Diary of a Wartime Affair

by Doreen Bates

  I have missed E so this week. I have counted the days. I have also had occasional misgiving in spite of our precautions till tonight and am now relieved.

  SATURDAY 1 DECEMBER

  Aunt Emily and Uncle Harry* came. Aunt May, † just the image of Grandma – in spite of their having had such different lives – Grandma with 14 babies, Aunt May dried up and wasted. It rather suggests experience may not make much difference, but she was eagerly interested in the royal wedding.

  FRIDAY 7 DECEMBER

  Rosa was depressed about poverty this morning and I missed the 9.11 talking to her. I felt rather mean that I gave only £1 to Gray‡ for Christmas. Last night E said he’d rank me 5 (next to bottom) for Moral Worth, 1 for Intelligence and 2 or 3 for Good Looks. It was just a joke but it seems awful – 5! He also said, ‘If you would only think before you act, i.e. bring your intelligence into play, you would be one of the most remarkable women the world has seen!’

  MONDAY 10 DECEMBER

  E taught me about permutations and combinations (difficult) and said, ‘It would be quite interesting to teach you mathematics – one has to get your mind working and then it’s easy, but you won’t let it unless one persuades you it’s easy!’ Then for half an hour he held me in his arms and kissed me. I loved him so, I suppose because I had felt dismal at lunchtime and he had seen it and stayed till 2.15 and then said, ‘Feeling better? No? Well, it was wasted? – yes, a little – you will probably be conscious you are brighter in half an hour.’ When I went back to my room at 6.20 I found that Elsie had dropped in and gone away again without a word. ‘What colossal tact,’ said E. She must have seen his light and not him at his desk and gone away having drawn the correct conclusion that we did not want to be disturbed.

  FRIDAY 14 DECEMBER

  E said on Tues we must do something more practical on Friday and we could do a theatre after. With some wrangling I cancelled my evening with Margot, and also said I might be late. Just after lunch today he said, ‘I haven’t announced that I shall be late and I think it would do me good to get to bed early, I’m rather tired – we’ll see, later on.’ I wasn’t cross – at all – but I felt idiotically hurt at his lack of thought, if only he’d said so yesterday. It is his sensitiveness and consideration, I think, that I love best about him and then to find him apparently falling so short. I made things worse, of course, by thinking of how eager he was a year ago to do anything with me. I didn’t intend to convey anything to him, but he did sense it. Without a word he rang up and said he would be late and then when we were going to UC said, ‘What about the Westminster Theatre?’ I said I was going home and he said, ‘I suppose you wouldn’t enjoy going now anyway? I have made a mess of tonight.’ Later on, over a rather dismal coffee, ‘I am sorry I have made you unhappy.’

  I wish I knew why he didn’t want to go. Was it just weariness or distaste for arranging, or the game not worth the candle? Or merely nothing worth seeing? I don’t know, but may I never persuade him to do anything or let him do anything merely out of consideration or pity. Heaven grant that I have the decency or pride or self-respect to feel what he wants and make him do it. He has no idea how I feel except that he vaguely felt that I was miserable and he was responsible. He said, ‘I wish I knew why you were dismal – is it being at the mercy of chance, not being able to do what we’d like always?’ I said, ‘Probably.’

  SATURDAY 15 DECEMBER

  A little better, perhaps, except that I am feeling a deeper unparticularized gloom which I suspect will last till after Christmas, probably, if I could analyse it, due to the essentially family feeling at Christmas and the contrast with E and me. Oh, I would give so much to have children, and the right to love him. He was quite sweet at lunch, taught me a little more permutations and combinations, and held me so gently and sweetly and humbly affectionately that it nearly made me cry.

  SUNDAY 16 DECEMBER

  I have, I think, passed the deepest part of this bog of depression. This morning I played at the children’s church and during the prayers and lessons and address (from old Biddell) I thought to myself and managed to achieve some slight detachment and – perhaps it was the effect (unconscious) of the thanksgiving – saw the advantages instead of, or as well as, the disadvantages of the situation. Whatever happens and however miserable I may be fated to be, there are some enormous benefits to be remembered – (1) I have lost the fear of sex that I must have had even 18 months ago and dug up at least some of the repressions I had, and that before I was too old to wake up and find that everything had passed; this is entirely due to E – his consideration and understanding and restraint and honesty; this is a priceless gift which he has given me, worth all the pain and misery I may have to suffer; (2) whether we ever achieve everything – by this I mean a home and children – I have even now had more than most women – love and complete happiness for a spell. Our unions have sometimes been all that Shaw describes in A Village Wooing. This is one of the twin peaks of a woman’s life (the other being the creation of a baby) and I rejoice in the experience, however dismal I am. I shall try not to lose the sense of fulfilment which love gives; (3) I shall never regret what I have done because I truly believe E has become alive again through his love for me. I think that nobody else could have inspired him to rise again and that he spoke truly when he said once that to lose me would be like sinking back into the grave. So tho’ the heavens fall I must not despair, i.e. if K finds out and we have to part, or the Board finds out and separates us by the length of the UK, or even the Irish Sea – or even, what would be far worse, he sinks into routine or even ceases to feel anything, or I do. I must rejoice in 1934 and its memories and not compare the past, present and future and repine and analyse and look out with fear and foreboding on the future and try to survive any catastrophe. Quite a confession and sermon!

  Now for a stronger will and good resolution and a lively heart!

  SATURDAY 22 DECEMBER

  So tired, and it is colder. Read almost all of Mutiny in the train and so a long discussion with E on martial law etc., out of which I came best (a noteworthy exception in most discussions of this sort). He has gone to Sheffield till Monday week – 9 days. After picnicking comfortably he said as I was going, ‘I’d better not kiss you as we don’t seem able to kiss sensibly,’ and just touched my cheek. I think he loves me a lot still. Anyway, yesterday he got some pleasure from touching and feeling me. I wonder, does he think of me when I am not there as much as I think of him?

  MONDAY 31 DECEMBER

  As 1934 draws to a close and 1935 dawns I am going to pause to look back and to look forward.

  E came back to the office this morning full of Helen’s sweetness and David’s brightness.* He made me feel sad quite without intending it. He would revel in children of his own, if only we were free. To keep the gloom away I bickered desperately but now, all alone, I could cry dismally. This is a poor end to a year which has given me glorious moments so I will make an effort and just dwell on the bright things; the early sweetness of the walk from Seaford to Eastbourne on the gloomy chilly February day; lying on the cliff out of the wind after lunch, then sheltered by the gorse bush on Crowlink; then as it grew dark on the seat by Beachy Head, and last in the train. I was still afraid but just awakening. The mixed ecstasy and pain of the walk from Amersham; I kept him at arm’s length in the wood, while a blackbird sang, piercing sweet, just overhead; but later that evening at The Merchant of Venice I let myself go; so to the hot Saturday afternoon at Merstham a week before Whitsun when he made me cry by saying, ‘Perhaps you’ll think of me when you really love someone else.’ I won’t cry now; and so to Whitsun – a joyous honeymoon when we just lived in a dream from Saturday afternoon to Monday evening; strenuous walking over the Cotswolds, exploring churches, lying in the sun and under trees. A perfect sequel to the sickening fear and lonely cowardice of the afternoon when I went to Dr Malleson.* The two dream-like midnight walks and finally the week in Shropshire.

  Since then – for me – i
s the gradual decrease in happiness and increase in my consciousness of the gloomy side. I want children and can’t have them. My nerves are perhaps a bit threadbare from the continual secrecy and the constant vigilance – the false position at the office – I don’t know. If I thought I would get a district no worse than Paddington I think I would ask for a move and cut it off now, before I become continually unhappy and too low to react to new surroundings. In any case it may be the best thing to do. I don’t want the happiness of February to September overshadowed. Perhaps I haven’t enough work to do or don’t find enough. It is clearly bad to have office and love mixed up.

  1935

  THURSDAY 3 JANUARY

  I have been quite jubilant on the whole. E has really been very sweet the last 2 days; he would be so nice with his own children. What would I not give to make them! – but that way depression lies.

  SUNDAY 6 JANUARY

  I warded off a threatened fit of gloom yesterday by going by myself to see The Snow Maiden at the Vic. E was nice to me. He said, ‘It is as sweet now as it was a year ago – we can tell Joad that it lasts a long time, can’t we?’ He had arranged to meet K to go to Toad of Toad Hall. I felt rather at a loose end and not very keen on the Vic but I decided finally to go. Two minutes after the music began I knew I had been right. It was lovely – suggestions of The Immortal Hour and Chekhov, all minor and blue with bright relief, red and yellow, sad and lovely and transient, strange and yet familiar. I tipped my speech for Saturday’s History Luncheon* and felt quite elated. It is not particularly good but it is fine to have done it in good time, and also to have made it. It has quite good patches and is subtle in places. I think what is the matter with me is that I don’t work hard enough.

  MONDAY 7 JANUARY

  Showed E my History speech (with great sinkings). Though he suggested sundry improvements he thought it quite good, which led to some pleasant argument on intelligence and finally to a kiss as sweet as any since the beginning. ‘We fit in so beautifully,’ he said, and before that, ‘Because I know you are clever I am so proud that you love me, and that you feel the same about me makes it so sweet.’

  Richmond Park

  TUESDAY 8 JANUARY

  This is a day to remember. E said he had not slept last night. We went to UC and found nothing doing so, altho’ it was very cold, we went to Richmond Park to love. After coffee we reached the Park – almost no wind, quite dark. We were able to see the trees with their bare branches against the sky. So sweet to feel his hands moving so quietly and gently over me. He was nice, immediately responsive. It seemed like a dream – the darkness, the sweetness, the bitter cold – yet a dream shared with him.

  SUNDAY 13 JANUARY

  I must write something about yesterday – it was too full and unique to leave out altogether and I was too weary to do any diary last night. It was the History Luncheon at Craig Court at 1.15. I wore my Vienna brown frock – more office-y and warmer than the velvet I originally intended to wear – my new brown felt hat and borrowed Rosa’s brown coat.

  I was too busy to think about the speech till 11.15, then had a bad attack of nervousness, a sick feeling at the bottom of my stomach, a clammy feeling of the hands and shivering whenever I thought about it. E was very sweet and sympathetic – told me how awful he felt before his first Appeal meeting. Rosa rang up and wished me luck. E gave me an orange and kissed me and for just a minute I thought, ‘What a fool I am – as tho’ anything matters except that we love each other.’

  Tubes crowded and I didn’t get to the Restaurant till 1.25. HJ* was quite cordial; gave me Burgundy and we had some discussion of cruises. Mary Roney† on the other side of me. I was relieved that Misery‡ was not there (tho’ not at the reason, which was that her mother had just died). I decided that I didn’t really care about anyone there. In spite of this fortunate decision the meal had a nightmarish quality of unreality. My first sentence kept creeping through my mind. When it came to the point I did not have to pause to think nor did I forget. I was conscious of feeling weak about the knees once, and once I was afraid my voice was going but I paused deliberately to cough. The first part was funnier and I was tremendously encouraged when people laughed. I was distinctly aware of HJ’s fat ‘Ha, ha!’ at my elbow. I felt it must sound obviously learnt by heart and very pompous towards the end. When I had finished I seemed to hear with deafening distinctness the noise of people pushing their chairs back and whispering the toast – ‘The History School and Prof Johnstone’. HJ was quite appreciative – whispered to me privately ‘One of the best speeches we have ever had’ – and made the expected joke about giving thanks to an Inspector of Taxes. Many said, ‘Marvellously fluent – you did not repeat a word once.’ I felt it was not too bad, but – Oh – the joy of a weight of anxiety lifted from my heart. I shouldn’t have cared what happened.

  Mary and I taxi-ed to Victoria where E was waiting for me. We went to Richmond and walked three miles along the river. It was bitterly cold but beautiful and very few people about and the sun sinking red immediately ahead. I told him all about the lunch and we said very little. I just felt exhilarated. It was still only dusk at 5.0 when we bus-ed back to Richmond. In the train from Victoria he kissed me and said, ‘I have never kissed anyone smelling of Burgundy before!’

  WEDNESDAY 16 JANUARY

  Three full nice days since I wrote. We have loved each other almost too much. Psychology yesterday – work curves – I did the arithmetic and he did the cancellation. You have to mark the 5 second intervals and I forgot towards the end of the 10 minutes. ‘You have spoilt the experiment,’ he said. I said I was sorry. Then he did the same. ‘You have spoilt the experiment,’ I said, and we laughed. He said today that when he is bad-tempered I know just what to do and am never bitter. I must have a nice nature. Today he said, ‘It must be very rare – such joy as ours – so continuous – your dancing eyes, that’s what I shall remember longest.’ There is a peculiar light-heartedness and gay quality in our love which I think must be uncommon – we laugh at ourselves and yet still enjoy it – a detachment which does not spoil the intimacy but makes it more healthy – disinfects our passion so-to-speak. I am so happy. I looked at myself in the bath tonight and thought, ‘No, this is not wasted whatever happens – it has made him happy – a miracle – this peculiar, knobbly body has yet that power – for that is the basis for our love.’

  SUNDAY 20 JANUARY

  E and I have had a good week. Apart from the office we have lunched together on Monday, Tuesday, Friday and Saturday. We went to Psychology on Tuesday and The Little Plays, dinner and the Choral Symphony on Thursday, the AIT dinner on Friday and half an hour of violent loving and Figaro at the Vic yesterday.

  We walked through the Park to Mandes for dinner. E was sweet. ‘No meditating,’ he said. The concert was fine – Beethoven’s No 1, Mozartish and gay, and the Ninth (Choral). The first and 4th movements are the most intoxicating. E said it had the same effect on me as a sex orgasm. The 2nd movement (Scherzo) and the 3rd (Adagio) were like interludes, the first lively and dancing, the second sweet and melancholy. It is as if Beethoven thought – this shall be the epitome of my life as I have felt it – gay and tragic, trivial and serious. Weingartner* is 72 (according to E) but he is tall and very straight and gives German bows from the waist. The Ninth is the first thing E told me to hear, so appropriate to go with him.

  In bed 11.20pm:

  Went to church this evening; special service with Te Deum and during the sermon I clearly thought what I must do: I must reconcile myself to having no children and not being E’s wife. To do this I must work hard at something, if possible with E, but if necessary on my own.

  MONDAY 28 JANUARY

  Hideous nightmare day! Got up this morning with a great effort to see frozen snow over the Downs and roads, and hard-frosted windows. Caught 9.31 (late) and got to the office feeling rather shaky and croaking with a lost voice. Started dictating and Mrs Shaw rang up to say that F E Shaw died suddenly yesterday morning. She
sounded quite firm – a post mortem today, an inquest. Her brother had arrived; who should she write to at Somerset House? It seemed unbelievable. Miss Hale, who seems so superficial, did not know what to say; Greenfield and Rimmer turned pale. I felt weak and shaky and shivered violently with the cold – trembled for a long time. E rang me about 1.00, Rimmer was rather nice but I felt so alone and knocked over. I shouldn’t have thought it would be such a shock because I always thought it would be sudden and at any time, but probably my cold and happing* made it worse. After lunch I wondered if I had misunderstood on the phone and I kept seeing him and hearing his voice, and his slow heavy footsteps coming along the passage to my room, and in the lift with his bowler hat and tweed overcoat and his small tight smile and his podgy hands. Still bitter, bitter cold – it always affected him. Foreseeing his end I felt obscurely responsible for it – ‘Death lays his icy hand on kings.’