What I wanted to do was just to go up to Mr Harrison and say, ‘Now do be a little human. Make a fuss of her. Let her cry if she wants to and then make it up and be friends.’ But he isn’t the kind of person you can very well say things to. He would think it impertinent of me. And it’s true that it never pays to interfere between husband and wife. But if only he would listen to me, I know I could put matters right. In my kind of life one gets plenty of experience — lookers-on see most of the game, you know — and Mrs Harrison would be so ready to attach herself to him, if only he would give her the chance. Often and often I’ve known her work herself up for hours to make an appeal to his feelings, but he receives it so coldly. Somehow it never seems to be the right moment. He is always absorbed in his painting or his natural history or something. How true it is that men live for Things and women for People! To pin one’s heart to a Person always means suffering in this world, if one has an acutely sensitive nature. You are to be congratulated, Olive, on not being sensitive. Temperament is a great gift, but a very unhappy one, as I know so well from my own experience. I really admire Mrs Harrison — she never loses hope, but goes on, day after day, trying to be brave and devoted and to keep up her interest in life. And she has such a vivid alert mind — she is keen on everything, even on things like Einstein, which are so very modern and difficult. But I do not see how one can go on being keen about things with so very little encouragement.
No, my dear! No men for me! It’s different for you, I know. You have the children, and I’m sure Tom is attentive in his man’s way — but Mr Harrison is such a stick. And then, of course, he is a lot older than she is.
So you see you are quite wrong in your ideas about me. Naturally, I am interested in the new tenants, because, after all, we share the front hall and the staircase with them, and it does make a difference whether people are pleasant neighbours or not, but that is all! By the way it’s quite true that one of them is an artist. We saw the men carrying in the lay-figure this morning — a life-sized one. It came out of the van not wrapped up at all — a most naked and indecent sight — and was carried up the path by Carter Paterson’s man, looking like the rape of the Sabines! You should have seen the heads popping out of the windows all down the street! Quite an excitement in our calm neighbourhood.
I am just turning the heel of the first stocking, tell Tom, and hope to get the pair done before you go down to Norfolk. Mr Perry is the vicar — I’m sure I have told you about him before. Such a nice man, only rather High Church, but not at all bigoted. I always enjoy a chat with him.
I must stop now and get the joint in the oven for dinner. His lordship is coming in to prepare his special mushroom dish with his own fair hands!! So you see we have a treat to look forward to!Ever your loving sister, Aggie
3. The Same to the Same
15, Whittington Terrace, Bayswater 20th September, 1928
Dear Olive,
You ought to thank your lucky stars, my dear, that you are the sort of person for whom ‘a good husband’ is enough. But then, of course, Mother never brought us up to be brainy. We always lived so quietly at home, and what you’ve never had you don’t miss, as the saying goes. I can’t say I should have cared for an office job myself, though perhaps it would have been better for my health if I had had something to occupy my mind. But I am really feeling much better now, and I am getting free of that dreadful sensation of being obliged to go back and see if I really have done things when I know perfectly well I have. I know you say everybody feels like that sometimes, but you don’t know what it’s like to be compelled to do it! The other night I got the idea that I had left the beef out on the kitchen table, and though I really remembered quite clearly shutting it up in the meat-safe, I simply had to creep downstairs in my dressing-gown and make sure, otherwise I shouldn’t have got a wink of sleep. Still, that has been the only relapse for about a fortnight now.
As a matter of fact, we have had quite a lot of thrills this week — very good for us — occupies our minds, you know. The upstairs tenants have arrived!! Two young men — the artist and a poet! They came in the day before yesterday, and oh, my dear, the bumpings and noises! They brought a grand piano — I only hope they won’t be playing it all night, because I’m simply good for nothing if I don’t get my sleep before midnight — and there’s a gramophone as well. Why can’t people be content with the wireless, which shuts down at a reasonable hour?
I haven’t properly seen the poet yet, except that he’s rather tall and dark and thin. I’ve only caught glimpses of him running in and out of the front door, but the artist came in the first night after dinner to ask about the coal bunkers. He is quite exciting looking — very young — not more than twenty-four or five, I should say, with a lot of thick hair and one of those rather sulky-handsome faces. He has very nice manners, and didn’t address all his conversation to Mr and Mrs Harrison and leave me out in the cold, as most of these young men do. Mr Harrison, even, was quite gracious to him and offered him a drink, and he stayed talking for quite a little while. His name is Lathom, and he has very little money and has to take afternoon classes in an Art-school, but, of course, that is only to make money until he gets recognised. He has exhibited pictures in Manchester (I think he said), and some other places up north, but he didn’t talk much about his work. He seems nice and modest about it. I think Mr Harrison is rather pleased that there should be an artist in the house. He started laying down the law about art at once, in his usual way, and brought out some of his water-colours for Lathom to look at. Mr Lathom said they were very nice indeed, which rather surprised me, because I always think they are rather wishy-washy. However, I suppose he couldn’t very well have said anything else, as he was drinking Mr Harrison’s whisky and he had never seen him till that moment.
Mrs Harrison seemed rather nervous all the time, and she said afterwards she thought Mr Lathom was quite a pleasant young man, but she did wish George wouldn’t inflict his painting on everybody. It must be very humiliating to be ashamed of one’s husband’s manners.
I have a dreadful confession to make about Tom’s stockings! With all my care, one of the turn-overs has come out slightly larger and looser than the other. It is so tiresome! Why should one’s knitting vary so from day to day? I suppose as long as one is a human being and not a machine one must get variations in one’s work, but I thought I had been so careful. I simply can’t face unpicking it all, and it isn’t really very noticeable. Tell Tom, if he can manage to put up with the trifling difference for a few weeks, It will probably even itself up in the wash.
I went out to Virginia Water on Sunday on a ’bus and had a lovely walk. I have been trying to put down my impressions in a little sketch. Dr Trevor thinks it is quite good, and says I must certainly persevere. He says my power of feeling things so intensely ought to make me a really good writer, when I have mastered the technique of putting it down on paper.