As I thought, it was half past 11 o’ck before I got off in the car, laden with packages, and vegetables and black puss. I had a good drive to Salisbury. As it was market day, I lingered about a little and looked at the stalls, and farmers and bought some stockings. I reached the Cliffe about half past two. Tommy was busy drawing out plans of gates for Lincoln’s Inn and Julia making scones in the kitchen. The cottage looks very nice inside. Really it’s equal to Ham Spray in elegance and comfort, only cleaner and tidier. Puss leapt out of her basket and soon made herself at home in the kitchen, eating chickens’ bones and purring in front of the fire. I have a grand bedroom with the new window that T designed which proves I think that he has a great architectural genius. Julia is in high spirits, and both of them seem very happy.
After tea, I drove Julia to Tisbury, and did some shopping. We found a marvellous postcard shop; I will send you a sample in a few days. Julia’s vagueness about ordering is only equalled by your ignorance! ‘How many potatoes shall we want?’ in a whisper to me. In a commanding, imperious voice to the man ‘Well send some potatoes, a good many.’ Man ‘How many pounds 14, 28?’ ‘Oh no not so many as that, about 2lbs would be enough I think.’ (Two pounds being about 10 potatoes.) It was great fun. We laughed so much and even the man could hardly resist smiling. The cooking is really very good. Julia teaches the maid herself with Mrs Beeton sitting like an immense goddess on the kitchen table presiding. I am to paint a panel over a door, of the La Source a goddess lying by the water’s brink, over the sitting room door. John B [Banting] has done an enormous 9 foot high (rather awful, for Venus is exactly like himself, I think, disguised as a female) Venus Rising out of the Waves in the bathroom. What Judge and Lady T must have thought as they sat on the W.C.!! I looked at a natural history book last night and T and J read, over a fine blazing log fire. I shall enjoy myself very much as it’s exactly the sort of life I most love, talking and painting […]
I send you my fondest love.
Your loving M
To Lytton Strachey
Ham Spray House
In the (sun) under the veranda
Monday morning, 12 o’ck [24 October 1927]
Darling Lytton,
… The weekend passed very merrily …
After lunch we all went riding. Coker’s horse (really a miniature cart horse) was more comic than Belle. And the spectacle of them both trying to prance together was so funny, we simply became weak with laughter. Lionel [Penrose] looked exactly like a monkey in the circus on Belle and Margaret Leathes [his fiancée] like nothing ever seen before. And when Huth’s thoroughbred hunter pursued them across the second field it was like two walruses trying to escape from an antelope. We had some fine races on the top of the Downs.
The mouse (‘quiet as a mouse’ Mr Coker said to me) was egged on by Lionel into a gallop finally. There was a vast encampment of gypsies just near the Black wood. I have never seen such an exquisite girl. She had a thick silver necklace round her neck, and pale copper hair and a huge amazon figure. They all came running out of their ragged tents and begged for money. Dog gave her a shilling. In a field six children, very tattered, boys and girls about 4 to 10 years old, were dancing the Charleston together! […]
My very fondest love to you most dear Lytton
Your devoted Centaur
PS Rosamond has sold 75,000 copies of her book in America! Love to Dadie.
Rosamond Lehmann had just published her first novel, Dusty Answer. She was becoming a close friend of Carrington’s, who admired her beauty and her wardrobe.
To Dorelia John
Ham Spray House
[Christmas 1927]
Darling Dodo,
… We have had an awful time of it since you left. You were wise not to spend Christmas at Fryern.fn34 I had 7 in this house for a week and then 2 for 4 days. And for a whole week no cars could get from Hungerford, so we nibbled ham and turkey bones like mice on siege. It was too cold to enjoy tobogganing (or am I too old?) and I seemed to spend my whole day lighting fires, thinking of new ways of cooking turkey bones and mincing ham and fetching my horse through snow drifts. Then on Christmas day there was a terrible scene. I rushed down in the ice cold one morning in a dressing gown and took a telegram on the phone for ‘Partridge, etc. etc. Dorelia’. I was in high feathers and of course bragged to R. P. and he was cross because he hasn’t been sent a message on the telegram. The next morning, ‘a copy’ came to confirm the telephone, addressed to ‘Monsieur Partridge’. Now if he’d been a nice sort of man he would have taken his revenge silently and not mentioned the subject. For of course I read the address on the wire and saw my, or rather the telephone girl’s mistake. But the brute in front of everyone announces his triumph and rubs in the ashes. So my nose was disjointed for days. However your lovely postcard consoled me, and we are now on speaking terms again. Julia and Tommy were here. J very fat, and like a Veronese beauty. James S, Frances Marshall, and Lytton. We had to fetch food on sledges, and walk 6 miles across snow drift to get to Hungerford. On Monday everything thawed and we nearly lost the car for ever by getting stuck in a raging icy torrent in our lane. Since Sunday I’ve been in bed on and off with a chill and still feel very pretty mouldery. But it’s very nice being here alone after the mob. Henry wrote me a letter with news of you. He seemed very pleased with Toulon and terribly embarrassed at having set foot in Cassis after his protestations that he would never go there!
Have you been keeping well? I was sorry to hear Vivien was in bed through over eating. I’ve some pictures for your R. D.s [Ravishing Daughters, Poppet and Vivien] but I can’t get out to post them. I wish snow wasn’t incompatible with pleasure, for the landscape looked exquisitely lovely. Mountain gales travelling 150 miles an hour now tear past the house, rattling all the windows to pieces. I feel very decayed in the head with this blasted chill, forgive a dull letter and please write me one to console me. And for what? For you having gone away. There’ll never be such a lovely evening as Chambertin until you come back. Give my fondest love to Poppet and Vivien. Do you remember Raymond Mortimer? One of Lytton’s Hoopoes, Henry called him. He is engaged to Valerie Taylor. Ah but will he marry her? Quite another question. What do you do? Stitch fine linen? Read Ethel M. Dell? But I shall never know. Poppet I suppose is cutting out a new dress. Peeled pears boiling in kirsch with a little sugar and then flambe as they come on the table, very good. But they must be Doyen de Comice. Everyone is in London, so I sit alone with Black Puss over the fire, covering the carpet with lettuce leaves, and salad oil. Tomorrow I shall go up and see the circus, and give the poor overworked Olive a weekend off. Now I must go to bed. I send you all my love but never dare if you love me, send a telegram, addressed to Monsieur Partridge in this house!
Your devoted most loving C
1928
On 1 January, Carrington began her new journal, writing on the cover ‘D. C. Partride, Her Book’. Not only could she not spell her married name, if she noticed her mistake she did not bother to correct it. In its pages, she could admit what she concealed from her correspondents: her increasing feelings of isolation and loneliness. She was often alone at Ham Spray; Lytton and Ralph had found new lovers, Julia and Tommy were married. Her half-hearted affair with Peter Lucas was over, though they remained friends. It is perhaps not surprising that she soon fell into a new romance of her own. She was also not enjoying decorating Dadie Ryland’s rooms at Kings, which required her to make regular visits to Cambridge.
To Lytton Strachey
The Pavilion
Tuesday [16 January 1928]
Dearest Toad in the Hole,
It’s lovely here today. I wish you could whisk away and join me. A dazzling sun shines on the Pavilion. But where are the ghosts in white flannel? Only a large black cat sits staring into eternity on the window sill. Ach but I am in rage! That odious old camel writes to say he can’t go riding today, or tomorrow and so there’ll be no cantering along the Roman Road. I shall try and get Alec [Penrose] or Bunn
y [Garnett] to take me tomorrow if it’s fine. A dreadful night of nightmares leaves me rather dim in the head this morning, but I shall hope for a cocktail when I get round to Dadie’s to pull me together. Topsy is charming and in very good spirits and Peter [Lucas] in very good spirits and charming. And Steven as solid, and predominant as ever. Now I must whisk off to Dadie’s room, and draw some plans. I shall console myself, for my defrauded ride, by looking at the owl books this afternoon. Please try and come back next Friday with us. Although I only tell you in a whisper, but it does make a great difference having a Ham Spray without a fakir. When I reached here yesterday evening I discovered I had put Tuesday on my postcard so they were rather surprised to see me on Monday.– Topsy was having a tete a tete with the mushroom growth Steven Runciman,fn35 when I arrived.
My love darling Lytton and please get quite well by Wednesday evening. There is to be a very special concert on Wednesday evening at Ham Spray.
Your loving Mrs Snipe
Snipe was Carrington’s nickname for Bernard Penrose, known as Beakus. The youngest of the Penrose brothers, he was ten years younger than her, straightforwardly heterosexual and not bookish. He was a keen sailor with his own boat, and something about him reminded her of her lost brother Teddy. Her other nickname for him was Seagull.
To Dorelia John
Ham Spray House
8 February 1928
Darling Dodo,
It’s a pity you don’t emulate your daughter, and write some letters although the post cards have been lovely […] I’m having a frantic struggle to alter the lawn under the Ilex tree, and make a more orderly garden. But the ground is solid willow herb, and nettles and fairly breaks one’s back digging it. And the gardener has been so ill this winter, that now there’s no time to plant the seeds in the vegetable garden, so I can’t take him off, for my Ilex tree border. I’ve literally seen no one this last month, all our energies are devoted to writing Queen Elizabeth. We are reading a new novel by Norman Douglas in the evenings, tell me have you got it? It’s rather Greek and very lecherous.fn36 I’ve been drawing some designs for some rooms at Cambridge. Panels for doors. I think I shall go over there and paint them soon. It’s a hideous gothic room in Kings, belonging to a sweet canary don called Rylands. So I’m doing hideous gothic pictures of Roman emperors heads, and Greek vases […] Would you like a china plate? I’m going to very shortly, paint a lot of tiles and plates – Tell me what would you like a picture of, on your dish?
My love,
Your C
To Gerald Brenan
Ham Spray House
[9 February 1928]
I was lying in bed reading Swann’s Way and two sentences make me think of you. Olive at that moment tapped on the door, and brought me breakfast and my letters. The coincidence of course is in your favour. I have (as you probably have) TWO minds about seeing you again. I had not ‘no doubt guessed’ you had long ceased to have ‘unfriendly feelings.’ I imagined to tell you the truth, that I had ceased to exist. But perhaps you’ve said and felt rather more than is compatible with being friends again? And then I have found curious pleasures in my isolation, and being exempt from any responsibilities, or blame. But it’s also true, I seldom can think of anything more ‘amusing’ than having tea or lunch with you. So I daresay I shall ring you up one day. But not for some time, as I don’t think I’ll be in London this month.
Gerald – Well this is a nice encouraging sort of letter, and I wrote her such a friendly one.
But what can one do when one is a divided character? I still wonder of course what was your real reason for wanting to see me again. Curiosity? A desire to torment? Or had you also perhaps been reading Proust? Well, it’s very nice to think that I can by putting 2 pennies in a slot and murmuring that mystic 8295 see you whenever I want to; very nice. I hope you are happy and working.
My love,
Your C
To George Rylands
Ham Spray House
14 March 1928
Dearest Dadie,
I am writing for Lytton as he is still rather worn and ill, to say how miserable he was not to come for the weekend […] You have no idea how much I loved seeing you. I do hope you feel happier now. Ach, but I’d like to ring the neck of your late turtle dove for being such a ninny. One would think going to bed had no pleasures attached to it, or that having a lover was a positive hardship. When one reaches the slopes of middle age one is glad of the merest crumbs of affection, an eyelash of lust. I’m sorry I made such a hash up of your door paintings, but I get ‘over excited’ about them, and so rather frozen … But next term, I’ll try and be a little less hysterical and paint them all out again and pull the whole thing together. The cold here is appalling, one longs – in vain – for a bedfellow to keep one warm […]
Two enormous carthorses drove into the garden on Sunday, and tore through the lawn, and flowerbeds. So my enthusiasm for the garden has been slightly crushed, the tulips completely so.
My fondest love and Lytton sends his love also
Your loving C
To Sebastian Sprott
Ham Spray House
[14 March 1928]
Dearest Sebastian,
You are a snake of a man never to answer my letter. But I shall endeavour to turn the other cheek and forgive you. I write as Lytton’s secretary, as he is rather ill, and worn, and unable to put pen to paper. Oh yes, no doubt if you were his secretary bird you’d write a much neater, better, more grammatical, and in every way superior letter, but as you aren’t here, I must do my best to imitate your inimitable style. ‘Would you care,’ says le grand maître, ‘to spend Easter chez Ham Spray?’ If you would will you fill up the enclosed card with Yes or No, in the space provided for the same; an early posting, surely you can spare 3 mins to run to the post between Wilf, Will, and Edward? Will oblige your late master and the present correspondent, his present secretary […]
I spent three days at Cambridge last week, but the agony of painting Dadie’s walls, (which were a complete failure), ruined all my pleasures, except when I was drunk with cocktails. Of course I like despondent rejected lovers, so found Dadie very sympathetic and charming […]
I keep fairly well, rather worn down by nightmares and the difficulty of reconciling myself to the fact that my painting isn’t any better (if as good) as Douglas’s [Davidson] I hope you keep well, and enjoy your low life with the blacks, and sweet Alice.
Morgan comes here next weekend. I still love my horse more than any man, but less than some women. Lytton enjoyed Norman Douglas and Paris enormously. But that’s old cheese I expect to you, as I daresay you’ve seen Roger.
Now I must run to the telephone and ring up the doctor in London and ask for a tonic for Master and order some chops and feed the horse and – you know the hundred and one little things that there are for a busy housewife to do after breakfast on Wednesday morning. So I must say goodbye to my dear and rush off. Be a dear and say if you can come for Easter.
Your most loving
C
To Rosamond Lehmann
Ham Spray House
15 March 1928
My Dearest Rosamond,
Although it is only a week ago since you sailed it seems much longer. You have no idea how very much I loved seeing you again. I hope you are getting stronger and more rested. It was rather awful to see you so thinned. – What fun it was going to your dress shop. You know I enjoy these sorts of expeditions more than almost anything. Watching hairdressers, tailors, and bootmakers. I hope you didn’t get too cold crossing. You escaped the snow – since last Saturday the downs have been white and icicles hang from the slates.
Dadie was charming. I enjoyed seeing him enormously, but the painting was sheer agony. It wouldn’t come right, and I got hysterical, and fussed, and then drank too many cocktails with Dadie, so the final results were deplorable. However […] it can easily be painted over again next term. It’s fatal if I work things out in detail first, and think too much about them. I
t’s rather maddening to have the ambition of Tinteretto [sic], and to paint like a diseased mouse. But I daresay poor Douglas, whose panels I despised so vainly, has just as lofty ambitions!
I hope you bask in the sun, and are able to write. – You can’t think how I look forward to this summer and partly because I hope you’ll be able to come here very often. Do tell me how Wogan is, and if he is able to paint. And which dress you are wearing when you write to me – if I dressed you I should make you look slightly Russian, with an astrakhan pea jacket, and a white woollen dress. It sounds a rather scratchy conception. And your hair in a great knob at the back of your head
Lytton overworked at Q. E. [Queen Elizabeth] and wasn’t well enough to go to Cambridge for the weekend to stay with Dadie. He was disappointed, as he’d looked forward to it so much. All this week he is resting. It’s a nuisance, as he was getting along so well.
Lytton sends you his fondest love.
Are the wild flowers lovely on the coast? My brain is numbed by the cold. So forgive a dull letter. Please if you have time to write to me sometime. Give Wogan my fondest love please. Please take great care of yourself and get stronger.
I send you all my love,
Your C
To Peter Lucas
Ham Spray
Monday afternoon, 19 March 1928
I am sorry of course that you are unhappy although I can’t sympathise (any more than you do with yourself) with the cause. […] I confess I am pleased if T [Topsy] is happy because after all that seems so rare an occurrence and she seems to me to deserve it more than most people – you wait till T goes off, and only comes down to see you if she brings her lover, and see how you like it! – I suppose you’d say you’d never put up with what I put up with. Yet what is the alternative? – and after a bit one can’t go on minding day after day not seeing a person […] T seems to me to be such an angel over your love affaires that I cant see how you can mind hers […]
Carrington's Letters Page 38