The weather is still very hot and oppressive: I feel quite sick in the mornings.
Can’t think of any explanation. I do hope you are well and look forward to seeing you on Saturday – the anniversary of Thomas Hardy’s birthday
MUCH LOVE,
Philip
1 Princess Anne announced her engagement to Mark Phillips on 29 May 1973.
2 Betjeman’s twelve-line poem, ‘Princess Anne’s Wedding Day. November 1973’, was poorly received. Betjeman told The Times the poem was ‘one of the most laborious things that I have ever written’. Labour MP Tony Pendry wrote to Prime Minister Edward Heath, asking him to ‘reconsider his choice’ of Laureate.
21 June 1973
Lords Cricket Ground, London
Dearest old creature,
Well, we are sitting watching the first session of this Test March between England and New Zealand. It’s nearly one o’clock, and they play till 1.30 – then have lunch. The day is quite mild though sunless: the rain, that was pretty constant yesterday, seems to have retreated for the time being. I can see the TV cameras trained on the scene, but I don’t expect you are watching. It isn’t in fact very interesting. England are batting, & have made 48 for one wicket.
I always feel rather guilty coming away at this time of year, for my dear staff are slaving away at the Library, stocktaking. However, I’ve invited eleven of the more important ones out to dinner next Wednesday at the Beverley Arms, so perhaps that will console them. We are going to have melon & ginger, celery soup, roast duck, and fruit salad or cheese. I hope it’s better than Monica & I had last night at a steak house! Awful uneatable steak. And not much else to eat either. Turkish delight with the coffee was the best.
London is not very nice: the stores are full of Indians & negroes (serving) who move like old tired snails & don’t know anything about anything. Heaven knows what will become of this England! We shall have a picnic lunch in a bit – England have now made 62.
Monica joins in sending love
Philip
8 July 1973
32 Pearson Park, Hull
Dearest old creature,
Well, in the comparative quiet of Sunday morning I can sit back and feel that the fearful strains of yesterday are at last over.1 Oh my! They really began on Friday, when I attended a Science degree congregation in the City Hall: it poured with rain, and traffic was at its peak. I put the car in a multi-storey carpark, but when the ceremony was over couldn’t get it out as rush-hour traffic blocked the way. Since I had to meet Monica at the station I abandoned the car & rushed through the rain, fuming – then had to escort her & bags back to the carpark & resume my attempts to get out. Well, I expect this is all very dull, but I felt truly exhausted when I got back & got straight into a bath. Then I had to go to a dinner for the honorary graduands: dear old John Betjeman had arrived, & enquired if Monica was here – typical of his kindness. The other graduands included Lord Wilberforce,2 whom I knew slightly at All Souls.
However, on Saturday it wasn’t raining, at least, & we got to the City Hall in good order. Monica was looking stunning in a black suit with white blouse with frills & ruffles at throat & wrists, and a big black hat with luscious artificial roses on it. Very smart! I robed in the robing room (my scarlet Belfast gown), & we processed into the Hall about 10.30. John B. had on a turquoise blue silk tie & a light suit, but of course he had robes on too. After the VC had opened the Congregation I was the first speaker – spoke for about 5 mins into a microphone with a huge audience of students & their parents, and staff – and press & photographers – I hope it went over all right: I didn’t get the laughs I hoped for, but perhaps I went too quickly. Or perhaps the jokes weren’t very funny! I could see Monica, perched up in the balcony, a tiny black & white figure with a huge hat. Anyway, it was over eventually, & I could relax.
Lunch was at the university: melon, then slices of beef, turkey & ham with salads of different kinds, then strawberries & cream and cheese & biscuits. Plenty of wine. Betjeman made a nice speech, paying me many fulsome compliments, & said nice things about Hull. We dispersed about 2.45, and did a little shopping in our fine clothes. Then home to collapse for a bit – though I did take some pictures of Monica in the garden before she abandoned her finery.
If there anything in the papers about it on Monday, I’ll buy you a copy.
Of course I have thought of you a great deal in this ‘rainy season’, and hope you have not let it get you down – it really won’t hurt you, old creature, and in any case you are quite safe among the dear old creatures in the lounge. Monica asks me specially to remember her to you. She is taking it easy today. I shall be coming to see you next Saturday & Sunday. Poor Kitty, going to Poland! Well, I hope she enjoys it.
Much love,
Philip
1 Larkin had given the address at the award of a Hull honorary D.Litt. to John Betjeman.
2 Richard Wilberforce (1907–2003), British judge.
22 July 1973
Greetings card1
Dearest old creature,
Since I can’t visit you today, I’m sending one of Monica’s notelets. I am going to London for a poetry reading from the Oxford Book, at the BBC.
I went to York Road today, & began mowing the lawn, but was alarmed to find that old Toad was in the roller part!! So I stopped, & borrowed a mower from Mrs Richards. I’ll have to buy a new mower.1
toad in here
I did like seeing you yesterday & am sorry I was so sleepy. It was a hard day one way & another. Much, much love,
Philip
1 ‘St Valentine’s Day’ by Kate Greenaway: ‘Best Wishes’
2 Two days later, on 24 July, Larkin wrote: ‘I do hope old toad has settled down after his awful experience on Sunday. I feel upset about it still myself.’ On 25 July he bought a new mower in Hull, which ‘fits nicely into the boot of my car, so I’ll bring it to Loughborough this weekend. Mowing the lawn will become a pleasure.’
26 August 1973
Haydon Bridge
Sunday
Dearest old creature,
Well today is nicer than yesterday, wch was sunless & not too warm. Monica & I went to Bellingham show, wch was a big sort of country show at a small village some 16 miles away. We had been in 1967 and found it much the same. There was a great deal of dog-judging, and pony- & horse-judging, and of course jumping & that kind of thing. There were a number of stalls selling tweed & wool things, & I got inveigled into buying a sports coat – very loud, & countrified, with a hare pocket.
I think it will fit all right, but it will give you a fright when you see it.
Then after lunch we watched some Cumberland-style wrestling, wch was interesting, & looked round the ‘household’ tent – all the prizewinning entries of vegetables, flowers, cakes, scones, jam, honey, lemon cheese and so on. It was fascinating. There were lots of other classes – crochet, knitting, rugs, draught-excluders! And in these parts they produce ‘lambing sticks’, or shepherds’ crooks, with handles made of rams’ horns: plenty of those.1
All in all a nice day – I wish you could have seen it. Of course it made one very hungry!
I see Princess Anne & her fiancé have been looking at their house, with a view to furnishing it. No expense spared, I hope.
I haven’t got Eva’s address:2 so I can’t send her a card. But I shall write to you, dear old creature, every day.
MUCH LOVE Philip
1 Larkin began drafting ‘Show Saturday’ two months later, in October.
2 Nellie’s daughter.
31 August 1973
Cringletie Hotel (Peebles, The Borders)
Dearest old creature,
We are staring glumly through the hotel windows at rain – or drizzle, mild but persistent –
Typical Scotch holiday weather! However, I expect we shall go out & brave it: the car is always dry. Or nearly always: I remember it began to let in the rain in Ireland once, wch was very inconvenient.
Yesterday we visited
Peebles, and did a little shopping. There were a lot of wasps, wch I preferred to avoid. After lunch we dozed, then drove round the neighbourhood, enjoying the lonely roads & the rolling countryside & the hills in the distance. I like small Scotch towns: they look so severe, & yet often they have lovely gardens, and the houses are gracefully designed in stone.
Today we are planning to go to Abbotsford, where Sir Walter Scott lived. I hope it clears up soon. I hope it isn’t as gloomy at Syston as it is here, & that you are finding things to interest you as the days go by.
All my love,
Philip
10 October 1973
32 Pearson Park, Hull
Dearest old creature,
Gloomy day – raining – my ‘illness’ still hanging about. Luckily the pain has gone, but I still have no appetite. My weight goes down, though – every cloud has a silver lining. I have brought in two marmite sandwiches for lunch! Even they may disagree with me.
Today’s post brought a copy of a book about me – written by one of the young men at Leicester.1 I can’t say it looks very exciting. Also a form saying my election to the MCC was a stage nearer. MCC is the Marylebone Cricket Club, but don’t think I have to play cricket!
Don’t forget to wind your watch, old creature: it does it good. I do hope you’ve found your glasses.2
MUCH LOVE
Philip
1 David Timms, Philip Larkin (Edinburgh: Oliver & Boyd, 1973).
2 Eva has inserted into the envelope a roughly torn half-page on which she has begun to draft a response: ‘Oh I am so pleased to have / Oh I am so pleased to have a letter from you. Is st/ it such to think that the storms have gone, although it does nt does’nt write much better than my old one! done. I doubt. Yes, it is nice to think that the storms have gone. I do hope they will not come back. They were awful and I worried over what damage they had done. / Oh I am so pleased to have a letter from you and to think that think that the storms I do hope that they will not come back.’
6 November 1973
32 Pearson Park, Hull
Dearest old creature,
I am about to go off to Edinburgh for one night – awful long way to go for so short a time – but I shall be back tomorrow night. The sun’s shining brightly, so I shall have a nice train journey, seeing Durham and Newcastle.
I got up at 6 a.m. this morning to try to write a poem,1 but didn’t make much progress. It’s nice seeing the light come, the almost-leafless trees outlined against the window. I expect you see them sometimes. It’s better to get up than lie moping. I do hope you are feeling stronger, and are managing to put away your meals. I think of you all the time, & remember the happy times we had. You are a lovely old creature.
Much love,
Philip
1 Larkin sent Anthony Thwaite a copy of ‘Show Saturday’ on 10 December 1973.
14 December 1973
32 Pearson Park, Hull
Dearest old creature,
I’m writing this on Friday to say I hope to come and see you on Saturday, but I don’t expect you’ll actually receive it till next week, post being what it is. So I had better just say how much I look forward to seeing you. I feel rather low today as I had a heavy day yesterday with a dinner at night, but no doubt I shall buck up.
It’s a time of year I really don’t care for much!
I do hope you are managing to keep warm. Wrap yourself up in all you have.
There was a talk about me on the wireless on Tuesday called ‘Larkin and Larkinism’,1 but I didn’t hear it, so I don’t know what Larkinism is! Something rather nasty, I expect.
Much love, my dear old creature,
1 By the American critic Donald Hall. The listing of the programme noted: ‘[Hall] develops a hard-hitting critique of some tendencies which he sees exemplified in Philip Larkin’s recent anthology The Oxford Book of 20th-Century English Verse.’ See http://genome.ch.bbc.co.uk/schedules/radio3/1973-12-11.
1974
10 January 1974
32 Pearson Park, Hull
Dearest old creature,
What a miserable day for your birthday! It’s raining & blowing here, and so cold – poor creature, I’m sure you are feeling it. But it is creature’s day,1 & I have drunk your health in sherry and Guinness, and hope you have a comfortable and not too cold day.
I did buy you something for your birthday, but I don’t know if Kitty will have given it you. Perhaps she is waiting for me to bring it on Sunday, when I come.
I was reading my diary for 1946/7 last night2 – you remember that awful winter, when we were snowed up from January to March? You were at Warwick and I was in Leicester, at Joan Sutcliffe’s. How awful it was – worse than now! Of course, we are older now and less able to stand it. I bought my duffle coat to wear indoors!
Wrap up well. I shall see you (all being well) on Saturday & Sunday.
Much love,
Philip.
1 Eva’s eighty-eighth birthday.
2 Larkin’s diaries were destroyed after his death on his instructions.
11 February 1974
32 Pearson Park, Hull
Dearest old creature,
I ploughed back to Hull last evening through wind & rain, arriving at 11, but very pleased to have seen you and sat watching the cows munching their straw & having drinks at the trough. It’s very nice to have them to watch.
Today is lovely and mild, rather windy, but extremely springlike, wch is nice and comforting.
How fed up I am with all this election stuff! I really think I shall have to give up newspapers & the radio until it is all over.
Don’t forget your nice soap – in the top half of the cupboard.
Much love:
Philip
29 April 1974
Picture postcard1
[32 Pearson Park, Hull]
Here is a gentle soul to wish you good morning! I feel a bit better this morning, but no doubt only because of work. It braces one up a bit. I hope you are well and comfortable, and finding things to amuse you. Kitty said you had a book about the Royal Family that was interesting. Perhaps I shall see it in due course.
Much love, Philip
1 ‘A Young Cocker [Spaniel]’.
30 April 1974
32 Pearson Park, Hull
Dearest old creature,
A much sunnier day today, and a bit warmer, wch is a comfort! A busy morning: we are being visited by the German Ambassador on 14 May, & I spent some time discussing the arrangements. Daddy would feel happier about it than I do! Still, they all speak very good English, so I suppose it will be all right. I asked the Professor of German if I should put our copy of the 1st ed. of Mein Kampf on exhibition, but he said he thought not!
I put on a suit today, thinking I had a special meeting but I find I haven’t, & that the suit is very hot.
I hope you are having nice meals, and that you aren’t too hot. There’s quite a cold breeze out. See you soon. Much love,
Philip
4 June 1974
Picture postcard1
[32 Pearson Park, Hull]
Tuesday
I have just got back to Hull after my weekend. A beautiful day and a nice drive through Lincolnshire. As usual, on return I feel rather guilty about being away! However, I expect that will wear off. This is a picture of one of the students’ residences here: isn’t it ugly? I think of you & hope you are well.
Much love
Philip
1 The University of Hull: the Lawns.
23 June 1974
Durrants Hotel, George Street, London W1H 6BJ
Dearest old creature,
Well, as so often I am writing to you at the end of our Lord’s visit, feeling a little flat now the mini-holiday is over and all I have to face is the journey home and then the grim realities of next week. It has been a nice visit: weather very warm and fine, and for the first time I have been a member of the MCC, able to stroll into the Pavilion wearing my b
old red & yellow tie. On the debit side, hayfever wasn’t at all good on Friday and I was fairly miserable in consequence, but I kept going, & it was better on Saturday.
On Friday evening we had a simple dinner with Sir John Betjeman, in Chelsea where he now lives. He seemed a rather humble and crushed creature, and not in very good form, though quite ready to talk. He seems older than his years (about 68).1 I think the Queen should give him a special pension.
Monica hasn’t been well either, claiming that various meals upset her. At the match we first ate pork pie, lettuce & tomato, with some cherries & a banana, & a piece of cake about tea time. All the same, I don’t suppose we’ve lost any weight. We both feel very fat.
I hope you are enjoying the quiet summer days, and aren’t too hot. Let us hope there aren’t too many mysterious noises from the passage, or overhead.
The Sunday Times today says my poems are selling well, wch is a comfort. His sins were scarlet, but his books were read, as someone says somewhere.2
Monica joins me in wishing you a peaceful weekend, and in sending love,
Philip
1 Betjeman was showing the symptoms of Parkinson’s disease by this time.
2 Hilaire Belloc (1870–1953): ‘On his books’.
27 June 1974
Philip Larkin Page 59
