1.Bill Dunn* and Sir Richard Rees*.
2.A. J. A. Symons: His Life and Speculations (1950).
3.Jon Kimche (1909–1994), author and journalist, was acting editor of Tribune, 1942–46, editor, 1946–1948; and editor of the Jewish Observer, 1952–67. He and Orwell worked together at Booklovers’ Corner, 1934–35. He contributes several reminiscences to Remembering Orwell.
4.R. H. S. Crossman (1907–1974), scholar, journalist, and left-wing politician (Labour MP, 1945–55); assistant editor of the New Statesman, 1938–55. Strenuous efforts were made to stop the publication of his political diaries (4 vols., 1975–81).
5.Konni Zilliacus (1894–1967), left-wing Labour MP, 1945–50 and 1955–67. He was frequently at odds with the Labour Party because of his extreme pro-Soviet opinions and was expelled in 1949. (See Orwell’s ‘In Defence of Comrade Ziliacus’, XIX, 3254, pp. 179–84.)
To George Woodcock*
4 January 1948
Hairmyres Hospital
East Kilbride
Dear George,
I’d been meaning to write for some time to explain I wouldn’t be coming down to London after all. As I feared, I am seriously ill, T.B. in the left lung. I’ve only been in the hospital about a fortnight, but before that I was in bed at home for about 2 months. I’m likely to be here for some time, because the treatment, which involves putting the lung out of action, is a slow one, & in any case I’m so pulled down & weak that I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed for a couple of months or so. However, they seem confident they can patch me up all right, & I have felt a bit less like death since being here. It’s a nice hospital & everyone is very kind. With luck I may be out for the summer & then I think I’ll try & get a correspondent’s job somewhere warm next winter. I have [had] this disease before, but not so badly, & I’m pretty sure it was the cold of last winter that started me off.1
I hope the F.D.C.2 is doing something about these constant demands to outlaw Mosley & Co. Tribune’s attitude I think has been shameful, & when the other week Zilliacus wrote in demanding what amounts to Fascist legislation & creation of 2nd-class citizens, nobody seems to have replied. The whole thing is simply a thinly-disguised desire to persecute someone who can’t hit back, as obviously the Mosley lot don’t matter a damn & can’t get a real mass following. I think it’s a case for a pamphlet, & I only wish I felt well enough to write one. The central thing one has [to] come to terms with is the argument, always advanced by those advocating repressive legislation, that ‘you cannot allow democracy to be used to overthrow democracy—you cannot allow freedom to those who merely use it in order to destroy freedom’. This of course is true, & both Fascists & Communists do aim at making use of democracy in order to destroy it. But if you carry this to its conclusion, there can be no case for allowing any political or intellectual freedom whatever. Evidently therefore it is a matter of distinguishing between a real & a merely theoretical threat to democracy, & no one should be persecuted for expressing his opinions, however anti-social, & no political organisation suppressed, unless it can be shown that there is a substantial threat to the stability of the state. That is the main point I should make any way. Of course there are many others.
I’ve done no work whatever for 2–3 months. In this place I couldn’t do serious work even if I felt well, but I intend shortly to start doing an occasional book review, as I think I’m equal to that & I might as well earn some money. Richard was blooming when I came away, but I’m going to have him thoroughly examined, as he has of course been subjected to infection. All the best to Inge.
Yours
George
[XIX, 3329, pp. 254–5; handwritten]
1.When snow began to fall on 24 January 1947 it was the start of the bitterest cold experienced in the UK in the twentieth century. It led, for example, to electricity cuts for five hours a day, suspension of the Third Programme and TV, cuts in radio transmission and suspension of many journals coupled with paper rationing, and an increase in unemployment from 400,000 in mid January to 1,750,000. (See David Kynaston, Austerity Britain, 1945–51 (2007; pb, 2008, pp. 189–200).
2.The Freedom Defence Committee, of which Orwell was vice-chairman; George Woodcock, secretary; and Herbert Read, chairman. The FDC’s Bulletins for Spring and Autumn 1948 (Nos. 6 and 7), though reporting efforts to help other unpopular causes—deserters, Polish ‘recalcitrants’ (its quotes), Dr Allan Nunn May, and Norman Baillie-Stewart (a British Fascist) – make no mention of ‘Mosley & Co’.
To Helmut Klöse
12 January 1948
Hairmyres Hospital
East Kilbride
Dear Klöse,1
I am ashamed I have not written earlier to thank you for those apples you sent, also for your long letter of advice about the tractors. But as I dare say you know I have been seriously ill for about 3 months. It is TB of the left lung. I was brought to this hospital some weeks ago, & I am glad to say I am feeling definitely better. Of course I’m frightfully weak & have lost a great deal of weight, but I don’t feel sick & giddy all the time as I did at first, & have got some appetite back. I imagine I shall be under treatment for a long time, as it is a slow cure which involves disabling the defective lung so as to let it heal without having to work. However they seem quite confident of being able to patch me up, & they say this disease is not so dangerous at my age as if I was younger. Of course I’ve done not a stroke of work for months past, but I am going to start doing a little book-reviewing soon.
In your letter you were inclined to think the BMB was the best light tractor. However, after getting all the specifications from a firm which deals in these tractors, I finally decided on the one you told me of first, the Iron Horse. From the photographs I thought it was a bit more solidly constructed than the other, which would be an advantage in a place like Jura, & also you can hitch horse-drawn implements on to it, which would be a great help because one could then use it for cutting the hay & even the oats. It also has a 5-cwt trailer which would be useful for potatoes, manure & so on. I am getting a circular saw, but I believe at present it’s almost impossible to get blades. I will take your advice & not try to run a dynamo off the tractor. Actually we find we can light the house quite satisfactorily with paraffin lamps. We use the Tilly incandescent lamps which are very powerful & don’t use much oil.
Karl 2 & David Astor * came & visited me here yesterday, bringing loads of food with them. It was very kind of them to make the long uncomfortable journey. The weather has turned absolutely filthy, snow & fog alternating, making me quite glad to be in bed. There was marvellous weather in Jura all the time before I came away, brilliant sunshine on the snow & the sea as blue & smooth as the Mediterranean. The average winter temperature there is very mild & the grass seems to be quite nourishing up till about Christmas. The blackfaced sheep remain out all the winter without being fed, & the highland cattle can get through the winter without feeding, though of course it’s better to feed them.
My little boy, now 3½, is getting enormous. We are trying to get hold of an attested cow so as to make sure that he doesn’t get this disease of mine. I hope I shall see you again some time.
Yours
Geo. Orwell
[XIX, 3330, pp. 255–6; handwritten]
1.Helmut Klöse was described by Orwell as ‘the German anarchist who was on the same part of the front as me in Spain and was imprisoned for a long time by the Communists’. He would later visit Orwell in Cranham Sanatorium. Orwell usually omits the umlaut; it is added silently here.
2.Karl Schnetzler (see 1.3.39, n. 1 and 9.4.46 to Inez Holden, n. 2).
To Celia Kirwan*
20 January 1948
Hairmyres Hospital
East Kilbride
Dearest Celia,
How delightful to get your nice long letter. I’ve been here about a month after being ill for about two months at home. I thought I’d told you what was wrong with me. It is TB, which of course was bound to get me sooner or later, in fact I’ve
had it before, though not so badly. However I don’t think it is very serious, & I seem to be getting better slowly. I don’t feel so death like as I did a month ago, & I now eat quite a lot & have started to gain weight slowly, after losing nearly 2 stone. Today when I was X-rayed the doctor said he could see definite improvement. But I’m likely to be here a long time, as it’s a slow treatment, & I don’t think I shall even be fit to get out of bed for about 2 months. Richard is tremendously well & growing enormous. Of course I’m going to have him thoroughly examined when Avril takes him up to London shortly, but by the look of him I don’t think he’s caught this disease. I was very glad to be able to get away just before Christmas, so as not to be a death’s head. There were 4 of them at Barnhill & a nice fat goose & plenty to drink, so I expect they had quite a good Christmas. This is the second Christmas I’ve spent in hospital.1 It’s always rather harrowing, with the ‘parties’ they have—all the beds dragged into one ward, & then a concert & a Christmas tree. This is a very nice hospital & everyone is most kind to me, & I have a room to myself. I’m starting to attempt a very little work, ie. an occasional book review, after doing nothing for 3 months.
Yes, I remember the Deux Magots.2 I think I saw James Joyce there in 1928, but I’ve never quite been able to swear to that because J. was not of very distinctive appearance. I also went there to meet Camus who was supposed to have lunch with me, but he was ill & didn’t come. I suppose Paris has cheered up a bit since I was there at the beginning of 1945. It was too gloomy for words then, & of course it was almost impossible to get anything to eat & drink, & everybody was so shabby & pale. But I can’t believe it is what it used to be. It’s lucky for you you’re too young to have seen it in the ’twenties, it always seemed a bit ghostlike after that, even before the war. I don’t know when I’ll see France again, as at present one can’t travel because of this currency business,3 but if one of my books did strike it lucky I’d get them to keep some of the francs in France so that I could go & spend them. If I’m cured & about by then as I assume I shall be, I am going to try & wangle a correspondent’s job this winter so as to winter in a warm place. The winter of 1946–7 in London was really a bit too thick, & I think it was probably what started me on this show. In Jura it’s a bit better, because it isn’t quite so cold & we get more coal, also more food, but it’s a bit awkward if one needs medical attention at a time when one can’t get to the mainland. Early last year my sister dislocated her arm & was nearly drowned going across to the doctor in a tiny motor boat. Inez [Holden]* exaggerated our later adventure a bit, but we did have a very nasty accident in the famous whirlpool of Corrievrechan° (which comes into a film called I know where I’m going) & were lucky not to be drowned. The awful thing was having Richard with us, however he loved every moment of it except when we were in the water. I think Jura is doing him good except that he doesn’t see enough of other children & therefore is still very backward in talking. Otherwise he is most enterprising & full of energy, & is out working on the farm all day long. It’s nice to be able to let him roam about with no traffic to be afraid of. Write again if you get time. I love getting letters.
With much love
George
[XIX, 3332, pp. 257–8; handwritten]
1.The first time was when Orwell went into Uxbridge Cottage Hospital just before Christmas 1933 with pneumonia.
2.The Café aux Deux Magots, much frequented by writers, on the Boulevard Saint-Germain.
3.At the end of August 1947, because of the grave financial crisis, the Labour government reduced food rations, and banned pleasure motoring and holidays abroad. Clement Attlee, the Prime Minister, said, ‘I have no easy words for the nation. I cannot say when we shall emerge into easier times.’ On 29 September, the Midlands was deprived of power for one day a week to cut fuel costs. On 9 October 1947, to reduce foreign indebtedness, especially in dollars, the government cut the bacon ration to one ounce a week. The following month the potato ration was cut to 3 pounds a week.
To Eugene Reynal
28 January 1948
Hairmyres Hospital
East Kilbride
Dear Mr. Reynal,1
I must thank you very kindly for the food parcel which you so kindly sent me & which reached me here about a week ago. It was a very pleasant surprise. I was particularly thrilled to find in it a tin of olive oil, a thing we have not seen for years.
I expect Leonard Moore told you I was ill, as I asked him to let anyone in the USA with whom I had any connections know I should be out of action for some months. It is TB of the left lung. I have been ill for three months or more, but actually I think ever since that vile winter of 1946–47. I feel better & I think I have just about turned the corner, but the cure is a slow one at best. Of course I can’t do any serious work till I’m in good health, but I am beginning to do just a little journalism. After months of idleness, I’m afraid my handwriting is getting a bit funny, but that is because I have my right arm in plaster2 & haven’t got used to this yet.
Thank you so much again.
Yours sincerely,
George Orwell
[XIX, 3335, p. 260; handwritten copy]
1.Of Reynal & Hitchcock, New York, publishers of Dickens, Dali & Others (1946).
2.Why Orwell’s arm was in plaster is not known. He was confined to bed so could hardly have fallen. However, the phrenic nerve, crushed as part of the procedure described in his letter to his sister (see 1.1.48), affects the arms, and it might have been related to that.
To David Astor*
1 February 1948
Hairmyres Hospital
East Kilbride
Dear David,
Thanks so much for your letter. Before anything else I must tell you of something Dr Dick* has just said to me.
He says I am getting on quite well, but slowly, & it would speed recovery if one had some streptomycin (streptomycin).1 This is only obtainable in the USA, & because of dollars the B.O.T.2 (or whoever it is) won’t normally grant a licence. One can however buy it there if one has some dollars. He suggested that you with your American connections might arrange to buy it & I could pay you. He wants 70 grammes, & it costs about £1 a gramme. I would be awfully obliged if you could put this transaction through for me, as no doubt you can do it quicker than I could myself. There is no twist or illegality about this, Dr Dick says, & the stuff is not difficult to send. I suppose it will mean paying out about 300 dollars. If you want to be repaid in dollars, I think I have enough, as I had started building up a reserve of dollars in the US, otherwise I can pay you in sterling. I must in either case pay you, as it is a considerable sum & of course the hospital can’t pay it.
I received from McIntyre3 a parcel of butter & eggs, & he told me you had instructed him to send this weekly. It is awfully kind, but I am going to ask him not to send the eggs, as I can’t use them in those numbers & I expect the hens aren’t laying too well now. I know ours at Barnhill are still doing very badly. I feel we ought to pay for Bob if we have him 10 months of the year—however. He only gets hay in the winter—of course he’d get oats if he were doing harder work—but he was in excellent condition when I came away. Our new cow has just arrived & my sister can’t leave until it has calved. I’m afraid my writing is awful, but I have my arm in plaster. It’s much better that way, as it doesn’t hurt but it is awkward for certain purposes such as writing & eating. I also have to shave left-handed. Dr Dick says he will write to you. I suppose it will be best to have the drug sent to him. His correct designation is Mr Bruce Dick.
Yours
George
[XIX, 3337, pp. 262–3; handwritten]
1.Streptomycin was discovered in the United States in 1944 and was at this time being tested in Britain by the Medical Research Council.
2.Board of Trade, which controlled imports, and at this time refused to allow as many as it could, especially if payment was in dollars.
3.Presumably one of the Astor estate staff on Jura.
To Fredri
c Warburg*
4 February 1948
Hairmyres Hospital
East Kilbride
Dear Fred,
Thanks so much for your letter.1 As you inferred, my beginning to do articles in the Observer is a sign of partial revival, though even that is an effort, especially as I now have my right arm in plaster. I can’t attempt any serious work while I am like this (1½ stone under weight) but I like to do a little to keep my hand in & incidentally earn some money. I’ve been definitely ill since about October, & really, I think, since the beginning of 1947. I believe that frightful winter in London started it off. I didn’t really feel well all last year except during that hot period in the summer. Before taking to my bed I had finished the rough draft of my novel all save the last few hundred words, & if I had been well I might have finished it by about May. If I’m well & out of here by June, I might finish it by the end of the year—I don’t know. It is just a ghastly mess as it stands, but the idea is so good that I could not possibly abandon it. If anything should happen to me I’ve instructed Richard Rees, my literary executor, to destroy the Ms. without showing it to anybody, but it’s unlikely that anything like that would happen. This disease isn’t dangerous at my age, & they say the cure is going on quite well, though slowly. Part of the cure is to put the affected lung out of action for six months, which gives it a better chance to heal. We are now sending for some new American drug called streptomycin which they say will speed up the cure.
Richard is getting enormous & is very forward in everything except talking. I’m going to have him thoroughly examined when my sister goes up to town, but I really don’t think he’s T.B. to judge by the look of him. It’s sad that I can’t see him again till I’m non-infectious. Please remember me to Pamela and Roger.
Yours
George
[XIX, 3339, pp. 264–5; handwritten]
1.Warburg wrote to Orwell on 2 February 1948 saying that Orwell’s review of India Called Them by Lord Beveridge in the Observer (1 February, XIX, 3336, pp. 261–2), ‘gave me heart to write and enquire how you are getting on’. He said there was nothing they needed to consult about but he would be greatly cheered by ‘a line, however brief, as to how you are and how soon you hope to come out of that wretched hospital’.
George Orwell: A Life in Letters Page 49