by Unknown
I’m very proud, very respectful and very grateful.
Always
Dirk
XXXXOOXX for Mrs Bognor.
To Hélène Bordes Clermont
26 May 1986
Chere Hélène –
We have a greve at the TRI1 in Nice. So God knows when this will reach Limoges!
[…] Yes: the Festival is done. Dreadful, as usual .. and not entirely ‘correct’ either. It was fairly certain that ‘LE Mission’ would win2 … no one sends a film to Cannes, in compitition as well, when it is unfinished, the sound is not correct, the editing not finished (and wont be until September!) so HOW can an unfinished film win the Palmares!! It would NOT if I had been President .. of that I am certain!
I made one award to two elderly men, Powell and Pressburger, who are now both well into their eighties, but who, together for twenty-two years, made some of the most marvellous films we ever had in Britain … perhaps you never got to see them because they were, the best ones, made during the war.
I did their last film together, down here in Provence (which was supposed to be Crete! And looked like it .. no one guessed, and all my French friends who saw it on TV were so envious that I had been in such a savage and glorious Island! I did NOT dissillusion them by saying that if they had taken their cars from the garage, or caught a bus, they could have had my experience only one and a half hours north of Nice!) Mind you, it was made in 19593 … and this part of Provence had not been ruined by motor-ways, gas stations, ski stations, and terrible apartments!
Anyway: I presented them with a horrible medal and a scroll, and they had a tremendous, and moving, ovation, and all was well. I slipped away out of the back of the dreadful Palais and sped home before anyone knew I had gone.
Apart from that, and three or four old friends who came up to escape the hell of the Croisette, it was a calm two weeks .. and VERY, VERY HOT!
Too hot to work on the land, and too hot to think about writing .. so I just sit like a bundle of old washing …
I am glad that ‘fatiguer’ made you laugh! In Paris I am considered very ill-bred when I attempt to speak French, because I just use the words I have learned in Provence, like, for example, ‘Moutonnier’ which no one even knows what it means in the 6th arrondissment! And I have not spelled that correctly either .. it’s too hot.
The film about the Somme in 19161 is very daunting. It is, the book, 400 pages long, and the final scenes are those which take place on July 1st .. the first great battle of the Somme when we lost sixty thousand men dead between 7 in the morning and mid-day! HOW can I write a film which requires so many bodies in the green corn of the Somme valley above Serre?
I took my sister, Elizabeth, there some years ago, to show her the places I knew from books and from people who survived … it was a golden evening, the corn was green and tall, the trees had all re-grown, the land was soft and peaceful … apparently. But she was horrified! She said that she could feel the earth still trembling and the noise of distant guns, and she went back to the car and sat there until I returned and we drove in silence back to Amiens … or Albert .. I forget. Albert, with the Virgin on the cathedral …2
Three days later we were in Normandy! And I went all over my old places again, trying to remember what had happened where .. and she HATED all that too, and said it was the most awful holiday she had ever had; all she could feel was the trembling earth, the distant guns, and the pain and sadness. I am a horrible brother. So I took her back to Paris and we had champagne at the Ritz and that was MUCH better. She even saw Chanel! And that was better than anything!
I have despaired of my Muse returning from congé .... silly vâche! So I picked up the novel which I abandoned two years ago half finished and began to reread it … it’s really not so bad! I think I can do something with it … but not on this silly machine with it’s stupid ‘o’ and all the ¡¿ and other errors … for which I apologise.
So .. no more
[…] How funny to have an old carpet for a cat … it’ll soon grow back, and she’ll be as impossible and loving as ever, dont worry, but keep her away from the oven!
Love DB.
To Mary Dodd Clermont
27 May 1986
Dearest Mainie –
I know that I have’nt written to you for years and years … perhaps, even, I owe you a letter! I cant be sure of that. Somehow time speeds along, one gets muddled up with all sorts of little bits of trivia, and worry too of course! and one ends up plodding along doing nothing very much but suddenly finding that the day is over and one has, to all intents and purposes, wasted most of it!
Maddening.
I’ve been busy with the buke .. correcting proofs. A ghastly business. This time, in a 310 page book, I discovered over 200 errors … mostly typographical, but others more serious which altered the meaning of a sentence … and some just plain soppy. How can a computer, for that is what the things are printed by, turn the River Thames into the River Thomas! It looks so silly .. and although it is only a difference of two letters what a difference they make .... anyway I screamed and beat my fists (metaphorically: of course. I’m too timid to do more than insist. Firmly.) and insisted that the proofs were reprinted before they could possibly be sent out to reviewers etc. This was greeted with a cry of rage from Viking who assured me that ‘any reviewer KNOWS that proofs are full of errors; they take that into account.’
I still bleated on, and finally, when their OWN proof readers discovered 50 more errors which I had overlooked, they gave in; reprinted the lot, and the next batch, which arrived a few days ago, had only seven errors. Why, pray, could’nt they have had seven errors in the first place.
So that all kept me busy .. and bug-eyed. And then the photographs came, the ones they had chosen from a vast batch which I supplied .. and I hated some of them and the captions were wrong-spells-wrong and so THEY had to be done over again and all got back to the printer by the 19th of this month which was D. day. Anyway: all done now. And I hope I wont have to see it again until it is bound and covered. Cover not so good. A bit vulgar … I have asked for it to be toned down a bit in colour .. it’s a photograph of me from the back (!) painting out the hippo-pool which Coz took last year, and is quite fun and apposite for the title … but they have scrunched it up with awful writing and worse colouring, a sort of yellow babies-motion colour, which I have instantly changed to plain white. When in doubt use white … anyway it’s due out in September and I have to come over for the Promo, a hideious week, from the 13th to the 18th … Coz has to have his ‘check’ then anyway, so we HAVE to come over, but I shant enjoy my stint, and worrying about him and all. Oh Lor …
He’s off, at the moment, to the Pasteur in Nice to see his rum Professor .. who seems to be making a difference re-Parkinsons, having taken him off the English medicins which, he insisted, we[re] slowly paralysing him … so far he does SEEM a bit better, less shakey, does up his shoe laces, threads his typewriter ribbon, folds his newspaper and so on … the only thing is that he is slow … and finds eating a problem: that is, holding anything on a fork, and cutting things up. Difficult. But, on the other hand, he has been mowing, slowly but well, in blistering heat (we’ve been in the 80’s all month) and seems to manage alright.
[ … ] It is quite clear to me now that we cant hang on here much longer, and I have put the house on the market, very discreetly, and then, if it sells, the market is what they call ‘depressed’, we’ll come back to England I fear. I think that he wants to be somewhere where he can be looked after .. and at nearly 711 I rather agree. I cant do it AND work .. and work I must.
This, as you will gather, is strictly confidential … so keep Mum. I’ll let you know if and when the time comes … but another ghastly winter trapped up here with no way in or out wont do .. I cant manage alone!
Meanwhile the month ahead seems rather busy, alas! [ … ] Russell Harty and a crew of 10 arrive for three days to do a Profile on me to tie in with the book and the film I adapted from
Greene’s rather silly story, ‘May We Borrow Your Husband?’ which is due to hit your screens in late October.
It’s all a fag, and I worry that it tires Coz … but I think, in a way, that it is better for him to have some stimulation, even if it is a Telly Crew from Yorkshire! than just sitting about wondering if he will go to the Lav or not. [ … ] The Crew will eat up in the village .. but, knowing the chaps, the drink they will consume (from paper cups!) will be prodigeous .. unless of course it rains … which after a month of amazing heat it is almost bound to do.
Coz just back from Pasteur. His Professor is VERY delighted with him .. and sounded most encouraging: it still does’nt make Coz leap about like a hare … but it was a good prognosis and must cheer him up a little bit. He goes back on the 7th .. and it seems that the pills are just beginning to balence out: thats the main thing … they can also, unlike any other pills for Parkinsons, be decreased in time. Maybe, it is not very frequent, it could be so for Coz … one prays so. The usual British medecin is only increasable … leading, eventually, to paralysis. I cant think why it has taken so long for us to discover this here, but thank God we did.
Telephone call to say that would I object to the film (M.W.B.Y.H.?) being shown theatrically (in a cinema that is) in the U.S.A, Australia and Canada! I’m delighted .. I’d rather it was a film than a quickly-forgotten TV evening. It could ‘take off’ like that one about the Laundrette, or the Letter to Brezhnive1 … or however he is spelled … and that would make me very pleased. But it’s not certain … for my first ever adaptation though, it is a pleasing sign. Took me seven tough days to do .. in eight hour stretches. A very sore bum, but it seems to have worked, they will bring me a Video of it at the end of June when it is quite finished .. I did’nt altogether like the very first assembly, very rough, and not what I had really intended; so they went back to work and got my complaints sorted out … Coz, who was adored by the entire Crew and the Director .. had a good deal to do with persuading them that I was right and they were wrong.
Very useful chap, your Coz .. parasite-ivy notwithstanding!
Off now to sort the sodding laundry list, pack it in baskets and cart it off to the lady in the village who ‘washes’. At a price […]
And then lay lunch, eat it, wash it up, and sit in a heap again in the heat.
Too hot to mow, so one waits now until seven to begin watering the pots.
By which time, be sure, I’m two glasses of scotch into the wind .... and dont give a fig for watering, petunias, geraniums, nicotieanas, or any other plant.
Only me!
With much much love –
Dirk
XXX
To Hélène Bordes Clermont 17 July 1986
Chere Hélène –
I am writing simply because your lovely cards from Metz came this morning, and I have nothing to do. So I write a note to you, not for answering, just for ‘telling’. If you understand!
[…] I find that the French simply ADORE talking .. more than even eating, and much more than thinking! I am driven mad sometimes by the ladies in Genty, or Monoprix, who talk and talk and talk while all you want to do is pay for your pain de son and a bottle of Haigh!
And on the TV they will debate a TERRIBLE old American film which has no value at all for DAYS! Tant pis. If it amuses them why not.
I have nothing to do today because it is one of those awful days when one simply ‘waits’. Forwood had a complete ‘check’ at the Clinic in Grasse and they have discovered two spots on his liver. Plus parkinsons this is too much. So we sit awaiting, nervously, the commencment of Chemoradio, which is very unpleasant, and pray that no operation is needed … but there is a sadness, after 45 years of his care and council I feel a little bit lost being the Nounou1 .. and trying to do all the things which he did for me so well. Contracts, impots, cheques and etcetera … leaving me free to be an actor or a writer. But, in my heart, I feel that those days are over now.
Ah well. I’ll hang on here, even though we are an hour from Nice where he will have to go I imagine, and try to find help somewhere. The house is too isolated for a woman on her own (too many Arabs wandering about at night) and after all people have their own jobs to do: we’ll see.
[ … ] I have also, to try and keep my mind off unpleasant things, started another novel. One MUST occupy the mind and not just sit stareing into space worrying. I like the first chapter (All that I have written as yet!) but have not the Idea where it will go!
So far a man in London with a disasterous marriage and two horrible children, is leaving (amicably) his wife, and on the morning that he does, the mail arrives with a small packet containing an old iron key from his younger brother whome he has not seen for many years and who lives in .. can you believe this! Bargemonsur-Yves, Var. I had to invent a town or village .. and that is where the rest of the story will take place, because he will go to Bargemon-sur-Yves and find many surprises but NOT his young failure of a brother who has just ‘disappeared’ into the wilderness for ever.
But the brother has left behind many problems, an un-married wife, a hundred canvasses (paintings) and a child who is a Mongol! After that I dont quite know what happens … trust me! But I am playing with a title already which COULD be ‘The Jericho Walls’ … (they fell down, did’nt they?) Well, it could be a symbolic meaning. I dont know … I’m muddled, and silly, and worried but I MUST work … the September in London business has had to be cancelled, of course … I was supposed, on top of all the other things, to have been the first actor to be Awarded2 by the British Film Institute … rather like the French Academy of Film, or whatever it is called.3 A great honour I am told, but I really need more than honours at the moment, thanks …
So there we are: a golden day here, a nephew (and his lady) have left last week, who were adorable and amusing and stayed two weeks instead of two days as originally planned … and this was before we had to go to the Clinic for the awful ‘check’. Growing old is very, very tiresome, and comes to one so quickly … merde!
And with that vulgarity I leave you for another look at Bargemon-sur-Yves. I have to describe it carefully … and I am mixing up two real places so that everyone, including me, will be confused.
[ … ]Dont reply to this. Keep our bond … and dont overwork. I’ll keep you in touch with progress here, have no fear.…
Love
Dirk
P.S. I forgot! The Saumur Windmill1 has been writing almost daily! On holiday in Quiberon or somewhere. All madness, what AM I to do, and she thinks that you are ‘Adorable’. Prenez garde! D
To Hélène Bordes
(Postcard) Clermont
23 August 1986
Hélène my dear –
Thank you for your ‘thoughts’. I was glad to have them. Leave here Sunday 31st .. back, perhaps, end of Sept/early Oct. House sold, I think, we sign papers on Friday, dog in paradise. (The worst part really. But it was soon done, one minute, and he is outside the Studio here where he always sat to wait for me while I worked) and, apart from the most terrible fires, the worst yesterday, ever, things are more or less ready to ‘go’. The heart-break is over. I am resigned now and want only to get to London and have things dealt with. Write to me one day at the Connaught [ … ] but do not expect a reply very quickly! Thank you again and my love …
as ever
Dirk
To Susan Owens
(Postcard) Clermont
28 September 1986
Susan –
A splendid and funny letter from you waiting for me here yesterday when I got back. I am so glad that you had such a happy day .. terribly exhausting but fun! I was not in the LEAST ‘ANNOYED’ to see you.2 I was very happy and, as you must have realised, got you in one .. long before you said ‘Owens’! But I was deadly frightened by the crowd. I dont mind them sitting in the circle or the stalls but it’s a bit scary to have them all round you! You try it!
Got back yesterday after a terrible three weeks of hospitals and ‘scanners’ and so on,
plus the book, and am now, with my sister and brother, packing the place up. Cant manage twelve acres and three floors on my own now. So off to find somewhere smaller and nearer a town .. so I can walk to the shops and the market. Bendo is no more, alas. A terrible step, but it had to be taken .. and it was so quick and he was in my arms anyway and thought it was all a game.
So a new start. Worrying but exciting in a way. I’ll let you know where I am, when I know!
In haste, with affection – DB –
To Hélène Bordes
(Postcard) La Colombe [d’Or]
4 October 1986
Hélène –
All finished yesterday. The house is stripped, keys exchanged (plus cheque!) & I’m here until Tuesday, then London. No house, no car, furniture in store, I feel lost & ‘epuisée’ – I can hardly walk, a sense of Relief and Sadness – but a new beginning somewhere, sometime. The book No.1 on ALL the lists! But I told you that I imagine1 –
Love D
To Hélène Bordes Hotel Lancaster [Paris]
13 November 1986
My dear Hélène –
I am using a borrowed machine, which is probably why there will be more errors than ever. This is the first letter I have had time, or relative peace, to write, so be patient! I am sitting at a little Louis-Quelquechose piece of furniture in the bed room … it is all rather cramped, with eight suitcases, two machines, overcoats and anoraks, and shoes scattered everywhere. Outside the window there is a pleasant view over a courtyard with a few trees, a blackbird chattering in the yellowing leaves and, can you believe it? a real bat swooping above the rooftops … not Clermont; but better than the Grande Boulevardes … if I was one floor higher I could even see the egg-shell domes of the Sacre Coeur … anyway: Paris is Paris and I love it and all the noise and light … for a little while anyway. I MUST like it, there is no other way out at the moment. I am only allowed to have 92 days in England as a Foreign Resident and I have been using them up very fast with the medical tirridaddle, Scanners, etcetera … for the moment things seem to be less fearful than they were. Nice got it wrong, I am told, so it was a wise thing to do to clear off and get some sensible advice and no more hysteria … I think there is a vast difference between Nice and Paris as far as medecine is concerned: but that was my nearest base. So I had to take what was on offer, and what was on offer was not good news.
