Letters to a Sister (13 page)

I have just listened to Jos. Wedgwood
⁷⁹
on wireless—what nonsense he talked! People aren't a bit frightened when the warble goes by day. They know it probably means nothing,
and they certainly don't have to restrain themselves with an effort from panicking (I wonder if he does himself). And plenty of people don't mind showing fear in raids by night, and plenty of people didn't like to show fear [in the] last war—everything he said was untrue. I always think him silly, rather. I have hired a wireless, and may buy it in the end, if mine doesn't return, which of course it won't. So now I can hear the news to-night… and Handel's
Concerto Grosso
at 10. I don't care what any one says about not buying things, a wireless I will have. And I am hoping for the insurance money, which I think I shall probably get, as I think I am insured against larceny (i.e. entering & robbing without having to break in).

I am glad to see there are so many complaints in
The Times, The Spectator,
and elsewhere about the vulgar tone of the [B.B.C.] News bulletins, sneering & taunting & triumphing over the enemy. I think they have improved the last day or two, and perhaps will be cured altogether soon. They are worst about the Italians, I think. I
am
sorry for the poor little Italian soldiers, having to scamper so fast and so far—not that they aren't used to it. But to be chased by those fierce Greeks with kilts and knives—I should run like a hare. And then to be jeered at and despised, and cursed by Mussolini. He has sacked 60 officers and more, but that won't help him.

I am reading an account of the Belgian rout in the
Sunday Express,
by the American Ambassador then in Belgium.
⁸⁰
He gives a fearful picture of the rout of the French army; they really do seem to have behaved like Italians rather, poor things. Combined with the refugee mob, it must have been a frightful affair….

V. much love.

E.R.M.

Flat
7,
8, Luxborough St, W.1
⁸¹
Wednesday, [11 December, 1940]

... Thank you for wire. I was so glad to hear, as they told me many Romford lines were out of use, including yours, and not why. I do hope your bomb will go off soon and not blow up 254,
⁸²
and that you have got out of it the things you most want (including wireless, but I fear this is impossible!). Sunday night here was the worst I have known, I think. Fires & bombs all round; the Poor Institution
⁸³
again was hit, and blazed for hours—so did a lot of buildings near. They dropped two land-mines on 2 blocks of flats in [Marylebone] High Street which not only demolished the blocks (15 killed and many more buried, still) but blew out every shop in the street (including the ones where I do my household shopping; it is very sad, I know all the people there well). The street looked extraordinary next day—chemists' shops perfuming the air with smashed bottles, wine-shops running over, groceries, clothes, furniture, everything, tossed in heaps among the piles of glass. Luxborough House (at least 200 yards away) lost more windows
(not
mine, thank goodness) and part of the wall between my sitting-room and spare bedroom came down (it was cracked before, by the last bomb). They are building it up again now. I'm glad it wasn't my bedroom wall. These land-mines are devastating; these were right round the corner of the street, and not really very close, but the noise and shock were like an earthquake. I thought the whole building was down, and ran downstairs to see. Luxborough and Paddington Streets looked like a scene out of
Things to Come,
all fires, and the Engines so busy they could scarcely get round London. These incendiary explosives are new, and harmless if they fall in a street, as
many [of them] die, but much more apt to set buildings on fire than the other incendiaries are. I expect Romford was much the same as us. I rang up next day, but couldn't get on. Since then, quiet has reigned: what next??? Telephone if you get a chance and let me know how you are, and about the bomb. I won't come till I hear.

Love.

R.

4 January, [1941]

Dearest Jeanie,

... I see a poem of mine on ‘New Year 1918'
⁸⁴
is quoted in
The Investor's Journal,
an odd place for it rather, but I suppose even financiers like a little verse sometimes….

I go to-morrow afternoon to rehearse my American broadcast, and deliver it 4 a.m. Monday. I wonder if Will will happen to be listening; I know he often does listen to the English broadcasts—talks. He won't know it's to be by me this time until just beforehand. Perhaps I ought to be allowed to say ‘Hullo, Will, how are you? I'm fine', as the Canadian and Australian soldiers sometimes do when on the air….

My talk to America is about ‘Consolations of the War'. I am mentioning ruin-seeing, the beauty of the black nights and the moonlit ones, the romantic scenes during raids (fire lighting the sky, etc.) increased companionableness, shelter life, the pleasure of waking up still alive each day. The foreigners among us, and the sympathy of Americans. Some one just home from New York told me that Americans didn't like us to be so pompous and grand about the war, so I've tried not to be. People too often are, with all this ‘Christian civilization' business and self-praise. I've tried to sound humble, and not once said ‘we can take it'.

V. much love.

… E.R.M.

During the six months after this letter was written two shattering sorrows came to Rose. Her sister Margaret died in March 1941, and soon afterwards her Luxborough Street flat was destroyed by bombing. She herself escaped—she was away at the time—but the shock of losing all her books, papers, and belongings was cataclysmic and enduring.

After this she found a flat in Hinde Street, off Manchester Square (where she lived for the next seventeen years—until her death). By July 1941 she was beginning to build up a home again, despite all the hindrances of wartime.

20, Hinde House, Hinde St, W.1
24 July, [1941]

Dearest Jeanie,

Many very happy returns of to-morrow—much happier than this one can be. I do hope that by the next one we shall all bė happier. It is a
great
thing that you have got through this year without a breakdown, and can now retire on your pension any time you like. I hope you will, directly the work grows too much.... I return your ration book, with very many thanks, having taken 3 coupons and bought a waterproof, so I now don't care if it rains. Remember I owe you 3 coupons.

I have heard from Will to-day. He offers me a typewriter for a birthday present, but unfortunately no typewriters can now be got, and he isn't allowed to send me one. He says he has been trying to figure out how old I am, but it doesn't make sense. Our ages have long ceased to make sense to me, I just accept them. It will be rather grand to be 3-score years, I must say….

Did you see about the D.K.S. order that the Danes are wearing,
Den Kolde Skulder?
⁸⁵
I hope it won't catch on in
private life; it's the kind of thing children might like in their quarrels.

I enclose two snippets about Wodehouse.
⁸⁶
It is odd that Duff Cooper should be so vulgar. He could so easily have got the job done by a respectable speaker and not antagonised people. I believe he really simply doesn't know what is vulgar and offensive and what isn't. The
Evening Standard
(the other cutting) doesn't care.
⁸⁷
It probably likes it.

Very much love for the year….

Your loving
E.R.M.

The years between 1941 and 1944 (from which no letters survive) were years of continuing strain and intermittent illness for Rose. Early in
1942,
and again later during the war, she suffered from a gastric ulcer; heart trouble also prostrated her more than once. These illnesses involved several periods in hospital and times of convalescence with Jean at Romford. Between-whiles, however, she visited Portugal (in the Spring of
1943)
in connection with her book ‘They Went to Portugal', immersed herself in further researches for it at home, and also enjoyed her usual busy life in London.

Friday [probably 25 February, 1944]

Dearest Jeanie,

I send the 2 Hansards (no hurry about them). The bombing debates were interesting.
¹
I thought the reply speeches (to Lord Lang) of Lords Latham, Trenchard, and Winster in the debate on Feb: 16th
most
unfair. I wonder what it is about any plea for greater humanity or civilized care in war that makes so many people see red. I have heard the most passionate references to ‘those old bishops' in shops; one woman said it was lovely to think of the way we ‘gave Berlin a doing' on Tuesday night; and she'd like to ‘throw old Chichester on top of the bonfire'.
²
It is nonsense of Lord Latham to say ‘there is no gloating or exultation' among the English; he
can't listen much; Lord Lang is quite right about that.
³

I see Monte Cassino monastery, which was, before we destroyed it, ‘last rebuilt in 12th century', has now become ‘a set of 19th century buildings painted inside with German frescoes'.
⁴
…

I had such a nice letter from Aunt Mary, who listened to my broadcast
⁵
; so did Sara,
⁶
and the builder who is doing something to the house. The builder thought my opponent had been ‘carping', I gather; ‘but Miss Rose got the better of him'. I don't know if they knew how carefully prepared and scripted it was; I was pleased to hear that some listeners thought it spontaneous, which is the effect it is desired to produce, of course.

It is snowing; I expect worse with you. I am so sorry you have to bicycle about, and glad I don't. I shall now go by bus to the British Museum. I am being continually frustrated by evacuation of the MSS room there, which has MSS necessary for my subjects, so that I have to leave them wretchedly incomplete & shallow….

V. much love.   
E.R.M.

‘They Went to Portugal' was published in 1946, and in the following summer Rose embarked on new researches, in Spain as well as Portugal, this time in preparation for her travel book, ‘Fabled Shore'.

Hotel Lloret, Barcelona 17 July, [1947]

Dearest Twin (or nearly),

If I post this to-morrow, it may be in time for your birthday.... It took 4 days from the frontier to here, dawdling and stopping at what I wanted to see. The coast is very beautiful, bathing superb, some of the roads atrocious, and v. hard on my tyres, which are causing me some anxiety. One has gone to pieces altogether, and now I have only one spare. The drive along the zig-zag mountain road above the sea yesterday, between San Felíu de Guixols and Tossa, was magnificent—rather like the steepest and windingest parts of the road above the Italian coast, but higher & steeper & more zig-zag. Fortunately there are very few cars, and I only met, in that 30 miles, one mule-cart and two civil guards who inspected my papers. The Spanish government is very nervy, obviously, about attack. There are some coast places near the frontier where British may not sleep, but only pass through; the French, of course, mayn't go near them at all.
⁷
I am quite out of touch with the news; the radio doesn't get England, and one has to pick up French stations as one can. The French papers give some news (particularly about the royal engagement
⁸
and the Conference
⁹
) but the Spanish give practically
none, and make little of the Conference, which is quite natural, as they were insulted.
¹⁰
To-morrow is a fiesta all over Spain, everything closed for the 18th, which is the anniversary of Franco's rising, of blessed memory. So there will be great demonstrations and shoutings—but it seems there always are, night & day, in Barcelona. It isn't easy to sleep—very hot, and non-stop noise; cars hooting all the time, as they never do in London.

I am seeing beautiful things. A sad number of old churches blown up in the Civil War by the Reds (perhaps annoyed by the church clocks striking all night, perhaps by the notices on the doors about women's clothes in church, which do sound very suggestive and not nice). Or perhaps merely an old Spanish pastime.

Yes, you had better argue with Aunt Mary about R.Cism; but not too much, as she respects your judgment. I do hope she'll go over. I shall look forward to your next letter… But how impossible to join a church with such ideas about not going to church in one's ordinary clothes, but covering oneself up so as not to provoke licentious thoughts in gentlemen! They even have to put on stockings, in the seaside places where no one ever wears stockings. And clothes must not reveal the shape of the body. How can this be managed? What a way to bring girls up! If they are insufficiently covered, the notices say, they may be refused communion in the sight of all. And those who come to confession insufficiently covered will be refused absolution….

Very dear love.
What a
lot to talk about when we meet! Love to Nancy.

Your very loving Twin (or nearly)   
Rose

Lis Hotel, Lisbon Sunday, 17 August, [1947]

Dearest Jeanie,

I am still here, waiting to hear from the
Turismo
at Madrid about whether it is any use my going there….

I had a tiresome disaster last night; I was just going out to dinner with Ann Bridge (Lady O'Malley, the last ambassadress, who is staying here) and when I switched on my engine the bonnet broke into flames. In a second the whole of Lisbon was surrounding the car, including half a dozen policemen, who began flinging my bags out onto the street (silly, as the fire was merely in the engine) and shouting at the top of their voices—you never heard such a fuss. I think I must have been the only person not shouting. We soon put out the flames by throwing earth on them, and meanwhile some foolish person (I think a policeman) had summoned the firemen, who arrived in helmets & hose long after the fire was out. Then they and the police wanted to see all my car documents, my passport, and heaven knows what—such a fuss, just when I was busy seeing what was wrong. It turned out that the transmission tube to the petrol supply had worn out & fused, and nothing could be done but leave Elk in the street, as my garage, to whom I went for a mechanic, refused to send anyone. Meanwhile Lady O'Malley, to whom I had telephoned that I should be late, kindly sent down her car and chauffeur for me to take me to her house. Elk still stands outside the hotel, immovable till I can get a new tube, and I can't tell when that will be. I do trust I am never in a real disaster with the Portuguese—fire, shipwreck, earthquake, etc; their excitement and panic would be most trying. I can't think what they'd do if Lisbon was bombed! The porter of the
Lis
(who talks French) said, hearing me say ‘
Quelle agitation!
' that he expected in England people took things more calmly. I said they did rather. Life must be very exciting for them, when even a fire in someone's engine
causes all that to-do. It was funny to think of London policemen in the same circumstances.