The week hasn’t been especially enjoyable: I felt very fed up by Thursday, but it’s a bit better now. My suit came on Friday, & doesn’t entirely please me, though of course I haven’t worn it yet. Perhaps I ought to wear it to see how it fits. My pursuit of the Ideal Suit is rather laughable.
I haven’t done anything about my our week in Norwich: Monica said she knew a man from there & would ask him what the Maid’s Head was like, but I haven’t heard from her.3 I don’t know whether to go on waiting, or trust to luck. It’s not long till August!
I told you that I had been asked to ‘reply for the guests’ at the dinner for the honorary graduates at Queens – isn’t this awful? It will spoil my whole visit. I think I must say I am no good as a speaker, but if they want me I will do it. Oh dear! From now on my life will be overshadowed by the speech for Day Lewis on 5 July & this wretched speech on 9 July. Oh dear! However shall I do it?
I think I shall make my way home on Friday evening next & stay till Tuesday morning – but I shall bring some work to do in order to salve my conscience. I hope this is convenient. It’s not that I mind coming home, but the roads are so crowded at such times, & I feel ashamed of coming back late, when others are working.
Did you ask Kitty about Pitchforth at the RA dinner?4 He used to teach her, didn’t he? I believe he’s quite deaf now – not the only one. I do think your doctor ought to have seen you, when you’d made an appointment.
M. love Philip
1 Richard Murphy had succeeded Cecil Day Lewis as the second Compton Lecturer in Poetry at Hull.
2 The Scottish poet Douglas Dunn (b. 1942) had graduated from the University of Hull, and then worked in the library under Larkin. His first volume of poems, Terry Street, was published in 1969.
3 They eventually stayed at the Duke’s Head instead.
4 Roland Pitchforth (1895–1982) had been an official British war artist during World War II. Eva replied on 19 May: ‘Kitty said that she had never heard of Mr. Pitchforth.’
19 June 1969
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My very dear old creature,
[…] I don’t feel too good today: Hartley was here last night, & I didn’t get him out till after one a.m. as usual. I never like his visits, but I have to put up with him. He is selling all his papers (including about 80 letters of mine), or trying to. I’m not too keen on this.
Our move has started, & is going fairly steadily, though one vital lift keeps breaking down. Most of the girls turn up in trousers wch makes them look very unusual, as normally they aren’t worn for work. I’m about the only one who isn’t helping. Idle creature!
Much love, take care,
Philip
22 June 1969
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My very dear old creature,
[…] The Library move continues to take up all our time. The staff is doing very well, working hard & in good spirits. They began on Wednesday & we have to get it done by 5 July. Did I tell you that Day Lewis has had a heart attack & won’t be coming for his honorary doctorate? So I have ceased work on his citation. I’m sorry for him, as he was a very nice chap – is a very nice chap – & more so than some.1 Wasn’t it nice, John Betjeman getting a knighthood! Sir John! Well, well!
Your letter was very well written & full of interest. I wonder if you did get another meal from the chicken? I agree, food is a problem. I eat bacon & eggs, fish cakes, soup & cheese, tinned salmon. Actually I am down, almost, to 14 stone!! Isn’t that wonderful? I wonder if I am wasting away. Recently I have been eating Ryvita instead of bread, & this may help. I agree the weather has been very up and down, but we certainly got out of the hot spell without any storms.
I am interested to hear of your new glasses[.]
One has to have a test every few years, I think. But certainly you are wonderful for your age! It’s all this work that does it, though I wish you could do less. A little bungalow, or someone to look after you … I don’t know.
I can’t breathe through my nose. Things seem no better. Heaven knows when they will improve. Perhaps in the autumn. […]
Well, it is 1.30 p.m. & I’m still not dressed. I have a quarter of boiled ham (cut off ye Bone) for lunch. For breakfast I had juice, yoghurt & boiled egg. In between I had gin. Awgh!!
Love dear old creature. Philip
1 The ceremony was postponed until 3 May 1970, when Larkin did give the speech.
24 July 1969
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My very dear old creature,
Oh dear, what a week. Today I should have been at Buckingham Palace garden party, but what with one thing and another I couldn’t face it. I saw the surgeon at 9 this morning & he largely unstopped my nose, & told me to come again tomorrow: it’s just about as good now as it was before I had the operation! He now says it’ll be four weeks before it’s fully right. Hum! I don’t feel any benefit so far.1
How very kind of you to ring last night! It was so reassuring to hear you, even though the line was bad. Jean Hartley came round later, to seek support against her ex husband George – wch I don’t really want to give. He is – according to her – trying to diddle her on various money matters.
I learned this morning that my D.Litt. robes would cost less than £50, so this is all right.2 I can stand that! When I get them I will bring them home & put them on for you. My gown of glory.
I’m afraid we had a little thunder last night, but it didn’t worry me. Hope you are free!
Much love, very dear old creature.
Philip
1 Larkin had undergone an operation to remove a polyp from his nose on 21 July, staying overnight in hospital.
2 Larkin had received an honorary D.Litt. at Queen’s University Belfast on 9 July.
29 July 1969
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My very dear old creature,
[…] My nose is still not yet clear, & feels rather raw & unhealed. The surgeon says it will be some weeks before it’s right, but it doesn’t really inconvenience me. He rather staggered me by presenting me with my x-rays, on wch I don’t look so fat as usual. The polyp is visible – quite large! Polyp Larkin. Did I tell you at the Nursing Home a rabbit came and ate grass on the lawn between 7.30 & 8 a.m.? […]
A lovely day here!
I hope you’re resting like this creature.
Much love
Philip
7 September 1969
Ballylickey House Hotel (Bantry, Ireland)
My very dear old creature,
I’m afraid this won’t get on its way to you until Monday, as I believe in rural Ireland there’s no Sunday collection, but I’m writing it all the same, & it can get on its way. Not that there’s a great deal to report. We are comfortable enough here, & though the weather isn’t fine it is at least dry. Our outings haven’t been altogether successful: we went to Cork on Friday, and looked at the Cathedral of St Finn Barr, a large – nay, huge – 19th Century cathedral, all in marble & brass. As the distance to Cork was much further than I’d expected we had to leave quickly, & rather lost our way going back. Yesterday we lost our way too: we’d intended to drive round a coast road known as ‘the ring of Kerry’, but missed the way & had a good deal of driving about lonely mountain ways in consequence. Hum! However, it was pleasant enough, to be among the hills and see the sheep. I think Ireland is slightly less lonely than Scotland, though: there usually seems to be a cottage somewhere in the landscape. You would like the little donkeys that abound: they look very impassive & I expect they’re pretty obstinate.
The car is behaving very well so far.1 Most Irish cars seem to have a dent in them somewhere, wch isn’t surprising the way some of them drive, but I have escaped up till now. This is rather a Frenchified hotel: many of the staff seem to be French, & certainly the chef has a heavy hand with garlic. The menus are all in French, and M’s knowledge of the subject comes in useful. We usually have soup for dinner. Then a little course wch can be fish but wch can also be other things �
�� I had brains once – then meat, beef, duck, lamb, & a cold pudding. There’s choice of all these things, wch there wasn’t at Newport. Some of the guests are French.
I am trying to get on with the Oxf. Bk. of 20thC Eng. Verse, reading different poets after dinner, but it’s slow work & I don’t do it well.2 I’m almost tempted to start making my selection, so as to have something to build on. After all, I can pick only 200 or so poems, so there’s no need to do more work than I require.
My bones ache rather. I think it may be the more humid atmosphere.
Dear old creature, I think of you so much. I wish I had given you a better holiday, in a quieter, cooler & less puzzling hotel.3 I did enjoy sitting on the promenade at Southwold with you, in that beautiful sunshine, watching the waves & the people. I don’t think you’d like Ireland, though. There are very few public lavatories. We couldn’t find a single ladies lavatory in the whole of Cork & M was obliged to make her way into a cinema café in search of one. One of the two men’s was out of order, too! And this is the second biggest city in Eire! Really, it was rather a shoddy place.
[…] There are a great many shops here selling tweed of different sorts: M bought a very stylish tweed hat, cream. I am not doing very well finding presents for Kitty – it will be a case of oddments, I’m afraid.
Much love, dear old c. take plenty of taxis / P.
1 Larkin’s recently bought second car was a used 4-litre Vanden Plas Princess with a Rolls Royce engine. He told Barbara Pym that it was ‘love at first sight’ (8 October 1969, Selected Letters, 420).
2 Louis MacNeice had been the intended editor of the new Oxford Book of Modern Verse. But he died suddenly in 1963, and in 1966 Oxford University Press invited Larkin to take over the project.
3 In August Philip had taken Eva on holiday to the Duke’s Head Hotel, Norwich.
14 September 1969
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My very dear old creature,
[…] Yes, we eventually got into contact with Richard Murphy, but only by going and calling on him! It seems that the local telephone operator is very slack & only puts calls through if he feels like it, and my calls had not been favoured. Very Irish. He took us out in his boat – it was a beautiful day – & caught a fish. I don’t think I have ever seen a fish caught at close quarters before: it’s not a very pleasant experience.
It seems odd to be back in dirty, crowded England after being in Ireland. On the whole I thought Ireland quite pleasant, but we didn’t find as many solitary beauty spots as in Scotland, & spent more time in the car. I didn’t take as many photographs as on some holidays. On about our last day we drove round the ring of Kerry, a famous coast road of great beauty, but could see virtually nothing for rain and mist. The car did very well, & I got it back almost unharmed – I believe a slight chip on the paint has appeared, but nothing worse – not like last year when a beastly caravan bent my rear bumper out at right angles! […]
Much love, old creature – may ring tonight P.
5 October 1969
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My very dear old creature,
[…] I didn’t catch the cold, I’m afraid, so have had to work all the week. Awgh! There are so many new members of staff that I feel like a stranger in my own building. Queer things happen: a lavatory was found broken off from the wall, with a resultant flood. It must have given whoever was sitting on it a terrible fright. Probably it was cracked to start with. Contrary to speculation we still have workmen in the place, finishing off various things at a snail’s pace. The temperature in the place varies enormously: I really must get something done about this. My mainstay is Betty: boundless energy, always cheerful & tolerant, and if she doesn’t do half my work she sort of chews it up to make it easier for me to swallow. I’d be lost without her. […]
Much love, old creature,
Philip
26 October 1969
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My very dear old creature,
[…] It’s a nice mild morning and I have eaten two large kippers – really, one would be enough, but I had two. I had some more kedgeree last night so I’m having a fishy weekend.
Thank you for your letter on A. Nellie’s paper. I agree it’s cheap, but unless you find it difficult to write on I think it’s quite serviceable. […]
My book (All What Jazz) is having a rough time. After agreeing to publish it in ‘Autumn 1969’, Faber’s forgot about it until much too late to fulfil their promise: they are now saying January 1970. The printers have omitted to make the proof corrections, wch I found out only by chance: more delay. However, since I shall be shot by maddened reviewers when it appears, I suppose there is no hurry. I had some funny photographs taken for the jacket, but I don’t know if they’ll use them. I look like a bald Turk.
About the mousse, the packet says that in a 2-star freezing compartment (like yours) the mousse will keep for a month, so tell Kitty to boil her head. Did you like it?1
The sun is coming out again. It really is a lovely autumn – this has been the best summer for years. I’m sure we shall remember it. I wrote a poem based on our visits to Southwold & have sent it to the London Magazine. If they print it I’ll show it you. It mentions your first/ meeting with Pop.2 It isn’t very good, I’m afraid.
I had a letter from America yesterday saying I had been made a Knight of Mark Twain, or something. Signed by a descendant. Crazy lot: only trying to get money.
Much love
Philip
1 On 20 October 1969 Eva wrote: ‘I showed Kitty the mousse which we stored in the refrigerator, and she surprised me by saying that it would only keep for three days, so I suppose I should eat some of it to-morrow!’
2 ‘To the Sea’. Eva wrote on 3 November: ‘I want to say how much I like your new poem. In a way the metre of it reminds me of The Whitsun Weddings.’
2 November 1969
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My very dear old creature,
[…] Not much to report. I went to a poetry reading by Richard Murphy on Friday, and afterwards asked him why he hadn’t read a particular poem of his – he said he had! I must have been asleep, but anyway I can never hear spoken poetry, even with my hearing aid. My mind can’t take it in. Before, we had a dinner that was ghastly – turf-like salmon, seemingly fried in engine oil. I left it. […]
Well, I must get about my duties – the flat’s in a fearful mess. I enclose the poem.1 See you (all being well) on Friday about 9 p.m. Take care of yourself, old creature. Don’t get cold.
Much love Philip
1 A two-page typescript of ‘To the Sea’ is enclosed.
15 November 1969
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My very dear old creature,
[…] As regards Christmas, well, I still feel that if I am to come home for it we should try to make it a happy peaceful time rather than one of overwork and tension and lack of rest. The principal cause of the latter are the fuss you make over presents, the Christmas dinner and having to go to tea at Kitty’s. I suggest that if we go to Quorn (it’s very generous of them to suggest it, of course), we shouldn’t go to them on Christmas Day. I think both would be too much. Perhaps that’s what they have in mind. After all, if I arrive on 24th and leave on morning of 29th (I don’t know precisely when the Library is to be closed) that will give only five evenings. I have to keep something of my seven days for Monica at the New Year.
I haven’t yet discussed all this with Monica – no chance, since she has no telephone.
What do you prefer? After all it’s your sufferings that make me feel the Christmas dinner should be reduced in scale, & Christmas in general.1
Slight cough today, but feeling fairly all right – easily tired.
Much love Philip
1 Eva replied on 17 November in a slightly aggrieved tone: ‘I quite agree that it should be a happy, peaceful time and, considering that I never make mincemeat, puddings or the Christmas cake like I used to, / it is a mystery
why it should still be a worry. / I suppose it is not ready as early as it should be which leaves us no time to rest before going up to Kitty’s. I cannot think how she manages to have such a wonderful tea ready, but perhaps Rosemary helps. She will be coming to see me to-morrow evening for an hour. Perhaps I had better tell her that we won’t go to tea on Christmas Day as it is too much of a rush for us and leaves no time for a rest. In that case I should have to give them their presents before Christmas.’ Then on an additional sheet (‘Tuesday’, 18 November) Eva ratcheted up the emotional blackmail, writing that she hadn’t the courage to tell Kitty they would not be coming to tea, ‘for I know how they like to have us – especially your company, which is one of the high lights of Christmas to them. / I won’t say anything to Kitty this evening, perhaps you will reconsider your decision.’
30 November 1969
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My very dear old creature,
[…] When I went shopping I wore my duffle coat, my vermilion scarf, & my Shetland wool hat, & looked rather striking. Older people looked askance at me, but the young ones took me in their stride. People at the university look so queer these days that I expect I seemed quite normal.
Saw a man like this
yesterday →
I looked like this1
←
I can tell you are having difficulties over Christmas. […]
Much love Philip
1 Scarf highlighted in red.
1970
Philip Larkin Page 53