On the telephone to Ewart just now Marjorie came and said “Can she wear her long dress ?”  on Saturday.  I didn’t know what to say, and we decided to refer it to you. Its most important apparantly. She wants to wear it, bless her but not if there are no other “long dresses”. Will you give a ruling ? And write by return, to me or to her ? If to me I’ll telephone it.  She knows you are too busy to handle such details, but if you can squeeze in a card do so.

                        The stool has arroven, and very nice it is, Mrs. A. has sat on it which just shows. Helluva good day here to-day, and we are working well.  Juliet gazes at Nunk in adoration he’s her ideal, and he looks at her, kind and pitying, faintly amused and trying hard to see her through my eyes.  Nunk has the armchair, and I have brought up the little chair for her Julietship. We have to be careful about precedence and handle them like a Chinese and a Japanese ambassador to tea at the same time. Delicate.

                        Mrs. Fyshe is going to call on you when we are married told Mrs. Harrison so. If you are in Town would you order some visiting cards ? 100 each, for me, as enclosed, but Rosemary Cottage, Great Alne, Warwickshire. For you same as enclosed, only Mrs. A. Scott Daniell (or if you prefer it, Mrs. David Scott Daniell) and same address. We’ll pay for them out of wedding present money. Have them posted to us here, you or me. Avery’s bowl would be grand for a card bowl if we don’t get one, or the Wilsons would do. But no handle is better.  No harm in these old customs. They call on you first, that’s the great point.

                        Mr. Spencer called this morning to wish me luck and drank beer with me and saw over the house.  Nice friendly man,   shy a bit and worried with his wife. I’ve written to the organist as your mother wished, and to the parson thanking him for letter and enclosure. Asked him to our little do. All friendly and unofficial, on your behalf.

                        Any more booty ? We are fortunate. I think the gloat room looks lovely.  I’ll bring either or both of Auntie Emmie’s things if I can. Lords is a nice idea on the Monday or Tuesday, isn’t it.
And London Bridge to Greenwich the other day. How they sleep, these animals. Miss Cave is going to tend the goldfishes. Good.  Bill comes to supper and beers tomorrow night at seven and I have thanked them weepfully on the phone for their present. We want two plugs, one for each.

                        Ho ho, two and a half days.  Good lord, me, married, you married and to each other.  That’s the only saving grace.

                        So, dear friendly soul, lover, wife, mistress of my house and life, a bientot, and keep that upper lip stiff and remember, “it has to be, so here goes…”

                        Did you see your medical friend ? A sensible thing to do really.  Parson for the spiritual, doctor for the physical. Better so.

                        If you are in town please buy, no don’t.

                       A tiny breathless note before Ted goes to the post, no time to say what I would say, only thankyou for being you. Have no worries about to-days interview, ’tis nothing, is it, just common sense and he will be as used to it as you are used to writing letters to me.

                        I saw Aunt Jess for half an hour, bless her and got the sweet peas, not the Watering can or the shoes all the shops were shut, – Stratford tomorrow for an hour, a dash there and back.

                        Nunk is very well and is snoozing in the study chair as I write this, bless the dog.

                        I must dash, dear heart, I’ll write better tomorrow,

                        Thankyou for everything and for being you and for being mine, you make me ten times mee,

ROSEMARY COTTAGE

 My Dear you,
When was there no letter?   This is too bad of the post office, for I always send a letter every morning before nine and every night before 5.45.   Yes, I know what it is like when none comes and thankyou for this mornings. Also such a nice one from Carrington (C.U.P.) saying that he is away June 3 to 8th (when I said I might see him) and that if I like to write about publications amid more interesting occupations he’ll be pleased to hear from me but that he doesn’t expect a letter!  How nice everyone is about us being married. Everyone here is thrilled and grins so kindly at me and waves and says “Not long now”. The bird-like Mrs. wash-lady said last night, “Well sir, not long now before the happy event”. I think she honestly meant the wedding.  And writing a baby feeding folder all yesterday my mind turned to thoughts of us. You know I don’t like raw babies, and I hate the impedimenta of bottles and thingumyjigs and nappies and squawks, but our own would be different, but chickens should be counted in person.

Towels, good. We can be clean. Sheeting, good, too.    Tell anyone who wants to know that we need a suit-case.  One more would do us proud. You have only that small one and I the one. Not essential but nice. Pyrex ex Muriel. Do we still need glass-ware? I suppose so, you will know. A shaving bowl would be nice too (Yah). But you know, only say what sort, we have a casserole (a sort of Jum) and one pair of dishes.    But in your hands, dear one, I shall approve.

Yes, say that you don’t know what arrangements I am making in my house for my own guests. Maybe the annex, Marjories, but may be our house.  In that case you’ll have my room, and me the camp bed.    (I like that camp bed.)

Cricket practise tonight, after a day of Lorenzo de Medici and perhaps a Mail article.    Our funds for August are low unless we do a Dairy-Farmer in June-July. Shall we?   E.W.E. is a new person, sane, enthusiastic about us, charming, and likes the thought of you and us now she has got used to it.   No strain now, just general amusement.    She is giving us a good present, but will say nothing, but hints at wrought-iron lamps and says how nice they are.

Juliet has nice ears too, like your Marks. Will Mark be nice to Juliet?   Yes I’ll bring up all those things, but when? Next week?   Bobby and Kay come here to tea on the second and I’ll canter up with them. You and I had better go out to supper with Bobby and Kay and Kenneth and Helen.    Burlington?   Nice ending to a difficult day.    Or shall we not see each other? After next Saturday it will be very wrong for you to sleep anywhere but with me.   Think of that! I am so positively fond of you that I shall revel in the most intimate and lurid passages in the service, which just shows.

Auntie Emmie arrives 1.43 on the Saturday. Shall we arrange a taxi for her?   Or Kenneth or Bobby?

To-day I think it must be the Peasants Revolt and D.V. tomorrow Lorenzo de’ Medici. That leaves Hunt Royal (4) and Bible for next week and some articles. No one has produced more in so short a time. In two weeks I have evolved four schools scripts, written pamphlet copy for two, written seven post articles and landed one (I mean Gwenny), written Hunt Royal (3) Cyrus, article for Radio Times, article for Motor Boat, discussed Mr. Richardson, and generally handled everything. And they think I have an idle life. Oh also finished the Dairy-Farmer and done three quids worth of other Dairy work. So. That’s what you do to me.   Also several letters to you, dear thing.  Your ears are nicer than tulip petals.

No more the now, its eight o’clock and I will shave, wash dress, go to the post and start work, Breakfast (an Anderton one) at nine. Good.

So now, my own, au revoire.   Friday afternoon? for tea    Why not?    Say when?    Shall I come and fetch you?   Ring if I am to, I will but should just write and write and write.

Bless you a great deal,
Ever your

The rector, I mean the Victor, says no hymns, and he says I can pay in advance, and he says my recotr’s spelling’s awful, which is what I thought, – Aledged and consequtive !!!  Thankyou for the longest-ever letter, a massive masterpiece which delighted me no end. And good about the hat, sounds the sort I’ll like, and its so useful jo-a can hide under it.  I’m bareheaded and ashamed.  Oh dear. Nice letter from the victor.

Good about the week-end I’ve written, very happy to do so to mother saying we arrive Sunday morning twelve thirty if the weather is like this we shall enjoy having the hood down and I’ve signed my will and have got into the legal style which is no fullstops or even commasandJuliet is eating flies and Eileen is here walking in the garden while Iwrite this letter the gondolas or whatever you call those vast vulgar red things, I know peopnies are all out and look like fat butchers in evening dress who have dined too well Charles part three has gone and rex wrang up this morning all chatty and I do get through some work, Cryus is done and that comma jumped in by instinct full stop

We are doing a ababy folder and there are babies all over the lawn next door and I had an apple-pie bed and pyjamams tied up last night and I locked the doors front and back how did they get in through the window I wonder, and who ?

Good about the presents, let ’em all come say I but where shall we put them we’ve got enough here as it is let alone adding a lot more of course your aunt ame and mother and mark come on Monday let them arrive wherever is best for them about twelve or one oclock and we will meet them we had better say one oclock ish for we might be late and leave them stranded on the wayside if they came by train they could let themselves in of course you know best yes I will take them all up on Monday but must come back much work to do, Charles (4) yet and two more schools scripts and I have my children on Tuesday evening can’t miss that I’ll come for the day later in the week don’t you think or do you.

No more but lots and lots and lots of love letter from Bobby enclosed what a nice man I love you

ever your. . .

Nothing to say, only what is this new life we are to undertake ? We shall keep it as we think we shall now ? If we can preserve, and enrich, our present colouring of it it will be enough to live if we make no other mark.

                        A grey day here, warm and a playful wind, dark blueness in the sky which is rather attractive, though tis heavy. Juliet sleeps in the armchair, I am reading and writing the Peasants Revolt, and this is an interlude between scenes 1 and 2. Later I shall have another interlude between 2 & 3 and finish this letter, meanwhile one may come from you.

                        Are you having new shoes ? If so wear them a day or two, or we shall kneel and present four shining new soles to the audience. A horrible thought.  Oh, a little, a very little, joke, all of my own, “As to the manor born”.  Comes of reading up all about lords of the manor. We’d have been serfs in the fourteenth century and I’d be living in Harrow still, working for the Lord there and you in Romsey married to a serf there. Horrible thought, how right John Ball was, what a lot we owe him. But perhaps you’d have been an abbess and me a prior which would have been all right, in the fourteenth century.

                        What’s a barbola ? I fear there is one on our soiled-linen basket. Or is it all right ?

                        How’s the booty growing ? Cashable ? And how is it brought out here. We don’t want other people arranging it all. Got that ring yet ? Don’t forget it. What do I owe you there for ? Get evening frock ready for your suit case for me to have on Saturday week morning for the car. May dine in state somewhere for all we know. Or not ?

                        Doesn’t seem true, does it, about us and June 3 ?  It will come off ? Yes ?    Tell Uncle Fred to amuse me in the Vestry, green-room, or whatever it is between 2.15 and 2.20 when he departs to fetch you and don’t you be late, or I’ll pick someone else out of the audience and start off. Oh, if I feel apprehensive I expect I shall put pads and batting gloves on in the vestry and get Colin to pitch me up a few soft ones.

                        They are COCKCHAFERS, not hornets or waterbats or cockroaches, there’s been such a discussion in the village, the Fyshes have them too. Cricket practise tonight at 6.30. Ha.

                        Oh dear, tomorrow tomorrow. Do come early, why not to breakfast ? Why hang about ? And yet, tis better so, but I’m getting all tingly and so on.

                        More between scenes 2 & 3 if scene 2 gets finished before 5.30. Hoolahoola.

                        (Oh, so glad you like the expression WHUFF, I think the H is sweet)

                        Sleeping doesn’t mean lack of appreciation at all, but content and great happiness and affection. That’s how I express myself, look at me and Beethoven last Sunday, and you know how I love Beethoven.

                        Isn’t this Carrington man a nice one ? He’s the man I wrote to about schools broadcast publications.

ooooooooooooooooooooo

                        Not getting on very well with Watt the Tyler, restless, do a few lines and dither for a bit, want your steadying influence here, feel cramped, doodled, all odd. But I will.

                        Walked, down to the station. There’s a screaming express on Monday if Mark likes to bring them by train, leave Snow Hill 11.10- and arrives at Great Alne, in triumph, at, roughly, 1.40. Lunch at 2 sharp. They spend some little time at Hatton, but they’d like that. Probably will, after this wedding !  Tell them its an exciting journey. They can drink at Hatton while they wait. Or bus it to Bills Head or Alcester.

                        Gerald has got a – get this right, Tort – Toyes, almost ‘uman it is, so knowing you don’t know. Oh thank Mrs. A for the celery glass when you come.

only time for the slightest of notes tonight.  It is past midnight and I have the last scene of Cyrus to write and I have to be at the school at 8.45, to watch the library working (for Gwennie).  So excuse more.

                        We won at Coughton, 9-7, a grand game and I limited my beers to seven, so I am very sober.  I took Chip, Frank and Ted in the Humber. A Mediterranean night, blue sky, sliver of a moon, and trees jet black and cardboard. Even Chip became romantic and sighed at the moon.

                        The cricket was superb, its miraculous.  They are playing straight bats, getting their feet out to the pitch of the ball, holding catches, and I’ve found a treasure of a wicket keeper, a twelve year old named Raymond Hooker.  Pretty little bat, too. Suffield came, and then Ewart and Colin and finally Chip, very grandly.  The boys were thrilled at this attention and flushed and went simpery when-ever their arch-hero Colin spoke to them. He’s superb with them, so’s Suffield. Suffield plays on Saturday, such a nice man, too.  He said, he’s not much good at cricket, and I cross-examined him and found that he used to play as an amateur for Derbyshire !! A County Player !!!  Played at Lords, the Oval and all that.  Phew. A good bowler too, I believe.  So !  Certainly he’s a grand coach and a very good fellow. I shall be playing with my children soon.  But the nursery is assuredly a success.  Everyone is most impressed with the deportment of the boys.  Keen, quiet, dignified and so anxious to please.

                       No more now.  I must to work. E.W.E. is said to be coming tomorrow all day, 9 – 9.  Hope so in some ways, not in others.

                        So lots of love and no more letter.

only time for the slightest of notes tonight.  It is past midnight and I have the last scene of Cyrus to write and I have to be at the school at 8.45, to watch the library working (for Gwennie).  So excuse more.

                        We won at Coughton, 9-7, a grand game and I limited my beers to seven, so I am very sober.  I took Chip, Frank and Ted in the Humber. A Mediterranean night, blue sky, sliver of a moon, and trees jet black and cardboard. Even Chip became romantic and sighed at the moon.

                        The cricket was superb, its miraculous.  They are playing straight bats, getting their feet out to the pitch of the ball, holding catches, and I’ve found a treasure of a wicket keeper, a twelve year old named Raymond Hooker.  Pretty little bat, too. Suffield came, and then Ewart and Colin and finally Chip, very grandly.  The boys were thrilled at this attention and flushed and went simpery when-ever their arch-hero Colin spoke to them. He’s superb with them, so’s Suffield. Suffield plays on Saturday, such a nice man, too.  He said, he’s not much good at cricket, and I cross-examined him and found that he used to play as an amateur for Derbyshire !! A County Player !!!  Played at Lords, the Oval and all that.  Phew. A good bowler too, I believe.  So !  Certainly he’s a grand coach and a very good fellow. I shall be playing with my children soon.  But the nursery is assuredly a success.  Everyone is most impressed with the deportment of the boys.  Keen, quiet, dignified and so anxious to please.

No more now.  I must to work. E.W.E. is said to be coming tomorrow all day, 9 – 9.  Hope so in some ways, not in others.

So lots of love and no more letter.

ROSEMARY COTTAGE

My Dear,

Sort of a lion, I am, full of high sprung energy and resolution.    For example, a whale of a day yesterday, wrote a Motor-boat article all the morning, 1400 words, twice, and two letters to you and various other ones. Then worked at Hunt Royal from 3 to 7.30, went with Miss Cave and Mrs. Paul to the pictures in Stratford (lousy film, too much slop, but lots of damned good cows, horses and skies and a good micky mouse) and drove back (hood down, windscreen up) and then wrote Hunt Royal until 2 and finished part three.   That’s better, only one more to do. Then to bed, and up at 7.15 and planted out three more rows of lettuces in dressing gown.

SUPERB morning, dew on the grass, all diamante, blue sky, warm sun, birds in full panoply of song. Air resonant with young growing things, Juliet prancing on tip-toe in and out of the tulips. Now this letter, then post, breakfast and in to Cyrus up to my eyebrows. Finish that to-day.   Whuff!   Lead me to some work Whuff.

Talking of whuffs, no letter at all at all this morning!   Boo-hoo.   Very empty and void it makes it. Inconstant one, and we thinking of you all the while. But you are forgiven, so long as it does not happen again. Or have you forgotten me?  ‘orrible thought.

From Kenneth and Helen a superb blue travelling rug!  Aren’t we lucky.    Write to Helen, I’m writing to Kenneth. They arrive about 9 p.m. Friday night, I’ll go see them, got to find them an hotel.    I enclose his letter he does want to wear his waistcoat, bless him.    Makes me want to put on full panoply, but no, sunday suit and clean nails is the limit. I’ll tell him.

I wished you with me last night at the pictures, such dull company.  Miss Cave is really rather a sap, and laughs at the wrong things and giggles. Mrs. Paul is just simple, a sort of a Tessa, charming and quite childish. Frightened of the fighting in the pictures, said “oh the poor things” when a couple of hundred steers swam a river, and got very upset when the heroine declared herself engaged to the villain, while the poor hero went and played a banjo under a studio moon and beside a cardboard tree with an electric camp fire burning.    Poor dear.   You are different.

Oh, why not you come out on Friday and us go to Kettering on Sunday morning, and return Monday morning?   They don’t ask much, bless them and we never see them and they’re so marooned there we could take them out on Sunday evening. We’d have a quiet time that way, no bother and no entertaining and just us.   And if we have people here it does take money which at the moment is very precious.   You can stay at Marjories, in the room you had last week or in the other one. The other one I expect.

Now I’ll to the post and then what ho for breakfast and then Cyrus.    I’ll make It a wow for you, never fear. Don’t not write, mon ame, I do feel lost and forlorn when you don’t, but I know how busy you are these days so I must not ask too much.    A telephone chat would be nice, of course.

So, all my love, and bless you,
Ever your own

ROSEMARY COTTAGE
GREAT ALNE

A veritable heat wave, my dear, I dozed on the lawn after lunch and am now Cyrussing in shirt sleeves with every window wide open.    Cricket nursery at 6.30 and darts at Coughton afterwards, but 1 beer only.

Marjorie says please forgive her delay in replying, it depends on getting someone to tend the babes and they are fixing it, and when it is fixed they’ll reply. So.

 You sent the Scotts invitation, yes?   Thankyou very much. Just bathed my feet in the bath, cold water douche, very nice,    A zephyr breeze blows through the windows, very refreshing,   A man called with fire appliances, Nice idea but they cost four pounds.   We can have a nice fire for less than that.   Wants to sell us a fire escape as well,    1 told him to come and see you!!

I’m all Cyrus and can’t switch off to write intelligently so this is a balmy letter.

Do lets go and see my mother on Sunday she’d be so thrilled, we shan’t for a hell of a time now. It would be a nice change too, and economical.    She has glass and stuff for us, too and lots of oddments for you. Your mother and aunt come out mid-day and we meet them and I take you all back when you have to go,    (“I don’t often ask you to do anything!!”)    And bless me, you have Wednesday and Thursday and Friday and Tuesday and Wednesday and Thursday and Friday and Saturday morning to make a dress, already made, fit you!    Are they up to date with their food plans?  Lets have lots. When am I wanted for a committee meeting, if ever?

Will you get the die of Rosemary Cottage from Stanfords and Manns?   Better have it and get    it printed here, in Stratford don’t you think, or do you.   You’ll want some cards too.    Oh, and why not send me those cheques and I’ll cash them all, or when I come up will do. We ought      not to keep them outstanding it throws people’s books out of gear.

If there’s a heat wave in June do we stay the nights at twenty one station road and lie in the sun all day at Barton?   We could do it unbeknown to the Romseyites, rather sport, being Indians,   We could return late and 1eave surreptitiously.    Tell Aunt Ame we might go and say no more and make her swear confidence.    An idea.

No more, I must get Cyrus done, I can’t chatter yet. But you are needed more than ever.       The more I see of men the more I love my Betty.

Whuff whuff.
ever….

So soon to lose her good name, what a shame. Well, here we are, tis three ten, and I have written an article for the Motor Boat and have written to the preacher with the Banns certificate and asked about Hymns with a choirless service and now I am settling down to write Charles until seven thirty.  Three and a half hours work on top of that already done will do for to-day. Then I am taking nice Mrs. Paul to the pictures to hold hands, she in memory of her Greek man with the nose you like, and me in memory of the nice woman I have with the nose just perfect. Maybe my lover (Miss C.B.C.) may come as well, and then I shall have all my hands in use. Well well.
The hornet was a cockroach, Mr. Clements said so, brought me twelve eggs from the nest, warm. Ah.
The Banns certificate was very illiterate. Two blots, a torn piece of inferior paper, and Alleged spelt Aledged and consecutive spelt with a Q and all manner of odd things.  Such a to-do.  But it should work.
Mr. Scott telephoned, nice man.  Said I mustn’t cash in on that Bonus, its paying twelve pounds for eight. He says leave the twenty there and his bank will pay my premium if I send a cheque to the Insurance on the right date, He thinks I m a coming young man and takes a great care of my affairs.  We must pay off all these extra over the next two years, put away ten pounds in lumps (Ha).
I’ve planted out fifty lettuces and they look so hang-dog and droopy, hope they buck up before Anderton comes at six, I’ve given them an aspirin each. I’ve mended the garage door, too.  Nice work, that. Birds nest in the gutter over the study window, they keep peering in at me. Odd, me to them, them to me.
Mr, Scott wants to give us a glass water jug. I didn’t like to argue and ask for money, said “Ooooo !” and that is that. It should be a jolly one. Tell your Crofter’s friends to save on the jug and make it up with other glasses, but two won’t hurt.  Nice of him. He’s a-coming.  So chatty and nice he was, funny altogether.
Get good sheets and things. With a Staples bed we may as well go dressy all through.  Like wearing a Horn Bros. shirt with a Scruton suit, otherwise.
I’ll make you some money. Hope Motor Boat buy the article, I think they will.  Wish I hadn’t told you about Lilliput, for when it comes back I’ve got to say so.  If I don’t it has.  Tact, Hard for you. Not for you, just for you.
Juliet sleeps like an angel sans claws in the armchair up here. Trains just puffed by, preceded by the gate man on a bicycle to welcome it.  Grand procession, train blowing up to keep up.
What about getting that Dressing table here, Arthur ? Some time convenient for Pickfords.  AND WILL IT COME UP THE STAIRS ?  A point that.
No more news, we want you here to make it a living house. Then will I write things, oh yes, and sleep soundly and eat well and be rich and tidy and clean and dressy.     Oh, yes. What a hell of a time yet, though.
But, till then, be constant, and be true and be you and did you go to Sutton yesterday, you all left in the wrong direction for Cannon Hill, I thought of it after.