Thursday 25 March Norman Bentwich & I had a Little Talk, my love. As the story of his ‘Retirement’ from the RAF seems to be Common Knowledge, in your part of the world (Aubrey mentioned that he had heard that he, Norman, had Mislaid the Order of Battle) I don’t think, as I did at first, that I shall be Guilty of a Breach of the Official Secrets Act if I tell you All as the finest example of Willy Nilly that has ever come my way.
Before he Severed his Connection with the Air Ministry, darling, Norman had become Staff Officer to the Assistant Chief of Air Staff (Plans). Some months ago, preparations were made for an Operation which has since been successfully carried out. These preparations included a fine array of Plans & Norman, as Staff Officer to ACAS(P) had the custody of them & I need not tell you, my dear love, that they were only called ‘Most Secret’ because there is no more recherché Category of Secrecy in the Air Ministry. One morning, my love, he was Playing with his Plans when he suddenly remembered that there was an unposted letter in his pocket explaining to Yehudi Menuhin why he ought to take the Third Movement of a Celebrated Violin Concerto a little more slowly in places. When I tell you, my love, that Yehudi Menuhin was proposing to play this Concerto in Philadelphia ten days from the date of the Incident you will understand the complete boulversement that Came Over Norman when he remembered the letter was still in his pocket. He stuffed the plans into his outside tunic pocket & dashed away to the nearest Post Office to get an Air Mail Stamp. When he got there, darling, imagine his Consternation at not being able to find the letter. He emptied his pockets which were bulging with papers & at last found it. In order to Relieve the Congestion, my love, he dropped some of the other papers on the floor & went back to the Air Ministry to Proceed with the Conduct of the War. The next morning the Cleaner of the Post Office found on the floor a set of Documents which were calculated to make her Curling Pins stand Straight On End. They were heavily over-stamped ‘MOST SECRET’ and the Old Girl received the strongest impression that they Didn’t Orter Be There. She stuffed them in her Bosom, my love, & went on with her Cleaning. After she’d wiped the remains of her Fifth Cup from her lips she went home to her airman son, who was on leave at the time & showed him the Documents. He took one look at them, darling and telephoned the CID who were so Impressed by his Firmness that they sent him off to Whitehall under Armed Escort. That was the end of Norman’s brief sojourn in the RAF. He did try to explain at the Court Marshall, darling, that there are Things Which Endure Longer than Plans & the Rendering of a Major Concerto was one of them but, with Hidebound Crassness, they refused to listen to him. Darling, the thing that’s Wrong with this World is that the vast majority of the population Lack a Proper Sense of Proportion. Norman does not belong to the Majority. It is a Beautiful Story, isn’t it, my dear love? When I heard it I shuddered & thought: ‘There But for the grace of God Go I’, only in my case, darling, it wouldn’t have been a letter to Yehudi Menuhin but a letter to my Solace that would have made me forget plans & any other points of Irrelevant & Trivial Detail that happened to be lying around at the time.
Darling, are you sure you want a wife of such excessive volubility? Thank you, my dear love, that’s exactly what I hoped you’d say. Please say it again, I’m never tired of hearing it.
Oh! My darling, I’ve had such a lovely evening. I couldn’t tear myself away from 6.30 to 10.30. Bernard & Jean & I discussed one Topic.
He said, in the first place, that he had always felt you had it in you to be a greater scholar than Aubrey because (i) although you seldom made use of them, you had in fact greater powers of concentration than Aubrey & (ii) because you had a wider & deeper intellect. He added, my dear love, that you should never have touched psychology because psychology at the stage it had reached today was essentially the happy hunting-ground of the Charlatan & of all the men he, Bernard, had ever met you had the least element of charlatanism in you – which is only another way of saying, my darling, what I am always saying & that is that you are the most intellectually & emotionally honest & clear-sighted person in the world. Remember that it is not your little girl speaking but Bernard Lewis – a man who has an unusually high opinion of himself & yet who spoke of you with real humility as a person of richer & finer intellect & character than he could ever hope to attain. Oh! my darling, I’m so tremendously proud of you.
Do you realize, my darling, that Jean & Bernard have been married for 3 years? It doesn’t seem fair, does it, my dear love? I said as much last night with irrepressible Bitterness & added (thereby Perpetrating the year’s most Tactless Remark!) that perhaps we’d live longer than they would! However, darling, there was No Harm Done because they Saw My Point & Took it Very Generously, Considering.
Bernard told me the whole story of Aubrey & his ex-Young Woman on the way to the tube & he showed me snapshots of her too. I gather that her life was one long Tennis Party cum Swimming Bee. Hardly a Fitting Partner for Aubrey, my love, so perhaps it was All For The Best After All.
I don’t think, darling, that Mrs Eban would have wanted l’affaire Joyce-Aubrey to develop. She found Joyce cold & artificial & Lord Nathan gave her No End of a Nasty Shock when she saw him for the first time.
Sunday 28 March My darling, Heartbreak House wasn’t over until nearly 10 & I wasn’t home until nearly 11.30.
Estelle & I met, darling, in Leicester Square Tube Station &, with characteristic Dynamic Vigour, she swept me before I knew what was happening, into a Slum Public House of such Cob-webbed & Evil Aspect that I felt that this was indeed my first Venture into the Celebrated London Underworld. There were a few sailors about the place & one or two Threadbare Professional Bruisers but Estelle, nothing daunted, ordered a Port & a Sherry. ‘Sorry,’ said the bar-tender firmly, ‘We Don’t Serve Ladies – It’s against the Law.’ ‘What?’ exclaimed Estelle, in ringing tones. ‘In this Day & Age? – & they try & inveigle us poor women into the Services. Poo!’ ‘Sorry,’ said the bar-tender Uncomfortably. ‘I didn’t make the Law …’ whereupon we Swept Out. Estelle Raged all the way to the Theatre & tried to persuade me to Write to the Papers about it. I shrugged, darling. I said: ‘Oh! well, it doesn’t really worry me. I’m sure they can’t have mistaken us for Ladies of the Town.’ ‘What?’ she said. ‘You think they didn’t? Well! That is adding Insult to Injury.’
Darling, it looks as though Mr Murray’s departure from S9 is much more Imminent than I expected. What a Heartly Sorrow. He is the only one of his kind – the others are all – Civil Servants, so no replacement will do. You know, my dear love, if you do come home soon, I shall try and get out of the Air Ministry into something more closely bound up with the Humanities. I don’t know what, but we shall have all the time in the world to consider it.
Monday 29 March Darling, I’m really worried about your constant tiredness. I wish you would see Dr Rosenberg & let him Look you Over. I have Great Faith in him, my darling, but if he recommends a Wild Oat – I was going to say Pay No Attention but I caught myself up just in time – I’m not as selfish as that, my dear love. If he says that’s what you need then, darling, that’s what you must have. Oh! God – but you must tell me, my dear love.
Mrs Crews’s young man is in what used to be Unoccupied France, my love. The Divorce papers are the papers that Severed her from Mr Crews, the man of whom she once said to me: ‘I dreamt about my husband last night. It was horrible. He came into my room & said something to me – I can’t remember what it was, but it was Obscene.’ (Reminiscently) ‘Yes, I’m quite sure it was Obscene.’
Oh! my darling, I really feel at the moment as though I were dying of love – not physically, you know, but emotionally. I’m choking with it & I just can’t bear to be away from you any longer. For the first time I feel that I would rather be dead than endure this indefinitely. You see, my darling, often there are times when I am not exactly unhappy – just numb & mechanical – but each time I am unhappy it’s a little more unendurable. I can’t stand to look ahead and see 10 months & perhap
s more than 10 months exactly like the last 10. I’d rather die & leave you free to love a girl who was beautiful & intelligent & maternal & economical & all the things that I am not. Darling, I don’t know what I’m saying. Pay no attention – I think I am a little hysterical tonight. I shall be sorry & ashamed in the morning. I’m sorry & ashamed now. I shall wait for you for ever & ever & be patient & brave for your sake & I swear I’ll make you happy too, though I’m not beautiful or maternal or economical & only intelligent in a very limited kind of way. Goodnight, my darling, & please, please forgive me. I would tear up this letter if it were not that you must see me exactly as I am with all my illogical changes of mood. Oh! I do love you, my darling.
Tuesday 30 March I feel a little better this morning, my darling, in spite of a terribly disturbed night.
I lunched with Jean today, darling, and she said that the Germans will be out of Africa in a fortnight & that before you know where you are you’ll be On Our Doorstep. (Inshallah! My darling, but I am, in fairness to myself, bound to remember that Jean forecast the Rout of Germany in Africa within a week of Christmas.)
Oh! my darling, my sudden blank despair last night was only temporary (I am truly more self-controlled & patient than that as a rule) but it was a sort of letting-go arising out of months & months of terrible sorrow & strain. I have never let go so completely before, my darling, & I hope I never shall again but you are my life & my spirit & as long as I’m separated from you I’m slowly suffocating in a tomb.
Friday 2 April Today, at 5.30, my dear love Miss Malyon’s Young Man is going to speak to her parents. She is in a Rare Twitter. With the Assured Air of One who has Left this Ordeal far behind, my darling, I told her that it was Never as Bad as you Expected. But in spite of my Grandiloquent Wave of the Hand and my Nonchalant air, my love, I remember what it was like to be sitting up in my bedroom pretending to read a Detective Story while what I was really doing was straining my ears to try and hear through the floor what was going on downstairs.
Saturday 3 April Darling, everything went splendidly for Pamela Malyon yesterday. She is radiating joie de vivre in all directions. Darling, when you & I have got to the stage of fixing a date for our marriage I shan’t be able to feel the ground under my feet at all. I shudder to think what will happen to my work during that time, my dear love. I shall spend my time authorizing such Reckless Expenditure, darling, that the Income Tax will have to go up to 15/- in the pound to cover it!
Monday 5 April I had a letter card from Aubrey, darling. I do enjoy Aubrey’s letters, my dear love, but I don’t see them in their Best Light on the days when I’m expecting letters from you. I gather that he is or soon will be with you, my darling, looking for Fresh Fields to Conquer. He seems to be a-weary of the East, my love, & vows that all Sinister Rumours that he intends to Desert the Flowing Gown for Nationalist Politics are nothing more than the Baseless Fancies of Wishful Thinking on the part of Mr Shertok. (He doesn’t use quite those words, darling, but they are none the less his idiom.) He says, darling, that if he is to play any part in the Political Future of Palestine in the post-war world it will have to be by Remote Control.
Wednesday 7 April Darling, it’s silly of you to say that you get a reputation for Cleverness by quoting my quotations & ideas. It isn’t the matter that counts, it’s the manner. Genius, my darling, consists very largely in Putting Across what oft was thought but ne’er so well expressed. Remember, my love, that Shakespeare never invented a plot in his life except The Merry Wives of Windsor & that is no Great Shakes as a plot. No, my darling, intelligent plagiarism is of the essence of good conversation & good writing. Please stop underestimating yourself. I take it as a Personal Affront. Darling, I can’t help admitting that I’m Hoping that, if I talk long enough and loud enough & persuasively enough, you will one day wake up to the fact that you are a Superlatively Good Thing & that I’m not the only person who thinks so.
Thursday 8 April Darling, your little Solace is Rill Ill, so much so that writing is a very painful and laborious process. By the time Dr Minton got here yesterday evening, my dear love, every gland in my head & neck had swollen to the size of a plover’s egg & was hurting horribly. Dr Minton says it’s one of two things – German Measles or Rundownness. Unless I break out into a cluster of spots today, darling, it isn’t German Measles. There is also a slight chance of it being Mumps. I hope by this afternoon Dr Minton will be able to say more definitely what’s the matter with me.
Pan & Dicky’s reports arrived this morning, my dear love. Dicky’s is Awful but Pan’s just couldn’t be better. He got a First in every subject.
Darling, Dr Minton says I have German Measles. It’s the most painful illness I’ve ever had – except Jaundice. (Dr Minton says I shall get better very quickly once the rash is past, my love.)
Oh! darling. Mrs Eban has just telephoned Mum to say that Aubrey has become an Uncle and that he is staying in Cairo with you. I’m so tremendously glad. I’m sure your Morale will go up by Leaps & Bounds while he’s with you.
Darling, Dr Minton says he’s never seen a more ferocious attack but that I’ve got a Resilient Constitution & no one has ever had the slightest ill effects after German Measles.
Sunday 11 April Darling, I had an undisturbed night & I have no temperature this morning. I’m getting better.
When I think of Miss Anderton, darling, I realize that however intelligent people may be they simply can’t educate themselves without some guidance. Her idea of improving her English is to study some bloody silly Pitman’s Publication called How to Express Yourself in English in fifteen lessons. Instead of poring over this Turgid Nonsense, my love, she ought to be reading Dr Johnson & Jane Austen. She’ll learn more from them in an hour than she could ever hope to learn from Pitman’s fifteen volumes. But she’s too old to start now, darling & I can’t advise her because she’s badly bitten with the Practical Bug. She thinks I am Impractical – that I have my Head in the Clouds & that therefore my advice is useless to her. I dare not say too much, my darling, because having left school at 15 & having fought bitterly for her very life against bullies of all sorts ever since, she is constantly & painfully on the defensive & might think that in criticizing her method of self-education, I was despising her.
Darling, there’s one thing I must tell you because I can’t keep anything from you – though I didn’t really want to talk about it. For several weeks I have been negotiating for Miss Anderton to see Sir Ernest Graham Little about her boils because she’s had them for 3 years & has been treated by Panel Doctors & Hospitals without the slightest effect. They haven’t even bothered to take a blood test, darling. All they’ve done is to Poultice her & send her away. I wrote a long letter to Sir Ernest about her several weeks ago & yesterday Lady Little rang up to say he would see her & would take charge of the whole treatment if need be. I’ve led Miss Anderton to believe that the AM are going to meet any expenses, darling, because she’d never accept the money from me, but actually I shall pay for the treatment. You see, my darling, I can’t bear to think that because she’s poor & a cripple this infection should be allowed to drag on & sap her strength as it has done for years. I want her to have the best care in the land as I should have myself, my darling – & now she’s going to have it. I know it is the right thing to do, my dear love, & I hope that if you knew her & the history of her medical treatment & her courage & strength of character, you would want me to do this. Darling, I know I can’t help the whole world – perhaps one day the Beveridge Plan will do that for me. But where I can help, I feel I must. You do understand, don’t you, my dear love?
Wednesday 14 April Tell Aubrey, my love, that I shall write to him as soon as I’ve got rid of my bread-and-butter birthday correspondence and (in reply to a Query) that, as far as I know, Bernard Waley Cohen is not having another Innings &, as far as I know again, never has had another since Joyce suddenly Saw Him All As a Pattern while she was in her bath one day. Needless to say, darling, She’s Never Be
en the Same Since. Aubrey does not know of the Revelation in the Bath, my love (Though I’m sure I told you at the time) because he’s never before mentioned Bernard. What he said in his last letter was: ‘What cheer of Joyce? I suspect some new period of Waley-Cohen intimidation. I used to recognize the symptoms in temporary apathy.’ I quote this, darling, so that you may know what Tone to adopt in handing on my message. Peggy Ungar tells me, darling, that Mrs Eban spent 3 solid years trying to persuade Aubrey’s cousin Charles to let her have a Glimpse of Joyce. Well! Well! Well!
Miss Anderton telephoned, my love, just before I went for my walk, to say that she’d seen Sir Ernest & that he had discovered that she’s had chronic appendicitis for years & that that is probably the cause of the boils. I shall have a full report from her tomorrow or the next day, darling. God! Darling, but it makes me furiously angry to think that she has been treated by three panel doctors & a hospital for her boils & none of them ever examined her carefully enough to find out that she had an inflamed appendix. Equality? It’s just as well that I’ve had a sedative – otherwise I’d be prancing about with Rage & Frustration.
Dr Minton came to see me very late last night & said I could go back to work on Monday. He told my parents that if there was the remotest chance of bringing us together they should seize upon it.
Twenty-six seems a great age today, my darling. I feel too old for the weather, my love, too old & too tired.
Friday 16 April My darling, I’m feeling so much better today that I hardly recognize myself. I’m going to meet Miss Bradbrook for lunch. Afterwards I shall go and have myself photographed for you in my new black dress with the tartan collar.
You know, my darling, it’s a queer thing but when I heard yesterday of Brigadier Kisch’s7 death I could, although I knew him very well, remember only one thing about him really vividly & that one thing coloured my whole impression of him as a rather prim & mimsy little man. When I was about 12 and a terrific Virtuoso with a Yo-Yo he asked me to stop playing with it ‘because the up-and-down, up-and-down is Very Agitating’. What a thing to remember a man by, my love, especially a man who lived to become a great expert on mechanized warfare! It’s a good thing I wasn’t Called Upon to write his Obituary notice, isn’t it, darling?
Love in the Blitz Page 41