SUEZ
Dearest.
The first day of 1946, the year when the old order of separation and temporary soldiering will cease and the new life, the sane and natural one, of living with my wife and child in my home, and daring to live by my chosen craft, without the security and safety of a monthly cheque will begin. You asked in the last letter, written on the 20th, when you had arrived at Romsey, “But you know, you are going to miss your job, the restrictions of your new life will be difficult”. I wonder. Certainly there is a necessary breadth of view here, in being the focus of two thousand soldiers and having to deal constantly with the problems inevitable to this work. But I think we need not worry. Our interests at home must broaden, and by doing more and better work I intend to be in the centre of much more activity than before the war. By writing several reasonably good books and perhaps one very good book, and by striding out more boldly in many new directions I think we can promise ourselves a busier, livelier and more important life than the mere country mouse life, sweet though it was, of my pre-army days. I have more energy now, better ideas, a lot more to say and with you by my side there is no reason why we shouldn’t develop. This is not prompted by unreasonable ambition or small minded desire for some kind of “fame”. Years pass and if we are to justify our course of living we must now broaden out properly. So with the start we shall have financially of a couple of hundred pounds to live on and three months at full pay, and with the freshness which should follow this holiday of four or five years it is now or never. So set up the desk in the study and keep it cleared for action. Bless us all. Richard shall have a lively and a hopeful childhood.
My Ian is sweet. This evening, to avoid being churlish by having to leave the crowd and to get a quiet evening in my tent I slipped quietly into the Mess from the office at half past seven, ignoring the merry backs at the bar, ate my dinner and slipped out again as quietly and came here and started this. Just now the Mess Sergeant arrived in the tent with a double whisky with the Colonel’s compliments and was I all right and did I want anything? Dear Ian. He is the most unvicious hard drinker I have ever met. He drinks deeply through sheer kindness, he likes being generous and he can’t give people money, he gets boyisher and boyisher but never does he do anything or say anything out of his dignity, he gets kindlier and kindlier and never lets it interfere with his work. Yesterday was his great evening, he being true Scottish. We went to the HQ Sappers Mess for drinks at seven, and then dined well at eight in Mess. Then we all sat at the bar, sat in the ante-room, received visitors, played games and sang songs and drank and drank, me drinking very modestly and always only enough to save other people feeling uncomfortable as I dislike excessive alcohol, its taste, its effect and its after-effect. At midnight we toasted each other and sang songs and then Ian begged me – ready for bed, to go with him over to movements Mess on a visit. So arm in arm we went over half a mile of desert under glorious stars and drank more whiskies and he obligingly came back after half an hour. Redder in the face, quite truly funny and full of joie-de-vivre we played table tennis (he very good at it, i can only just beat him!) and then three more Majors arrived so at half past one I left and went to bed. The others kept it up, PT, dancing, poker, sing songs, until five. At seven thirty he came to my tent to see if I was up. He was fresh and gay and had breakfasted, He had a second breakfast with me and we went down to the 8.30 conference and no one else turned up. We had a conference ourselves and made a lot of quite serious decisions and plans and his brain was keen and sharp. The rest got up palely between ten and twelve!!! He is a strange, silly but very likeable man, is Ian Knight. He is getting so fond of me. Otto is still his, or rather he is Otto’s. The lady has renounced all claims as Otto sees no one but him, or when Ian is not there, me. He is getting less solemn and German, is getting a sense of humour and ussish. He’s a silly little dog. Very affectionate now and snuggles up as only Dachshunds can. Loves motoring and is hurt because we won’t let him drive.
I live in one square tent where I have Peter Redgrove, the Adjutant Elect, in with me, and this tent is one of sixteen in a square area of four by four. After dark the little canvas windows peep cosily and redly over the earthworks around them. There are lines of tents around us in all directions.
What kind fairy suggested to you that Clark’s Later Stuarts would be Just What I Wanted? It was a brilliant choice, it is very good and a sane contrast to Trevelyan. Of course, we shall go on now and envy the lot! I don’t know.
Have we too many Things in our little house? There were many before I left, I have added to them and Richard will be getting his store as well? It must be a problem. Discard things of mine as you deem fit.
I feel that the little Thing I sent you was not really a fair token of what I feel for you. It was difficult, as it had to be small and I couldn’t get what I really wanted, a gold pencil. However, you shall have nice things, tributes to a person for whom the rarest things would be inadequate.
Harry Reed case. His wife left him when he was arrested, which is rather a poor kind of action I should think.
A nice card from Leonard –proudly bought in Paris!