Listen, my love, (talk about trembling fingers) has it occurred to you that if you should become hurt or anything, on active service – I could only find out about it by reading the casualty lists in The Times or by casual report? I’m not being morbid – just provident – D’you think you could ask Basil to write to me, if your family were to hear that anything had happened to you?
What’s the good of saying to me that the question of your going abroad ‘probably won’t arise for months’. What are months? – Darling, I have resources of love to last me till eternity – and then there shall be new reserves in store – and you talk to me about months. If you spent every second of your time with me for the next seventy years, I should still be clucking at the end of it because you were going to leave me for an hour – and you talk to me about months. Oh! darling, don’t go overseas – at the thought my heart is turned to stone – I strike it & it hurts my hand.
Saturday 17 August Yesterday was quite Adventurous. I was just coming back from Haverstock Hill with Lionel – I’d been there to have a piece fitted onto the end of my gas-mask at the Town Hall – when the sirens went. We walked into a shelter in a leisurely way, sat down on one of the benches – and I did my knitting until the All Clear sounded an hour later. There was one girl in the shelter besides Lionel & me. Most people took no notice of the warning at all. I arrived very late for lunch with Jean – but she was quite happy, contemplating a heavy gold signet ring which one of her Air Commodores has just given her.
I was on my way home to change for dinner with Joyce, when the second warning went. I took shelter at Hyde Park Corner – and knitted again. When I got to the point when I had to measure what I’d done – I enlisted the help of four old charladies (all girls together, y’know) and they rewarded themselves for their assistance by Telling me All – inveighing darkly against ‘Them’ the while. ‘They’ are the bloated plutocrats who own offices, carpeted in rich Persian carpets which have to be swept and cleaned without so much as a ’oover – O’ course it’s the ’ousekeeper – She takes the money. Very Sinister, darling.
Then there was a ’bus driver off duty. He was musing on the Queerness of the Passenger breed. ‘Last winter,’ he said, ‘I was drivin’ along an’ I sore an old gel lying frozen in the snow. My pal & I, we got aht and started rubbin’ ’er feet & ’ands – and we gave her a drop o’ spirits & she came rahnd “It’s Orl Right Muvver” I sez – “Muvver?” she says. “How dare you call me Muvver, young man. The name is Miss Sylvester.” Blimey, I sez to myself – That’s torn it. But my pal, ’e looks at ’er thoughtful like … “Miss Sylvester” he says, y’ought to be ashamed o’ yourself, old gel.”’ He had his wife & children with him & he was telling us what a Good Thing Education was. He drew himself up to HFH14 and said he had won a Scholarship to a Secondary School – but he hadn’t taken it.
Dinner at the Nathans was uneventful – except that the Col. asked Pa & me to one of his Wednesday lunches at the Dorchester, which ought to be interesting. Joyce sends greetings.
I went in to call on my parents this morning – and Pa greeted me with the words ‘And what does Lord Nathan think about the war?’ & suddenly, darling, my patience snapped. I’ve heard nothing but war from Pa for months – a handful of clichés – an alternation between that gloomy optimism which Victor used to find so trying, and the ‘if we have to take refuge in Canada …’ strain.
I said nastily: ‘I never discuss the war with anyone.’ Then he gave me a dirty look & said ‘No, I suppose you prefer to discuss your love affairs with the Nathans.’ I was so angry that I felt as if someone were sewing up the corners of my mouth with a needle and thread. I didn’t answer though, and he said that he was ‘fed up’ with my behaviour and he never wanted to speak to me again. I said – thank God for that & would he kindly stop bellowing at me now – whereat he leapt out of bed & left the room – & I haven’t seen him since. The whole thing is so damned sordid that I’m sickened by it, darling. – N’en parlons plus.
Bless you for your letter. Thank God you’re not fit for the Air – I hope your inoculation didn’t hurt too much. I have a phobia about injections. They make me feel iller than any other sensation in the world. It’s the jab of the needle wot does it.
Sunday 18 August Lionel & my mother were hovering around me all morning – palpably sent on a mission of Reconnaissance – and, if necessary, of Appeasement by Pa. The Actual Peace Negotiations started while I was in my bath. My mother sat on the marble edge Appealing to my Better Nature. Lionel stood at the door – declaring that he had been authorized to say that Pa had Meant no Offence – and had Spoken in Anger – and was Very Sorry. I decided that you’d want me to Come Off It, darling – so I did – and it was really just as well – because it’s difficult to register Unflinching Aloofness in the confined space of an Air-Raid Shelter – and Pa was Genuinely in Great Sorrow for what he had said.
Pa is giving a lecture on ‘Egypt & the War’ at the Royal Empire Society on September 17th. It ought to be good. He spends his days at Chatham House & the Egyptian Embassy researching frantically. Darling, with all these warnings, my mother thinks I ought to have a siren suit – I saw a Rill Red one at Jaeger’s when I was buying your wool. It’s a terrific Solace – but I’ll have to wait for it until my mother gets some more money from Egypt.
Tuesday 20 August Good morning, my dear love. Nurse is going to be married – her intended is an RAF Sergeant – She’s welcome to him – I only know his voice & the back of his head – and neither are a solace to me on any plane whatever. She expects to be married in three weeks’ time – to go away for a week’s holiday & then come back to us. She’s in Great Solace and all Dewy. It was all Decided in an Air Raid Shelter and is Obviously Very Beautiful.
I went reluctantly to Leslie’s office yesterday & when I got there Miss Fox told me that He was coming in to work that afternoon. When he came in, he asked Miss Fox whether Miss Sloane had arrived yet. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘And Miss Alexander is here too.’ ‘Oh!’ he said, with what seemed to my sensitive ear a marked absence of enthusiasm – but a few minutes later he came in and looked over my shoulder at photographs of himself – and fulsome press accounts of ‘Our Popular War Minister’ and, simulating confusion very prettily said: ‘I’ve never seen any of these – but this kind of work isn’t quite in your line is it, my dear?’ Then he left me – but in an instant he was back. The office is really a small residential flat & the room where I work must have been the bedroom, because there’s a washbasin in one corner and a bathroom within. Now as the bath is crammed to the brim with press-cuttings, darling, the only reason anyone ever has for going into it is to commune with Duncan, as the vociferous plug stridently testifies. It is impossible to be Bashful about Duncan in that office – so Leslie decided to Brazen It Out. ‘The lavatory,’ he said with Elaborate Unconcern, ‘is in There. Do you mind if I use it?’ ‘Not at all,’ I said Graciously. I wonder what would have happened if I’d said it would be a Great Sorrow to me? I shall Never Know, now.
Later in the day, I heard him rating Miss Fox soundly for only providing dry biscuits for my tea. She came in all chastened to ask if I’d like a doughnut. ‘No, thank you,’ I said mendaciously – and – when she went back to report – he positively exploded – ‘Of course, she’d say “no thank you” – what else could the poor girl say in the circumstances. She’s good enough to come all this way to help and all