I spent a quiet evening with Saxon Turner who is rather like an old grey squirrel. He showed me a great many photographs of Germany where he had been. But that wasn’t very exciting, & I longed instead of listening about his holiday in Germany to tell him about our holiday at Fryern!!! I never laughed so much before than at dinner on Sunday evening when you all made those comic faces of grief & boredom. It was a marvellous evening all together in every way.
Today it pelts with rain. I’ve just bought a new yellow felt hat. But it makes my face look a sort of dingey purple which is rather disappointing! I couldn’t think of anyone to have lunch with, so in the end I’ve not had any, as it’s such a bore eating alone. When the rain has stopped I shall go to the Turkish Baths & lie in a hot bath, & have my hair washed & have tea in one of the Turkish beds. I confess it sounds more exciting than it really is – but it’s a nice way of passing an afternoon […]
I hope you still love me as much as I do you. This is a terribly dull letter. But then life seems very dull to tell you the truth, after Fryern. Do write me a letter here. I shall stay here till Friday evening I expect. You are a Darling Poppet you know. […]
xxxxxxx
To Lytton Strachey
41 Gordon Square, London
en route to Cambridge
Tuesday [7 August 1928]
My darling Lytton,
On Sunday as it was so lovely, we went for the day to Fryern, Ralph Frances and me. We had a superb lunch in the Dean Valley, (East of Salisbury) in a little wood and reached Fryern about half past two. We then went off and swam in their river, the girls, Romilly [John] and the governess. Dorelia sat like a voluminous Sibyl in a flower black dress on the high bank watching us. Ralph looked so lovely and naked, very brown with the sun, swimming like an enormous Neptune amongst these sirens […]
My studio grows more and more beautiful. You are an angel to give me such a lovely present.
We had a strange party at Fryern on Sunday night, and I had the strangest of strange conversations with old Augustus.
A. ‘Do you like Cxxxs [cunts] Carrington?
C. ‘Um – yes – I do.’
A. ‘So do I. I adore them.’
Then he confided in me all his love affairs. Dear, oh dear! I missed you very much at Ham Spray this weekend. My very fondest love
Your devoted Mopsa
Love to Roger please
[…]
After a furious row when Carrington, as he saw it, insulted him by sending him some of Lytton’s unwanted clothes and ties, Gerald was at last able to detach himself from her. He had picked up a girl called Winnie in London and lived with her for a while.
To Gerald Brenan
Ham Spray House
Wednesday [30 August 1928]
Dearest Amigo,
It was nice to see you again. You always, you know, charm me rather. The pleasure of cooking mushrooms and meals with you is unique, if I may say so. And then you must know my life is conducted on a sort of fugue basis. I go forwards a few bars and then retreat and pick up the old theme. No, Ralph tells me little about your life; he was mostly concerned with a ravishing beauty at the swimming baths! So I heard very little about you, or Winnie.
[…] I have 60 tiles to paint. And if I leave the house for more than a day, all the taps will be put in the wrong places. ‘So you think.’ And so it happens, I assure you.
Arthur wrote me a fine letter from Wales yesterday with a gloomy description of the inmates of his asylum. Give Helen my love when you see her. And do not tear my character to shreds! This morning at 7 o’ck I went on the Shalbourne Downs and picked mushrooms with Olive. It was an exquisite pale dewy morning. And I feel very purified inside now. If I come up again I will ring you up and we’ll have a supper party together.
My letters are now written in such a different style that I’ve lost the old art of addressing crotchety amigos. Poppet and Vivien are my new correspondents. And the level I assure you is, although infinitely amorous, infinitely low.
My fondest love
Your C
PS I did not even tell Ralph I had seen you twice! My life is so poor in secrets I was forced to turn you into one!
To George Rylands
Ham Spray House
20 October 1928
Darling Dadie,
I am not the traitor that you imagine, only one of the leading foremen organizers in/of central heating, bricklaying, wall painting, carpentering, fireplace making, tile designing, apple picking, trade – and as such, there’s damn little time for keeping up a correspondence in the style of Swift-and-Stella – you didn’t by the way tell me what style, and standard we were to adopt? Are letters to be dated? Is master to correct my spelling? Will they be left lying about? Before I can seriously engage myself with you in this enterprise you must give me more exact information […]
There were grand goings on at the Beakus Penrose sailor party […]
Bunny was sick. Alix caught Tommy and me kissing his lady, and went off in a fine huff […] a great many couples had each other on the analytical couch upstairs to James’s dismay – or pleasure? So many revolting patties were crushed into Alix’s carpet downstairs that she has had it dyed dark ‘claret and ham’, in anticipation of the next party.
I got some very passionate kisses out of Beakus […] but had a much more passionate affaire in Saxon’s flat afterwards in a very small camp bed with Poppet John. Oh La! La! As she says […] Now darling it is teatime so I must put on the kettle for Master.
My fondest love,
Your devoted Carrington
Love from puss
To Lytton Strachey
The Boot, Quainton, Aylesbury
[1 November 1928]
Darling Lytton,
What do you think? You will never guess. I went to a hunt this morning. […] It was the greatest pleasure imaginable. We watched ‘the meet’ gather and then pursued them on foot where they found an old fox in a wood. But it was impossible to get the old fox on the run, so the horsemen galloped round and round the wood with the dogs baying inside. Twice we saw the fox quite close, but he always redoubled on his tracks and got back into the wood again. I talked to some strange foot retainers. A farmer, and a perfect Oiseaux of an old rustic. We stood and listened to the conversation of the huntsmen. I was pointed out ‘Tom Gosling, the best steeplechase rider,’ a very gay spark, who cracked jokes with the grooms. All the characters of the riders came out so vividly. Hardened old lined nut cracked men who rode without any expression on their faces. Fat Rowlandson ladies with grey buns of hair and veils, bouncing along on their fat horses. Farmers with elbows sticking out on nags not much better than Belle. By the end of the hour I knew every face. Rosamond lives in an absurd little cottage with roses, and arbours. She and Wogan look like that picture of Alice in Wonderland enlarged. They can scarcely move in and out of rooms and their heads touch the ceilings. I shall come back tomorrow early to London. It’s very nice here. So hot and the village looks exquisitely beautiful this morning, with shining thatched houses like a broody hen, on the green. Wogan has done two very good pictures down here […]
Ros, very charming. I had a fascinating long conversation with her last night. Oh, but I long for a hunter; I now see it would be perfect happiness to go galloping across a field with red huntsmen cracking whips and hounds baying. The wily old fox defeated them this morning, to my secret delight […]
You were so charming yesterday. It was a perfect day. My very dear love to my very dear,
Your loving Mopsa
To Sebastian Sprott
Ham Spray House
20 November [1928]
Darling Sebastian,
What a toad I am to be sure […]
Yes, I agree my behaviour has no excuse […] Except that […] in spite of not writing I think of you perpetually. It is true nearly everyday I say ‘I will write to S today.’ But then there is the engine to run, the garden to attend to, (for Tom the gardener has left us. Thank God.) Belle
is ill & has to have revolting abscesses dressed everyday. I have 60 tiles to paint for Lytton’s new fire places, 20 lampshades for the slug Waleys, two carpenters to supervise, who build Lytton a new library. A perpetual correspondence with my darling little John girls to attend to […] to say nothing of my other arts, & Master’s cushions, & footstools to arrange & his spectacles which he loses every few hours … By the time all these little jobs, (& driving to Hungerford in the gale, & rain) are over, I am so tired I can hardly put pen to paper, & so time passes, & my famous letter to you never gets written […]
In a whisper Topsy has a new lover. But P[eter] doesn’t know, although of course she’ll have to tell him soon. But for the moment she’s controlling her passion for truth, & enjoying a secret flame!!! So don’t you breathe a word. Lytton says he’s like a pale chicken with goggling eyes, & yellow hair, and of course only 19. But Dadie told me in a whisper he was ‘terribly virile’ & had an enormous ––– but one hardly knows what to believe, people are so inaccurate. Dadie himself is ‘in love’ with a sweet scotch boy who says ‘pardon’ every five minutes but nobody yet knows if he is virile or even has a –––. Lytton suspects he is lacking. Mary [Hutchinson] comes here next week with Roger Senhouse. My lovely Vicomtesse has deserted her Vicomte, & has come to live in England all for love of a steeple chasing captain who lost all his toes off both feet falling under a train in order to lie with the lovely Vicomtesse, he was in such a hurry. But nothing damps her ardour […]
My life is a complete blank except for my passionate love affaire with Vivien & Poppet John. They are fascinators. Next time you come here we’ll go over to Fryern together. They have the most lovely horses, we go for great rides on the downs, & in the new forest together whenever I stay there … which is pretty often […] Lytton sends his very fondest love. Which is a lie, but he is writing & I can’t disturb him. But I know he would, so I put it in. Queen E. [Elizabeth and Essex] comes out on Friday. Please write & say you still love me, & bear me no malice for being a better thinker, than a writer. But my fondest love darling Sebastian.
Your devoted windswept Carrington xxxxx
To Augustus John
Ham Spray House
23 November 1928
Dodo says you would like a letter so if you do not want one you must blame her. I hope you are enjoying Boston. Your Judge’s country house looked to me slightly suburban if I may say so […]
I stayed at Fryern about three weeks ago and had a lovely time riding on the Downs with your ravishing daughters. We had a fine evening tea party in the New Forest under some Holly trees. Vivien was so particular about choosing a properly romantic spot that it was almost dark when we had our tea and chestnuts. I’ve hardly been to London this month so I’ve no gossip to tell you […]
Please bring back a lovely American beauty for me. But for me remember. Not to be shared. Dodo’s little room is exquisite. I must go over soon and finish the cupboards.
I am, dear old chap your loving
Carrington
To Julia Strachey
Ham Spray House
Saturday, late December 1928
Darling Julia,
This is NO Collins but a paean of praise for your lovely Christmas present. It arrived today, and really, saving my face, it looks enchanting! I have, of course, put it on, and will probably upset the ink over it at once, but I couldn’t resist wearing it. Ralph and Frances think it very beautiful. But I wish you were here to admire it! […] I did love my visit to you. I am always only sorry that the time is so short. For some reason there is a strange enchantment about Swallowcliffe for where else could one find laurel groves, and dormitories, castellated ruins and swans? To say nothing of upstanding cockatoos and seagulls? (pardon my humour).
I regret to say I behaved disgracefully after I left you for I was faithless to Dorelia and deserted her after lunch. I pretended I was going back to Ham Spray, but really I went off to – is it possible you can guess? We had a fine evening in Southampton together in the drizzling rain, buying a mattress and stores for the ship. Then in the slushing mud, we tramped through docks and saw great masts silhouetted against the night sky, and lights reflected across the harbour from Southampton, and presently found the Sans Pareil with a black cat keeping watch on deck. It’s an infinitely romantic ship; with brown varnished cupboards and cut glass handles and a little fire place with a brass mantelpiece. I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed an evening more in my life, the rain beating down on the deck above, sitting in the cabin lit by lamplight, cooking eggs and sausages over the fire and drinking rum. The Seagull is fascinating on board. He is so in love with his ship that he moons about in a trance opening cupboards and eulogizing over its beauties, in his slow voice. The only disadvantage is, if I may so say, that the bunks aren’t built for two sailors alongside. The black puss is a great charmer and sat on the rails on the little balustrade that goes round the bunks peering with green eyes at the midnight feast. The next morning I washed up and cooked an omelette for breakfast and chatted to some sailors who were mending the cabin door.
The Seagull suffered a good deal from my un-nautical language. But was impressed by my lamp trimming. I dashed back to Ham Spray yesterday after lunch, in time to set the house in order, and meet Lytton at the station. I shall tell nobody but you of my romantic evenings because nobody but you discerns the true beauty of varnished woods and silver suns behind lamps. This is a very tiresome letter I expect. As you can’t possibly, without having seen the trawler, see how charming it is! […]
My love,
Your Tante C
1929
To Julia Strachey
Saturday [January 1929]
In haste
Darling Julia,
[…] Ouff the rain and the wind. The old horse shelters under the oak, but of what avail are oaks in such a blast? The howling of a hundred woolves prowl round the house night and day (which is as much as to say the wind roareth like unto a woolf).
I had two very striking letters from Poppet and Vivien John yesterday from France. No visitors this weekend, but Ralph and Frances. We seem to live on stewed rabbit day after day, until even the cats turn up their noses. The truth is the keeper caught 4 rabbits in the garden last week. And as ‘Economie’ is the watch word of our house, we must perforce mange lapin. I’ve been reading the maxims of La Rochefoucauld, they made such an impression on me that I intend to start a revival of the text habit over the beds ornamented with sprigs of forgetmenots. How do you bear up?
I heard from Helen that you ‘looked so lovely like some mysterious massive tolerant Italian lady of the 16th or 17 century, and she was exquisitely kind to me’. I wish she’d be a little more exact about her centuries! Do write soon and say when you can come. My love dear Poppets xxxx
Your devoted C
To Poppet John
Ham Spray House
6 February 1929
Darling Poppinjay,
I am wicked not to have answered your sweet letter before but the truth is I had influenza & was in bed a week & last week went to London, & had so many things to do there was no time to write. How is my Darling Poppet? You cannot think what an aching void your absence creates in my [heart]. I miss you, & Vivien, more than I can say. And when the day is fine I look over towards Fryern across the downs & sigh and SIGH, & Tiber mews & mews & then we fall on each other’s necks, & weep because our darlings are so far away. I haven’t any exciting news I’m afraid. Everybody is ill or illish. Frances has been in bed for 2 weeks with her indigestion. Alix Strachey had an operation for Tonsils all the servants have hacking coughs, & colds … the whole of England resounds with the trumpetings of a million noses. I am sorry the villa was in such an awful country, & that you won’t take it. I still can’t get over the lovely news that Fryern is yours for ever. And you will never leave it. I went to an exhibition of Dutch pictures in London which I liked very much. Then I saw my lovely Phyllis one morning & went to lunch with a Lord with her, in the Lord’s gran
d house. Two footmen with white gloves to wait on us at lunch & gold coffee spoons. I only had one catastrophe with the black coffee which wouldn’t come out of the jug. It was really milk with the skin stuck in the spout. But on the whole I’d rather have our Ham Spray lunches without gold spoons. But I must say the cooking was very fine.
I feel rather dim this morning as for some reason I couldn’t sleep last night so feel rather stupid in the head. Fanny has made me some lovely wallpaper for Lytton’s new library. The elephantfn42 is very well. But rather sad because Frances is so ill. So I haven’t seen very much of him lately, as he has to stay I London. Have you had any letters from Romilly & Cathy? Are you studying the geography of France Miss & not the faces of the young men on the Beach. I hope so! Give darling Vivien a thousand kisses & beg her to write to me. She owes me, I would point out, a letter. Very much so.
How is Dodo? Please give her & Augustus my Fondest Love […]
Belle is much better I shall be able to ride again next week. Now I must get the car to start as I’ve yet to drive it to the station.
My Fondest Love
My sweet, sweet sweetie and a great many passionate hugs
Your devoted C
PS I loved your postcards please send me some more.
Frances’s illness lasted several months and was certainly in part psychosomatic. Her position was not always easy; in November 1928 Lytton had written to Ralph suggesting that she should not come to Ham Spray so often. He maintained that Carrington had not asked him to do so, but his letter surely reflected her feelings as well as his. Ralph was furious, Frances was hurt and they both spent less time at Ham Spray.
To Sebastian Sprott
Ham Spray House
Sunday, 6.30 [early March 1929]
[…] Olive took ill with lumbago 2 weeks ago, so after 10 days of cooking and chamber pots Lytton and I went off to London last Wednesday, (or rather Lytton to Cambridge) and I to London.
I had on Wednesday at the Etoile a lovely, but curious dinner party with Morgan, Boy Joe [Ackerley], Gerald H[eard] and a drunkard called Harold Monro (poet); the latter rather blighted the conversation, and the evening as he was so boringly drunk. But it was in spite of him, a very amusing evening. I liked Gerald quite a lot. Morgan wrote me practically a proposal the next day. Couldn’t make head or tail of it, half apologizing for the evening and the rest a bit incoherent. Is he rather unhappy? He seemed as if he was trying to hide his feelings and to be gay in spite of an ache in the heart. But I couldn’t see him again, so I never had his confidence which he said he wanted to give me. He said you had influenza. I am sorry dearest. Are you better now? I had it in January and felt very mouldy for quite a long time. Poor Puss was caught in a gin and for two days and a night, at the height of the snow and blizzards, lay in a wood. He is still rather ill, and I fear, will never chase the hare again. This has rather upset me for you know how deeply I love my cat and what a beautiful creature he was.
Carrington's Letters Page 40