & it came to 38 in 2 hours – or nearly once every three minutes. It breaks my train of thought to say the least of it. I can’t think how they move around so much! So much these days I feel things are wearing thin, and am aware of the bottomless depths that lie beneath them. No doubt I need more exercise, or something.
It is a damp chilly morning & I took a few photographs in the Park to finish off a roll. There was another person also doing so, a middle-aged lady with a cheap camera, & we had a brief talk about how the pond needed cleaning out (it is full of leaves). I thought of how we had walked round when you were here – I believe I took some pictures then, didn’t I? I’ve quite forgotten what they were.
Oh dear, these slippers – well, I have a pair of Moreland’s wine-coloured fleece lined ones at present, & they are very nice.1 […]
I expect you saw that Kingsley has published another novel – it is readable, like all he does, but not especially interesting or likable.2 Monica says the Church Times reviewed it – I’d like to see what they say. He says a few things about religion which aren’t designed to please: he makes his hero a Catholic, I don’t know why.
An aunt of Betty’s died this week, wch has depressed her. In fact I thought she looked ill this week. […]
My best love: constantly thinking of you. P.
1 Eva was considering giving him a pair of slippers for Christmas.
2 One Fat Englishman (London: Gollancz, 1963).
24 November 1963
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My very dear old creature,
I don’t like Sundays as much as I used to, since I am in perpetual dread of a horn starting up from below.1 Now it’s just about 11.30 a.m., danger time as far as last Sunday went, & then we had another dose in the afternoon. Door banging has continued sporadically, & I am furious to relate that a cat has been imported. This event was celebrated by a fouling of the stairs unequalled since the age of Wilks. In fact, I feel things have deteriorated since his time!
Still, I won’t howl until hurt. Thank you for your words of comfort – I’m sure you don’t bang doors in the same way: it wd be quite alien to your nature. I went to London on Monday, & talked with the architects, and then again on Thursday for a poetry manuscripts subcommittee. You may know that for some years I have been concerned with the drift of literary mss. to USA, & now a scheme has been set up to form a collection in cooperation with the B Museum – only in a small way, of course, but it has started. They now want some of mine! Oh dear! […]
It’s a dull windy day, not unfriendly looking, but I am not sure what to do with it. No horn so far! Touch wood! I hope your neighbours are quiet – funny how they keep hanging on, isn’t it?
Very best love, de
ar old creature P.
1 A family called Burnett Hall had moved into the flat below Philip’s, one or more of whose members played the horn.
9 December 1963
Postcard.
Arrived here 45 mins late after frightful journey – all trains unheated. Have written to the D. Telegraph about it!
Made some packet soup (leek) when I got in: the pie had vanished on the way!
There were no signs of fog or any other kind of hazard. Monica seemed well but her lunch compared very poorly with yours! Almost all cold, intentionally or unintentionally!
Love P.
1964
8 January 1964
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My very dear old creature,
This is to wish you all happiness on your birthday.1 I wonder where you will be on that morning – at Kitty’s, or at home? Wherever you are, I hope it will be a fine day, & that something especially nice will happen, like Mr Cann calling, or something.
Having said that, I must confess I haven’t yet got any present to send you. I prowled all round Harrods on Tuesday, & all round Hammonds today,2 but both places had sales on, & it was very hard to find anything that was not shopsoiled & reduced. I lingered a very long time this afternoon over a shopping basket on wheels:
I nearly had them send it you, but I didn’t because I didn’t want to worry you.3 I am afraid lest you wd find it a nuisance – “driving” it, and where to keep it in the house, for instance, – but it seemed quite strong and light & easy to manage. And very capacious! So if you think you would find one useful, do let me know, and I’ll have one sent. […]