Nice opportunity, this, to write a letter to you. I have an awful dread that one day I’ll be driven to commercial travelling in toilet paper, and then I shall sit down in cold hotels in the evenings, after writing out my orders in a carbon-paper book (Our Own Make, Best Quality) and write to you and the children. It’ll be difficult to find news, unless I pass on the funny stories told me by chemists on whom I have called.

                        Eileen is due for breakfast at nine thirty and it is now ten thirty. The coffee is boiling, the frying pan is sticky and cold and all is wasted. She is an errant lass, unless she is at the moment a hospital case in an ambulance, which will make me sorry I was petulant. Yes, we must wriggle out of this Dairy work, soonish. I could now, really, now that there are three children’s Hour plays in hand as well as the Schools things, and the novel to look forward to. We’ll hold on until the novel is done, and then disassociate ourselves with the udder business. I might do bits and pieces for them when it is convenient.

                        How best to fill up this week ? I’d better novel with Mrs. R. tomorrow – if she comes then – and then of the remaining two sections – Friday afternoon and Saturday morning – devote one to Police at the library and one to Carla Becking and an artcle for the Mail – if they put my Roscius in today which would be a grand fluke. Then I must make it a first charge to write out the synopses for Police and Charlie Two – the latter in two forms, first for one show and secondly for six in a serial form. Then if that should come off we are made men – and women. I must press forward. You must help me to make it systematic and constant. Articles flowing out smoothly and sufficently, novel quietly building itself up, work in hand dealt with in turn and without delay, new ideas conceived and carried into effect, evening B.B.C. not neglected, Muriel’s play as a great relaxation. So.

                        There came an interval there, Eileen arrived, very apologetic and quite pleasantly rueful, she’d taken an extra half hour in bed, because there was no office, quite naturally, and had slept for an hour ! But she devoured the ommelette with pleasure and is now starting off the leading article in note form while I do this.

                        Talking of ommelettes, we will have one for breakfast in Paris in a day not too far ahead, but nevertheless a day which seems to dreamful to be true. And after yo ho for keeping the illusion and the faerie quality and may we never descend to matter of fact dullness. Fortunately you are too gay and light and wayward a person, constant only in your affection, which is too good for my deserts, for us to get placid and spreading.

                        Now for some work, bless you and have a nice time this evening, and neverleave off your ring again, you did look lost and unmine.

xxxxxxxxxe Road

My Dear:

The enclosed might interest you. From Today’s Times. Also Muriels letter. I have written to her accordingly. Nice person.

You needn’t lug your suitcase to the office tomorrow, such a sweat. There is no hurry & we can collect it later. The chicken you can bring. What about Mark?

No news. I have been writing all the morning & I’m just off to lunch with W.I.H.

See you at 1o/c. Good. And all the week-end. Go to bed early tonight. (Thursday) & have a beautiful bath. I shall think of you there, all steamy.

Bless you  –

David – Albert

305 ORPHANAGE ROAD  ERDINGTON  BIRMINGHAM

My Dear,
Whether or not I shall see you tonight I cannot yet tell, but I thought I’d write first and be sure.    I must smack ahead with little Charlie.

Things are happening.   Mrs. Pierce has got a nice middle-aged teacher to take my place, and I am shifting my belongings next Monday, which is September 5th., and I’ll have a van to do it in one load, dump them in the flat, on the new carpet, and amid the scrupulously cleaned walls and new paper, and stay, if I may, that is, for the week with your Mother.   Then during the week we can get the remaining articles and I’ll officially move in on the 12th., as arranged.    So we shall have to buy a carpet, or rather two unless we stain the floor of the bedroom for now.

Then I can buy the other things next week. I’11 have to have twenty pounds worth on the never never, a system I hate, but one which has its advantages. I shall dig up the monthly cheque all right, have to, and then once we have it we have it for all time. I only need buy a carpet, four simple oak chairs, perhaps a compactum, (which makes a dressing table unnecessary in case the Erskine’s have one later) a dresser (plain light oak) and perhaps an arm-chair.

Mrs. Ingram has just come in to offer me a full size double bed, oak, not too frilly, with a good spring mattress, for two pounds complete.   It is a good idea, but as I have a bed coming from the Erskines certainly, and as a 6′ x 4’6 bed would rather crowd out the bedroom (I think) perhaps it is best to leave it.    But it is a bargain.   I have said I will measure the room, which is a let-out, but which keeps it open.

I shall be glad when I have moved in once and for all.    It will be strange at first and I must be strong minded and not really live, accidentally, at 53 instead of 52.

We must get that papering done, then get the cleaning finished, and then get the carpet.   I’ll buy one good 7′ x 5′ light brown with a dark brown border, it will always be useful, even in towers and things.    One must furnish with an eye to towers, the perpendicular perspective as well as the horizontal, hein?

Jack is pleased to-day, Ansells are nibbling at beer in the larder, but only a nibble.    Anyhow, he was perky as a two-year old when I phoned him.   I have to phone him again.

Of course I mean what I say, even when drunk with the glory of sixteen runs and seven beers and your company in a gloam-lit tower with boy-scouts crooning over the camp fire a hundred yards away.   We’ll adopt the scouts, and shelter them when it rains and cook them vast bowls of strange stews and organise cricket matches for them.

But your David has years of experience behind him and he Knows About Drains,  and Likes Hot Water, and Understands Sewerage and is Wise and Practical,   He may look rather Alice in Wonderland, but he has a Hard-Bitten Heart, and Knows What Business Is.    But he thinks, on reflection, that Obstacles Obstetric and Hygienic can be overcome at Clopton.   He is now going to make some money. Then he will arrange to have three hundred pounds for the first year and thereafter live on the last year’s money, which means that we Shall Be Able to Cut Our Clothes To Suit The Cloth.    He dislikes financial stringency.

 Now for this Charles.

Lots of love, and Yo Ho for the Tower, I put off taking you because I knew it was Fate and I was dodging it, a hopeless pass-time.

I was quite sober, I am sub-sober usually.

Ever…

very hot heat wave. Four furious sets of singles. I was quite moist, but a bath & seven cups of China tea revived me.  Mother & I pottered along the front to Frinton. I changed again, into the grey Scruton, & we have just dined. We sit on the lawn in front of the Hotel, me writing, mother reading the evening paper – Soit ! A very charming day, healthful & invigorating. We listened in to the Nursery Rhymes. Quite charmingly done. Now what ?

                        Mother tells me that she has written to you at length. Good. Thanks for your letters (3), one direct, two sent on from Southgate.

                        Sprawling on the sand in the sun is a good pastime, even if it is Hawaiian. I wish you were here, to get sand in the hair as well.
No Post article yet ? That’s very odd. What is little Gwennie doing (of). I must pray that she’ll put it in soon or there’s no chance of two this month.

                        Mother has been buying Pyrex dishes for me – you – us. Grand idea. She’s very pyrex-minded. Also Auntie has given me to washing up brushes, one for you & one for me. Ha !

                        This South of France existence is making my poor mind very lizardish. I hope I become active by Monday, when I start serious work.

                        All being well I intend to return to Birmingham on Sunday evening. But all about that later.

                        For now, faced with sunshine, your David says farewell. Mother gets friskier every day. I wish you’d stay another week. But of the time can’t spare.

Another day drawing to its close and a day of much activity. Letters, proofs and some Leonardo this morning. Dairy at 10 thirty, there until 12.30 arranging programmes making out job lists, dictating letters and what not. Lunch, desk to two thirty, Dairy-farmer until eight, then down here for the tail-end of the orchestra and enthusiasm work. Then I tram back with Victor have a snack and settle down to a long session with midnight oil on Leonardo,

Heigh ho,

                        Letter from Mother, she sounds very sad and tired and miserable, poor darling, I’m upset.  It looks as though I must take her away at August to London, for she seems to want to go and I too want her to be seen by Auntie. Then I may have to take her to the sea that week. I think she is in desperate need of being looked after, thought for, arranged for and given a good lazy quiet time. But don’t think our Malverns are spoiled yet, because only when I see her this week-end shall I know. But rotten though it is for us, if she wants to be taken away the first week in August I must do It. I’m a rotten sort of a son, too blasted selfish and thoughtless and I must rally round and think of her for a bit.

                        But we’ll see next week-end.

                        Sorry I was empty last night and flat and not sparkly, but I seem to be pretty flop-doodle when I go all out on a job.  I’m all right in between.  All I’m fit for when I’m on a job which is an Intellectual effort is to sit about and read and listen and nod the head kindlily.  I must cure myself.

                        This Renaissance, with its magnificent, childish coloufulness, with its excitement and pathos, with its barbarity and exquisite culture, is a fascinating subject, I am getting drunk with it, the splendour and the squallor, the brilliance and the half-tones, major key crashing into sudden patches of the minor. Very strange and intoxicating.

                        Letter from Kenneth, with subtle and sly comments on my flat idea, the old dog. He is a trifle Baudelairian. His cousin’s name is Hudson, the Diana with the gracious throat.

                        Isn’t your Honor nice ? Honest is as honest does, I could not love thee half so much, loved I not Honor more, and so on.

                        Tired and worn from reharsing here I shall present myself at your house circa ten o’clock tomorrow, tonight I have for work and all tomorrow.  Then soon, perhaps play.  Who knows.

                        We’ll get our hour of idleness and quiet gaiety before long, I need such an hour, life without is a barren thing.  I must mend my ways, more such hours of deliciousness.

                        For now, I send my love and, shall look with quite stupid eagerness for your letter tomorrow. Fare thee well, and do not curse the Dairy, which keeps me crawling above the surface anyhow. We proceed. Only Thursday evening and Monday and it should be *

It is no more easy for me than for you, though I dursent?* start to kick against the pricks. This is a sad evening?* my last Orchestra, practise, they know not the tears behind my chiding this evening.

                        Bless you, things come, things go, you are comfortingly constant, remain so ever…

*

*

                            My ears are very sore. They have been pulled so violently when I played the part of horse. I am hot, exhausted & worn out. I have sought sanctuary here, with a letter to write as the excuse.

                        All are well here & content. Flourishing as ever. Paul is a dear lad, very tough & Gay & he pulls my glasses off with intense satisfaction whenever he sees me. Being a Christian Scientist he apparently wishes to suggest that such artificial aids are quite unnecessary. But he’s a superb child, and is just nine months old. The three graces, or terrors, or trials or comedians – all such names apply – are as ever intensely friendly, intensely virile, intensely vivacious.

                        Cricket was pleasant. Rolf made 29 I was clean bowled in my first over. The bowler got seven wickets for 14 !! A real double barrelled  . But in the second innings I fared better, opening batsmen which is always pleasant, & I stayed there for three quarters of an hour for a cautious nine. Rather fun opening the batting. But it was very pleasant altogether. Yesterday evening we sat by the fire & talked, as on Friday. Doing nothing is a most pleasant art. One which we are losing I fear. Rolf & Eva are as dear as ever & are extremely curious about you – want all details, & like all contentedly married people they urge others to adopt their state. Pleasant people in a pleasant place. We are now – Sunday morning – going for a walk on the common – Rolf the three terrors & myself.

                        The German girl is very sweet, 24-ish & charming, very clean looking with fine eyes. Thinks Hitler is number 2. To Jesus Christ. But she’s a gay & a charming person, eager to learn all things English & a fervent admirer of our country – especially of our food.

                        Our walk this morning was grand, over a common, all gorse & bracken. This afternoon we sailed model yachts, three of them, grand fun for Rolf & I, & mild amusement of the children as well. It is now after tea & we are going to play tennis. Rolf is pulling the roller over the lawn. Eva is putting the delectable Paul to bed, the three Perils are ominously absent, & Fräulein is writing to her Willy in Germany. (Tony has just skidded to an impressive halt on his cycle outside the Drawing Room window to salute me & to enquire – “How much longer are going to be writing letters uncle David ?”

                        Tomorrow I lunch with Susan Bashford – no Harvey. Then see the McQueen woman at the B.B.C. & then hurtle back to Birmingham for the tableau rehearsal at 6o/c. At 7.30 I meet you, (do I) at the Dairy or at the Library. If you are not in the car or in the Concert Room I’ll see you at the Reference Library. Hein ? Then as you wish.

                        No more, Michael has come to gaze reproving me at me through the window. My love to your Mother & the Yarnold’s. My trousers were superb.

LAWRENCE & SCOTT
342   WAKE    GREEN   ROAD
MOSELEY • BIRMINGHAM • 13

My Dear,
I’m glad you remembered the garage.   I don’t think it is wise to have two fires on, with the price of coal as it is.   You can come into my room for a warm now and then, and keep warm by busy activity in the kitchen.    Gas-stoves are quite warming.    I see no kennel, but I like the airiness of the countryside around.    A good idea.

Nothing has happened since I wrote a brief note yesterday.    I worked mildly with E.W.E. and she produced some very good ideas for L. & S. She’s really quite enthusiastic.    As she says, “You don’t want to mess about with this stupid Dairy work with me much longer.”   I wrote another Post article after she left, for the motor one was not liked, as Gwennie said in one of her cryptic notes, “There’s not much to this”.    So I’ve sent her a stream of nonsense, full of lumpsinthethroat, about two imaginary urchins staying at the cottage. She’ll like that.   I hope.

Letter from Rolf about Friday saying I am expected,   Letter from you, invitation from the O.B.M. club asking me to go down for the cricket match, letter from Kenneth.   That’s all.

I saw D.O.V. 5 yesterday, but never a 6 in the town.    Blast you, I thought I was stealing ahead.

We’ll have a lunch together.   Thursday and/or Friday.     I am to arrive at seven on Friday so I’d better leave directly after lunch.   Let’s say lunch on Friday, please. I’ll meet you at the office at what time?    12.30?  Then we must be content with thinking until Monday night, when I hope to see you, and perhaps, stay at your house, as I am Jacking on Tuesday morning.   How’s that?    Say the time I am to meet you.    Meanwhile I am working at pressure to get a feeling of easy conscience for the week-end.

Theatre party and dinner on the 28th. for your birthday?   Meet you at the B.B.C. at 6.15?   What is on? You have the only programme I have got.    If its a good play we’ll do that.  If not, dinner and a theatre in town. Your party, make it a custom.   You look nice on your birthday, sort of edible.

You will drive, have no fear. I wish I had a left-hand-change car, you’d learn in no time, then. It’s tricky at first though, I remember my first efforts vividly.

 I must dash to the bank to pay in a cheque to cover my insurance cheque which has just gone.  That’s paid for the year.  Good.   We breathe again.

See you soon, I want to, too.
Bless you and good luck.   Be happy, you are meant to be so,
Ever your, such as he is,

Ha, comment s’a  va ?  I have finished, for the third blasted time, Night Freight, and it seems hopeless to me.  Staleness I suppose.  I worked last night for an hour or two and then to-day and delivered it when I called on Anthony MacDonald.  He is a nice lad, but he won’t last there long.  His ideas are superb, grand and utterly commendable, but ridiculously impractical. His idea is “Blast the listeners, why spoil good art for the sake of Mrs. Bloody Higgins”.  But he forgets that Mrs. B. Higgins, through her license, pays his wages. Howbeit, we are working out the idea, of which I’ll tell you anon. They do get the wrong people. He’s patently brilliant and intellectual and clever, but he has no idea of the Average Listener.

                        No news.  I met E.W.E. in town at five thirty and we’ve lust arrived and she is reading the Times whilst I write this, then we are working at the make­up until 10 when she goes and I write something.

                        I’ll write more intelligently tomorrow, its difficult with, as it were, the Devil at one’s elbow. Sorry about this separation, its the hard Facts of Life, Circumstances, rather.  Somehow I’ll manage a meeting before Friday, if only a lunch-time one. Glad to see you so obviously light hearted and gay as you were yesterday.  Be so, away these maudlin spells of difficult melancholy.  I write again, pardon this bleak note, but accept my love,