305 ORPHANAGE ROAD
ERDINGTON
B I R M I N G H A M

March 31st. 1937

My Dear Betty,
Two letters this morning, for the first missed me at Kettering and was sent on, must have arrived second post yesterday.  But a lump is good. Your Easter sounds as though it were a good one, wherein I am much pleased.  Mine too was pleasant, although I got through a pretty hefty wodge of work.  Punch made it delightful, and everyone is full of admiration for him and for his handsome and sturdy nature. They were cars in those far off days, and all that is required to get away with his unfashionable height and nose is a certain air of “we are the Lads of the Old Brigade”; then It is distinguished to be seen in so conservative and Right Wing a car.

Do not say the Dairymaid is a waste of time. As soon as I can get a story and a Punch article a month sold, and a play broadcast every quarter and a novel every year (my ultimate aim), then it will be a waste of time. But until then the regular income is a godsend, it keeps me alive, allows Punch, gives us our private hovel here to sit in, clothes me, feeds me and warms me. As such it is more valuable than odd articles in distinguished periodicals.  Besides, this time I wrote some first class stuff, on the Coronation, historical and my subject.  The articles are such that I am not ashamed to show them to Bernard Shaw If he wanted to read them. And it means ten guineas on the fifteenth of next month.  So although I agree that we must be able to get first class stuff sold regularly, until then, the Dairymaid and the Dairy-Farmer are blessed salvations.  I’d have to be a clerk else, and you wouldn’t like that.  No future then.

I too want to see you, very much. But today, tomorrow and Friday are booked BUT I have the week-end free except for football on Saturday afternoon. Its better, I think, to sacrifice each afternoon and evening and have the week-end free than to lose that. Can you do anything ? Say what. Use Punch on Sunday for a run somewhere and then walk a bit.  Bring lunch and tea ?  Just tea ? End up here for a quiet two or three hours by the fire ?  End up at your place ?  (I’d take you home anyhow)  I’d rather it were here as its a whale of a time since I’ve seen you alone.

You say. I’ll go to a theatre, pictures, or sit here on Saturday evening avec the greatest of plaisir. Say about that first. Tell me to meet you at the Tram Terminus here at 6,   6.30, 7 or when you will or in Town at 6.30, 7 or when you will. I will do as you want, your party.

Then about Sunday. Have you a rehearsal to attend ? Must you ? I understand if you must, being a producer myself, but perhaps the Art Department could be dispensed with this time. Perhaps not, you alone can Judge that. So decide if we have all day, the afternoon, the evening or none of it.

 Pick the destinations Malvern, Shrewsbury, Evesham, Stratford, anywhere you like. I’ll collect you if it is that side of Birmingham. Say if I am to come at 10.30 or 2.30. If we have Saturday together we could go home to your Mother’s its a shame to leave her out of our parties, But I’d like our first drive in Punch to be us two. Later we’ll take her as well, and perhaps little June Hayward or someone else to make a fourth. Even Jack ! If we take food could you do that part of it ? Dig up some sandwiches and apples and a slice of cake and a thermos of China tea ?

 So you arrange it all, don’t say “I don’t mind”, just choose, and I’ll gladly do as commanded. Yours to serve, madamoiselle. If you have to go to rehearsal I’ll work here   all day and come down in the evening, or meet you here. Just say. Some afternoon we’ll take Mrs Jack and Jack with us and go to Oxford or somewhere with them. Fun that.

I rely on you to organise, I shall do as you wish. Damn the weather, but it’ll be   fine.

Mary is coming to our party and I shall arrange for a taxi for Jack, so we’ll be all right.  You, Mary and I will meet at the Tom Tom, at 8, and have coffee together, and go down  about 8.40, and  Jack will  arrive at 10 to nine, and  after  the  play we’ll have  a drink and  some  sandwiches,  and we’ll take Mary home,  then  Jack, then you, in that  order.

Your One-man-dog-David is not clever, and it takes numbskull to get into Punch, anyhow, ask any Left winger.

Au revoire, my dear, and our week-end. I should go and see the Fields, the Alsfords, the Brookes, the Hughes and the Childs but they can ruddy well go without!

Ever your,

GLENHOLME  MARKET PLACE  KETTERING
(GOOD FRIDAY)

 My Dear Betty,
Here we are, safe and sound In Kettering, and Punch stands proudly outside, quietly cooling down after his maiden voyage under the colours of his new master.    I left at nine, wishing to have a good margin of time, and arrived at eleven, exactly the same time as in the other cars!   Which just shows. Punch may be slightly demodee, he may have a different type of line to his body, but, by George, he is a grand hearted vehicle and has both Soul and Spirit. We must have a Sunday’s exploration to the hills or to the sea.   Nunk quite understands the situation and has been very tactful and nice about it.     He thanks you for your message of affection and begs to return the sentiments.

I went to your Uncle’s yesterday evening about eight, and spent the evening there, including a minute examination of Punch’s more delicate and intimate regions, a run to a pub with Maurice for the consumption of a brace of beers, and a coffee party with the family.    All very pleasant and enjoyable.    The afternoon I put in at the Library, and I ended up with a battery of about twenty large tomes round me and tracked down several hares about our beloved William S.    Its a formidable task, handling matter so sacred to so many learned and worthy souls. But I think I’m getting an angle (as they say) on it.

 Easter is to be quiet here.   We shall go to the Northampton Rep tomorrow, and probably to Bedford tomorrow.    I shall do a spot of work meanwhile, and hope to keep the flag flying in the literary output department.

 The chances of our having an evening in the early part of next week seem slight, since the Coronation Dairymaid has to be written.    I’ll communicate later. Tuesday and Wednesday is booked anyhow.  (I seem to be missing the spacing rather badly, it’s the penalty of typing on Good Friday).

Nothing back from Punch yet, so a slender shoot of hope is permissible.    But, it might wither yet.    Anyhow, I’ve got two more things in hand.

Have a gay Easter, and think of me sore time. Now we have Punch we can save up and got to the Theatre at Stratford, have a day on the river, go walking somewhere, or even go to the sea and bathe.    That would be superb.

No more, as there is no news at all.   Write if you have time, and this is my address until first post Tuesday.    And I don’t think I’m clever, just curious and interested in people, and very True Blue. Also one-man-dog.   My greetings to your Mother, and your Uncle and your Aunt and your cousins. Maurice and John are very pleasant folk and your Uncle is a rare spirit.

A bientot,

Ever your,

305 ORPHANAGE ROAD  ERDINGTON  B I R M I N G H A M

My Dear Betty,
Great days ahead, I am sure of it, beyond a party a deux or a quatre on the 21st. of April and the Coronation, which promises to be a desperate adventure with much tribulation and scrapping!

Eileen has just arrived for the evening, which provides a superb contrast to other evenings I have in mind! She has gone to tea and I am going up in ten minutes to share a cup of tea with her. Then back here to hammer out the Coronation Dairymaid. Whether or not I shall have Thursday or Friday evening free I cannot yet say, with tact perhaps I can get one of them. If not might we not do something on Saturday night? Say what you think, I’ll stay here this week end for that purpose if it suits you.  If any other chance arrives I’ll telephone, but its doubtful.

The Nursery School trip was great fun. I spent a gay morning, and frolicked with abandon. I’ll make it a Post article and then you can see all about it.   Betty Dixon has got a job in a tea-shop at Knowle, so she has to leave the Concert Party, a loss of talent, but a saving of considerable possible embarrassment.

They had those potatoes for me last night, and some asparagus on toast, which was a treat, and a fitting gastronomic finale to a delightful evening, thanks, dear lady, to your kindliness and friendliness. May it never grow less.

‘Twould be discourteous of me to stay longer writing a letter, pleasant though it is. So with my love and assurance of my qualities of being a “One-man-dog”!, I’ll say au revoire, and know that you will see in quality in this letter what is so absent in quantity.

Be yourself, and be mine,
Yours. .
David

ERDINGTON BIRMINGHAM.

My Dear,
O.K. for tomorrow.  I’ve got to go to the office in the afternoon, and the B.B.C., but I am despatching Kenneth off to Skipton after lunch and have the evening free.   Although you must help me write up my comic song for the cricket club do on Saturday night.    I ought to spend the evening with Bill doing that, but we’ll do it together. Shall I join the bus at the Dairy, or meet you in town at half past seven?    Or seven if you can, I am free from six onwards.    Telephone me at Aston Cross 0784 any time between 3 and 5 if it is to be seven thirty, if I don’t hear, I’ll meet you at seven, or If I’m not there I’ll join the bus at the Dairy.    If  I  should  be  out  when  you  telephone  ask  for Miss Brown and leave a message just say 7.30. . . or whatever the message is. Continue reading →

A very fine letter, i’faith, and it cheered me greatly. I am glad the Choreographic are getting something done. I’ll ask Victor your two questions on Tuesday and let you know in the evening. Of course it isn’t a nuisance, it’s a pleasure to be of some small service. I’m glad I put you in touch with him, it will do them good to have someone about the place with the ability to get things done.

                        Tomorrow I shall be on the bus at 8.30, and we shall be able to talk about these things, if indeed, we talk of any things ! The radio is a splendid excuse for silence.

                        I’m glad your mother has the new hat. Mine is well, Nunc is well and I had a lazy idle week-end. This morning I feel Mondayish, and seem to be unable to get going. My typewriter is being overhauled, hence this borrowed one, which I hate. I’m a splash with a new machine, it is about time, but I’m trying to spend nothing. But a new type-writer will last me six years and it is important to have a decent one. This is a new one, of Eileen’s but it is a PIG.

                        Kenneth has written to say he wants to come down for a day and I suppose it will have to be Friday, I am not going to spend Friday evening with him, even though he does come all the way from Yorkshire.

                        I’ll write offering him the day but regretting that the evening is engaged. And when I said you were an imaginary appointment what I meant is that you were an imaginary business appointment ! You’re not imaginary.

                        No news, but just greeting on passant. Tomorrow, alors, and no I must do my Carla Beck advert., I had almost forgotten it.

                                A letter was a good thing this morning, and I read it joyously, and gratefully.  So all is well, bien.  This will be no heart to heart confessional, merely a how-d’ye-do and a general greeting.

                        Can you manage Tuesday as before ?  I am working on the Dairy-Farmer on Monday evening, Wednesday evening, all Thursday and Thursday evening.  But reserve Friday, I’ve produced an imaginary appointment and am keeping the evening clear.  Also I might wriggle out of the  ricket Club do on Saturday and we could go to the Hippodrome and see some music hall stuff, which would be jolly.  Que pense-toi ? But I don’t know if I can get out of the cricket supper yet.  Anyhow, days will come, and nights too.

                        As soon as I can raise some handy money we’ll have a baby car, humble but motionable, and then we shall own England and be free of the countryside. I may give up cricket this season so tiiat we can get about, and I think it will be the solution. . Then we can have some Saturday afternoons and evenings.

                        Have a good time at the Choreographic on Sunday. I shall compile cross-words at Kettering. I haven’t got into the Times yet, gently, gently.  But it would be the last straw if I did.

                        No more now, but write to me when you have time, and I’ll catch that 8.30 bus again.

305  ORPHANAGE  ROAD
ERDINGTON
BIRMINGHAM.   3/3/37
_ _ _

My Dear Betty,
Our slender chance of an evening of peace and quietness, with music as a background for all-sufficient idleness, snapped, and I shall be spending the evening in feminine company which is the very antithesis of yesterday evening.  But don’t rail, I see a dim pink lining to the horizon, and these dairy days are numbered. We shall have our evenings, long ones, numberless ones. A journey, which has been tiring and nearly mortal,   is drawing to its close, and although there are many miles yet to be traversed, the glimpse of  journey’s end lends new spirit to footsteps which were sadly lagging.

News, news, news. I am a happy frisking youngster this day, for after years of fruitless efforts I have sold a story to Punch ! A full page one, so rejoice with me, for my heart is exceedingly glad. It may seem a small thing, but you may understand the glee I feel,   for I have long knocked at this door!  One article taken is not Fame, or Fortune. But there must be a first, and without that first there can be no others. Now we have hope and opportunity. Don’t you see, you cuckoo, that if I can sell one article to Punch a month, and a crossword to the Post a month, and two articles to the Post a month, then I am free. Free to live in a village, to cease dairy-work which I loathe and which jaggs at my nerves and bids fair to ruin what little style and sparkle I may have ?  So this is a Great Day, and you are  the first person to be told. Maybe, said he, becoming inscrutable, maybe this will affect you and your life more nearly than you imagine. Now we shall try Punch again, more hopefully, more confidently, and that confidence will outlast ten rejections, no seven. If we could do  the jobs mentioned above we could so spend our mornings in the village, and in the  afternoons and evenings we could WRITE, fiction, drama, real damn-the-reader STUFF.     I wish you were to be here tonight, to rejoice, for it is assuredly a symbol. I felt weak and pale when I opened the envelope and drew out the galley-proofs, all neat and so convincingly real. I wished that you were there to see. You ought to be there at breakfast, damn it, you shall.

Moreover a nice letter from the Times, of all people, on most luscious paper,   saying that although they have regular contributors with cross-words and an ample supply, they would like to see some of mine. Dare we hope ? I have sent off two, and wait nervously. There is but little hope but, my dear, articles in Punch and crosswords in the Times. Surely your David may yet become a writer, and not a tame advertising machine. Hope for him.

Primroses to-day, in a blue bowl. Little primroses, pathetic ones, courageous but only to the eyes of love are they lovely. Such eyes are mine. Mrs. Pearce had them from her niece and brought me a bowl in. And I saw a Baby Austin for £10 and I’ll buy it, and we’ll be Free, and be able to rove woods and hills and miss buses. Its old, shabby, wheezy, but it goes and I can draw the sweetness from any baby car, and you would love him. But I will not be rash. I’ll look again, we’ll have a motor this summer, its silly not to in these days. But never will I have one I can’t afford. Rather a laughing crock which is mine and no master to me than a gleaming glistening silent panther of a car, with red leather seats and a woofly voice which rules me, makes me its slave and keeps me a beggar.

You ask for a nice letter. Well, you will observe that I am jealous of words. I shall never splurge superlatives over a letter, but when I do use a stronger word every syllable will count and sting and score its point. “My Dear Betty” means “My Dear Betty”,   whereas many a Dearest means no more than Dear Sir.

What of us ?  My doubts are fleeing, I am finding a glorious confidence that us being together is no unwise pleasure, the more indulged in the more to be regretted later.   Although in years we are the same, in mere dates I have lived longer and I have learned to be careful of building high hopes in other people, of taking the easy course of acting as  another  person wishes, later to become honest  and wound  that person deeply. Hence my doubts and uneasinesses in the past. Were you too young, was I being a silly ass, was I trading on your very sweet nature, where ?  why ?  when ?  So I puzzled.  But now I do not puzzle.  So be at ease, and you and I, if we continue to get on well together, may as well decide to damn the world and be content with each other. But put me on no pedestal, Betty. My life is a chancy one, though with company and companionship and encouragement I shall forge from it something worth while. But it has been wasted in many ways. I am liable to silly moods, or have been, though lately I am getting saner, and I am nothing at all to write home about. This isn’t modesty. But such as I am, if it please you, my lady, it shall be your most humble servant.

I am a bit frightened of your intellectual explorations. To breathe quietly, live kindly, and trust faithfully seems better than to choke with indignation against systems,   customs, orders and such external and intangible things. By quiet living and real happiness  individuals can do more for each other than by shouting and preaching. Precept, you know. The ideal state is distant, but ones own life can be made to approach to it, and if every one does that, surely the whole will become ideal ?  But I don’t know.

We shall have next Tuesday, and perhaps Monday. You and I mustn’t hide ourselves together all the while. We must go out among others, for how else can we know that we do pair off ?  It shall be. (But not next week)

No more for now, but be happy and write to me. I must do some writing now. And to write every day for the rest of my life is an entrancing prospect.

I send you my love,

‘Tis March the first, my vow is through, I now may smoke cigarettes and, Glory Be, they have lost their hold on me. The one I had was insipid, flavourless, petty and quite incomparable with my blessed pipe. I hope I am broken of that silly habit of everlastingly smoking cigarettes.

                        Of course I was disappointed, but there is no need to rage against Circumstances.   I spent all day indoors.  In the morning I Carla Becked and did my ad. and a leaflet for them, and two letters. In the afternoon I read the paper, wrote more letters, started a crossword, listened to Anthony and Cleopatra, and then went on with the crossword. At eight I Tom-Tomed and had supper, an ear alert for your feet pon the stairs. At nine I left messages with Harold the waiter, and went slithering home, and listened the Eastbourne concert and finished  the  cross-word, doing out  the  clues  by midnight.  Often  you  were  in my mind,   and  I began to realise,  as  the hands of the clock crept relentlessly round,  that you were kept  back for  some  reason.  I was sad, but did not doubt that it was inevitable. There was no blame anywhere.  The evening was yours anyhow, whether you were here or not. It served me right for being selfish and asking, you to come here instead of going to Cannon Hill.

                        I’ll explain to Victor, but tell your Mother that  the cold of  hard snow, clean and sharp,  is healthy and a slayer of  bacteria,  whereas  the warm wet days  in which you are  turned loose are far worse!  My fire was so warm, but imagination filled the other chair, and almost brought the sofa round to the fire.

                        This week is a devil. Monday and Tuesday are gone as you say, and Wednesday and Thursday must see the Dairy-farmer through to start the Coronation Dairy-maid. But we are laying up a store of guineas against a free month or two later. Then Whoops. But could we not have a brief hour of each other’s company on Tuesday ?

Its the only chance, for Friday I am taking June to the theatre, an old promise, and Saturday the Fantasticks are in Leicester and me with them, going home afterwards.

But I will finish in good time on Tuesday, even leave the clearing up to Bill Hughes.  I could catch the 8.50 bus at the Dairy, finding you on it. You could catch it at town at 8.50 and I’ll snap it up at the Dairy at 8.35. We shall have an hour and a half at home.  Que dites-toi ?  If I miss it by a minute I’ll come haring up on the next Midland Red and you will wait for me in the Tom Tom, in the warm. Its my only offering to your very sweet invitation for an evening.  We’ll lay plans for the next week and trick fortune.  I always have one evening and yours it shall be.

                        You aren’t ILL are you, and being brave and veiling it behind invented maternal authority ?