This is my seventh day without drink (alcohol)! On coming back from London I felt so fed up with it I decided to lay off for a week. On the whole I haven’t missed it, but it’s a bit awkward socially.
I was delighted to have your letter this morning. Fancy you watching TV, or trying to watch it. You don’t mention other people specially in the hotel: has A. Nellie not ‘cottoned on’ to your fellow-guests as she usually does?
I actually bought some broad beans and had them with ordinary bacon tonight – shelled & cooked them! They were good – nicer than frozen ones.2
Please give my love to A Nellie. I think I can come on the 8th, so you won’t be alone.
Much love,
Philip
1 Addressed to 21 York Road, Loughborough, Leics.
2 Eva wrote on 4 August: ‘I am very surprised to know that you are giving/ alcoholic drinks the “go-by”! I hope you feel all the better for doing so. What a nice meal you cooked – broad beans and bacon. / We brought back a Pork Farms cooked chicken and had it today with peas and potatoes. It was very nice, but not quite done enough near the bone.’
4 August 1968
My very dear old creature,
[…] Yes, the theatre is quite awful: I can’t hear a word. You might have your ears looked at by an ear man, privately: I did & it cost 5 gns. He told me I was on the borderline of social adequacy, as far as hearing goes, of course! But I doubt if the hearing aid is much good, except for committees.
Queen (magazine) has offered me £20 or a case of champagne for a carol! I don’t think I could manage it.
Has the water gone down in the cellar? I hope so, & that all is in order. I expect the garden has grown a bit. Does the hot water tank still make noises? […]
Much love,
Philip
15 August 1968
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My very dear old creature,
[…] A man has just presented me with a copy of The Letters of Wilfred Owen, whch he helped edit.1 Owen was an extremely good war poet. Most of his letters are to his mother! The book is 629 pp. long. He starts his letters ‘Sweet my Mother’, wch takes some living up to. I like mine better – my beginnings, I mean. My mother too, probably.
Chilly wet day here.
Much love, dear old creature,
Philip
1 Harold Owen and John Bell (eds), Wilfred Owen: Collected Letters (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1967).
18 August 1968
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My very dear old creature,
[…] I went to the Hartleys’ yesterday. Jean has got her two A levels, so presumably she will be coming to the University in October. They’re bringing out another edition of my recording of The Less Deceived, with a new cover. This has another 1957 photograph of me, in the graveyard, looking very young and common.
It’s been nice talking to you on the telephone, though I’m sorry the weather bothers you so much. Truly, it won’t do you any harm. Roll up in a ball, and forget about it. You’ll be quite safe. […]
Love as always Philip
6 September 1968
Torridon
My very dear old creature,
It’s Friday evening, & I’ve just changed for dinner, & am scribbling a page for you in the hope that it will arrive on Monday. To get it collected on Saturday I shall have to drive down into the village tonight specially!
It has been a glorious day here & we have spent it at Daibaig,1 a tiny village near Torridon: just a few cottages, a jetty, sea, sheep, gulls, hens, looking out onto the loch & the sea beyond. Really, the beauty of these highland villages is beyond belief. I see the old creatures pottering about in aprons at their back doors, & I think that even you couldn’t be nervous in such surroundings! There’s one bus every day, to bring post, & connect them with Achnasheen, where there’s a railway station. We ate our packed lunch, & took photographs, & peered in a few rock pools – extremely colourful and lively, & although there was nothing to do the day passed very well. Really, this was the nicest day here we have had. M. didn’t care for the hens, especially the way they pecked about on the beach! She said perhaps their eggs wdn’t need salt. […]
I must take your letter to the village box now: 2 miles! Awgh! It’s a glorious evening, the sun (6.45) shining hot and unhindered.
My very best love, in wch M joins, Philip
1 Larkin has misspelled Diabaig.
22 September 1968
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My very dear old creature,
[…] This week I had to interview an Indian – a Ceylonese, actually – for a job as porter, and have offered it him, though I don’t know if he’ll turn up. He seemed a nice chap but I couldn’t understand a word he said! He’d been in the Royal Navy as a steward and had good references. I hope he turns out a success. I’m also expecting to appoint a Ceylonese lady higher up the scale. Integration! I just can’t get English people.
My dentist thinks he is making progress now, and expects to do the great fitting next Friday. I do hope it’s a success, and doesn’t drop out the first meal I have.
I had a pair of kippers for breakfast, & some oatcakes brought from Hexham. I can’t get any good fruit these days – peaches woolly, pears woody.
I hope Rosemary is well again. I shall be interested to hear of her doings. I believe the new Library at Leicester has been shelved more or less indefinitely. Mine goes on apace.
Very much love, o.c. Philip.
29 September 1968
My very dear old creature,
[…] I’ve had a second load of laundry back but haven’t checked it – they cost about 30/- each. One pair of socks missing so far.
Yes, I appointed a Ceylon girl,1 to match the Ceylon porter. I don’t know how she’ll be. She’s quite well qualified. If she takes my job she will have to pay back a grant she came to England on – in instalments, I hope! She says life is awkward for a single woman in Ceylon – can’t go anywhere. She starts on 14th October. […]
Much love o.c. Philip
1 This was Lila Wijayatileka, Senior Library Assistant, Inter-Library Loans.
15 November 1968
Queensberry Court Hotel, London
My very dear old creature,
Here I am, perishing in cold London. The train down was awfully poorly heated, & instead of comfortably reading the work I’d brought with me I shuffled along to the bar to seek inner warmth. London is pretty nippy anyway. I wish I’d brought my overcoat.
Your letter was very kind – though it was mid-afternoon before I had a chance to open it. How exciting about the lavatory!1 I do think it will be nice & snug in there. 150 w. is only like an electric light bulb – it doesn’t take much power, if one bar of a fire is 1000w. (if! I’m not very good at home electricity).
I left my hat in the train!
Work continues to be extremely heavy. Really awful. I suppose I earn my £4,200 a year! I wish I could find a part-time job for £2,100. Or even a quarter time job for £1,050. Senate went on till 6.45 p.m. on Wednesday.
Do wrap up well, old creature, & don’t stay too long in your newly-luxurious lavatory – I don’t expect it’s as warm as all that. Has the front room heater improved?
Very much love – Philip
1 In a letter of 11/12 November Eva wrote: ‘The installation was quite a job, and took longer than I thought, but it is very nice to have the light in the toilet and the two foot tubular heater is set at 38° [F]. Any weather below that temperature will put the heater on. I don’t know how it can do this!’
5 December 1968
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My very dear old creature,
A hard dreary week, leaving me feeling corpsed. As I said on the telephone, I didn’t make much of an impression on the U.G.C.,1 & it was a strain. Today hasn’t been much better. Cold, too! Day Lewis was here today for the last time, &
there was a lunch. He said that the students had begun by treating him as a sacred cow, but ended by treating him as a cow. I drove him to the station. Really, he’s been very pleasant while he’s been here. […]
Much love, old creature,
Philip
1 University Grants Committee.
8 December 1968
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My very dear old creature,
I am sitting in my bedroom with the rug over my knees & my Shetland wool cap on, hoping I shall be warm enough. It looks a grey day out of doors – when did we last see the sun? However, I think it’s milder. I awoke at 8.20, thought I was entitled to another hour, so got up at 9.20, then lay in the bath till 10.20. Brown boiled egg for breakfast. I finished my jazz articles last night so I feel a little freer, except that there’s lots to be done in the Library.
Last week was a frightful week. I’m glad it’s over. We are giving Day Lewis an Honorary Degree in July, & I took the opportunity to send the VC a letter saying that if he was thinking of me to do the citation, he’d better think of someone else. This is because I can’t see myself standing up & saying that he’s a good poet! Nasty creature. He’s a very nice man, & I wouldn’t mind standing up & saying that, but you don’t get honorary degrees for being a nice man – not ostensibly, anyway.
I called on Hartley yesterday, to see how he was.1 He’s carpeted the back room, wall to wall, & painted it very professionally, so he doesn’t seem to be grieving. There’s still a faint unspeakable stench hanging about the house, but I can’t guess its source. He never liked milk & has stopped taking it – bit of a disadvantage when giving people tea.
It was nice to have such an informative letter from you. Your parcels must be going letter post: there’s no 1st or 2nd class parcel post. Really, I shan’t mind if we have only bread & butter for Christmas, as long as there’s enough of it.
Did you find the port? I’m sure it’s there somewhere. […]
I shouldn’t care much for my mild honours if I couldn’t tell them to you & Monica! There’s no more news on this front so far. Fabers are making plans to publish my jazz articles next year in a book called ALL WHAT JAZZ. They’ve offered me an advance of £200, wch seems a lot. Incidentally, when M wrote she never mentioned the hon. degree! Awgh!
I hope I shall come home on 23 Dec. & be free to help you on 24 & so on. Pease don’t get into a flat spin over it all. It’s a fearful time of year, but we just have to grin & bear it. Or grin, anyway. Much love!
Philip
1 The Hartleys’ marriage had broken down and Jean had left George, taking her daughters with her.
1969
5 January 1969
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My dear old creature,
The snow seems to be hanging about a long time – ‘waiting for some more’ they would say in the country, I expect – but the weather isn’t cold. Just rather dull & dreary!
Well, New Year was quite remarkable. On New Year’s Eve we drove to the small town of Allendale, arriving about half past eleven. There were lots of people out in the main square, where there was also a large unlit bonfire. Some of the people were in fancy dress, & there was a band dressed as crusaders! All the pubs in the square were lighted & seemed open, but we didn’t go in. Then about 25 to midnight people began to thread their way through the crowd carrying shallow tubs on their heads, like wash tubs, full of wood & inflammable stuff: there must have been at least 20 of them. Suddenly a light flared, & two people were seen with torches, going round lighting peoples’ tubs & also the bonfire. When all the tubs (still on peoples’ heads) were alight, the carriers formed up into a line & marched off round the village – I think the band went with them. We could see them go down one street & along another: you can imagine how the flames looked against the darkness & the snow. Eventually they came back up to the marketplace, marching round the bonfire & emptying their barrels onto it. By that time it was midnight & the band played Auld Lang Syne, & we joined hands & sang it. A complete stranger whose hand I held insisted on giving me a drink of whisky, & I wished him a happy new year. There was a lot of kissing going on, & many grotesque figures – rajahs, surgeons, witches – mingling with the crowd. All very jolly!1 After a while we went back to Haydon Bridge & had our own drink, & I drove back to Hexham, where the hotel’s celebrations were far from over. However, I got to sleep eventually.
Next morning I had a flat tyre (?tire), wch was a nuisance as New Year’s Day is completely dead in those parts. However, I got it attended to eventually, & was ready to drive M. to her cousin’s funeral at Rookhope. Rookhope is a wild and isolated place among snow-covered hills, & all in all it was very bleak. The funeral was held in a Methodist Chapel wch was crowded, as the man had been a well known figure in the town. We went to the graveyard where it was even bleaker, and I noticed how all along the street the curtains were drawn. There was tea afterwards in the village hall, but M preferred not to go. […]
Much love Philip.
1 In its present form the Allendale tar barrel ceremony dates from 1858, though it has ancient roots.
20 April 1969
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My very dear old creature,
I seem to have been talking with you quite a lot recently, so I haven’t a great deal to say that’s new. I had your letter on Thursday, and wasn’t surprised to hear that you were finding it cold. It’s pretty parky here even yet, although the birds are beginning to show themselves. The weather is more or less steady, & of course all our settled weather comes from the east, on a chilly wind.
My ailments seem to have mostly cleared up now: even the cough is on the way out. But my couple of days in bed did me a world of good. I really enjoyed being off. I must do it again some time. Yes, I got my laundry back from next door, & must now start collecting up another lot. Laundry never endeth.
I’m delighted to hear that the eggs have hatched. I hope the two birds grow up safely. You are probably right in saying that Zimba keeps the cats away. The collie dog that molests me has reappeared, & I have written to the Chief Constable again. Bloody nuisance. Why can’t people keep their dogs under control?
Our term starts tomorrow. No doubt it will bring its quota of worry and upset. We showed the Vice-Chancellor round the Library on Thursday, & although he started off in rather a critical mood he was unwillingly admiring at the end. Of course, he’s an awful ass, but the place is called after him. There’s a small article about it in The Observer this morning, but you don’t see it, do you.
I’m sorry you’ve been feeling worried about the prospect of holidays, and of things in general. I’m enclosing a copy of the letter I wrote to K & W, wch you can keep, about holidays: It hasn’t produced any reply yet. It does seem rather complicated – too hard for Kitty to grasp, I expect – but all the same it’s perfectly reasonable.1
I don’t see why they shouldn’t take you away sometimes, as I suggest, either. M & I are thinking of going to Ireland this summer, so I shall want to get things settled fairly soon. You’d perhaps better not say I’ve sent you a copy of the letter!
I can quite understand that in the long run, too, you’re wondering how life can be made less of a burden. Personally, I should like to see you in a smaller set of living quarters, but with your own things, or some of them: someone looking in regularly & doing the shopping: preferably in Loughborough where you have friends, & your doctor knows you. To have someone to live with you at present wd be another possibility, but it wouldn’t get rid of the trouble of the house.
By the way, I am wondering if I could stay with you (between trips to London) on Thursday night, 1 May? I should arrive about six, I suppose, and be ready to overeat at supper. I shall have been to the RA banquet.
Much love again, old creature – don’t forget the port & the wireless.
Philip
1 Larkin enclosed a copy of a two-page letter to Kitty and Walter (13 April). Auntie Nellie, he wrote, would not be available, which ‘s
eems to me to have two consequences: one, that if Mother is to have a holiday at all you or I must arrange it; and two, that if she is not to be left alone in Loughborough your holidays & mine must be arranged in cooperation. In other words, it’s Christmas all over again on a larger scale.’ He proposed that he take Eva on holiday either at the beginning of August or the beginning of September, and ended: ‘Apologies for style & writing – I’m “ill” & a bit feverish. Yr affec. Brother, Philip.’ In her reply to Philip, on 21 April, Eva tried to side-step the quarrel between her son and daughter: ‘It is most kind of you, Creature, to give up two weeks of your holiday to me. I wonder whether it would be any good my going down to the home help offices here. They sent me a very nice person for one day. I don’t suppose they would be able to find anyone to stay with me for a week or so. The only other solution might be for me to enquire at Abbeyfield whether the “guest” room would be available for the time when Kitty is away. Somehow I think it might already be booked.’
18 May 1969
32 Pearson Park, Hull
My very dear old creature,
Changeable day, sun & rain alternating. Just at present it’s sun, & the trees are all looking beautifully green. I rose rather late, not intentionally, but I had a rather disturbed night through this difficulty in breathing through my nose. However, I didn’t have a bath, so have caught up a bit.
Yesterday there was a meeting of four Faber poets in a village near here – Richard Murphy is here, as you know, & Ted Hughes came over to see him, & so RM asked me and a young Scotsman called Douglas Dunn, who has just had a book accepted by Fabers, to lunch. So we went out and had a simple lunch at Murphy’s cottage in Lockington.1 I took a photograph of us all. I don’t suppose you know Ted Hughes: he is as famous as I am, only younger: a great thug of a man, never does any work. I rather envy him. D. Dunn’s book will be coming out in the autumn: I think some of it is good.2
Philip Larkin Page 52
