Had she kept a key? Yes. Would she come in once a week to do the washing? Yes, if the solicitor said it was all right for her to do so, she would come every Saturday (the only day when there was a bus) and wash and bake for me.
I felt dreadfully sorry for her. She is obviously in a state of extreme nervous depression, probably ill, and confused and unhappy. Off she went, in the rain, after doing everything she possibly could for me in the house and writing out full instructions about the milk and newspaper and coal arrangements, on how to de-frost the fridge, and so on. She has gone to a place where she will be desperately lonely, where the winter months will be severe, where there are no shops and no link other than the Saturday bus. She has no TV, but hopes Peter will provide one.
She has gone, a tragic figure, a faithful wife who can no longer live with her husband because of his conduct. I have driven her to this. I am relieved that we have reached an agreement, and grateful for the further delay. It seems there will be no scandal now for people to gossip about, that I need not now have to explain what has happened, or, if I have to, can tell a plausible story that she is away for a time for reasons of health.
Selfishly, my first concern is for myself, and I am pleased I have come out of this trouble fairly satisfactorily, or look like doing. If I had anything of my conscience I should now be in a desperate state of mind, but I honestly haven’t, and I am not. I am deeply sad that she had found it necessary to go, particularly so because Kentmere is not a place where she will find happiness, but only an awful loneliness that, I am sure, will not bring the improvement in health and mind she badly needs. These things she can only find amongst her many friends in Blackburn.
So that’s it, love. Next Saturday I shall go out with Mr Firth, or, if he is not available, to Gargrave alone. I cannot see you just yet – it would be quite wrong. I will write again next Sunday.
A funny thing – this conversation I have reported interrupted my notes on Kirkcarrion! I am not feeling too good, but, as you said, I am resilient. I will get over it.
Red
Monday
Thank you for your letter. Please do not trouble to write again until you hear from me next week.
Part 12
Letters to Betty, 1967
In January 1967, aged sixty, AW retired as Borough Treasurer of Kendal. To give himself an office to go to, and a place where he could meet people instead of inviting them home, he did two days a week at the little Kendal Museum where he was Honorary Curator. He was still struggling with the Pennine Way which was proving harder than he had expected. He was seeing Betty only occasionally, aware that he should not be linked with her in case she might be named in his divorce case, though that appeared to be progressing smoothly if slowly. Ade had returned to America, which was a relief for AW, but he was now beginning to worry that the heat had gone out of their romance.
LETTER 125: TO BETTY, 3 JULY 1967
Monday afternoon
Betty dear,
Thank you for your letter. I think I ought to reply at once.
Yesterday was completely wasted – except perhaps that in the morning I cleaned the house, even doing some Hoovering, and changed the flowers – in anticipation. From 2 o’clock until 10 I did nothing but pace the house, waiting for you. I had such a lovely tea ready, every item personally selected for your delectation in Carlisle on Saturday.
The endless hours of waiting did, at any rate, give me plenty of opportunity to think about you and about us. It is now perfectly clear (to both of us, surely) that there can be very little, if any, room for me in your crowded life. You must devote yourself to the essentials – work, home and family – and ration such leisure hours as you can afford between your older friends and older interests. You must set your priorities and work to them. Time has become very precious and you cannot afford to waste any on non-essentials, such as me. There is now a real danger that you may make an appointment with me that, when the time comes, you wish you had never made because of something else you would rather be doing instead. I would never want you to spend time with me that you prefer to be spending elsewhere. I should hate to feel this was happening. I don’t want to be a friend on sufferance.
I am writing to let you off the hook. You have no duty to me, and you mustn’t feel you have. I have sensed a change in your feelings recently – one or two things you have said. They were happier days for me when we saw or wrote or spoke to each other almost every day. When you kept a light in your bedroom window … sometimes I wish I hadn’t such a good memory. I remember I was Priority No 1 then! Now, if I am only going to be allowed odd minutes with you, always with an eye on the clock (and I can see no other way) I really think you would be kinder to me if no further promises were made, at least for the present.
I will manage fine, and always be grateful for all you have done for me. Nothing will ever alter my esteem: you are the most wonderful woman, the only one for me, the one I have always wanted. I will keep myself busy, and get on with the book. I will get a divorce, and then see how you feel. If any emergency arises, of course I will let you know, and if you want me for anything at all, you know I will always be at home in the evenings, alone, and glad to see you.
Red
Betty wrote back to reassure him all was well, that he was worrying unduly – but then he learned some worse news.
LETTER 126: TO BETTY, 6 JULY 1967
Thursday morning
Dear Betty,
Thank you for your card. I hadn’t meant to shock you, and if my words were clumsy, I am sorry.
I had a dreadful shock myself on Tuesday, when I was unexpectedly served with fearful-looking papers to attend High Court in connection with a petition for Judicial Separation. So either I have been double-crossed or my solicitor has bungled matters. The charge is cruelty, and the allegations are so grossly untrue, exaggerated and misleading that I must defend the case. It is unfortunate that those that are untrue deal with aspects I cannot disprove, but they must certainly be denied.
It is very important that you should be kept out of this, for your own sake more than mine, and therefore better we should not meet. To your friends ‘in the know’ you can quite truthfully explain that our business arrangement is now ended and I am doing those sections of the Pennine Way, beyond the reach of a car, on my own; and that, in any case, your new circumstances give you no time to help further.
I am naturally very upset, but trying to concentrate as much as I can on the book. I am making good progress and have got as far as Thirlwall Castle with the drawings and notes. Soon I shall need the Border Forest Guide, and should be glad if you would kindly send it when you write.
I want desperately to get away for a few days and may go up to Bellingham next Tuesday to distract my mind, if I am allowed to. Tomorrow I am going to Lancaster to see my solicitor.
This is the worst crisis yet, but it is one I must face alone. I have a host of wonderfully happy memories to sustain me, but these are not enough. Without you, I shall be utterly desolate.
Take very good care of yourself until we meet again. Remember Kirkcarrion. It is forever.
Red
AW had hoped Ruth would disappear quietly, agree to a modest amount of money, and nothing would ever come out. In this next letter to Betty, he addresses her as ‘Kirk’ – short for Kirkcarrion, where something significant happened between them.
LETTER 127: TO BETTY, 10 JULY 1967
Monday afternoon
Kirk dear,
I do not want to weary you with letters, but must thank you for returning the guides and writing so sweetly.
You ask to be kept informed of events. These are likely to be harrowing and I would not wish to sadden you with details nor cause you anxiety. I saw the solicitor only for a few minutes, my call not being convenient, but felt rather better for the visit. At least he was a friend, when all others seem to have fled. His attitude was ‘Not to worry. It is for the opposition to prove their case, and we have a good man in Peter Leaver’
(the barrister, presumably). He asked me to let him have my replies to the charges, a marital history and any other observations.
These I prepared on Saturday, a most distasteful and disagreeable task that made me very unhappy. The day was a nightmare of self-reproach and indignation confused together. I felt completely wretched. I wanted you to come and tell me what to do. The enclosed envelope contains the specific complaints, my replies, a marital history and one or two other observations: bad copies through a worn carbon, but all I had. Love, you need not look at these if you don’t want to. You can say to yourself that it is none of your business. You will not like me any better for what they contain. Please return these papers. If the envelope is unopened I will understand.
I think I will go to Bellingham on Wednesday, staying in Tuesday to take in the groceries. I hope this outing clears my mind. I am very depressed and miserable. This wretched affair has knocked the heart out of me. I have collected the gooseberries and forgotten what you told me to do. The electric fire has broken down. The house needs cleaning, but what the hell? Who is to see it? I am alone, a recluse on parole only on Monday and Thursday mornings. I have even felt like putting ‘P.W. Companion’ in the dustbin, but then I have remembered from past experience that I recover quickly from a stunning blow and that the present bleakness of my existence will be followed by happier days, happier perhaps than any I have known in the past.
I saw Eric this morning. He recalled our visit to Teesdale, your kindness. This is his only memory, poor man, but I am blessed with many that, at the time, turned despair into a wonderful happiness. They must go on doing just that.
I don’t want to burden you, love, but please write to me sometimes. Tell me about your work. Tell me what Jane and Anne are doing. Tell me where Ade took you for that last supper. Tell me about Diddy and Pocca [Betty’s parents]. Tell me anything! I have lost touch. Already you are a world away. I want you near, and a word from you now and then would help a lot. Don’t worry about me, please.
Red
LETTER 128: TO BETTY, 17 JULY 1967
This was not only a successful day on the P.W., but a most satisfactory one in every respect; the other business was nearly out of my thoughts. But perhaps the highlight was the bus ride over Carter Bar (rather like Shap) in the early evening. The sky had now cleared of clouds and there was a view from the summit of the road that covered half Scotland, the Highland standing up all along the horizon – one of the best views I have ever seen. I was in Hawick soon after eight, with four hours to wait. I wrote cards to you and Molly and Cyril, flitted in and out of snackbars and then went to the Chinese Restaurant for a very good supper. The waitress was a Chinese girl, and I studied her out of the corner of my eye and decided there was no truth in what I had been told about Chinese women when I was a boy at school.
The bus was late in, and unexpectedly, was crowded with Scottish people going on holiday, but I got the only vacant seat amongst a lot of crying infants. I had expected to fall asleep as soon as I got in the bus, but instead, although dog-tired, I remained bright and alert all through the journey, and, in fact, did a mental compound interest sum to test myself. At Penrith, unfortunately, there was an hour’s rest for the driver, but it was delightfully mild and I stood on the pavement smoking and thinking what a fine holiday I had had.
Coming over Shap, there was a wonderful display of sheet lightening ahead, over Kendal, and by the time the bus got in, about 4.30, a deluge had set in and the streets were swimming in water. There was nothing for it but to face the downpour and the lightning and the thunder, and I was soaked when I got home. I went to bed and slept for an hour.
On Friday I went over my maps and notes, and yesterday and today I have worked hard on the book. I would like you to look through the Cross Fell and Roman Wall pages before the book goes to the printer: you will find I have borrowed an idea of yours about the old lead mines.
I have heard nothing more from the solicitor. I think the case is likely to be heard at Carlisle, and I suppose there could be a delay of two or three months. This interval, if it means not seeing you, will seem a lifetime; but at least it will give you a breathing space to come to a decision about me. Absence, they say, makes the heart grow fonder, but absence long continued can make the heart forget. Betty love, be fair to yourself. As I said, I know you have lost the first rapture, which was only to be expected, and if you find in your heart that it has not been replaced by something more enduring, then it’s curtains for me. In due course I shall ask you, and you must tell me, honestly and don’t worry. I’ll get by!
Thank you for telling me all the news. I was especially pleased about Jane’s wonderful success, and can imagine how delighted and proud you must be.
Red
AW received another shock when Betty told him she had started a nursing course in Kendal which would last three years. Now that her two daughters, Jane and Anne, were growing up, with Jane away at university, she wanted to become as independent as possible.
LETTER 129: TO BETTY, 28 JULY 1967
Tuesday evening.
Dear Betty,
It was good to hear from you again. A voice from the past, an age-old past! I was glad to have your news, and followed your Sleagill walk on the map: an ingenious route, this, appealing in its conception and no doubt brilliantly executed: who thought of it? As for Jane, I can understand your anxiety: things must be pretty bad over there and seem to be getting worse. God’s Own Country, they call it. This will be Jane’s longest absence from home, and she can be sure of a great big welcome when she gets back. I know how much you miss her. You seem to be enjoying your work, although it sounds completely unattractive to me, handling entrails and mopping up blood all day. I have a better idea: come and be my part-time secretary-housekeeper. Good pay. Short hours. Holidays with pay. Typewriter and aprons provided. Pension scheme. Genial company. Free meals.
I hope you will not mind my writing to you. Please. I have nobody else and the days do drag. I would like to send you a weekly bulletin, if I may.
Great strides along the Pennine Way (in the living-room) have brought me to Bellingham; all is now complete up to this point, and I hope to have the penwork a breast of the fieldwork by the time my cousin arrives on the 9th. (we are now fixed up for four nights at Coylumbridge and two at Kirk Yetholm, the latter booking in the hope that I can do the last twenty miles with him). I am rushing the book a little now, and would again ask if you will be kind enough to check the pages on Cross Fell and the Wall and see whether I have missed anything? The end of the book is now within measurable distance, and latterly I have been searching in my mind for something to succeed it, something to do with maps, something to do with hills. The proposed book of drawings will not occupy me enough. I have thought of the Howgills, but a book about them would be too slight an effort. I have thought of the limestone hills of Craven (Ingleborough, Penyghent, etc), which would give me great pleasure to explore thoroughly, but here, too, in lesser degree, the area is not quite big enough to make a decent book, and besides, Craven has no boundary and is difficult to define. But now the inspiration has come: ‘A Pictorial Guide to the Yorkshire Fells’ on the same pattern as the Lakeland series: routes of ascent, maps, panoramas, and so on. Definition is given by the boundary of the Yorkshire Dales National Park, which contains all the high ground, there being 200 fells over 2000 feet. The advantages are that all the fells are in the north-west of the county, between Lune and Wharfe, and therefore convenient to Kendal and bus services; that the Howgills and the Craven Hills, my favourites, would be included as part of a greater whole; that the work would take me back, with a mission, to the places I was happy with you; that popular appeal is assured. I have mentioned this to Mr Firth and, as a Yorkshireman, he is very keen on the idea.
I set the seal on this new enthusiasm last Saturday with an ascent of the Calf, the highest of the Howgills, above Sedbergh. It was simply glorious, one of the best-ever mountain days. Everything was just right except that I was
badly wanting my favourite companion. The path up, around Winder, was delightful, like walking on velvet. The views were superb: a vast landscape, covering the Pennine Way from Penyghent to Cross Fell inland, and, facing the sea, the long crinkly skyline of Lakeland, from Black Combe to Blencathra. The larks were quiet, but the still air of the summit was full of darting swifts. A couple, man and wife(?) – the only persons I met – were resting by the cairn, and I waited for an hour for them to depart, which they finally did, leaving me alone to take a series of photographs and draw the Lakeland panorama – for my new book. The thought of another lease of two years studying maps and climbing hills excites me. There will be sentimental journeys among those I shall have to do – Great Shunner, Penyghent, Ingleborough, etc. – and I shall halt in reverence at the places where you found it necessary to halt, and there will be many bitter-sweet moments of remembrance. But I shall pretend you are there, walking ahead just out of sight. That way, you will help to keep me going.
Mr Firth had an hour with me at the Museum last Thursday, and brought me a great many letters. Two of interest I enclose.
Cyril Moore called on Monday, bringing the last of his P.W. papers, including some cuttings about the lead mines, which I also enclose. He also brought the latest issue of the Fell and Rock Journal, which belatedly reviews Books Six and Seven favourably but gives me a fearful slating for Fellwanderer.
Wednesday evening.
There were letters this morning from Peter, Doris and cousin Eric. Eric is a faithful old soul. I had told him we were going to Kirk Yetholm so that I could do the last part of the Pennine Way, and that if the weather was not good I would be staying on to get it finished. Today he tells me that he has arranged to extend his holiday, and will stay on with me as long as is necessary.
The Wainwright Letters Page 22