The Mill House
Friday morning [early March 1918]
Dearest Mark,
I have just heard about you being called up. I am dreadfully sorry and so worried. Please, will you write and tell me as soon as you know anything definite. I should be glad if you could spare time to write by return and tell me exactly what happened, and what line you are going to adopt, and what the chances are? It is frightful. But I have such confidence in Fortune protecting you as she has in the past, that I refuse to believe the worst will happen and you will get put in the army. Do not get too unhappy. Remember things have always turned out better than you expected in previous calamities. I will come up to London if you would like me to do so. Dear, I fear I was unkind in my last letter perhaps, and rebuked you and perhaps it came at the same time as this bad news. If so please forgive me.
I shall be so worried until I hear news of your state. Please write as soon as you can and let it be at length, with every detail. For the moment let us forget all that has just past. The sorrows of today being yours are mine also.
My affectionate love,
Carrington
If there is anything I can do to make you happy do not fail to ask me.
In due course Gertler was exempted. In March, to Carrington’s joy, Lytton was also finally exempted from military service on health grounds. She wanted nothing more than to spend the summer at Tidmarsh with him, but he remained somewhat elusive and inclined to go to parties in London without her, especially after the triumphant publication of Eminent Victorians in June.
To Lytton Strachey
The Mill House
9.30, Monday evening [10 June 1918]
I am sorry to add to your troubles, by badgering you with letters. But HOW else can a young lady living in the country by herself – neglected by her swain, worn out by the fatigues of the day – and tired of her own company – pass the evening? […] Beds weeded in front of the windows. Vast bed in the orchard planted with cabbages & a print-dress nearly made!
Mary’s party has just begun for it’s nearly 10 o’ck. I can see all […] The din of voices then a tall gentleman. He might almost be French, very clean, in a dark plum suit steals in – like a good boy. Very friendly – Mary at once glides up to him like a worm through the fat mass … Everyone looks at him now.
Everyone except the hostile camp – & there always is one – talks of his book … But no one is quite so enthusiastic as the Bugeyed Mopsa, looking at him from the arm chair of Tidmarsh […] I wonder what you feel like inside when everyone praises your book … & you find yourself famous? Certainly you become powerful and much lies within your bony fingers… what will you grasp? – ‘we shall see’ – as Macaulay says – was it Macaulay? No … Gibbon surely… I am glad at any rate the public does not share my feelings about your appearance and character! Since you are bored with praise of your creations I will tell you that I think you are the most eminent, graceful person, the most worthy, learned & withal, charming character. And I shall always love you in your entirety.
You know, Dear Lytton, it’s been rather amazing living with you for so long. Now that I am alone I can sit down & think or ponder upon it. Visions steal up – of those hot days when you wore your Fakir clothes – in the orchard – weeding on your child’s chair. The one afternoon when I saw you in the bath. When I lay on your bed on Thursday & saw your eyelashes, and your face so very near, and smelt your hair, and broke the cracking beard in my fingers […]
To Lytton Strachey
Garsington
Morning, Wednesday, 8 o’ck, in bed
Dearest Lytton,
Shandy Hall again! How familiar it all seems. Can it be a year since I was here – I left Tidmarsh at half past twelve yesterday & reached here soon after three o’ck. It was delightful renewing acquaintance with Wallingford and Dorchester.fn50
[…] DOES Tidmarsh exist? Yes. I am wondering that now. Another divine morning only broken by the screams of those uncouth birds.
I say! It’s pretty hopeless pretending our garden grows flowers – or anything for that matter – after this vision! Those pansies and the lavender walks and the snapdragons on the wall. I see it’s a matter for consideration. Some measures will have to be taken before another summer […]
Ottoline is very friendly and the garden & smells filled me with much joy yesterday. BUT I shall certainly post off on Thursday after breakfast and it would be blessed to find that most eminent of all Victorians to greet me in the evening, with tales of the Far East and his adventures. We may drive over to the Wharf today to look at some book old ASQUITH has full of woodcuts which Ottoline says are very rare. Have you seen the sculpture of Brzeskafn51 at the Leicester Galleries? From a book Brett had some of them looked very good […]
On the lawn, 11 o’clock
Tres chér, what a good man you are to write again. It was all so entertaining I loved your description of Elizabeth [Asquith]. Do you think you are now about to travel down that large avenue, which Pozzo [Keynes] has chosen, leading to – I don’t know quite what – hand in hand with Asquiths & LuLu.
Well – have a consider. Maynard receives severe criticism and whether there is a crown of glory awaiting him in that far distant grove of trees […] The Lady O really rather overwhelms me with her kindness. It all seems so smooth compared to those rather hectic last visits. She has her little grievances of course which rumble on unceasingly between all conversations, Lady Connie,fn52 Brett’s’ stupidity, Lawrence. But I am happy here and the visions of the pond & the garden with its flowers makes one very amiable to say nothing of receiving a letter from the beloved in the morning!
It’s surprising how enormous this place seems after our little mill – the vistas & the mansion itself.
I forgot how primitive we were until I saw this shining silver last night, the ormolu furniture, musk smells & brocades.
Her Ladyship entreats to be asked to the Mill – I leave it to you partner.
If you dare write back & say you allowed that bitch Lulu to kiss you, I shall not touch your infected, lice-ridden, stink besotted self for a month and a day…
How splendid about the Telegraph. What a feast of reviews you will have to spread before me when you come back! Has any paper except the Vigilantfn53 dared to neglect your book! When you return there is that portrait to be finished – I think it’s pretty certain to be hung on the line of celebrities in next year’s R.A., a woodcut of the pug perhaps pressed against the horse-faced Lady of Shandy Hall. What do you think?
Dearest Lytton, I love you so much. How glad I am about the book.
Yr Carrington xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
In July, Carrington joined Noel, his Oxford friend Rex Partridge,fn54 both home on leave, and the unnamed sister of a friend of Partridge’s on a trip to Scotland. Always reluctant to leave Lytton, she wrote him long descriptive letters while they were apart.
To Lytton Strachey
In train to Kingussie
8.30 [4 July 1918]
Well, what a lot can happen in a day! I met Noel at 12 o’ck. We then shopped, and talked in St James Park till 1.30. Went to the Automobile Club for lunch. The young man Partridge had just come back from Italy, the one I was telling you about the other evening, so he and another young Oxford man who was A.D. C. [aide-de-camp] to Robertsonfn55 – had lunch with us. The A.D. C. was very attractive but obviously rather alarmed by my appearance and manners! A pity, he was so charming with a beautiful head. After tea he left us, so we went down the Strand and sat in the Embankment Gardens and talked. I found Partridge shared all the best views of democracy and social reform, wine and cheer and good operas. He adores the Italians and wants after the war to sail in a schooner to the Mediterranean Islands and Italy, and trade in wine without taking much money and to dress like a brigand. I am so elated and happy. It is so good to find someone who one can rush on and on with, quickly. He sang Italian songs to us on the platforms and was in such gay spirits – and used his hands gesticulating. But th
e important thing was he seemed so enthusiastic over reconstruction after the war and free thinking. Fortunately he is to be in England 3 months. So I hope I shall see him again. Not very attractive to look at. Immensely big. But full of wit and reckless. And he was in London last night and we never knew and so one must never give up hope that there are none left. He is sending me a book by Anatole Francefn56 to read – Angels – I cannot remember the name.
We are travelling 1st class by ourselves in a splendid carriage! Noel is reading your book. He is very nice. But one felt so much the difference between Partridge, a bond of dreams and worldly things. He adores eating and drinking and said as we sat on high chairs in the buffet at Euston: ‘I always feel sorry for women that they don’t know what it is to appreciate food. In Italy we had such amazing dishes and the wines!!’ Noel just told me the father of a College friend of his was vicar at the Vicarage where Keble was. Southrop the name. He had been there. And you are sitting with John and Ruth [Selby-Bigge] in front of a not too bright fire, rather bored? I wonder, I have no idea how you will get on.
And next weekend at Tidmarsh what of that? Write to me soon. I’ll send a PC with address tomorrow. How I loved our few days in London and the operas. Dear, thank you so much. I wish you had stayed today and met the young man. He deplored the English women and their stodgy characters. The Italians he said walked so well and dressed all in unity, which was indeed a true observation as we watched those drabs slouching and stumping past us on the Embankment. The train rushes too fast to write properly. We are nearing Crewe now. And have fastened the door with a strap inside so the mob cannot enter. Noel travels in full military attire ornamented with red tapes and braids so I hope the Grants or Glasses will be pleased with us!
I hope you’ll control Legg and get her to look after you properly. Noel just said he thought the sarcasm in your book so gentlemanly that Mary might not see it and miss the point. So I told him the story of Claudius Clear.fn57 But I am really wondering if we will go in the ship with this young man to those islands. He is going to learn the mandolin to play on the ship, he said. Or whether, like all visions … Dear, if it is at all feasible, I will certainly try to induce you to come to the peaks and crags.
I am so excited now about going to Kingussie and your country. What a difference it does make, it being your place. I loved you so much last night. Please take great care of yourself for me, until I come home.
Yr Carrington xxx
To Lytton Strachey
On the shores of Loch Laggan
Saturday [6 July 1918]
[…] This is indeed rather a wonderful place. The hotel seems so far devoid of the horrid Glasgowers. We have just had a lovely swim in the lake. The woman is indeed fatter than I. What a superb creature is a youth nude. The shores are yellow sand with great grey boulders & slopes with birch trees behind. I cooked a grand meal of eggs & bacon, coffee in a Tinkers Jennie. The sun was scorching hot lying bare on the sand. But it’s all rather wasted without your company. The others have gone off now so I’ve walked round the lake & now sit high on some crags gazing at a Byronic View which perhaps the pen will trace.
[…] Matter indeed for the pen of Wordsworth with the great black clouds hanging over the lofts of indigo mountains. But the eyes still blink at the whole scene – after England it’s curiously unreal and grandiose. I think perhaps the lake makes it look rather artificial. You’ve made me, dear, a pretty intolerant creature. I suppose two (in pencil as I’ve upset the ink in my pen) years ago I should have enjoyed the company of these two – but their conversation seems so pointless and there seems to be no activities – or did I detect something attempting to rise under his bathing garment. But I fear that merry acrobat will get little pleasure this holiday! … If it is feasible you will come won’t you? But I’ll write later about that – oh dearest how much I love you, one feels how big a thing it is now one is alone removed up here – nothing matters except for your presence & to have you [to] talk with when I read that Greek anthology. I longed to find a youth to give you that peculiar ecstasy – to make you happy in return for all you give me.
The porridge is good in these parts. But no green peas, broad beans or raspberries – and oh hell no red beard […]
My love to you oh very dear one
Yr
Carrington
xxxx
xxxx
To Ottoline Morrell
The Mill House
Sunday [summer 1918]
[…] We had such a very wonderful holiday in Scotland. It seems now like some vision, like those scenes Wordsworth’s poetry conjures up before one eyes reading in the evenings. It has no correlation to this flat tame country. Skye was entirely magical. One felt anything might happen up there on those deserted mountains – witches & wildcats in the caves. Some of the peasants were astonishing. But it was all too quick, one longed to linger over their firesides and talk on & on. Noel was adamant however & rushed me on to a new inn every night. Except for the last four days which we spent in an empty cottage at Rothiemurchus […]
Wretched every time I think of you, remembering your cracked head. You’ll have heard any news about Tidmarsh from the ‘wolves’ and Brett is coming I hope tomorrow. Lytton will be away till Thursday so I shall be glad of her company. I had four riotous days in London after Scotland. Noel didn’t go back till Thursday so I had to go out with him & his young Oxford friends razzel-dazzeling [sic]. I took him & one of them to the Sitwells one evening. They seemed to enjoy it very much. But Noel was so full of spirits that he seemed to like everyone & everything! Then on Friday we went to Coq D’Or. Lytton with the Duchess of course below in a box! It’s great entertainment for all of us – his accounts of the Lords & Ladies. I saw Phyllis Boydfn58 in London, she knows them all so well […] What stories!! But they are too appalling to commit to paper & such is paper – torn from my old virgin lesson books!! But I’ll relate them all when we meet again – Phyllis is truly the most lovely creature I know – only she always vanishes into space the day after one has found her.
I will certainly come over on the old machine next month.
Alix, James, Oliver and a young lady are here this weekend. I’ve been busy gardening all day so haven’t seen much of them. The former sit now as I write – over the chess board with solemn faces. They take nearly ten minutes over each move. But it’s a wonderful picture in the lamplight. These little wooden men controlling these huge monsters […]
I do hope you really will be well again soon.
My love to you affectionately
Carrington
To Noel Carrington
The Mill House
[Summer 1918]
Dearest Noel,
Thank you for your last letter. Well on Saturday evening Partridge came to this haunt of guile and wickedness. Unfortunately I missed his letter and as he had not turned up by the afternoon trains I gave him up for lost, and the day being fine went for a walk with Lytton who read Shakespeare sonnets to me in a delectable dell, sheltered by tall beech trees. Truly I must say there is nothing but Milton in our English verse in my humble opinion, devoid of value no doubt as it may be to you, to touch in exquisite beauty and form those sonnets.
On our return we found Partridge lying on our lawn with Oliver Strachey. I gathered separately from both of them that a heated argument had raged on that everlasting topic wars and peace negotiations. Partridge said yesterday on the river that he thought Oliver was a crank because he was opposed to war on ground of the carnage. Then R. P. made the extraordinary statement that the carnage didn’t matter – he didn’t think it was at all important men dying and really wouldn’t mind being killed himself and eugenically it was good for the world not to be over populated. So I must admit I had to set-to and argued over this with him. Do you hold those views? I can’t believe that he does really. Then I said it was appalling to think of men like Milton, Shakespeare and Darwin and that a few being killed didn’t matter in the long run […]
We w
ent on the river all yesterday reaching Moulsford for lunch and a very good lunch at that which dulled the wits and rendered all further conversation banal and amiable. Reached Wallingford for tea and rowed back, reaching Pangbourne by about 8. He had to catch a train at Reading at 9.30 so only had time for wine and dinner and dashed off in the motor. I hope he enjoyed it. I thought he was in a curious way much more prejudiced and much less open minded that you. Lytton even thought that and said you are much more interested in things and easier to talk to than R. P.. He isn’t very interested in books or poetry or painting which makes it a bit difficult.
It’s my fault really. I am so anxious to find everything I want in a person and rush off ahead and believe they are what they are not really and then get disappointed. Still I think he’s interesting – only not so much intellect and enquiring in human nature as you have. He merely thought those Sitwells affected and dismissed them, he was surprised because Lytton had written that book, as he said he didn’t look as if he should have which was a rather superficial judgment I thought, because a man is weak to imagine he hasn’t a brain and energy for creation. Then he didn’t see very much in the book except that the style was ‘rather good’ – then he was prejudiced against Lytton slightly for his beard and his appearance and confessed it. I wonder what Brenan his friend is like.fn59 He belongs much more to those Augustus John people – I was surprised a little really at our R. P. being his friend and not being more tolerant. He spoke very scathingly of that man you knew at the House who knew so much about French literature, because he was so ‘effete’; – well, well. You see what a great deal I want in a young man and you know dear brother how I carry out my maxims in my tolerance of the Philistines. Yes I laugh even at myself but I think the fundamental views on life are seriously the only important things in people. And I must say I can’t get over R. P. thinking people wantonly being killed in war not appalling. It did rather upset me […]
A scotch view follows in a few days for you.
D. C.
Partridge was beginning to fall for Carrington, but in the summer of 1918 was still a serving officer due to return to the Italian front and full of conventional opinions. Neither then nor later was he a natural Bloomsbury insider, which along with his strong masculine character and physique perhaps explains some of his attraction for both Carrington and, increasingly, Lytton.
Carrington's Letters Page 10