Diary of a Wartime Affair

by Doreen Bates

  TUESDAY 26 MARCH

  Just a note of the medley of happiness in my heart. There was no lecture at UC so we tube-ed to Golders Green and walked over Hampstead Heath from 6.05 to 7.55. A lovely red sunset, a small silver star in the blue sky which grew larger and brighter as darkness fell; cool breeze blowing over the top of the trees, sleepy birds twittering below in the trees, then across the road towards Kenwood and looking across to the east, myriad of lights, and by a great tree we loved. I thought of Keats (the letters still fresh in my mind). We must have been near the Nightingale wood. And Ella‡ beginning a whole month’s holiday but with no E to love her.

  THURSDAY 28 MARCH

  So quickly can events alter one’s feelings. I can hardly realize that it is only 2 nights ago we were at Hampstead; 2 crowded desperate days since then. Yesterday E heard that the Promotions Board were not giving him a hearing. We did not know what this meant; a complete turn-down or quite hopeful. I phoned Reen and Glasson but got nothing conclusive. An Appeal meeting this morning – Goldstein and E went. E got back at 12.15 and said Goldstein is quite ineffective at Appeals.

  SATURDAY 30 MARCH

  Colder today – dull, and chilly wind blowing under my brown hat. Woke up with a headache, still left from yesterday when it developed from rage due to E’s bad luck and powerlessness over promotion. We went to Frolic Wind at the Royalty and, in spite of all, managed to enjoy it. A peculiar play with odd characters, poorly constructed with numerous scenes, but perfectly acted and cleverly written. It had sufficient truth to make an illusion. E kissed me in the second interval, rather unexpectedly, as we were most dejected and at the same time full of impotent fury earlier. An odd evening, surprisingly happy in spite of his circumstances.

  An unpleasant morning. Office harangue on Osler’s Inspection Report – AG and E argued and I merely indicated my agreement with E. Did no work at all. E is going to ask for a Special Inspection. He kissed me and then went home.

  SATURDAY 6 APRIL

  I haven’t been very happy and pleasant and light and brave this week. Have felt a little resentful to E, thinking he doesn’t make much effort to do things with me, but today he gave me half his lunch and said, ‘If you like I could go for a walk with you.’ We decided to go to Hamlet at Streatham. After lunch he said, ‘Now I’ll just kiss you and then wash the orange off my hands and then we’ll go.’ I love him so. I hate K. We stood in the gallery for Hamlet. It was packed. It is odd how superlatively good it is when it is just talk with no action and how it fails when the action begins. The Gravedigger’s scene is a perfect example of this. E said Lear is a beautiful stormy winter sky and Hamlet a dancing stream on an April day. I didn’t agree. Hamlet has more sheer nastiness than this simile suggests but it does suggest the continuous glint and flash of intellectual play.

  MONDAY 8 APRIL

  How unsatisfactory I am – I feel quite ashamed of me. I think far too much about E. I have worried myself into a state of nerves simply by thinking about him – what he will do – whether he likes me – what he wants of me – when and what he will arrange to do etc. I must get interested in other things before I get quite neurotic.

  WEDNESDAY 10 APRIL

  Just finished my bath, during which I cried salt tears of self-pity. ‘There’s nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.’ This is, of course, true, but how to control one’s thoughts? I think E loves me still – I am sure I help him and console him in his dismal position at the office. I also know that his weaknesses are the inevitable outcome of his good points – might almost be called another aspect – which is no advantage to me – of his virtues: self-control, sensitiveness, delicacy, subtlety, the things most characteristic of him, the things I love in him. Yet it is these same things that drive me to despair – almost to a regret that the car which only just missed me did miss me. It isn’t that I want him as a husband, or even that I want more sex contact than we get – but just that I want his companionship in quiet, unhurried leisure. I want to comfort him and to be comforted, to be free. Well, perhaps I shall never have more than I have had already. Maybe the only thing to do is to fix my eye on the people worse off than me – people who have never loved or been loved, who are poor, or ill, or stupid, or coarse, and just count my blessings – a secure job that isn’t too uninteresting, a nice family, a pleasant home with most luxuries, enough money, a tolerable heart to perceive beauty in nature and in art.

  FRIDAY 12 APRIL

  A queer mixed day. Still fairly elated, altho’ E definitely said it was useless to refuse to go on the cruise in the hope of having 2 weeks with him – one, perhaps, but not till October at earliest. I am going to talk to him seriously tomorrow. I must do more, if not with him then without him. Goldstein came in for a few minutes this afternoon. His wife is very ill and depressed – has to have an operation for a cyst. He was pathetic in his helplessness – he told me all about it.

  MONDAY 15 APRIL

  A full and most exhausting weekend with summertime in the middle. As a result of these two circumstances we all overslept this morning. No one awoke till 8.30. On Saturday I gave E a homily on his recent way of life – he had done nothing but sleep and work for 3 months. It was not merely that I was bored, but bad for him. Accordingly he read Tomlinson’s Snows of Helicon and started Jenks’ History of England and talked to me about surface tension all through our waffles and coffee.

  SATURDAY 27 APRIL

  A long gap since I last wrote during which E and I have done nothing except go to Westminster Abbey at lunchtime on my birthday. I hoped he would want to do something, if only a walk or a show at Easter but he said nothing and I decided not to suggest it. Finally I enjoyed Easter more than I expected, mostly walking with Margot. By Wednesday evening, however, I had become hopelessly depressed and almost decided to write E a letter to tell him how unsatisfactory it was for me – my love depended on him and I could not be inactive. Doing things with him is essential, otherwise my love just curdles in me to bitterness. It grew on contemplating and doing things with him – my best moments have been when we have both felt something to be beautiful, e.g. the Mass in D, the violin concerto, Lear, Linley Hill, Long Mynd, the moonlight walks, the kingfisher. I felt dismal on Thursday morning (my birthday) but he made an effort – had put on his grey suit – and at lunch we went to the Abbey. E had not seen the tombs before so I made the most of my knowledge. I felt better by the time I returned for an appointment at 2.30. We loved for twenty minutes in the office. He also read Goldstein’s letter to me about his wife’s death and said he had often told me to marry a SI,* and probably I could get a chance there. He said it would be a good thing, the idea should cross my mind because ‘no one could walk across the stage so unconcernedly as you – it is a main element of your charm’. It is not that the possibility doesn’t enter my head (it had), but I dismiss it, bury it and think only of the moment. E quite liked me today and I loved him so much, tho’ I felt sad underneath.

  FRIDAY 3 MAY

  I feel curiously light-hearted. I wrote E a long letter last night and gave it to him this evening. It endeavoured to make clear how I feel, i.e. the most important aspect (to me) of our love which has declined this winter. I felt doubtful about giving it to him, but now that it is done – tho’ it may have spoilt our whole relationship – I feel better, as tho’ it had to be.

  THURSDAY 9 MAY

  I am much happier and much more settled now. E replied to my complaint on Saturday in a letter which made me cry – said his hopelessness was the only reason for the loss of vitality in our relationship. He has been, I think, better this week. We loved this evening in my room – long and passionately. We had just stopped when Ridout came in – an awkward moment, but E said I showed admirable sang-froid. I feel as if I had resolved a difficulty. I do hope I shan’t start straining and wishing and wondering again. I feel happier about E than since Sept.

  SATURDAY 1 JUNE

  At the AIT dinner last night Osler told me in confidence I was g
oing to St George’s so I was thrilled to know we should not be far apart. Quite enjoyed it, tho’ I talked to no one but Wilson, Cook, Butler and Osler. E came to Waterloo Junction with me and kissed me in the train – ‘Short but quite nice,’ he said. I felt sorry for him but liked him better than ever by comparison with everyone else there. He has an indefinable attraction for me – his subtle intelligence and his truthfulness and clearness are the things I admire most consciously in him. Duff Cooper – a little man with an expressive face – made a bright speech for the guests.

  TUESDAY 4 JUNE

  Our love has flared up to ecstasy again. Now I am alone and weary and a little sad. I had not been able to prevent myself from looking forward to Whitsun, thinking we’d go away together. While we were having coffee E told me that K wanted to take her mother to Brighton and would probably not go unless he went with her, so it is very doubtful whether we can go. Still, we love each other completely. I feel that it can never die. I am so proud to have the power to make him feel so. It is not that I crave the sexual satisfaction, but it is a thermometer of his love and of his health – an indication that he is turning outwards from his sorrow. I feel that I have called him back to life if not to happiness. We went to see Yahoo done by the Irish Players at the Westminster last night. He kissed me fiercely in his room and I – I loved him so. I felt shaky at the knees and my heart thumped. I said, ‘That was too much.’ He said, ‘Why do you do it then? You are terribly sensual. It’s gorgeous to feel you working up.’ We had dinner at Zeeta’s and bickered about the time and the food and the route to the theatre. In the 2nd interval we went down the stairs. He just kissed me once so hard that it hurt me. Then, while we waited for the music to stop he said, ‘Your face is not very pretty.’ I said, ‘No, not a bit’ – he, ‘But it’s marvellous, simply gorgeous, when your soul looks out of it like that. It’s just a measure of what is behind it, the poorer it is, the lovelier your soul.’ So rarely he says a thing, it is an effort as he is inarticulate – it was so sweet, so sweet to hear. I am writing it down here so that I may not forget, or if I do, so that years hence, when I have lost the attraction that youth gives to any face, I may be reminded that the man I loved thought me beautiful on June 3rd 1935.

  WEDNESDAY 12 JUNE

  This is a new diary which I bought at Woolworths today. I am just beginning to write before going to bed – my face is throbbing with sun blisters and my lip is stiff from kissing and I have neuralgia in my eyes and I am tired – but I must begin to remember all that has happened since I finished the last diary.

  Last weekend was Whitsun and we were together from 5.30 on Saturday until 5.30 on Monday. It looks so bald and prosaic written down like that – yet these two days were a lifetime of experience. When we loved on Saturday night E said afterwards it was for 2 hours 10 mins. Our love grew till it filled my whole universe. I felt we were the only living beings in the world and we were almost at one. It was the best time we have had – I was unafraid and unashamed. I did not really lose consciousness of him at all – when I felt I was growing misty I turned on the light and looked at him. Although I find it almost impossible to recall my feeling or to remember what happened I think I was more conscious than I have ever been. It seems so remote now but then at any rate it was clear. I can never reach greater heights of passion with him or anyone, I know. There is an absolute quality about this union which we may re-capture but I am sure we can never surpass. On Sunday night we were too tired for any love-making – besides, I felt it would be an anti-climax if we tried. On Monday morning there wasn’t time. On Sunday after lunch we lazed on a tumulus in the sun and loved a little – but quietly – sweetly, and a little remotely – reminiscently, as it were – so much for the physical.

  We walked on Sat evening through East and West Hagbourne – two lovely villages, especially East, with a lovely church. E is so satisfactory as a companion quite apart from our love. We like the same things if in different degrees, and, although he knows more, I do know some things he doesn’t. He likes the actual architecture and can talk with some knowledge of buttresses and arches, capitals and periods. I like wood carving and old glass and queer names and grotesque heads. We both like birds and wide views. He hates red roofs almost to frenzy, and bungalows and dumps, and loves barns and old cottages. I like flowers and trees and clouds and odd people. On the whole we supplement each other’s likes and laugh at each other’s dislikes.

  East Hagbourne

  MONDAY 17 JUNE

  This evening I sharpened this pencil and made notes for a novel – just the skeleton of the plot. It is to be based on the life of E, but will not have any obvious connection. The character of the hero will to some extent be modelled on him. I feel the idea is beginning to grow. It was an effort to put anything down in black and white – it is queer, the repugnance I have in actually and objectively making a start. It is not simply indolence; I think there is some psychological conflict somewhere. I feel like Jacob wrestling with the angel. It is only by driving myself that I ever do begin. Once started, however, the fact that there is some material objective scheme spurs me on and the thing grows. I feel that so few novels are really worth writing, however well written they may be. I don’t want to make a clever or even a just beautiful novel. What I want to do is make a character as a perpetual memorial of E, with rare gifts of mind and spirit and conscience – his only weakness being some lack of force and a too great trust in reason – set in the London of today.

  MONDAY 1 JULY

  For the period 21–29th June Margot and I were on holiday at Chester and Capel Curig and I kept a separate diary.

  I returned to the office today still with a red nose and peeling arms but hoping for the best in my new plaid silk blouse and best stockings. It was very hot with a thundery heaviness in the air. I had looked forward to seeing E. I re-read Jude all the holiday and he is so associated with the book that I felt him as a background all the time. He looked nice and much better, but altho’ we lunched together and talked quite a lot and bickered I felt a bit dismal by this evening. He said, ‘It’s too hot to go traipsing round the Park.’ It was quite true and sensible but how different from 2 years ago.

  How will it end? I do love him so. It is strange he should feel such an affinity to Jude – ominous and tragic. He said he thought Sue was more like me than any character in a book. I don’t like her – even less now than the first time. I think I deceived him in the early stages of our friendship and it was as if I was driven to play up to him, to give him the entertainment and stimulation he asked for – and in doing so I gave him a false impression – that I had more intelligence and sparkle and vitality than I had. I have felt this all the time and on many occasions tried to undeceive him but it was too late.

  TUESDAY 2 JULY

  Not so bad today, tho’ I have had dismal moments. We had a small brawl over something – I forget what. He said, ‘You fight with a tiger’s fearlessness but fortunately not with a tiger’s strength.’

  WEDNESDAY 3 JULY

  Today I said farewell to Paddington and go to St George’s tomorrow. I bought two Dundees and 2 walnut cakes for tea and gave Miss Hale ‘Texts and Pretexts’.

  I was rather tearful this evening. It is awful to be naturally sentimental and emotional. Williams, Ridout, Civval, Rimmer etc. all came to say goodbye and E loved me for 25 minutes in his room and I cried. On the whole I feel much less dismal. We got a taxi to Victoria – ‘A bad precedent,’ he said, but it was hot and there was an awful crowd at the bus stop.

  SATURDAY 6 JULY

  I have moved to St George’s. Thursday morning I listened to an interminable speech from Cheel handing me over his cases till my brain was in a whirl. I had a headache by lunchtime which was 1.45. E had given me up so I had a salad and he had an ice at Lyons. I was so tired by the time I got to Mac that I could hardly steady my fingers and I went to bed at 10.00 and turned the light off at 10.15. Since then I have felt a little better, but it is terribly slow work – every ca
se takes ages as I have to wade through all the correspondence. So far as I can judge the stuff is bigger and more varied and therefore more difficult but good experience, and not the volume of work there is in Paddington.

  This morning I felt rather dismal; I felt we were drifting apart, getting swept in different directions, but at 12.15 I took my Wales snaps to show him and we went to Victoria together with the new love bird (budgerigar) (Miss Muffett, yellow and lovely lime greenish). He said, ‘You seem to get a lot of dismal patches these days,’ and a minute or so later, ‘We must arrange to do some shows, and I might be able to go for a walk next Saturday.’ At the station I said, ‘I don’t want you to scratch your head just because you think I’m looking dismal.’ He was, I think, quite surprised that I should have connected the two things – anyway, he was quite moved and emphatically denied any connection. I’d been thinking about it the whole morning. One is queerly made – I felt much better after that exchange.

  TUESDAY 9 JULY

  It has been too hot today but in spite of the heat I have felt better. Only two callers and I have tackled two of the sticky cases. Between them they took me the whole morning and part of the afternoon. Lunch in the Park with E, who was nice. I told him I should be grumpy and edgy. He told me about a Chinese book he had just begun. We have almost decided to go for a walk on Saturday to the Chilterns. This evening quite suddenly he kissed me and said, ‘You’re quite thin, you know.’ I said, ‘You are funny’ – I suppose I must be very sensual – I loved him to kiss me. Yet apart from the physical pleasure I think the more important thing is that I like to feel he wants to – that it gives him satisfaction – that he still likes me actively. He said, ‘Someone’s got to begin – we should wait a long time if I waited for you to begin.’ I often feel like it but I really think he prefers to think he has to ‘warm me up’.