I want to tell you about a long discussion I had with Pa last night about the moral guilt of the Jews of the time for the crucifixion of Christ. My point was, darling, that although Pilate (with extreme reluctance be it pointed out) Signed the Death Warrant as it were, the moral guilt must be laid solely at the door of the people. It does no good to the Jewish case to deny this, my love, because in denying it one is, by implication acknowledging that it is a Valid Point – an utterly ludicrous notion, darling, because no one has ever held it against the people of Athens that their forebears were morally responsible for the death of Socrates nor against the English that they were morally responsible for the burning of Joan of Arc. What we should say is: ‘Yes, undeniably the people of Judea were morally responsible for the Crucifixion – but what of it? Throughout history the masses of the people in all countries have been afraid of visionaries & have had them killed whenever possible. That is a human sin – not a Jewish sin.’
Darling, I won’t argue any more about Aubrey’s Zionism. I can see that there is some force in your argument – but Zionism is one of the things about which we shall always differ, my darling, but not I believe Acrimoniously. You see I am first a citizen of the world & secondly a Jewess. I think, my darling, though I may be wrong, that you have rather a special family feeling about the Jews which I have not. One day we shall talk about it, my dear love – though I don’t think we shall reach complete agreement, I believe that we shall concede one another a great many points because, in a matter of this kind, my love, it’s possible for us to respect one another’s point of view without sharing it.
Darling, Pa went over all the old stuff about you being moved and his Judgement Having Never Failed – but the upshot is, my dear love, that they have agreed, albeit reluctantly, that Mr Murray should write to Mr Thompson saying that although I should much prefer the M of I,15 I would consider any Administrative job in the Minister of State’s Office.
Wednesday 4 August I’ll tell you something that Aubrey (who is a Conventional Soul at Heart) said in a letter written when you were last in Palestine. He said, only one-third in jest, that your staying in Mrs Zaslane’s house while her husband was away had Caused him to Raise an Eyebrow. If it caused Aubrey to Raise an Eyebrow, my love, it would have caused Aunt Regina, Aunt Jeanne, Uncle Maurice and Uncle Solly to have a collective Attack of Apoplexy (had they known about it.) My reaction (I had, of course, already heard about it from you & hadn’t given it a single thought) on reading Aubrey’s letter was to Raise an Eyebrow at him. I told him so too in my reply, my dear love.
Monday 9 August Oh! darling, Mr Murray has had another letter from Lionel Thompson. He writes: ‘I have now heard from B. O’Donovan of the Ministry, that they would be glad to see Miss Alexander & suggesting that an appointment be made by telephone.’ My darling, I’m trembling so much I can hardly hold my pen. I rang up Sylvia, darling, & told her & she says she knows Mr O’Donovan very well & will speak to him about me. We’re going to lunch together tomorrow, my love, to talk over the situation.
Later: Mum has just come in & I’ve given her the gist of Lionel Thompson’s letter & all she could say was: ‘What? Are you still serious about that mad idea?’ I told Pa when he came back from his lecture and he was not exactly co-operative but again there is no sign of insuperable opposition. He takes the line that it ‘Will Break Your Mother’s Heart that when the Moment came, you were incapable of making the Supreme Sacrifice.’
Friday 13 August I read the Commons Debate on Women. All the women MPs spoke, of course, darling & I was driven to ask myself why it was that when a woman MP made a point it always grew into a very solid cube having far greater extension & volume than anything which could have been perpetrated by a man. Politically minded women are so heavy, darling. I wonder why, my love. It certainly isn’t true, on the whole, of academic women. On the contrary, darling, the best type of academic woman, like Miss Bradbrook & Mrs Bennett, has a lighter & more delicate touch than a man – but not so with political women, my love. I think it may be because they have a sense of grievance, darling. I have noticed that in all branches of thought people with a grievance lose their sense of proportion & their sense of humour. That is one of the reasons why I was always irritated by Cambridge Socialists and by Zionists, my love. (It is also one of the reasons why I find it so difficult to take Aubrey seriously as a Zionist, my love. I have met thousands of ’em, from Dr Weitzman downwards but Aubrey is the only one I know who has both a sense of humour & a sense of proportion in relation to the Jewish problem. He simply doesn’t fit into the pattern. As for Cambridge Socialists, darling, I never met one who had any sense of humour or proportion about Socialism except Eric Wilkes, perhaps, & he wasn’t altogether serious about it.) But to return to Political Women, darling, although I deplored the Spirit of Lady Astor’s remark I couldn’t help seeing what she meant when she said: ‘Other women Members have already dealt with nearly every aspect of women’s work & I do not want to bore the House any further.’ Of course, my love, Lady Astor herself is a crushing Bore but the point is that it is very saddening to see how yawningly Dreary women can make any discussion of their own problems seem.
I had lunch with Joyce. I’m really sorry for her. It’s over 2 months since she heard from Gordon & she has no means of finding out whether he’s alright or what has happened to him. She could write to his mother, darling, but I think she’s putting off doing this, partly because she’s afraid & partly because she doesn’t want to give the impression that she has any special interest in or claim on Gordon. She looks terribly ill and haggard, my darling, and I think this is affecting her more seriously than anything has ever affected her in all her life. The result is, my love, that she has dropped a good many of her affectations and is a very much more human person. I’m glad of that, of course, darling, but I think she’s paying rather a high price for the improvement.
Darling, Miss Anderton got the All Clear on her TB. She has just got back from her holiday in Devon laden with apples & plums for us. She looks wonderfully well & she says she hasn’t had any pain since Dr Minton Fixed her Inside for her. That, anyway, is a terrifically Good Thing, my dear love.
Saturday 14 August I had supper with Joan & Robert. I enjoyed my evening. They were at great pains to cook me a very recherché supper & they were so nice to me, my dear love, that when Robert remarked that his Finances were in a muddle owing to having had two wives in the same Income Tax year I was able to smile instead of being Horror-Stricken. Still, darling, on Mature Consideration my Prejudices have got the better of my Sense of Humour and I do, on Reflection, find it a pretty Horrifying Thought.
Monday 16 August Darling, Victor was saying yesterday how much the whole tone of the Jewish Chronicle irritated him & I agreed but said that once when I had condemned it to you on the grounds that it was Parochial you had pointed out, quite rightly, that it was after all nothing more than a rather larger-than-life Parish Magazine. Victor said, darling, that talking of being Parochial, the most Parochial thing he’d ever seen in his life was a headline in the Isis announcing the accession of Edward VIII which read: ‘Magdalen boy makes good’!!! Rather Beautiful don’t you think, my love?
Monday 23 August My darling, a Beautiful Moment awaits me. I had a note from Miss Bradbrook this morning saying that Mrs Crews was back in London & was hoping to be able to see me so I’ve asked them both to dinner on Wednesday or Friday. Miss Bradbrook tells me that Mrs C has Taken unto Herself a Turkish Housekeeper – because although she lives at Edgware she is Desirous of avoiding the atmosphere of Suburbia.
Monday 30 August I bought Dr Leavis’s Culture and Environment in Bowes this morning and read the whole of it in the train coming back from Cambridge. It analyses the psychology of advertising & the appeal of the press. It makes very clear, my darling, something which I powerfully & potently believe which is that to raise the standard of living materially all too often results in lowering it spiritually and suggests ways in which the vul
garization, sentimentalization, falsification & debasement of English in Advertisements, the press & cheap literature can be brought home to school children by judicious instruction & discussion. I must admit, my darling, that though Dr Leavis in the flesh drains his pupils dry as hay, Dr Leavis on paper is a Good Thing.
Tuesday 31 August Darling, someone in S1 telephoned me to ask if I was still interested in the M of I project (!!!) because if so he intended to ring up today and make an appointment for me. Morale is soaring, my darling.
Wednesday 1 September Darling, the Establishment people phoned to instruct me to Attend for Interview at the M of I at 3 o’clock tomorrow. Oh! darling, it is fitting that the month of our engagement should begin thus.
Aunt Gladys was talking without knowledge or understanding when she said that I always got what I wanted as a child. It’s true that, being a poor little rich girl with immensely generous parents, I always got what I wanted materially – but oh! God, that is not everything. The things I really wanted, I did not get, darling. I wanted desperately to be sent to boarding school in England. I wanted to be normal and I thought that I could only achieve normality by going to a boarding school. It was the most passionate wish of my childhood. When Dicky was born, my dear love, & my parents were in High Good Humour, I wrote them a letter pleading with them to let me go to school in England. I gave my reasons at immense length & I sent it to them through the post & waited breathlessly for results. What happened, darling, was that they laughed at me and told all their friends about my letter as though it were a Colossal Jest. I did not get sent to boarding school. My parents & Aunt Gladys get on only Very Sporadically, darling, & she is Out of Favour at the moment for calling Pa a ‘Fat Old Fool’ during a scene in S. Africa, a description which stung him more than somewhat – & I can’t say I blame him.
I didn’t go into detail about Aubrey’s Zionism, darling, because it has become clear to me that I don’t know all the facts. You have shown me that I know very little about this aspect of his mind & you have persuaded me that there is considerable validity in your knowledge of the facts. I’m obviously not competent to judge, my dearest love.
Thursday 2 September My darling, I hardly know how the interview went. I arrived a little early and was seen first by a very charming, plump woman called Mrs Burgess who put me through the Third Degree about whether or not I had any Ties in Egypt. I said rather evasively, my love, that I had relatives & friends & she looked in a rather Pointed Manner at your miniature which I had forgotten to take off – so I admitted that I had a Solace in the Middle East. We were then joined by Mr O’Donovan, who clearly knew very little about the Egyptian set-up – he is simply an establishment officer, though a very kind & friendly one, and he got the impression that it might be a little delicate to send a Jewish girl to Egypt. At any rate he told me that there was nothing doing at the moment but he’d let me know if anything should crop up later. Those words have an Ominous Ring, my darling. It may not be as bad as I think but I am in a palsy of terror lest it was simply a polite way of getting rid of an unsuitable applicant. So, my darling, all that is left for me is to wait feverishly and to hope & hope & hope. Oh! darling, darling, this morning I was standing tip-toe on the top of a mountain looking up at the sky and now I have fallen down a precipice & I feel as though every bone in my body had been smashed by my fall.
Saturday 4 September My darling, the dinner party was rather a success. Jean & Bernard came early so I was able to tell them the sad story of my interview with the M of I & Bernard thought he could get a line on what had actually happened, my dear love, through his contacts in the London end of the Egyptian Section.
My darling, it seems that I was unduly pessimistic about the M of I. Mr Murray has just told me that he’s had a message from S1 saying that Mr O’Donovan phoned to say that he couldn’t make any definite pronouncement about whether or not he had a vacancy for me until he’d been to Cairo & looked about him.
Thursday 9 September Joan is going to have a baby, my dear love, & she’s bursting with delight & displaying the rather small Michelin tyre round her middle with tremendous pride. Even Robert pats it with grudging admiration from time to time, my darling, & murmurs affectionately: ‘Gosh, you’re going to be Enormous’.
You know, darling, Joan’s Robert is the Quarest man I’ve ever known. Last night when we were talking about their Prospective Baby he said: ‘Just about this time last year Joan was Fattening Up like this,’ in a reminiscent tone of voice & Joan flinched visibly. How could he say a thing like that, my darling, how could he? And yet in his peculiar way I think he’s fonder of Joan than he ever believed he could be of any woman other than his first wife and, fantastically enough, I believe his intention in making the remark was to reassure Joan because they’re not certain yet that it is going to be a baby. What he meant was: ‘You were right last time in thinking you were going to have a baby & you have practically the same symptoms this time so you’re probably right again.’
While he was out of the room for a few moments, my love, Joan said fearfully: ‘Oh! I do hope it is a baby, because it just happens that I’ve caught Rob in the right mood & he’s pleased about it. If we had to start all over again he might decide that the moment was Inopportune.’ Darling, it makes me tremendously proud to know that you understand your little Solace far, far better than Robert understands Joan although he has 10 years of marriage behind him.
Saturday 11 September Darling, Ellis Smouha is, without exception, the stupidest & most irritating person I know. Last night, apropos of the amount of antique furniture which is being sent to America he said that it was a great pity because it meant that after the war the standard of living would inevitably go down. ‘Oh! no,’ I said Firmly. ‘We may not get the Beveridge Scheme at once. We may not get the Education Act immediately but nevertheless the standard must go up. For once the Easy-going British people will demand their long overdue rights.’ He looked at me blankly, darling, & said: ‘Oh! I don’t mean anything like that – I am referring to the standard of living of the Upper Class – our Class.’ Well, darling, I simply gasped & said: ‘Good God!’ in such a shocked voice that he looked astonished & said: ‘You don’t agree?’ I said rather coldly that I wasn’t interested in the standards of the ‘Upper Class’ (whatever that might be) & we dropped the subject. Oh! oh! oh! The arrogant idiocy of the man, my darling. It makes me Boil like a Witches’ Cauldron.
Sunday 12 September Darling, there is one comfort in peacetime – you don’t have to wear your underclothes for five years. You see, my love, I haven’t had a new brassiere or a new pair of breeks since before the war & the poor things are beginning to Feel Their Age. My darling, if I do get my job in Cairo I shall Fritter Away all my coupons on a frothy mass of impractical & beautiful underwear. I want you to undress me & carry me to my bath every night of my life and I know it will be much more fun for you to toss a lacy cascade of This & That on the bedroom chair than to send a solid bundle of Stockinette thudding against the upholstery.
Darling, Sigmund rang me up this morning to invite me to dinner & the pictures tomorrow evening. Then, my darling, he asked if I’d heard about Joyce’s engagement. I said No & he told me that Lord Nathan had rung him up in Paternal Triumph to say that Joyce & Bernard were engaged. He said it so seriously, darling, that I don’t think this can be just one of his Idle Jests – on a par with Listening In on the Livings-In-Sin of his weekend guests – but if it’s true, darling, I’m shocked to the core (note the absence of capitals, my dear love. I’m too shaken even for them.) Do you remember: ‘All for a handful of silver he left us …’,16 darling? I know now exactly how Browning felt when he wrote that. The cold-bloodedness of the thing is what shakes me so terribly, my darling, because I know she doesn’t love Bernard in the slightest & this engagement can only mean that she is selling herself for the things Bernard can offer. This is downright prostitution, my dear love, and nothing has ever horrified me so much since Joan’s operation. So Mum wa
s right, my darling. Joyce has always been the only one of my friends whom she has never liked (that’s why I was so furious with her for suggesting the introduction to Victor) and she once said of her: ‘In the end Joyce will marry Bernard Waley Cohen because the only things that really matter to her in the long run are money, influence and Position.’
I had lunch with Joan today, my darling. She is looking very wan & tired and she spends almost the whole day being violently sick.
Monday 13 September My darling, it is true about Joyce. I had a very brief note from her this evening saying simply: ‘Bernard & I are engaged! I’ll tell you of our plans later.’ Sigmund telephoned me again this evening, my dear love. He says that if I believe that Joyce is not happy about what she’s doing I ought to try & stop it. I shall ask her point blank when we meet, my love, whether this is what she really wants. That is the most I can do. Don’t you agree, darling?
Mrs Wingate is going to be at dinner at Sigmund’s flat tomorrow night, my dear love. I’m glad, because I very much wanted to meet her again.
Darling, at times like tonight loneliness is something so definite that it’s almost like a corpse lying beside me, very white & cold & still. I can feel its coldness & deadness against me, my darling, and I want to run screaming away from it. The more I know of other people, my dearest love, the greater the gulf between me & them – of course it isn’t so with rare people like Mr Murray & David & Sylvia but it is with most people. That’s why I can’t do without you, my very dear love. Oh! I can’t, I can’t.
Tuesday 14 September Darling, I’ve sent Joyce 3 white gardenias – very Chaste & Expensive – with an Austere little note. Expensive waxy flowers, darling, are going to be characteristic of Joyce’s way of life henceforth. Chanel – the Ritz – Cartier. All the things which weighed so heavily on my Poor-Little-Rich Childhood. I feel, my dearest love, as though I were sending flowers to a funeral. Oh! darling, I was better able to endure Joan’s emotional irresponsibility than this.
Love in the Blitz Page 47
