Much has happened in a twiddley way since I began this. Speech to Paul Morand at a P.E.N. luncheon.9 Deputation to Mr Allen [?] about the Defence Regulations. Lunch with H. G. Wells—but not till next Tuesday.
M
* * *
London The Olde Worlde
21-4-40
Dearest Christopher,
I must start a letter to you. I have been feeling depressed and scared and meaning to write in that mood. But the feeling seems to have passed.
Though there is no reason it should have. I have thought a good deal about the comments on you in Horizon which you mention, and with indignation, as you surmise.10 I think Connolly is just an opportunist, who saw good material for journalism—I have no opinion of him, although many of his attitudes are acceptable and cleverly put. Stephen (whom I have gently ticket off) is another case, of course. I think he gets hypnotised by the notion of being sincere. Once when I was a child, eating rice and sweet sauce alone in a room with my great-aunt Monie’s picture, I got up and smeared some of the sweet sauce upon the gilt picture frame. I did this not because I wanted to but because I had the idea of doing it and felt that I pal-zeik-02 4/21/08 10:33 AM Page 93
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should be more straightforward if I put the idea into practice. This is the explanation of much of Stephen’s conduct, I think. Afterwards, as I did, he tries to rub the sweet sauce out, and, as I did not, he probably succeeds. But to go on a bit, how very odd people are. I am thankful you are out of Europe at the present time, and wish nearly everyone else I loved was too.
If you could save us, even at the cost of your own life, I might beckon you back, but such a notion is utter balls. You could do nothing. Where you are you can do something: manipulate the civilisation of the U.S.A. You will smile thinking that I know nothing of the hardness, the hurry, the shoddi-ness and the salads in which your public life is spent. I think I do know.
And I think they constitute something to get hold of, whereas Europe, having missed its beat at the moment of the Spanish War, provides nothing.
We may—having reached exhaustion point—start again, and have enough good books unburnt and good buildings standing to make the start a successful one. But that is mere speculation. Your immediate job is to stop and work where you are.
I have been reading old books too, and older than yours, I bet: Locke and Bacon. I have been ill with pleurisy, which by the way accounts for my moods. First you lie in bed swallowing these dreadful new tablets which make you sick, and despairful [ sic] of civilisation. Then you get better and read Locke and Bacon. Then you get all right and come up to London as I did yesterday, and are reunited to Bob. I am at present lying in bed in the bedroom of my Chiswick flat. I mention the bedroom because it is a very nice little shaped room. The hour is 9.30. I shall go to lunch with Joe
[Ackerley], and William [Plomer] will bring a friend to tea. Next week-end I hope to stop with John Simpson at Birmingham and to see Johnny Fisher and George Thomson who both live there now. You will gather from these names that a good deal of water has passed to and fro under the bridge since you left. We meet no Mickey Rooneys here. As for James Steward, I had never heard of him even till you mentioned him, and you can tell him so just as he is mixing his salad. Bob and I had chops, potatoes and greens yesterday, which he cooked very well, also hock11 and port, and then played chess. I am delighted he has taken to it, as there were rather too few things which we could do together. He came down to see me when I was ill, so did John Simpson, and so—you will scarcely credit it—did Joe. Oh but I really must mention that our local refugee committee has put me on, or rather at, the Tribunal which is going to revise the refugees’ sentences. This should bring me into touch with other Germans [?]. I must really get up now.
Writing to you has made me very happy. Thank you for your letter.12 I was very glad to hear about Harvey. Get him photographed. Give Gerald my love.
Love from Morgan
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LETTERS BETWEEN FORSTER AND ISHERWOOD
* * *
11-9-40
West Hackhurst,
Abinger Hammer,
Dorking
Dearest Christopher,
It is very nice to hear from you again.13 I hadn’t felt I could write to you any more, except on practical matters, never hearing: but your letter sets me off. I have heard from Gerald also. No doubt this blitzkrieg makes one odd and intimating: Morgan carries more parcels than ever, but against what a tragic sky! However you ought not to be overawed by a blitzkrieg, after China. You know you felt just as usual, and went on as usual unless stopped. I saw the first night of it last Saturday from my flat—I think you know I have a flat near Bob’s now, that’s to say overlooking Turnham Green. London burning, a grandiose spectacle. Yet I felt only annoyance and sadness. When I got back here I tried to read the second book of the Aeneid, and that was overwhelming. It confirms my notion that we are only equal to great situations in poetry.
But I am certainly very sad and apprehensive. I am sure that we are going to be invaded.
Up to now, we have abundance of food, drink, sleep & amusement.
I have to go up to London again next Sunday, to broadcast to the Empire. Am not looking forward to it, for the place must be in a bad mess.
Your mother has given me some news of you. She is relieved that the British Embassy understands your position, and Bob and I are glad too, though he thinks it mis understood it! Oh what a silly fuss! My letter in the Spectation [ sic] wasn’t a defence, though I would like it to have been: it was an offensive against the Dean of St Pauls.14 I think the whole thing has died down now, and Mr Wilson Harris seemed a bit ashamed at having vented it in his columns.
The night as I write is full of booming bombers. I wish I was out of it all—not [in] another part of the world, which would not suit me, but dead.
I am sure there is hope, but want some one else to do the hoping. What would the Swami say to that? Down on it, I doubt not.
My pamphlet is out at last.15
I am reading Middlemarch. I have read A Portrait of A Lady.16
This is not much of a letter, but I have sent yours to Joe instead of rereading it, and seem stupid. Bob, May & Robin went off for a week’s holiday in Devon, but he wires this morning that he has been recalled. He has had digestion troubles again, but keeps well if he diets. May is nursing at the West London. Robin has been bombed in Berks[hire], and fell the following pal-zeik-02 4/21/08 10:33 AM Page 95
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day off the back of a municipal dust cart, to which he was clinging.17 Well fare well dearest Christopher though of course I shall write again if possible and to Gerald also. Give him my love.
Love from Morgan
* * *
1-1-41 (my birthday)
West Hackhurst,
Abinger Hammer,
Dorking
Dearest Christopher,
The archbishop of Canterbury has wished us all an unhappy new year, so I had better do the same to you: Archbishop: Morgan: Christopher is a true proportion, I should think. Also want to write because a letter from you which had miscarried has just turned up. You wrote it in the summer of 1939, in answer to one from me about the Burgess-Jackie imbroglio, and I am very glad to have it as it fills up a gap and also records your earlier impressions of Los Angeles. It miscarried not in the post, but in my mother’s writing table: she appears to have stored it there while I was away, and has now discovered it. She is quite calm about it, in fact all is well.—