The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien (21 page)

Since you have seen ‘Leaf by Niggle' – I was going to advert to it myself, as part apologia, part confession – I need say no more. Except that that story was the only thing I have ever done which cost me absolutely no pains at all. Usually I compose only with great difficulty and endless rewriting. I woke up one morning (more than 2 years ago) with that odd thing virtually complete in my head. It took only a few hours to get down, and then copy out. I am not aware of ever ‘thinking' of the story or composing it in the ordinary sense. All the same I do not feel so detached as not to be cheered, indeed rather bowled over, by your son's comment. The only notice of, or observation on, the ‘Leaf' that I have had at all, outside my own circle.

Well! ‘Niggle' is so unlike any other short story that I have ever written, or begun, that I wonder if it would consort with them. Two others, of that tone and style, remain mere budding leaves like so many of silly Niggle's.
³
Would it be of any use, if I put together in a bundle what I can find, and let you say whether with re-writing of this, omission of that, or addition of the other, they have any chance of making a volume? There are one or two short verse narratives (some have already appeared in print in the Oxford Magazine) which might pass, tactfully sandwiched in. Were you considering ‘Farmer Giles' as a possibility? It is rather a long short. The corrected and properly typed copy is ‘out', on its usual travels, at the moment; but I've a tolerable home-made copy which I am sending for ‘David Severn's' perusal. (The sequel is plotted but unwritten, and likely to remain so. The heart has gone out of the Little Kingdom, and the woods and plains are aerodromes and bomb-practice targets). But another comic fairy story of a similar genre, ‘The King of the Green Dozen', is half-written, and could be finished without much pain, if ‘Farmer Giles' is approved.

As for larger work. Of course, my only real desire is to publish ‘The Silmarillion':
^fn9
which your reader, you may possibly remember, allowed to have a certain beauty, but of a ‘Celtic' kind irritating to Anglo-Saxons. Still there is the great ‘Hobbit' sequel – I use ‘great', I fear, only in quantitative sense. It is much too ‘great' for the present situation, in that sense. But it cannot be docked or abbreviated. I cannot do better than I have done in this, unless (as is possible enough) I am no judge. But it is not finished. I made an effort last year to finish it and failed. Three
weeks with nothing else to do – and a little rest and sleep first – would probably be sufficient. But I don't see any hope of getting them; and it simply is not the kind of stuff for odd moments. Like Niggle I want a ‘public pension', and am equally unlikely to get one! You shall, of course, have it for consideration the moment it is done, if it ever is. I did say, I believe, that I would let you have a part of it, to judge of. But it is so closely knit, and under a process of growth in all its parts, that I find I have to have all the chapters by me – I am always, you see, hoping to get at it. And anyway only one copy (home-typed or written by various filial hands and my own), that is legible by others, exists, and I've feared to let go of it; and I've shirked the expense of professional typing in these hard days, at any rate until the end, and the whole is corrected. But would you now really wish to see some of it? It is divided into Five Parts, of 10–12 chapters each (!). Four are completed, and the last begun. I could send it to you, Part by Part, with all its present imperfections on it – riders, alternatives, variable proper names – until you cry ‘halt! This is enough! It must go the way of “The Silmarillion” into the Limbo of the great unpublishables!'

I must stop, or you will be feeling the time and paper could be better spent on writing not talking about it. I have ‘special exams' until Easter, and some trouble with the University of Wales. Also all the trouble caused by the death of my colleague, H. C. K. Wyld, to find whose successor will chiefly devolve on me this vacation. I am in trouble with Blackwell who has set up my translation of
Pearl
, and needs corrections and an introduction. I am in trouble with the widow of Professor E. V. Gordon of Manchester, whose posthumous work on
Pearl
I undertook, as a duty to a dead friend and pupil, to put in order; and have failed to do my duty. But I suppose I may get a few weeks in the year to myself. Though I'm also in serious trouble with the Clarendon Press; and with my lost friend Mile. Simonne d'Ardenne, who has suddenly reappeared, having miraculously survived the German occupation, and the Rundstedt offensive (which rolled over her) waving the MSS. of a large work we began together and promised to the Early English Text Soc.
⁵
Which has not forgotten it – nor my own book on
The Ancrene Riwle
,
⁶
which is all typed out. If instead of B.D.S.T.
⁷
you could invent a scheme for doubling the day (and relieve me of house-boy's duties), I'd drown you in stuff, like Tom, Dick, and Harry. But I do remain very deeply grateful for your kindness and concern.

Yours sincerely,

J. R. R. Tolkien.

15 May 1945

20 Northmoor Road, Oxford

Dear Mrs Williams,

My heart goes out to you in sympathy, and I can say no more. I share a little in your loss, for in the (far too brief) years since I first met him I had grown to admire and love your husband deeply, and I am more grieved than I can express.

Later, if you find that there is anything in which I might be of service to you and your son, please tell me. Fr. Gervase Mathew is saying Mass at Blackfriars on Saturday at 8 a.m., and I shall serve him; but of course I shall have you all in my prayers immediately and continually: for such as they are worth. Forgive this halting note.

Yours very sincerely,

J. R. R. Tolkien.

29 May 1945

It would be at least some comfort to me if you escaped from the R.A.F. And I hope, if the transfer goes through, it will mean a real transfer, and a re-commission. It would not be easy for me to express to you the measure of my loathing for the Third Service – which can be nonetheless, and is for me, combined with admiration, gratitude, and above all pity, for the young men caught in it. But it is the aeroplane of war that is the real villain. And nothing can really amend my grief that you, my best beloved, have any connexion with it. My sentiments are more or less those that Frodo would have had if he discovered some Hobbits learning to ride Nazgûl-birds, ‘for the liberation of the Shire'. Though in this case, as I know nothing about British or American imperialism in the Far East that does not fill me with regret and disgust, I am afraid I am not even supported by a glimmer of patriotism in this remaining war. I would not subscribe a penny to it, let alone a son, were I a free man. It can only benefit America or Russia: prob. the latter. But at least the Americo-Russian War won't break out for a year yet.

3 June 1945

There is a stand-down parade of Civil Defence in the Parks in the afternoon, to which I shall prob. have to drag myself. But I am afraid it all seems rather a mockery to me, for the War is not over (and the one
that is, or the part of it, has largely been lost). But it is of course wrong to fall into such a mood, for Wars are always lost, and The War always goes on; and it is no good growing faint!

9 August 1945

The news today about ‘Atomic bombs' is so horrifying one is stunned. The utter folly of these lunatic physicists to consent to do such work for war-purposes: calmly plotting the destruction of the world! Such explosives in men's hands, while their moral and intellectual status is declining, is about as useful as giving out firearms to all inmates of a gaol and then saying that you hope ‘this will ensure peace'. But one good thing may arise out of it, I suppose, if the write-ups are not overheated: Japan ought to cave in. Well we're in God's hands. But He does not look kindly on Babel-builders.

11 October 1945

I was duly admitted yesterday at 10 a.m. and then had to endure the most formidable College Meeting I have ever seen – went on till 1.30 p.m. without cessation and then broke up in disorder. The Warden talked almost unceasingly. I lunched in Merton and made a few arrangements, putting my name down at the Estates Bursary on the housing list;
¹
and getting a Master Key to all gates and doors. It is incredible belonging to a real college (and a very large and wealthy one). I am looking forward to showing you round. I walked round this afternoon with Dyson
²
who was duly elected yesterday, and is now ensconced in the rooms I hoped for, looking out over the meadows! I am going to the Inklings tonight. We shall think of you.

22 October 1945

I dined for the first time at Merton high table on Thursday, and found it very agreeable; though odd. For fuel-economy the common room is not heated, and the dons meet and chat amiably on the dais, until someone thinks there are enough there for grace to be said. After that they sit and dine, and have their port, and coffee, and smoke and evening newspapers all at high table in a manner that if agreeably informal is rather shocking to one trained in the severer ceremonies and strict precedence
of mediæval Pembroke. At about 8.45 Dyson and I strolled through ‘our grounds' to Magdalen and visited Warnie and Havard – Jack was away. We broke up about 10.30.

21 July 1946

20 Northmoor Road, Oxford

Dear Sir Stanley,

I have treated you very badly. I think you would be disposed to forgive me, if you knew the true tale of my troubles, domestic and academic. But I will spare you that, and attempt to do better.

I have been ill, worry and overwork mainly, but am a good deal recovered; and am at last able to take some steps to see that at least the overwork, so far as it is academic, is alleviated. For the first time in 25 years, except the year I went on crutches (just before The Hobbit came out, I think), I am free of examining, and though I am still battling with a mountain of neglects, out of which I have just dug a good many letters from George Allen and Unwin, and with a lot of bothers in this time of chaos and ‘reconstruction', I hope after this week actually to – write. For one thing, I shall not be left all alone to try and run our English School. I have ceased to be the Professor of Anglo-Saxon. I have removed to Merton, as the Merton Professor of English Language and Literature: Professor Wrenn, from King's College, London, is coming in October to take Anglo-Saxon off my shoulders; and we are about to elect another Merton professor (of modern literature). It ought to be C. S. Lewis, or perhaps Lord David Cecil, but one never knows.

But I did not begin this letter primarily to talk about myself. I wanted to say first how sorry I am that I did not, as I intended, write as soon as ever I heard, to congratulate you on your own honour, which gave me very great pleasure. Also I very much want news of Rayner. I hope earnestly that it is good, though one is still hesitant to ask news of sons. But my Christopher, who transferred to the Fleet Air arm, and is still technically in the Navy, has gone back this term to Trinity; and I wondered if there is any chance of Rayner returning soon. I should very much like to see him again. . . . .

I do not know whether David Severn still wants to look at Farmer Giles. In case he does, I am sending it now, after more than a year's delay. If I could have a little leisure, I could add a few things of the same sort, still not finished. But
Niggle
has never bred any thing that consorts with himself at all.

I do not know whether any more information about so literally ‘promising' and not performing an author will interest you at all. But I made a very great effort to finish the Hobbit sequel, and chapters went out to Africa and back to my chief critic and collaborator, Christopher, who is doing the maps. But I failed. Troubles and ill health became too thick. I shall now have to study my own work in order to get back to it. But I really do hope to have it done before the autumn term, and at any rate before the end of the year. Though I wonder if you will find any paper, even supposing that the work commends itself.

I have, by the way, published a story in verse
¹
in the Welsh Review of Dec. 1945; am about to publish a much expanded version of an essay on Fairy Stories, originally delivered as a lecture at St Andrews, in a memorial volume to the late Charles Williams; and I have in a fortnight of comparative leisure round about last Christmas written three parts of another book,
²
taking up in an entirely different frame and setting what little had any value in the inchoate
Lost Road
(which I had once the impudence to show you: I hope it is forgotten), and other things beside. I hoped to finish this in a rush, but my health gave way after Christmas. Rather silly to mention it, till it is finished. But I am putting
The Lord of the Rings
, the
Hobbit
sequel, before all else, save duties that I cannot wriggle out of.