Be of good cheer, old creature.
Much love,
Philip
1 Philip had taken Eva on holiday to the Duke’s Head Hotel, King’s Lynn, between 15 and 22 July.
9 August 1971
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My dear old creature,
I hope you are getting on all right in Abbeyfield.1 Your room looked rather nicer than last year! though I fancy you may have difficulty in turning your bedside lamp on and off. I’m sorry I rang rather late last night, after you had done your ears.
I’ve had a quiet sort of birthday: thank you for your very pretty card with the ploughman on, and kind words. There was a funny card from Auntie Nellie – a parrot with a bowler hat on. Other cards were from Kitty & Walter, Rosemary, Monica, Betty & Maeve. I wore a pair of my socks today – the ones you gave me. They were very nice.
I hope you are settling down in Abbeyfield, and have found one or two people to talk to, and aren’t too bored! How many people are living in the house? I thought Mrs Clarke seemed very nice, as if she would look after you.
Do be careful about crossing the dangerous area round Murcotts! Ask someone to take you across. Send me a little letter when you have time. I bought six cakes for my staff to have for tea today.
Much love
Philip
1 This and the next letter are addressed to Abbeyfield House, 17 Victoria Street, Loughborough. Kitty and Philip had persuaded Eva to spend most of August there.
29 August 1971
Jura Hotel, Isle of Jura
My very dear old creature,
[…] The midges are bad here – not quite as bad as at another place we were at a few years ago, but I’m bitten all over the neck & head. Nothing seems to put them off! I suppose if I’d dipped my head in turpentine before setting out I might have been all right.
It was very good of you to send me a letter to await arrival. I expect what you said in it is rather stale news now – to you anyway – but it was very interesting.
I don’t suppose you do much like the idea of living in a home, but I wish there was someone to look after you more thoroughly.1 I don’t think it would matter if you got up very early – you take a long time to get up & get breakfast – you might find yourself having breakfast at 8 instead of 10, & lunch at 12.45 instead of 2! Still, you please yourself, old creature.
Later We have been out: it’s been a patchy day, sun & rain in turn. We listened to Al Read on the car radio! He did his ‘We’re not very popular, are we, pussy?’ act, & I thought of you. Rather strange to be listening to Al Read in the wilds of Scotland. The car radio is our only contact with the outside world, as there are no papers.
Monday morning Grey & drizzling outside, & my neck is hurting badly. No, I don’t like holidays!
Froggy is here, looking out of the window at the dismal scene. He asks how your Froggy enjoyed Abbeyfield. Did he have a comfortable bed? My Froggy sleeps in my wool hat, very cosy.
Much love – I feel a long way away –
Philip
Monica sends good wishes.
1 On 24 August, before her return from Abbeyfield House, Eva had written: ‘I am finding time is hanging heavy on my hands and I don’t think I should like to live in a “home” for some things.’
26 September 1971
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My very dear old creature,
[…] So Penvorn has finally gone!1 Colin Gunner wrote to me to say it had actually been knocked down. I expect it has. In a way, I should like to have given it one more look, as most of my memories are concerned with it rather than any other house, but no doubt it would have been rather a sad business. I find myself remembering the woodshed that was knocked down to make way for the air raid shelter. Fancy Mr Beardsley shouting! No doubt it was better than if he had muttered.2 […]
Much love Philip
1 Coventry Corporation had bought the remaining lease on Penvorn and demolished it for redevelopment. On 28 September, Eva wrote: ‘I felt like you about Penvorn. I should have liked to see it once more before it was knocked down – perhaps it is as well that I didn’t[.] I think I should have felt like weeping over it.’
2 On 21 September Eva wrote: ‘My word! how Mr Beardsley [from Coventry Corporation] did shout. I think he had got the impression that I was as deaf as a post! I expect he has so much business with elderly people and many of them probably deaf that he gets into the habit of shouting.’
7 November 1971
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My very dear old creature,
[…] I don’t know that I have very much news. Went to London on Thursday for the Gold Medal Committee, and was rather shocked by Day Lewis’s appearance. He looks very ill indeed, and much older than his years. One can hardly believe he will survive much longer, yet he seems to be carrying on just the same, giving readings and so on. If he were to die, there would (presumably) have to be another Poet Laureate. Perhaps Betjeman would get it this time.1 I’ve never really decided what I should do in the unlikely event of its being offered to me. My instinct wd be to refuse, on the grounds that poetry for me is a private, not a public, activity. But I suppose one could behave as one liked. Anyway, I very much doubt it I should be offered it.2 Not really old and respectable enough!
How are you getting on with The Rainbow? It’s a turgid piece of work. Sons & Lovers is much better. Still, I expect it has its points. There’s a wedding, & some schoolteaching, that is vivid enough. It was written just about the time of the first world war – 1913 was it?3 Lawrence was born in 1885, the year before you. […]
Much love, Philip
1 Cecil Day Lewis died in May 1972; John Betjeman was appointed as the next Poet Laureate in October that year.
2 In 1984, following Betjeman’s death, Larkin was offered the Laureateship, but declined. It went to Ted Hughes.
3 On 9 November Eva wrote: ‘I’m afraid I have given up reading “The Rainbow” and am re-reading “Sons and Lovers”, which I like very much. As I can only read it at tea and supper I’m sorry to say that I have finger-marked the covers. Do you think I could get you a new copy? Dirty creature that I am!’
14 November 1971
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My very dear old creature,
[…] The thought of Christmas depresses me. Please don’t go to trouble. Every year I swear I’ll never endure it again, & make you promise to be sensible, & now here you are talking about duck again, just as if I had never shouted and got drunk & broken the furniture out of sheer rage at it all. For two pins I’d stay here & have bread & cheese, & motor down on the afternoon of Christmas Day.1 All I want is an ordinary lunch, and no fuss. Get a good piece of beef that will last a day or two, and potatoes for baking. To hell with Christmas. Let us have peace, & not all this blasted cooking and eating (and washing up!)
I’m glad you keep at the sherry. There’s nothing like a little drink when you feel you need it. And I’m glad you enjoyed Sons & Lovers: it is his best book, I think, the most lifelike & not bedevilled with theories. It sounds as if it’s all true, but I think there is a good deal of fiction interwoven with the fact. This reminds me that Colin Gunner has popped up again, & sent me a long typescript about his war experiences. It’s very vivid! Sounds as if they spent most of their time (in Italy) stealing! Looting, I suppose it would be called.
Are there any roses in your garden? A fuchsia Monica gave me in the summer is still flowering – isn’t that wonderful? It lives in the sitting room.
Much love Philip
1 On 15 November Eva replied: ‘About Christmas Day[:] we can have a joint of beef (I’m not fond of duck) and I suppose you won’t mind my having plum pudding and brandy or rum sauce. I hope there will be a few mince pies. These things are all ordered from my baker and a very nice Christmas cake – 90p!’
16 December 1971
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My very dear old creature,
Many thanks for your letter wch a
rrived today. A lovely day it is too – mild & sunny. I went shopping, Xmas shopping (groogh), spent all morning at it, not very successfully. I am not doing anything very special for this Christmas.
I went to the hospital on Monday & eventually saw a doctor about my neck. He really said & did nothing helpful – just said it was ‘arthritis’ & ‘old age’ & I’d have to put up with it. However he gave me a good going over (heart, bloodpressure, blood etc) and said I should ‘lose 2 stone’! So I went along to the dietician who gave me a chart & told me to stick to 1000 calories a day. It really means cutting out drink but I can’t bring myself to do this! I’m to go again on January 6th. So no Christmas indulgence!
I don’t mind long or short socks. Preferably dark grey or buff or brown – not red or green or yellow or blue.
BBC say they are planning a programme for my 50th birthday!!
Much love, old creature Philip
1972
2 January 1972
as from 32 Pearson Park, Hull
My very dear old creature,
The first letter of the new year! I wonder if you will get it on Monday: they seem rather slothful about collections up here – they take the new year more seriously.
You remember that on new year’s eve we go to Allendale (about 7 miles off) where they have a big bonfire, and the men of the village walk in a procession carrying tubs of blazing pitch on their heads. The town band plays in fancy dress, & at midnight old lang syne is sung. Everything went off much the same this year, but the bonfire seemed bigger than usual and when the wind blew it became quite uncomfortable and the flying sparks rather dangerous. I was afraid that the latter might burn holes in my expensive overcoat! I haven’t really examined it yet. Anyway, it was all very jolly.
I shall be setting off today to drive back to Hull – miserable day it looks, too. I wrote to Kitty saying I didn’t think I could get home for Al Read, and enclosed £2 for the Nottingham evening (little though I enjoyed it!)
Monica had some Christmas presents for me here, including a carving knife and fork! So I shall have to try buying meat myself. I wonder if you got rid of the remains of our Christmas beef. What a pity it wasn’t nicer. You were very kind to me – I was a beast as usual.
With very much love, Philip
9 January 1972
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My very dear old creature,
Well, many happy returns of the day!1 I’m afraid this silly rabbit card isn’t really very suitable, but in my brief journey to town to snatch something up it was the most attractive one I could see. Anyway, think of it as a frivolous spring bunny come to tell you warmer weather is on the way! Certainly yesterday & today have looked dreary enough. However as long as we have houses, and fires, and books, things could be worse.
I’m still as heavy! Really, I wonder if 14¾ st. is a kind of minimum below wch I can’t fall. I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve given up virtually everything – drink, bread, butter, anything fried, chocolate, and anything that might be fattening. Yet nothing happens. And heaven knows I don’t eat much in any case. […]
I have cleared all my Christmas cards away – I didn’t count them, but there must have been about 80 – and Froggy is sitting in the middle, highly satisfied with having got the mantelpiece to himself for once. He sends regards to your Froggy. He says some people are very lucky in being put to bed every night!2 […]
Well, dear old creature, I hope you have a good day, and manage to give yourself a treat of some kind. Are you eating the frozen vegetables I left you? I shall be thinking of you, and wishing you many happy returns, as I do now.
Philip
1 On 10 January 1972, her eighty-sixth birthday, Eva wrote: ‘Many thanks for your letter which arrived first post to-day and to which I had looked forward so much. Also the “rabbit” card with its’ [sic] love and good wishes.’
2 In her letter of 10 January Eva also wrote: ‘What a lot of things you have given up. It is surprising that you still weigh so much. I sometimes think that you have rather big bones which may account for it. […] I have finished the biography of Beatrix Potter and enjoyed it very much. / I am now reading Hardy’s The Trumpet Major which is very interesting and well written. […] My froggy is sitting patiently waiting to go to bed. He could do with a bit more stuffing in him.’
16 January 1972
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My very dear old creature,
I have just been out to fetch more papers, and took the car to the car-wash, but there was such a queue I didn’t wait. The atmosphere wasn’t as mild as I expected, but not too bad really. Monica bought me a bowl of crocuses when she was last here, and one has just come out. It’s a purple one.
I survived Maeve’s evening well enough, though it didn’t break up till 1 a.m. It was a curious mix of her parents & their friends & her own friends. There was sherry to start with, while they arrived, then we were herded into another room for soup – quite a good soup – then we had to fend for ourselves round a table with bread & cheese & other accessories like celery & radishes and what not. I spent a good deal of time pouring out wine. Then there was coffee, & port for some. At one point I disappeared into the scullery and washed up – or dried up – with my old secretary, Hilary Penwill, who was anxious to reclaim the soup bowls, wch were hers! On the whole it was a successful and respectable evening, but a shade crowded – there were twenty in all, and there wasn’t really enough room, either to sit or move about.
I wondered if I should be heavier this morning but I’m not: still halfway between 14 st & 14½ st. Not bad considering I began only just before Christmas, I wonder how long I shall have to keep it up?
I don’t know that there’s much more news since I talked to you last night! One day next week I am having two new power points put into my sitting room. No doubt it will make a mess, but the result will be worth it.
I hope your neck is feeling better. Mine isn’t. I do hope it’s the sort of thing that goes away in time – do you remember how my foot hurt when I was about to leave Oxford? I limped about for weeks. But it went all right in the end.1
I found a passage in Our Mutual Friend that reminded me of you: ‘She went through with whatever she had to do. She went through with me, she went through with the Minders [children she minded], she went through with herself. She wemt through with everything. O, Mrs Higden, Mrs Higden, you was a woman and a mother and a mangler in a million million!’
However, I hope you won’t have to go through next week without Mrs Holmes, and I hope you won’t go through a day without a rest on the sofa and perhaps a glass of port or sherry. Shall be thinking of you, and hope nothing happens to worry you.
All love Philip
1 On 17 January Eva responded: ‘I’m so sorry to know that your neck is still painful. Of course it isn’t old age. 49 isn’t old. […] Yes, Kitty had prepared a very nice tea for my birthday and Walter opened a bottle of champagne to celebrate it.’
19 January 1972
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My very dear old creature,
I was concerned to hear that you’d gone to bed! Your letter came this morning and I rang Kitty’s number this evening, getting Walter. Did you really fall? What did the doctor say? I expect Kitty will tell me in due course.
I’m glad Mrs Holmes has started to come again. She will be worried about her mother.
What nice paper you have – mauve, is it? […]
My dear creature, I shall be anxious till I hear you are better. Yesterday was a foul day here – today is better.
Much love, Philip.
21 January 1972
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My very dear old creature,
I was relieved to get your note this morning: I was very worried to hear you had fallen.1 Dizziness is sometimes caused by bad circulation – blood not reaching the brain – and if it is this then lying in bed won’t help. However, I’m no doctor.
It can’t be very nice being ill alone
. Do you have the wireless in with you? It can while away a lonely hour pleasantly enough.
It’s a pity you don’t like soup. It goes down easily and can be sustaining. I know when one is ill one doesn’t feel like the most obvious things like chops & steaks: I find it hard to think of things to have in the evening now all my favourite foods are under ban. I grill bacon, & it is rather cheerless in consequence. But you must keep up your strength.
Isn’t it cold? I put an extra blanket on the bed – I really needed it. Mrs Oates didn’t come on Tuesday, it was so cold. However, the sun is shining today. I am nearly down to 14 st.!
Much, much love Philip
1 On 20 January Eva sent a notelet showing a bowl of flowers: ‘I want to write you a short letter although I am still in bed and cannot get a really comfortable position in which to do it. Of course I could get up if I liked, the doctor said three days in bed and to-day is the third day. I may get up for tea. I seem to be existing on eggs mostly had a poached one for lunch. I seem to have gone off meat. Kitty comes every day and makes my Horlicks for supper does any job which wants doing. […] Everyone is very kind. Mrs Richards offered to send me some soup but as you know I’m not fond of soup. / I can imagine how nice Monica’s crocuses will look. Do you remember how I used to grow them on a plate in just water. I’m reading Thomas Hardy’s Wessex Tales. / I read a bit too about Hazlitt. How he couldn’t stand Lamb’s poems. Have I spelt his name right. Well, dear Creature I haven’t any more to say this week.’
24 January 1972
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My very dear old creature,
I got back all right last night, leaving Leicester about 8.30 & getting to Hull about 11.30. No difficulties, except that someone had stolen my Sunday papers that had been delivered here. Filthy swine.
Philip Larkin Page 56