by Ultan Macken
If only something would happen soon – or even the promise of something – one never knows DV.
And now, dear child – I feel more like saying – I must get back to mouldy work – I still haven’t thought of an editorial – I’ll have to wait until tomorrow and perhaps Daddy would really produce something – but I am so mixed up and mouldy without you that I cannot settle down to write.
Good night, God bless you – and me, my dear,
Peggy
Fri: Wally dear, just got letter from you, but you never said when you were coming back!
Some of the difficulties experienced by the couple are clearly illustrated in the following letter.
Phone Galway 21 5 The Crescent,
Grams: Kenny Journalist Galway.
Fri. night – at home, 6.35 p.m.
Leaning on my knee, I’m writing this. Wally dear, as the old lady once (or did she?) said – you have my heart broken! Yours was such an unsatisfactory letter. I read frantically to the end to see when were you coming back to me – and lo and behold, not a word about it – just a terse farewell at the end – I want you back with me so badly that I’m prepared to forgive all and do anything you want me to do.
I’ll go to Rhodesia and farm – honestly – anything. And I mean it, really I do, and I always keep my word too, even though I have the unfortunate habit of turning up late darling, I‘ll even go out to Clifden with you to see that awful concert after Christmas if you want me to do that. What more can I do?
I do hope you answer my missive and put me out of my suspense, Wally; oh why didn’t you send me a wee message yesterday? If you only knew the miserable day I had, you wouldn’t leave me like that. Darling, I have just got your wire and my heart is lifted accordingly – so I’ll stop writing rubbish and send this to your house. Your bus gets in, I know at 3.30, so I’ll come out to meet you at 6.30 at our usual spot – will that do?
Peggy
The next letter also again highlights how miserable my mother was when she didn’t see my father:
Friday 1.15 p.m.
My dear,
I don’t know how I am, so prithee forgive in time if I reach even greater heights of incoherency than usual. First of all as I anticipated I have had greater trouble all the morning over that old case I told you about [a court case brought against the paper] – admittedly it was my fault to a certain extent but I did not half get it in the neck. Of course, I was feeling so down already that I practically faded out and whisper it easy, I shed many tears of self-pity – I know that is what they were. I wish you could see my face now – my eyes are in a lovely state.
But enough of that gloom. I want to leave here early today and complete my Christmas shopping, but am only just finishing now; alas Pa has gone out, of course, although I did expect something editorial.
But that’s the way, and time has taught me to expect no better. I am still in a muddle as to how exactly I am to produce two papers next week. Let’s hope they turn out all right. I need hardly repeat that I have started missing you already.
If you could have seen me this morning, I am sure you would have taken me with you on the spot. It is a pity that it is not possible. I have got so many lectures this morning about that one slip that I have decided that I am incompetent, untrustworthy and unfit for my job etc., etc. I was not exactly told that but I am surmising it myself. Note all the slips, my fingers refuse to behave themselves even moderately well – when, I think of you and me I get several pains, my dear.
And now, I have to do without your cheerful self for a whole week – it seems interminable now – I am full of good resolutions again this morning – to pray for us – and more. I shall be looking forward to your letter tomorrow – TG for that at least – but I shall miss you terribly – I know it now – I knew it yesterday. It is no use my trying to write anymore – I don’t feel capable of anything coherent – tomorrow I shall be better perhaps, may you have a happy Christmas, and think lots of Peggy.
In my mother’s next letter, she again conveys something of the loneliness she feels, although Harry Casey appears to be still around:
The Connacht Tribune.
21st December 1935
How are you, my own dear – we are snowbound, frost bound here, and everything horrible possible – when I was not killed coming in this morning I never will be! I was so glad to get your letter, it arrived by the first post, but I got a kind of shock when I saw it was so short, but I know you could not help that. TG for this day week anyway – my whole self is focused on that now.
But don’t worry, I thought lots about you since – and am still – Wally, you are everywhere with me, so cheer up. I spent a very harassing day yesterday – I told you already about the fracas of the morning, and yesterday afternoon I spent shopping with Ma – expending on the family Christmas presents – with the result that I am practically broke, sad but true. I am glad you liked the pullover, but please tell me if there was anything wrong. And now for yesterday evening. Harry arrived just at 7 after an awful drive over, and I went to the Jesuits choir practice at 7.30 by special request of Fr O’Farrell. I was not back until after 8, so Harry stayed with the family.
By this time, it was a shocking night – intense cold and frost – impossible to walk, so we stayed en famille for the night. I have developed a lovely cold, so went to bed early. Harry left just before 11 and I went straight to bed. It is now 1 p.m. and I have been hard at it all the morning – so the papers are beginning to take shape. I dread going out, it is so slippy, although I have the bike. I have still got to get some things.
Oh Wally, my dear, I miss you terribly – I spent hours looking into the fire last night thinking of you and us – I am sure they all wonder why I am getting so quiet. But my dear, it is you – what more can I say?
I love you,
Your very lonely,
Peggy
From this time on, my mother’s letters are less restrained in her expression of her feelings for my father. She seems to have written quite a few letters during that Christmas period:
The Connacht Tribune.
Monday, December 23rd 1935
Good morning, darling, it is only 9.30 and I am here since 9.05, working hard, but am going to try to get this off before Jack and Daddy etc. come rushing in. I kept thinking of you and I – somehow I cannot separate us at all now. Saturday I spent the afternoon walloping hard [working in the newspaper office], and after tea went to the Savoy with Harry – it was freezing hard, and I brought him home to supper and dispatched him early – at 11.15 to be precise. Yesterday he came to dinner and afterwards we went to the Savoy matinee – and by the way the picture was disappointing – came home to tea and sat en famille all night – in other words he had only about an hour alone with me in all.
He was to leave this morning at 9 en route for Cork [Harry was a primary school teacher and may have been teaching in a Galway school during this period] – I hope he gets on all right – the roads are awful. And now, you have my weekend, my dear, and I am terrified I shall slip and break my neck – it is a pity that you are not here to hold me up. Wally, it seems ages since Friday – will it ever be next Friday?
11 a.m. – being a continuation of same.
My dear, I was so disappointed – I thought I would get a letter from you for sure, and the Connemara post has come in – at least I have McHugh’s stuff but nothing from you. Are you as frost-bound and frozen as we are? I suppose so, but please, please, Wally, come back for sure on Friday, no matter how you work it – won’t you?
Wally, it must be the grand passion – really and truly. I’ll have lots to tell you when you come back. How grand it sounds – but I wish Friday had dawned, and I would feel happier. If only we got a break somehow, I would make a dash for it anytime.
I must really stop, darling, unless I get time to write more, but it’s doubtful, as we have a bit of a rush today – I do hope I get a letter from you my dearest.
Your distracted,
Peggy
&
nbsp; The letter she was waiting for from my father finally arrived on the same day, so she immediately wrote yet another letter in response:
The Connacht Tribune.
23rd December 1935
This is Monday, my dear, and I have just got the mid-day post and TG your letter, so I am going to begin mine for tomorrow – as I have the chance. I am sorry I bothered you on Friday with that tale of my tears – everything in that direction has panned out all right so far TG and I have heard nothing more since. My life is a blank – old stuff but true nevertheless – and I was awfully glad to get your letter. I shall be there on Friday night at 7.30 on the dot – let’s hope that the frost will be gone by that time darling.
Darling, I so want to talk to you again, and waive all my troubles away, and Wally, don’t swear so much – your letter was full of it – I’m only joking, my dear, they brought you closer than ever. I wonder what are you doing now? And I wish I was there no matter what it is. This going away business really drives me crazy – honestly it is no exaggeration – it gets me down – probably that is why I wept so much on Friday – they were very bitter tears too and my eyes were a treat for the rest of the day. Harry thought it was my cold, and I did not disillusion him.
At this moment, Desmond is sitting beside me frantically sending off Christmas cards – and from indications to hand, his postbag would seem to rival at least President Roosevelt’s.
Wally, it is ages since we had a decent walk – don’t you wish it was spring and we could fare forth – and how lovely early summer will be. Think of all the millions of things we could be doing Darling, darling, you are in my mind all the time – think lots of me. I must stop now until tomorrow, the ‘Sentinel’ is just ready – au revoir, my own dear.
This next letter is a short note from my father; although it is written on Taibhdhearc headed-paper, I think it might have been written from Ballinasloe where he had been sent to do some drama work in the local schools:
Wednesday 2.30
Liam Ó Briain has gone away for the Whit [weekend] and left us two Joe Soaps sitting on our hindies [hind-legs] holding the bag. The dear professor will not return until Tuesday evening which means that we will not have to go until Wednesday which means that this chicken will be waiting for you when you come on Wednesday night – whatever time you come. So if you get this in time try and let me know how I will be able to see you on Wednesday because I will have to see you. So wire or write but please figure it out darling, and let me know.
Next is a letter written by my father from Rosmuc, where he had again gone to improve his Irish:
c/o Post Office, Rosmuc.
12.20 p.m.
My very darling Peggy,
I might as well, love, break the bad news early. There is no bus on Sunday but there is one on Sunday week. I can, however, manage to get in on some other day. The bus leaves at 9.30 from here. I’m telling you all this love so that you won’t say again that I am trying to be diplomatic and writing the bad news at the bottom of the letter. I am writing this at the window-sill and the moon is peeping in. This Rosmuc is the most beautiful place I ever saw in my life. It would make an ideal setting for our love. But since my love is absent it has the gloomy appearance of a graveyard.
The house I’m in is not too bad. It has slates on it anyway and that’s something. I haven’t had time to explore the countryside but please God I will start early in the morning. Mind you darling, my Irish is not so bad as I thought it was. All it needs is a good brushing up. Criostóir [Mac Aonghusa, a local teacher and radical writer] and his wife are terribly nice really. Not what I imagined he would be. He is very literary, has French and all the latest books and plays on the very tips of his fingers. Painting too, he seems to know all about it, so at least, I won’t be without somebody to talk too.
I miss you terribly my love. The bed doesn’t look too bad and the place appears to be clean. It is now 12.30 and we were talking in Criostóir’s house for ages, all about the Taibhdhearc and all in Irish so that it is a relief to get back to the mother tongue.
I love you indubitably and irrevocably, so please darling don’t miss me too much (and don’t miss me too little) so the best thing you can do is become a living paradox in order to satisfy the cravings of the young man who is mad, potty, lunatic, crazy about you and who will not rest until he slips a little band of gold upon your finger. This place will give me the inspiration of how to marry you. I will make it my problem and solve it somehow somewhere. After all it is only a problem, the same as any other and I will try putting it down on paper and working to a solution and ending at the jolly old altar rails. I will finish this in the morning if I have time before the bus goes. And I will go to bed now and dream about you and cry because I miss you so much. God bless you and me. I love you – until death, my own darling.
Your Wally until Hell freezes over
In this letter from my mother, it refers to my father being away, presumably still in Rosmuc:
Thursday 1 p.m.
Wally – I am simply raging with you – I have just got your missive saying you are not coming, but I suppose you cannot help it – but you are missing the best opportunity we are ever likely to have – Daddy and Lou [her stepmother], BOTH OF THEM mind, went to Dublin this morning until Saturday night, by car, and I had fond hopes of you and I having that long awaited peaceful evening by the fire tonight and we could have repeated it tomorrow night – however, it cannot be helped.
Here is another letter from my father, written from Rosmuc:
Rosmuc.
Tuesday 6.30 p.m.
My darling Peggy,
You may have composed a lot and you may have written and published a lot but you never wrote as nice a letter. It was charming, my love and rose the old spirits accordingly and God knows they would want some raising because right now the rain is lashing and the wind howling. I will be in on Saturday and if your family are away on Sunday we will have a beautiful long Sunday, thank the Gods. The bus leaves at 9.30 and gets to Galway at around 11.30. Well then I can stay until Monday when the bus leaves as usual at 7 in the evening. Then I will be home for good on Friday morning at 11.30 and Friday being your half-day we will have a big long time and so on ad infinitum.
Weds 10.30 p.m.
You will note my own darling that I didn’t continue after tea yesterday evening and I hope you will forgive my lapse but the cursed rain was so damn depressing that I felt that if I didn’t get anybody to talk to I would go nuts. So I journeyed to Criostóir’s and we talked everything and taking it in turns we read Omar Kayan [Khayyam], and believe me love his philosophy was balm to my troubled soul. I got wet then and went to my lonely couch.
The sun is shining a little today and it looks as if it is going to be fine. I think I will take bathing togs and will climb a mountain, strip and get burned. If you wanted a dip here you would probably have to walk about forty miles.
Your letter yesterday was really beautiful. It gave me strength to bear the Rosmuc yoke. You can’t honestly believe how lonely it is here without you and it could be such a different place if only you were here. There are so many places where we could lose ourselves and talk and look at one another. This love business is really terrible. I can’t go anywhere without you love, you are with me everywhere. There is only one solution and that is to get married as soon as God is good and issues the permit …
I have been reading here as well. Criostóir has a most com-prehensive library. I have read Goethe’s Faust, plays by Lady Gregory, a beautifully sordid book by Liam O’Flaherty and a short story collection with stories by all the leading writers including James Joyce, Seán Ó Faoláin, Liam O’Flaherty, Mary Arden, Bates, Houseman and a million others. It is a great primer for technique.
I think the time for your letter will never come, I want it so much. You see I love you and I become impatient if I am not with you and the only way to satiate my impatience is to feed it something, your letters feed mine but is only like nibbling in compariso
n to how I want you. And all that is written in the cold light of the morning I pause after every little while and start thinking about you, and how much I love you and where our future lies and what are God’s intentions towards us. It is in places like this that you come into contact with God but you are very likely to rebel and that is the terrible thing.
You know I love you Peggy darling and it feels like Saturday will never come. Two days seem so long before I see you again but thank God it is better than a week hence. I love you and always will and please don’t ever question it because its roots are too deep to be uprooted.
Goodbye darling, I miss you an awful lot,
I’ve terrible feelings that I’ll die if I don’t see you soon,
Your old Wally
Here is a letter from my mother, writing about what she sees as good and bad love letters:
Wednesday night. In my office – ahem and so forth
It is now 7.25 p.m. exactly and there is a slight slackening of the rope – I mean metaphorically of course – I am seizing my jolly old typewriter and shall seek to reply in some small measure to your MSS. Wally. I must say I enjoyed very much your description of those love letters – but may I be permitted to voice my opinion? From the viewpoint of a mere female I speak – and an alleged blonde at that …
Anyhow, to be mundane and matter-of-fact once more I cherish or rather relish, distinct memories of a nasty schoolboy calling me Carrots long ago – mind that long ago – when I used wield a camán for my first Alma Mater – Taylor’s Hill. I knew not that I have reached Page 2 [of her letter] – I’ll best you to it yet – I’m sure that Daddy, who is next door doing the leaders, thinks I’m doing something great – if he only knew.
