Much love from Woman
Darling Honks
So now we’re here. Didn’t come last year if you remember so it’s two years since I saw it & NOTHING has changed, most reassuring. Wife is here thank God, & Woman.
Jonathan [Guinness] sent his bit re me, have you seen it, it’s v. nice. I wrote & said so but also said (the only suggestion I made except for correcting a few factual mistakes – he’d put I’m Managing Director of Tarmac,1 oh Honks for a banker that’s a bit out isn’t it, imagine what the Tarmac-ites wd think if that had been printed) about having had three babies who conked because it looks sort of so bland, unalloyed luck, pleasure etc etc. Perhaps not completely accurate but, as one can’t put why, one may as well say the other nasty thing in my life, viz. only rearing ½ my children – like a 3rd world woman. Perhaps he won’t put it, twas only an idea.
Woman thinks she hasn’t had his piece on her but I’m sure I remember you altering a few things before she saw it & then her OK-ing it? Yes? No? RSVP.
Last night she told about her childhood & when she was first grown up, I hadn’t realized quite how awful Nancy was to her. I asked what happened to the Chicken’s Mess2 & she said Birdie craved it so she gave it to her & Bird gave it to Hitler & this made us laugh so much that we completely collapsed, it was the way she said it as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world. Isn’t it odd the way the others saw more personal bits ought to be in yr Sir O chapter,3 I suppose I thought so underneath, but I have no critical thing, I can only see what’s there* & couldn’t make suggestions & thought it perfect. Now I agree with them entirely, it’s the humanising we’re after so Carry On Honks.
I bet you loved having Jonathan. When shall we see his book?
Much love, Debo
Darling Woman
Uncle Harold1 is being very good, what Nanny would have called No Trouble. Sometimes he gets up & sometimes he doesn’t. When he stays in his room he has bread & butter for breakfast lunch tea & dinner. Yesterday he got up & had 2 helpings of curry at lunch & 2 pancakes after lots of other stuff at dinner. I can’t imagine what his stomach must make of such contrasts.
Longing to see you next week, let me know if I’m to bring anything else.
Much love, Stublow
Darling Debo
I loved having the baby,1 he is so incredibly sweet now. The fly in the ointment is his keeper. Though very nice it’s rather like having for example Isabel2 as tidier up. The dreaded plastic toys are simply everywhere-drawing room, both sitting-rooms, porch, garden, even orchard. His & her shoes here & there. Pram of course (hideous). Cushions awry. The whole place a slum. One daren’t look in her room (your room) awash with clothes & unmade bed. Bathroom with plastic toys to the ceiling. It’s just bad luck, people of her generation are born untidy. His books are so terrible with pictures of squint-1974–1994 ing moronic children supposed (probably) to be amusing. Cha came back & Al came & the joy of the baby was wonderful. But it made me sad because it confirms what I always suspected, that Al did miss us terribly in 1940 when he was just the age Louis is now. And one can’t explain anything even when it’s good news ‘They’re coming back!’ which it wouldn’t have been.
Wife comes tomorrow, I will report.
All love darling, Honks
Darling Honks
Oh the Col,1 he had a sumptuous obit, in The Times. I’ve kept it in case you didn’t get it. No mention of NM. Good.
Do you think THEY are busy in the many mansions now. It’s all so odd, one can’t help thinking there’s something at the end of all this. But I don’t think you do, in which case you won’t notice if I go to tea in another mansion. So THERE.
Much love, Debo
Dearest Hen
Just back from a v. sentimental journey to Asthall, Swinbrook, Batsford. Woman took me & Sophy (so she could vaguely see, she’s never really been to any of those places). We were allowed into Asthall, more than allowed, got a v. kind welcome from Tony Hardcastle (oh I do hope he’s called Tony, that’s what I’ve written to him) enginéered by a young Mrs Walker wife of, I suppose, a grandson of the old farmer of yesteryear.
I don’t think I’ve been in that house, except possibly once, since we left. I can’t tell you what an odd feeling I had when we went into the nursery. There is still a proper nursery fender there & the shape of the room & the sort of feel of it made me think so much of Blor & what a saint she was. Too odd. It all seemed weeny of course, specially the drawing room. Oh dear. It must have been much odder for Woman as she was properly grown up when it was sold.
Then we did Batsford. What a bugger that house is, no redeeming feature of any kind, cruel proportions, frightfully cold because of being so huge & impossible to heat, ghoul in the extreme. The Dulvertons (he really is called Tony, right this time) were v. kind & again showed all we asked to see.
They produced a picture of the house Grandfather pulled down, how could he have squandered a fortune on such a rotten exchange.
Woman is marvellous, 77 next month, how can she be so old. She doesn’t seem to get tired, it is wonderful.
We didn’t do Swinbrook House, only the Mill Cot & the good Miss Buckland. I still find it sad to go back there, but fascinating as well.
Much love, Yr Hen
Darling Nard
Thank you for the Telephone Call & the beautiful bracelet. It was lovely to hear your voice. I shared my Birthday with Beetle & we had two lovely walks in sunshine. The two days before it was impossible to go far as it poured all day so we were pleased to get out for a good stomp.
Tomorrow Catherine, Jamie, Dick,1 Rosemary [Bailey] & Madeau [Stewart] are all coming for lunch, so exciting.
I am deep in Jonathan’s book & am loving it. I rather wish he hadn’t said the Gnomes clicked their heels & kissed the hand; that’s French, German & Austrian behaviour, but the Swiss are far too reserved & heavy to do such things! They are always tied up in ghoul complexies & have to be treated by Sechiatrises (can’t spell the beastly word!). I am at the Hairdressers so have no dictionary with me! The Old Dog has been taken for a walk by the Mythical Figure,2 so much nicer for him than waiting in the car.
The menu tomorrow is Roast leg of Lamb (from Chatsworth), chicory & red chicory salad & one other vege, Aura Potatoes & then Apple Charlotte & various cheeses & I am already in a worry that it won’t be ready in time! Catherine is such a good cook. I wish you were here.
Much love from Woman
These are Tony [Lambton]’s words: ‘What I find so irritating is the way the critics treat you. I honestly believe that ½ the people who read all about the Mitfords are motivated to do so by a kind of fierce jealousy which drives them where they do not want to go. But that when they write about you, or rather have their chance of venting their spleen, they turn on what they cannot resist & on those whom they would like to resemble. I think your television experience bears all this out.’1
(Of course he didn’t see the telly which was really rather kind to me but he means the nonsense about my friends living in big houses – Mrs Ham’s bungalow, Lytton Strachey’s sort of vicarage, Rignell which was sub-stockbroker, the Clary’s attic etc.)
I must admit ‘the Mitfords’ would madden ME if I didn’t chance to be one.
Darling Woo
I read Selina’s book1 all through again & cried all over again, & I think if she will point out – as people are so dense – that Naunce was never truthful in letters, above all about Muv, it really is a very good book, as well as a very sad one.
I only wish Naunce’s descriptions of Paris weather were true! They used to make me & Geoffrey [Gilmour] laugh, one heard her saying to English people ‘Oh, it’s been lovely & hot here’, when really it had been bitter & cold. This year has beaten all records for cold, for May.
All love Woo, Nard
Darling Debo
Yours with Decca’s came. I do so agree with Decca about Selina not using her manifold interviews with friends, plus press notices of Naunce’s books etc.1 Of cours
e one gathers much from the many letters, & I hope one will gather more if she incorporates some of our observations. But it really boils down to a book about a very successful writer with talent for being extremely comic, who has two desperately unhappy love affairs. All of which could have been done by anyone who had the letters even if they’d seen nobody. Selina was so wonderful at not leaving stones unturned & then makes nothing much of it.
Where I don’t agree with Decca is about Colonel being horrid. One can’t pretend to be in love. If one is in love I suppose by superhuman effort one might quell it, for reasons of morality or something of that sort, & thereby achieve a sort of miserable saintly resignation. This is the theme of many French novels. But I don’t think the opposite is possible. That is, to feign love one doesn’t feel. He never for one moment pretended he did. The result is tragic but I for one can’t blame him. I think he too suffered from it. He & Kit & I spent days in each other’s pockets when she died & one felt that he minded. He was a kind old object. He didn’t lead her on, ever.
Oh Debo, I went to see ‘my friend, Mme Rödel’ as Mrs Ham always called her. Greatest pathos. The (huge) flat getting very shabby, Jeanne in the usual purple clothes, ditto. Still talking about Fontaines & Mme Costa. Don’t let’s live to be too old, it’s no fun. I’m sad that I shan’t see Louis grown up. He is such a pet.
All love darling, Honks
Darling Debo
I really loved Woo’s visit & we had such luck with boiling weather, she had a final swim at 4 P.M. the day she left, & yesterday I got her on the telephone-safely arrived. The calm is so marvellous. She quite gave up menus after the first two days – Cha thinks they are due to nerves. She is a proper saint.
Hugo’s Cecil1 is a gossip column. It amuses me but, of course, except the actors & actresses, I knew the characters. It is sumptuous & worth its dread price for the photograph from My Royal Past, please study F Ashton2 in that. But you’ve got the Royal Past I expect – mine went west years ago.
Re-reading Selina (proof) I do think the second part extremely good, it is completely true to Naunce. The mental & physical suffering are too terrible. It’s not quite true that she never confided, I got bits of confidence. But it’s almost true. Of course what makes the first part dull is that one knows it all.
I am so so sorry about Decca. It sounds very bad, poor Decca.3 Somebody sent a mag from S. Francisco, a sort of Derbyshire Life type, with a long interview. Not too bad, but the usual lie about me, that I asked to see her & she refused. I never did because of Kit. The exact opposite is the truth, she asked if I would see her, at Naunce’s death bed, & I naturally said yes. No matter, but it’s strange how untruthful both she & Naunce were. I will send the mag if you like, if not I’ll throw.
All love darling, Honks
Dearest Hen
I hope you loved your S. of France week. I bet you did. There is something about it there which is conducive to loving it, if you see what I mean.
Bob told me I didn’t apologise to you about the photos.1
I do now, unreservedly.
I am very sorry.
Much love, Yr Hen
Dearest Hen,
That was really most good of you. It’s put a FINAL end to that perennially nagging business – or such it was to me. Thanks, Hen.
We scram to Calif on 30 July; rather sad, yet longing to get home.
Much love, Yr Hen
Dearest Hen
The party for Selina’s book was wholly predictable. Full, noisy representatives from the Olden Days (Ly Dashwood, Lees-Milnes, Gladwyns etc etc), from H. Hamilton, friends & family of authoress (one sister is chief psychiatrist to the Army, do picture), Sophy (looking v. good I must say in sheath dress & short hair), various young secs, etc wanting to know what Nancy was really like, not too easy to know what anyone is really like, specially Nancy & specially when an Evening Standard person is hovering. So that was the party.
As for the American outing it was amazing. Started at Dallas for Tarmac – took 19 hours to get there for various boring aeroplane reasons. Poured with rain without ceasing for the three days. Not at all like the film weather. So low was the cloud that we didn’t go a planned journey in a small plane to the south, a v. great relief when the mist was about a sky scraper height, & we spent a fruitful morning in Neiman Marcus instead.
Good Lady Bird Johnson came all the way from Austin to have dinner. I do love her. There was a lively discussion about her age after she left. Can you give the answer? She ordered Fee Lay of Sole & the waiter understood, brill eh. And a nasty wind is called a Her Cane in those parts. Like V[irginia] Durr speaking I suppose, I do love it but am sometimes in need of an interpreter.
Thence to Washington. Hen that exhib,1 it’s faultless. Not often you can say that about anything but it jolly well is. The trouble taken, the attention to detail, & the things themselves, ’tis breathtaking. I went round 4 times & could happily have gone 4 more.
We were royally entertained, dinner after dinner, lunch upon lunch, smashing food. The waiters (who they say go round & round to Washington things) are dangerously handsome & are supposed to be out of work actors. They act being waiters very well. Sophy came & adored it. I sat next to a fellow called Shultz one night who turned out to be the Foreign Secretary.2 I said ‘What shall we talk about, I know, YOU’, so we did & he told about some incredible club he belongs to in California & they meet under the trees & loll about. As it seemed he was sort of on his way to Russia I thought it was rather sporting of him to come & what’s more he didn’t look at his watch, I didn’t catch him at it anyway.
Stayed 2 nights with Governor Harriman3 & Pam who I last saw when we were about 18. He’s 94 blind & v. deaf but absolutely on the spot when one can get through to him, tales of yesteryear galore.
Saw Charlottesville. No one prepared me for the beauty there, I was dumbstruck by the university buildings, have you ever seen them? And Monticello. IT to my mind.
Then New York. Hen isn’t it ghoul beyond compare, how can anyone like it. I stayed in the Waldorf Astoria, 1,800 rooms, queued for 35 mins to book in & had the strong feeling that if I had died in my room someone would have turfed my body out of the window and made the bed for the next unfortunate.
The biggest certainty of the whole outing was the clothes & jewels worn by the rich ladies at the Washington festivities. At one dinner I sat next to Mr Zipkin,4 a sort of minister of information who knew which shops the c’s & j’s came from, how much & who was in them. Riveting.
Well that’s about it I think. I bet you haven’t got as far as this but if you have Congrats on reading power.
Much love, Yr Hen
Dearest Hen,
Thanks ever so for yr pre-Xmas letter found on return from Dinky’s & other points.
BOOK OPENERS.1 I agree that ‘THE’ isn’t much cop. But ‘And so …’ seems to present problems, because ‘And so’—what? Unless you are planning a super-sexy novel in which the ‘and so’ becomes apparent in the very next sentence. ‘WELL’, ditto. Anyway I’ve started mine & the first words are ‘Who was …’ followed, as you may have guessed, with ‘Grace Darling?’2 Then, don’t you see, I go on to say that nobody in America has ever heard of her but in England, la-di-da etc.
Your idea of looking to see how other people’s books started is good, yet might be a trifle time-consuming. Actually I’ve just found two fairly good ones: the Bible, ‘In the beginning …’ & Pilgrim’s Progress, As I walked through the wilderness of this world …’ Any good, Hen? If yours is, as I gathered, hist, of Derbyshire countryside, either of these cld be made to order. ‘In the beginning, only old shepherds & their flocks roamed …’ Or: As I walked through the wilderness of factories & waste-lands, I thought back to the time when …’
Over to you, Hen. Let me know the outcome.
Much love, Yr Hen
P.S. We saw ye on telly (Stately Homes series) & so did lots of our friends. All thought you were marvellous.
Dearest Hen
> Here is F Partridge.1 She seems to have been in love with Robert AND Janetta.2 What do you think?
It’s a good read. I note she thinks it awful for anyone to have what is now called Help in the house but was in quite a bait with her person when she got home from a journey & found only spuds in cold water as a welcome. Oh well. Mixed Farming & Muddled Thinking.
Much love, Yr Hen
Darling Debo
Yes it’s so strange that Woo doesn’t realize about leaving the garden saddening one.1 Oddly enough at the moment it’s more what the locals call ‘le parc’, where there are primroses & violets, hyacinths in the grass which has at last become green, & where bushes & shrubs show signs of life.
You can’t imagine what it was like in prison. Much as one died for letters (only two a week) I used to dread opening hers. She had no notion of the agony it was not to have the babies, & even boasted of things like making Al walk through a field with thistles, his poor little legs, he was twenty months old. It’s not her fault, she doesn’t like babies. Well then in one letter she’d had Grousy put down, such a dear dog, & in another Edna May, that pretty little mare we got from you. Of course I knew they were killing bloodstock in order to plough for potatoes & it was inevitable Edna May should go I suppose, but she failed to realize it would upset one. On another level, she wrote to say all our clothes in trunks had been eaten by moths in her attic so she’d burnt the lot. As you remember one rather needed old clothes then. But of course none of it mattered compared with the babies. She never thought I’m sure of just how foul the prison was, how one never stopped dreading the lavatory & so on. No imagination. I mustn’t dwell on these things, long forgotten. It would have been better not to tell me about the animals. If ‘they’ had given me house arrest I think all would have been very well at Rignell, I could have had the little boys with me & not annoyed her with them. As you know, we were all packed up to go there on a Monday, but they arrested me two days before, on Saturday. What devils. Looking back, wasn’t Nanny Higgs good really. Her letters were supreme by the way.
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