by Mary Wesley
Biene rode alone this morning and the pony lay down – ‘how wet are my trousers!’ She is quite imperturbable, a very large good-humoured Gretchen …
I was amused that Yves’s mother wrote to him to take a bath every two days or so, as ‘over there they even have one every day!’ …
Another comrade from South America has written to Biene to ask whether she is alright or wants anything, this time in English. Biene has entrusted me with the job of replying! If I don’t look out I shall have the whole former S.S. and Reichsbank here …
Clapham Common – 31.7.57
… Yesterday was a nice day. I had a hair wash. My man [barber] now quietly does the Duke of Edinburgh (I discovered this outside, never a word inside Penhaligon; and if you ask they don’t answer). But I couldn’t get him, so I had the really old man, at least 80 (who does Churchill; some deaf ear if you ask). He, too, lives on the Common and remembers … the daily coach and four from the Plough to the Mansion House. When I said I was delighted by the negroes in the Crucifixion Scenes of the stained-glass windows in Wilberforce’s church he said: ‘Yes, and by what I’ve seen of the district lately’ (Brixton is full of Jamaicans) ‘we’ll have some white men in the windows one of these days’ …
I was given lunch by Nat, and made to talk and listen to Holt, a mediocre but far from witless MP from Bolton. They more or less offered me job as Vice Chairman of Publicity; Frank Owen having been sacked some time ago, because he didn’t do any work. Don’t worry. I don’t think they can pay anything, let alone my salary. But we had a fascinating talk about policy as well as publicity, and I expect I shall be asked to meet Jo Grimond, the allegedly enchanting (but rather colourless) Leader. The party is in a bad way. No money. No organisation …
The German National Bank has been replaced by a new Central Bank; and the new Governor is Blessing! (I must find out if they use Portal’s paper, for which I made him the agent …)
Children are playing out in the air … fishing in the ponds, someone is spade-ing coal, the cars whizz by and sound like waves breaking … I must trot round the ponds, while they make my bed. My landlady treated me to a tirade at breakfast about … the immense superiority of the Germans to the English! She also thinks ‘Yorkshire Guest House’ a trifle common, and would like to call our lodgings ‘Cheltenham Lodge’. The young Welsh mother, whose husband is seventeen, showed me two pretty breasts, which I can’t possibly turn into anything more sublime than what they are … so I had better put my spare desires into five pages a day …
At Thornworthy it is changeover day. Thierry, Yves and Michel leave, but the girls stay on.
Thornworthy – 31.7.57
… My first new boy French (partly black) from Tananarive arrived last night. Being used to giants I firmly stopped the first French boy I saw on the station and led him to the car only to discover he was a white Russian called Vladimir who thought I was a Mrs Fortescue. I disengaged myself and discovered Jacques, who is a very small very dark sixteen.
At eight this morning thankfully pushed Germaine’s grandson and Michel into Rice’s taxi. ‘Au revoir!’ I cried with joy. Michel’s spite was dispersed by my casually remarking that as they did not seem to get on very well, the day to be spent in London would be more enjoyably spent apart, before rejoining to catch the plane. Michel was terrified.
Yesterday morning we had the row royal – the children said my command of the French language was something to be heard! While I was fetching Valerie, Michel, knowing full well we have to ask Lady W. each time we borrow the boat, rather than wait twenty minutes, took it. I am glad to say he caught nothing, except from me and I couldn’t believe I was saying what I thought with such verve! Later I sent him to thank Lady Waller for the use of the boat. I had of course rung her up and asked for it the moment I found he had gone, so she never knew, but I did not tell him this.
Fin de vacances as you say and he has failed all his exams while Yves and Giselle passed them with ease. [He is now] going to be in the same class as his considerably younger sister. I expected a cool parting but after I had kissed Yves and pushed him into the taxi Michel flung his arms round my neck kissed me and said, ‘Au revoir et merci merci pour tout.’ So there were no hard feelings, until I found they had gone off with the lavatory plug as a joke and Yves had left his corsets behind …
The earnest Salem boy telegraphed optimistically that he was arriving at Victoria at 4 tomorrow. ‘We can’t have this’ I cried to the nice man giving me the telegram. ‘Send him the message to catch the 3.30 from Paddington!’ ‘But madam, he does not arrive till 4. Would it not be better to send him a telegram telling him to catch the 5.30 from Paddington?’ ‘What would I do without you?’ I cried. ‘I don’t know, madam, but the 5.30 seems to me best and your name is Siepmann isn’t it?’
Giselle says that Biene says some English moved away from her and her sister when they heard them talking German … Schacht seems a bit touchy …
All my love,
M.
Clapham Common – 1.8.57
… August is here and I have been at my desk. A scorching day. The children are playing some sort of ‘ronde’ outside, with incantations (as they did outside my window in Spain) …
The Liberals have sent me literature but (you may be glad to hear) no offer …
Times continues nice, at what is called my level … They refused Betty Stucley’s excellent article on Clapham and ‘Oliver Edwards’ is both conceited and shaming (alter ego of the editor’s outward personality, which is ultra-reserved, shy. I haven’t even met him). I shall put in for trips before I leave … Peter Fleming has just done one (Russia) so they can afford ‘names’ (which they don’t print) and probably don’t need me …
The late Jane Austen is funny, because spiteful. She wrote 3 in her twenties, and 3 at 40. I prefer the late, spiteful ones …
Tomorrow week!
Thornworthy – 2.8.57: 1am
… Gert despatched by Prince George of Hanover into my tender care telegraphs to say that delayed by the Bank Holiday crowds he is arriving at 2.56am at Exeter. The poor boy is on the Penzance train and has been stranded in London … In an hour without my interpreter I am off to collect because there is no taxi and I cannot go to bed and leave him stranded again sans anything in Exeter which closes shop at eleven …
Loud shrieks from Brussels that Yves had left his corsets behind … £10 extra is coming from Brussels because of ‘the immense trouble’ I have taken and ‘Yves looks so well’ …
I am all for you reforming the Liberal Party. You might begin by drowning Violetfn43 in her flow of conversation …
I have discovered through this caper of mine that what you used to call my talent for men is a form of lunacy which mesmerises the young into doing what they are told and respecting me as well.
Biene, ever practical and extremely clever for fourteen, is delighted that Gert speaks Spanish as she is going to learn from him. Her French is greatly improved where it was pathetically non-existent before, and her English wonderfully so, considering no one speaks anything here but French. She wants to be a doctor but on the other hand she and Conny her sister may take on Schacht’s Bank. Steam roller girl, she’s a darling.
Philippe Meunier looks like a faun with green eyes and fair hair and rides beautifully. His parents have a house in Paris, a house in the country and his grandfather at 87 teaches him dressage. I foresee rocks but am amply warned. Also his mother has cleverly provided him with no money so that he can’t go far. So I hope. Very nice manners …
I can’t wait to see Gert (and get to bed) …
I am going to be very uppish and snob next year and pick and choose. After all I have refused twenty! The better bred the better they wash up and no nonsense about being rich here …
It was Fitzrandolph who told Biene the English would leave if they heard German spoken … Schacht began life by wishing to be a clergyman but became a banker instead. He must be greatly misled if he relies on people like Fitz �
� Curiously like Harry …
All all my love …
PS I used to ride on Clapham Common (a riding school) and the man said I had a wonderful seat!
Thornworthy – 3.8.57
… I never found my German boy after all. I am so tired I have even forgotten his name … I reached home without him at 4 in the morning and found two bats in the bedroom. Went to sleep with the dogs chasing the bats in the dairy …
At seven the telephone rang and Gert Stoeckle was at Exeter having become inextricably mixed up with a Bank Holiday World Jamboree of Boy Scouts of all nations crossing to England where he has never been before and knows nobody … Arrived by bus and the village grapevine about eleven bright green with the fatigue of fifty hours from Stuttgart! …
He has really good manners … Vive the Germans! Biene at fourteen far younger than any of the others shouts commands in ringing tones. ‘Vill you all come and vash up now, it is time!’ … They all obey her without question …
Monsieur Philippe Meunier, who is rapidly and to his intense surprise being taught to ‘vash up also’ will soon be adorning the bar of Chez Francis using whatever funds he can extract from his Mum …
Gert and Biene have just come to say goodnight and kiss and click heels. The French are smoking and playing Radio Paris. I am in your room and just about to hurry into bed, switching off the telephone as I go …
All my love,
M.
Authors’ Club – 4.8.57
… I have discovered a wonderful bus. I walk two minutes across the Common and find myself on a hill looking down over Battersea Fun Fair. A sixpenny bus ride takes me down the hill to Sloane Square and Knightsbridge … The Common (if your beautiful seat remembers) is on top of a high hill! This accounts for the breezes.
Breezes or no breezes, I don’t like living alone. And I am very worried indeed about Billy. However we have made our plans, and we must try to carry them out …
But I would like to visit Billy soon …
Thornworthy – 4.8.57
I have, I think, survived the most ferocious German invasion yet! Good God! We got back from mass and the Mayfair Hotel telephoned to say ‘a Mr Siepmann was coming to stay with a Miss Miller’. Instantly after lunch Biene and I dashed to Exeter expecting a timid lost German boy. We did not find him because he was heavily accompanied into enemy territory and camouflaged by an ENORMOUS mama and a still larger German friend to act as interpreter and … to see the house. Somehow we got them all into the little car and I had German mama and friend to tea, took their money off them, explained it is no use Gustav coming here unless he is prepared to do exactly what I tell him, wash up, make his bed and keep alles in ordnung. ‘I can’t be bothered with all this counting of money’ was what hit them hardest.
Gustav looks like a terrified Robert Morley.
[Meanwhile] Biene, Giselle and Gert were collapsed with laughter in the garden room. Gert is my new treasure. Comes of a family who thought Germany too horrible for words and hopped to South America in 1919 … Like Biene I would gladly keep him for ever.
Meanwhile the three Frogs had escaped my clutches, joined up with more Frogs from Madame Watkinson and rang up from Exeter. ‘We are in Exeter … we can get home by 10 o’clock.’ ‘You will come home immediately’ I said. ‘Je m’en fous royalement du cinéma. Prenez le bus.’ ‘Bien, madame.’ Later … I was telephoned again. ‘On a manqué le bus.’ ‘Je m’en etc … You will take a taxi and pay for it. Your parents did not send you to me to talk French and I am not going to sit up and get you supper at ten.’
They came home in a taxi and paid. It cost a lot they said. ‘I knew it would’ I said. Good humour all round. The top Germans Biene, Gert and Giselle tickled to death. I now have seven till Thursday.
Robert Morley’s parents never even bothered to write and say when he was coming here, let alone telegraph. ‘Extraordinarily odd and rude,’ I explained to the interpreter. They belong to the unsquashed German business class, and were perplexed to death. I was at my most grandiose so they became servile. All Robert Morley needs is a little me and he is going to get it.
Toby has written that he will hitch hyke [sic] from Quarr on the 11th or 12th so we expect that one when we see him. Roger of course is being left to bring all the luggage …
Much touched by Nat’s letter. Unless Edith wishes to step into a madhouse I cannot have her.fn44 That is the week there may be a Schacht invasion.
I am retreating to bed having cruelly put Robert Morley in to sleep with Philippe …
Philippe is the sort who like Toby wheedles the maids, but being Toby’s mother I am not wheedleable …
Clapham Common – 6.8.57
My love,
Your bulletins have become more amusing than ever … I beg to point out that ‘je m’en fous’ is indecent (the ‘f’ being similar in both languages) …
I arrive at Exeter Central at 5am on Friday … Please leave the front door open. Thank God you are relieved of two by Thursday! I am sorry to miss Giselle, as they have become characters in fiction to me …
I have a plan to interview Schacht for Encounter [I have come] up against the hard fact that at 54, I am more than unemployable. So vive le plan … It will be heavenly to have my study … I stood in the middle of the Common yesterday and was overcome by the smell of people …
Clapham Common – 7.8.57
My Pol,
I really do rejoice at these tributes in cash and adjectives to your success … It’s obviously more than a gift; it’s genius …
I could go down to Billy (if necessary) alone by sleeper on September 13th … I can’t afford it of course; but I don’t want to ‘lose’ him.
Thank you very much for the £1! Which will save me from the annoyance of letting Harry pay for lunch in my own club today …
I am utterly routed and demoralised by the difficulty of working in London … I shall tell Harry today that, at least, I am not interested in door-to-door Encyclopaedia salesmanship! On the other hand, I’m not sure I’ve achieved much by sub-ing at The Times. Respectability, yes. But people so quickly accept that you have accepted to be there – at the bottom of the tree …
Eric took a week’s leave from The Times to return to Thornworthy.
Thornworthy – 13.8.57
My Love,
Pain at parting, though perhaps you thought not …
Biene practically in tears of rage and despair on being reminded by her sister to remember her mother’s birthday, the 50th … She emitted what Toby called ‘a stream of German’ … so I sent her out round the lake with Toby and this afternoon we bought a horrid piece of pottery … and cheered her up …
[Biene said] ‘Each year she tells us she is younger and does not let us see her passport … Now she is fifty I will send her a present but never again, she is too old!’ I told her how Vera’s son at 27 had asked Vera how old he was to tell his squadron leader [his age], as she [still] said she was 30. This gave great pleasure.
Roger arrived and has rushed out with his new gun …
Junior Army & Navy Club
Horse Guards Avenue, SW1 – 14.8.57
I had a most agreeable and campari-vin rosé lunch with Jack [Beddington] and I have just been delivered at the Junior Army and Navy (of which no one has ever heard) …
He extended complete [belief] to my statement that drinking was no longer a problem; and that this was due to Catholicism …
I begin daily work on The Joys of Marriage on Friday …
Thornworthy – 14.8.57
… The love song which began to worry me last night as ‘Steerforth’ Philippefn45 after a good deal of showing off his prowess and winning tremendous devotion from Jacques has ceased, and he has had a considerable tumble. Wonnacott has asked that he should no longer ride the pony Sally unless accompanied by me or Roger … [because] he has strained the pony’s back …
Philippe, dreadfully ashamed, has switched his attention rapidly to Toby and been taken out on the la
ke … Atmosphere of disaster, saved by Roger and Biene and by a carefully considered joke of mine. I shout ‘I want one “Roast Beef” one “Frog” and one “Sale Boche” to help me wash up!’ This is considered wonderful except by Gugu (Gusti) who has gone to look it up in his dictionary …
Jacques sat up far too late alone with Philippe last night so that I descended, to find them playing cards, and dispatched them to bed …
Dear me, what a bore. However it always happens at that age and I suppose there is nothing I can do to stop it … I think Jacques is probably a natural as we thought, and Philippe both. How conscious it is I don’t know nor how much I can curb it. They all seem to be learning everything but English here …
M.
Horse Guards Avenue, SW1 – 15.8.57
… I didn’t work today as I went to High Mass at Westminster [Feast of the Assumption – holy day of obligation] … The music was marvellous, and the vestments white. Christ was immense on his huge cross, and the choir tapered away into the green heights behind that gate with its strange yellow pillars and pointed arch through which millions of the dead have gone. When I walked down Victoria Street afterwards the two Abbey towers soared in the sky, but the Abbey needs cleaning.
I suppose the Reformation was necessary – and something was lost for ever; one cannot rebuild what one has destroyed. One can only start again; but, like the English Catholic convert, one recaptures what one can …
Thornworthy – 15.8.57
… Paul [Ziegler] has told Toby he will help him get into Warburg’s. Will you ask Harry or shall I write to him later on? Toby has told Carol and Averilfn46 he is going to decide for himself what he is going to do and not to be interfered with. Apparently Averil torments her son to death to become a chartered accountant and he paints …
M.
Clapham Common – 16.8.57
… My gas is on! and outside the winter is cold and dark grey. This makes my attic more attractive. Your delightful letters are beside me. It is worrying about Steerforth. Shall I write and tell him about Lord Montagufn47 (‘en Angleterre, c’est tres grave’)?! …
