Back to London tomorrow which I am afraid will be dull for Ria, but she can start revising her clothes to go to Italy: Willie rang up from Ipswich and asked us to stay longer, but I’m getting so asthmatic up here that I actually coughed up blood in the night (complain, complain) and anyway with all this trouble about her mother I daresay she’d like to be clear of visitors for a while, but it certainly is a nice place for Maria, and I’m getting very attached to Nutmeg.
Hoping to find a letter from you when we get back –
very much love Mum
185 Poynders Gardens
London, sw4
9 August [1967]
Dearest Tina,
Many thanks for nice long informative letters, which we are reading eagerly. So glad the water is back, and I quite see there is nothing to do either in Metz, or on your day off, so it looks as though this time will have to be written off, except for the study of literature française. It was all very well for the Austrian girl as apparently she had some relations or friends in Metz. So glad too that the bites are somewhat better, but surely if you run out of medical supplies, such as elastoplast, the Comtesse would give you some? But perhaps the aristocracy don’t have such things. Haemophilia?
Feel the anti-German thing is definitely bad, but agree that all must be attributed to living in Alsace-Lorraine (don’t forget La Dernière Classe!) But perhaps better not to say so.
The whole valley of the Lune (where we were with Auntie Willie) has now flooded owing to heavy rains and cottages are being carried away, just a day or so after we left. I think Maria really did enjoy it, and felt pleased when she cantered briskly about on the pony and explained to Mike (who has a mania that town children can’t do anything, and do ‘damage’ all the time) that ‘Tina had taught her’. Fortunately asthma reduced my impulse to get everything cleaned up and enter him for the local Agricultural Show, which includes a shepherd’s crook-jumping competition.
Alas, poor Daddy couldn’t manage the paint-spray and didn’t dare scrape off what he’d done, so the bath is not a great success, but hope it will pass – perhaps fit a dimming lampshade?
Alison is going to France for 3 days as Mr Packer doesn’t like to be out of the country longer (why?) and so Ria may have to come up to Bedford with me to see Miss C., but still it won’t kill her. Our tickets have now come from Lunns with an absurd brochure, advising you not to forget the name of your hotel, and to stick to English dishes. By the way, I should so much like to know what the food is like at Aubigny.
I’m going to goggle at the Royal Ascot show so that I can tell you whether Harvey Smith appears.
Meanwhile I have received a letter from Valpy (as I expect you have too) suggesting that you go to the Angie* family for the Easter holiday, as a kind of exchange, as it’s so difficult to find a paying job, now this of course is for you to decide and you must write direct to Valpy about it, but I was rather taken aback as the fare, £30, is so high and the journey rather formidable by oneself and, also, I’d rather thought of our offering hospitality to Angie, which I do want to do, rather than its all being an exchange – a kind of business arrangement? Also, quite honestly, is the Angie family an easy one to live with? I’d thought more of San Sebastian, or somewhere with a much cheaper fare, but I know that without a job I shan’t really be able to manage it: still we were going to try the Franc ha Leal. You’ll write to Valpy, won’t you, and tell me what you decide? Of course it is very sweet of him to make this suggestion and I would do anything rather than hurt his feelings, for many reasons.
Next week we must start our great pack – Daddy’s new summer coat is already looking rather crumply, but apparently it was a great success in the office, so he keeps wearing it. I do hope your clothes are all right, except the unfortunate sandals.
Workmen are trying to strengthen the wire around the playground, but I expect the kiddies will be ready with blow-torches. Nothing will keep them out.
Will write again soon – very much love from us all – X Mum
185 Poynders Gardens, sw4
15 August [1967]
Dearest Tina,
I can see you are well up on the news owing to the Comte’s TV and so will merely give a little sports and T.V. news – Michael Miles* has been arrested twice at London Airport, once for being drunk and disorderly and once for trying to get by with excess luggage, and at the Dublin Horse Show O’Malley was not ‘nobbled’ and Harvey S. won almost everything. We have just seen Cassius Clay on TV getting ready to go to jail. But I think he’s still appealing really. – Hope you didn’t feel any earth tremors – they seem to be much farther south. This reminds me of Spain, and you won’t forget to write to Valpy about his scheme of your staying with the Angies?
I sent the mosquito stuff, which I hope arrived, but was relieved to learn that you might be able to get some from Metz. Also very glad that Dr Gibbie’s pills were of some use. So sorry Mme. was cross the one morning you overslept. Surely she must appreciate all the useful work you’re doing, much more than the Hapsburg, I’m sure.
Maria is being very good although it is dull for her since all her cronies have left London and the Packers are now off on their mysterious trip to France, to see Mr Packer’s old battle-grounds. She is helping me paint and decorate, but soon all this must be put aside and we must make lists and start ironing everything. I can’t decide what to do about the plants – I’ll try putting a plastic bag round the creeper, as I did last year.
I helped an old lady across the road this morning who told me she was 92 – she’s lived in Clapham since 1880, when there were horses in all the stables. But she tells me ‘there are still many kind hearts in Honeybourne Road’.
We went up to Grove Cottage for lunch on Sat: – Auntie Mary had a nice new navy-blue tablecloth. A mysterious Indian had come to tea unexpectedly and told them that Uncle Rawle has resigned from the Daily Telegraph (which I suppose will mean leaving the house they have now) and is making some other mysterious deal – perhaps with the Times of India? So I sent Miss Chamot there only just in time. I suppose I shall have to wait till I see William* to get details of this.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite so exhausted as when we went to Oxford Street on Monday to get the olive-green bath-towels (vexatious expenditure).
Maria, clumping along in her Dr Scholl sandals, was most gallant and encouraging. But the first ones I bought turned out to be spring green when I got them to the light and so we had to take them back to the man and pretend to be dissatisfied customers. Then we couldn’t afford the things in John Lewis’s and the assistant humiliatingly recommended us to go to Wallis’s. Meanwhile Maria had sunk onto a chair and a kind lady, apparently taking her for a waif, asked her if she felt well enough to go home. Nothing ever tasted better than the cup of tea that we made when we got back. I’m so jaded that I can’t study any Russian, and am reduced to reading ‘Diary of a No-body’ for the 20th time. – Are you sure that Sabine is worse than ‘Junie’ in Britannicus?*
As you see I have nothing interesting to tell, but am enjoying your lovely long letters immensely, and Grandpa says they mustn’t be lost on any account. Try to send Mme. de B.** a note if you can.
So glad they liked the Christina Rossetti. That was a very sad life, I think – to give up love, as she certainly did, for Christian