LETTER 102: TO BETTY, NOVEMBER 1965?
Thursday p.m.
Dear Betty,
Thank you for your lovely letter. There are times, dear, when my thoughts of you are so intense that there are simply no words to express them. This latest message from you, so kind, so loving, has touched me deeply.
I looked for you today, as I do every day – even when I know you are out of town.
Every day is a month when I do not see you.
I have now committed myself to the R.S.P.C.A. idea, and had an encouraging talk with the local Inspector. I didn’t lose any time after you had said ‘go ahead’ because I want this gift always to be associated in my mind with you.
Please try to see me tomorrow. I have been carrying a present for you around the streets all week, hoping to come across KJM 307, and although it is an insignificant present it is a very heavy one. My arms are aching (for you) enough already, without this added burden! Have pity on me!
I love you.
Red
LETTER 103: TO BETTY, 8 NOVEMBER 1965
Sunday evening
Betty dear,
It was charming of you to call to see me on Friday afternoon, to share my tea, to talk to me, to give me yet another glimpse of the heaven it would be to live with you. For me, this was a quite delightful interlude, delightful as all the others have been, but stolen as they must all be. The time always comes for you to go, and leave me; or for me to go, and leave you. I wish we could be together forever, Betty, never one leaving the other. Farewell kisses and caresses are nice, but, since they prelude a further separation, there is sadness about them. For us there should be not farewells, but only gradual coming closer.
Friday night’s meeting was soon over, and I found myself wandering afterwards along Appleby Road, but this was a mistake. I knew you were not at home, but in other company, and quite suddenly I felt miserable and lonely. I wanted you all for myself – I who have no right to you at all! Melancholy set in and I went home, where, at least, I have a right to be.
Yesterday, Saturday, in spite of a cold east wind, was a glorious day although I wasn’t feeling quite attuned to it. My chill was worse, for one thing, and, for another, I fear I am growing resentful of anybody being with me if it isn’t you. You have sadly spoiled me for anyone else’s company! However, I went up Great Gable with Mr Firth and his son Michael and eight hankies, and was in good form (which means I was nearly able to keep up with my companions). On the top, Mr F. produced coffee and mint cake and apples, and this time I sat with my back to Ireland, which is now out of favour with me because I know that Dublin is going to take you away from me. Jim kept coming into my mind all day, and he was out of favour, too, because I don’t like Jim intruding in my thoughts when I am thinking of you. Put Jim on the next agenda, please – high on the list. Mr F. was out of favour also, rather unfairly, simply because he wasn’t you, and even little Michael was out of favour because he wasn’t our red-haired and brown-eyed child, yours and mine. It was a good day, but I wished you had been there instead of the others. You would have enjoyed the walk immensely. The sky was cloudless and the visibility perfect. I was home by seven; the car swept past Dunmail Raise and White Moss as though they were places of no importance. I like your VW much better: it is a friend, it has sympathy and sentiment, and deserves some frilly little curtains for Christmas.
Today, Sunday, I have finished my book and wondered all day what you were doing. Only a short mile separates us, but when you are not at my side you are a world away. Sunday has become the loneliest day of the week, for it is a day with no contact, when I know there will be no word from you, no sight of you. Sunday has become a day when memories of other days must sustain me. There are many memories now, all of them pleasant to recall, and I like to think back to the 20th September, when you called at the office after I had given up hope that you would, and I fell in love with you; and all that has happened to us since. I try not to think how it will end
Monday
After seeing you this morning, after stroking your sweet little face (you ought to stop me touching you in public) just to make sure you were real, after reading your wonderful letter (surely poetry cannot better your prose?), after thrilling at your hopes for our future, I cannot but feel remorse at the sulky, peevish undertones of the there pages I wrote last night. I feel like tearing them up, but will send them anyway, because I have been despondent this weekend, and jealous, and nasty with the Firths, and I think you should know that your letter has lifted me up and sent me soaring again. Perhaps it was just my cold that got me down a bit, but this is nothing that the soft breasts of my beloved will not cure. Thank you, and bless you, for being the sweetest person I have ever known. You will know tomorrow night how much you mean to me.
RED
LETTER 104: TO BETTY: 22 NOV 1965
… nothing was important but you. You were with me, when you could have been with any of your friends. You preferred my company to that of anyone else, and I still don’t think you can possibly realise what an honour I count that, and how grateful I am, and how fervently I wish I could, somehow, repay you for all your kindness. I can only hold you close, and trust you to understand what I cannot say.
After such a day there was little question of sleep. I was restless for you, and though a lot about your academic and highly-technical dissertation in the car from Colne to Gisburn. What a lot you know! I learned much I never knew before, and must have taken it all in.
Today I have been drawing, and imagining you endlessly and uncontrollably eating nuts. I have nothing further to report from home. Mrs W. was out when I got home last night (we could have loved each other longer) and today has gone to see Peter’s young lady at Staveley.
Take good care of yourself, Betty love, and never never forget that you are the sweetest person in the whole world to
Red
At last, in a café in Keswick, AW was allowed to meet Betty’s daughters.
LETTER 105: TO BETTY, 25 NOVEMBER 1965
… I loved them on sight, and wanted to put my arms around all three of you and squash you into a struggling lump and hug you all tight. Some day I will do just that. I was home by 7.30, and there was a welcome only from Cindy.
This morning I had to attend the civic Remembrance Service (I remembered it only just in time!) and the rest of the day I have spent sorting out photographs and maps, thinking about you and yesterday and next Tuesday and Saturday, and wanting to love you. I intended to watch Moira Shearer on TV tonight, and pretend she was you but wasn’t allowed to. Instead, I am writing this letter.
I am terribly sorry about your own difficult domestic position this weekend. I think I do understand your disappointments and problems.
LETTER 106: TO BETTY, 29 NOVEMBER 1965
Monday afternoon
Betty, my dearest one,
Yesterday, for a Sunday, was more tolerable than usual. Last Friday night was not so far distant that I had lost comfort from it: I could still feel your touch and your kisses still warmed my heart. It was so nice to come to you again, and find you waiting, so delightful to walk together into the darkness, away from the bright lights and away from people. Just to be with you would be enough, just to hear your voice and see you smile would be more than reward for the devotion I have for you. But you give me much more, and willingly, and then I know, in the blissful moments of embrace, that I must hold you forever, that there is not, never has been, and never can be anyone else. You are so wonderfully kind to me, I who deserve nothing of the happiness you bring me.
And yesterday was more tolerable, too, because I was designing my own Christmas card to you – a little thing, and a poor thing, but I was pleased to feel I was doing it for you. It brought you nearer.
On Saturday I went to Keswick, chasing a 1000 to 1 chance that you would appear to have tea with me. I ought to know by this time that 1000 to 1 chances don’t happen, but it was a hope I clung to till 4.30. Such a state am I reduced to that, for a meet
ing with you, even for no more than a glimpse of you, I would do anything, go anywhere. I might not have gone, otherwise, so bad was the weather early on, but it improved magically and transformed the scene. At Low Wood, across a deep-blue Windermere, the mountains looked as though carved in white marble: a picture beautiful beyond belief, and I wanted you there with me to see it. The road was clear, but two miles out of Keswick the bus broke down (the driver said he’d ‘lost his air’, whatever that may mean), so I got out and walked the rest of the way. I had lunch at The George, where our sacred corner was being profaned by a bunch of noisy youths, visited Friars Crag, which was quite deserted, and then walked around the suburbs of Keswick three times, killing time until 4.30 (no climbing, she said – as if I would take any risk that might keep us apart!) at 4.30 I entered the Keswick Restaurant to find it completely empty of customers, as it remained for the hour I was there. I listened for the door to open, but it never did. I listened for the patter of tiny feet, but they never came. The place was warm and cosy, the soft music nostalgic love songs. I pretended you were there with me, and I told you how I thought it should happen to us, that act of love you have made me want so much. Oh Betty, shall we ever know each other completely? You agreed with me, so sweetly; and then I went out in the dark and the cold and felt suddenly desperately alone. What have you done to me, dear girl, that I can now find restfulness and comfort only in you?
I have read your letter this morning over and over again. You have no idea how lonely and out of it your account of a happy weekend at Fowl Ing makes me feel, how much I would like to be there, sitting quietly in a corner of the kitchen, watching you all the time and perhaps being allowed to touch you now and then. For this, for the right to sit by your fire in my slippers, for the right to go upstairs with you, I would give everything I have. Ambition has narrowed to this – to be with you, to have you for myself, to be yours, to show you how much I love you. I am so very sure, now, that with you there would be perfect happiness for me: I get a glimpse of it every time I see you in the street, a real awareness every time I hold you close.
The weather is dreadful today. When you emerge from your snug nest tomorrow night mind you don’t get blown away over Benson Knott!
Oh, my love, I can’t wait …
Red
When AW started on the Pennine Way, he began to use Betty – and other friends – to give him a lift in their car. He also got Betty to take him to Blackburn, in her little VW Beetle.
LETTER 107: TO BETTY, 6 DECEMBER 1965
In the car, I am so well content to listen to your sweet voice telling me things I never knew before, and later, after dark, to experience again the very special pleasures that only you can give me. I enjoyed every single moment, even the wild ride across the Lupton ice-cap, where driver and car came through a severe test with flying colours. Being an innocent in things mechanical, I probably didn’t fully realise how capably you handled the situation, but then, I knew you would. I had no fears, no doubts. I never had a guardian angel before, but I have now. You never fail me.
Thank you, dear, for taking me to Blackburn. It is a town of little attraction, and it was kind of you to suggest it. It was interesting to me to see once-familiar places again, but the old feeling has almost gone. I am a stranger there now, and I see with the eyes of a stranger. I could never go back to stay. The past is dead and done with. Home for me now is the five-foot-nothing of Betty Hayes. Life for me now lies in her warm bosom and sheltering arms. This is my new home, and the best. I hope I shall never be turned out, and I shall never stray. When I am there, warm and cosy, I want nothing else. What else is there to want? Comfort, happiness, love, are, for me, all to be found in your sweet body. This the foot of my personal rainbow. My search has ended in your arms.
I liked Whalley. I liked the quiet of the abbey ruins, and I liked kissing you there. Someday, in summer, we will go back and climb Pendle hand-in-hand.
LETTER 108: TO BETTY, 13 DECEMBER 1965
Sunday evening
Better dear,
The hours pass quickly when I am with you, but how slowly when I am without you! Today has dragged, I have been alone most of the time. I have drawn. I have looked for you on television, in vain. I have checked the proofs for Book Seven. It has rained all day. No bright little face appeared over the garden wall to cheer me up. But I have had our meeting last evening to think of, and I cannot be other than happy when I think of you. So many meetings now, so many places with special memories! I have always been happy with you, from the first moment. I found comfort in your company not after long acquaintance, but from the very instant of our first coming together. I did not then, and have not since, felt any shyness, any awkwardness, and strangeness, with you. I have hidden nothing, nor wanted to. I have no secrets from you, nor wanted to have. It could not be like this with anyone else. You are the one, the only one. Falling in love with you has been the most natural thing in the world: it was bound to happen to me if ever we met. I waited a long time for you to come along, too long. I lived almost a lifetime, missing you and wanting you. I knew you must be around somewhere because you were more real to me than the people I met every day. But the years went by. You never came, and I never found you, until a few weeks ago. And at once everything changed. I had been lonely and now I was lonely no more. I had kept other people at arm’s length, you I wanted against my breast. Nobody else understood, but you did. You knew exactly, and you knew at once. You passed into me, and became part of my being, and from that moment the world became a happier place and living a happier experience. You will never leave me. You cannot. If I were never to see you again you would still be with me. You are everywhere. All the time I can feel the touch of your lips, so softly caressing, and hear your whispered endearments. You have brought a magic to existence and made living worth-while and thrilling and exciting, you have transformed everything. You have made me love you, utterly. You have made me very very happy, and I shall always bless you and be grateful. I hope the day will come, and come soon, when I can show you how much you mean to me. That day will be the happiest of all.
Red
By Christmas time, it had been three months since their relationship started – and the romance was growing stronger than ever, even though Betty was caught up in her family Christmas while AW was still mooching around on the bus, walking his old haunts, or going past Betty’s house, gazing at the lights.
LETTER 109: TO BETTY, DECEMBER 1965
Sunday evening
Dear Betty,
On the face of it, yesterday was a day like so many others have been. I caught the 8.30 bus to Keswick, as I invariably do. The weather was poor, not fit for the tops: a grey day with some rain: so many have been like that. At Keswick I had coffee, following long custom. Then I went to Cockermouth on the bus, a journey I have often travelled, and at Cockermouth I had a look in Smith’s, as usual, and killed time with a short walk, finishing at Ouse Bridge to catch the return bus. And at Keswick I had the meal I have had, without variation, for five years past. It was a day spent as I have spent so many others, and, in the things I did, a very ordinary day. Yet there was something about it that made it not an ordinary day at all, but one quite different and special.
There was no letter for me yesterday, and I worried about it. Perhaps you had been called away to Manchester. Perhaps another door had fallen on you and broken your right arm – no, both, because you are a clever girl and can write with your left. Perhaps you had told me you wouldn’t write and I couldn’t remember. Or, perhaps more likely, the Christmas post had delayed it. I felt anxious.
This morning your bedroom light shone brightly through the slight mist and cheered me up wonderfully, and when I arrived at the office your letter awaited me. I kissed it. Now I could send mine. I feel grand again and very much in love.
R
Part 11
Letters to Betty, 1966
The new year, 1966, started off well for AW. It began with his final Pictorial Guide at the pr
inter, and he was finishing off writing Fellwanderer, researching Pennine Way, and there was Betty McNally, the light of his life, stealing time with her, arranging secret trysts, experiencing the sort of joy he had never known in his life. He was growing a bit more daring, ‘accidentally’ meeting her in the street, even contemplating inviting her to local functions which he had to attend. Life was so exciting that he had even forgotten that his fifty-ninth birthday was coming up on 17 January.
LETTER 110: TO BETTY, 10 JANUARY 1966
Monday
Thank you for your letter, Betty love. It wasn’t really expected, because we hadn’t said we would write, and its warm reassurances were not really necessary, because I am now utterly convinced that our love for each other is deeper by far than any word could tell, but it was very welcome, as any sign or sight of you must always be.
Oh Betty, Saturday night! Yes, I was happified too. I wanted desperately for you to appear so that I could say I was sorry for Friday, and you did and we had tea and we loved each other in the darkness. Another wonderful day.
Yesterday I spent re-writing FELLWANDERER ready for typing. I’m still not sure about this and think it safer to get a few opinions before it goes to the printer. Yours first, please.
Mr Firth has just been in with the last rough proofs for Book Seven, and I am enclosing the ‘personal notes in conclusion’ for you to read.
Betty dear, it’s bitterly cold again.
Do please go now and buy an electric blanket (the best; not a cheap one) as a gift from you to you. Promise the girls one each if they do well in their exams.
The chastity belt can wait a while.
The Wainwright Letters Page 19