1941 May
Family letter from LJT No 15
“The Chateau”. Tongariro National Park
New Zealand.
May 1st 1941
My dears,
This has been a sad week, both for the world, and for us personally. Our hearts have been rent with sorrow and anxiety for the Greeks, and for the Imperial Troops in Greece. On top of that sorrow and anxiety, we got the cable telling us of Dora’s death. Grace’s last letter told that she seemed in poor health, but it had never occurred to me that she might be seriously ill. The cable was sent on to us at Wanganui, the very place where she stayed with her friends, the Palmers, and I had been thinking so much about her and planning to write and tell her about the place. There is one comfort, and that is that a long illness or years of fading health would have been difficult for her to bear. I sent off a cable to George at once, sending him our sympathy, badly expressed in a few words. Its when anything like this occurs that one realizes how far away we are. Its strange to think that it will be two months before we hear any details. I keep on wondering whether her death was connected with any of the many air raids which we read of daily. Even far away here we seem to be needing to summon up all our faith and courage, so as to keep cheerful and not get too down-hearted, and what it must be for all of you in England, its hard to realize. All through the war I have tried to carry on and write about what we are doing though I feel it must often seem out of tune with your lives. I can only hope that you do like to distract your thoughts now and again from the duties and worries that beset you, and that our letters help to do that a little. I shall therefore carry on the tale of our wanderings.
As far as I remember, I took the afternoon of Monday 21st at home to write letters. A good deal of our time last week was taken up by visits to Bank to make arrangements about getting some money to Australia, and things about where Herbert could draw his pay, and so on. Then we had to get permits to leave New Zealand, the application for which had to be made on a form on which we had to answer the most amazing array of questions, including giving the birthplaces of both parents (which I did not know!) our weights, heights and ages, the number and sex of our children, etc etc. On Tuesday afternoon we at last managed to meet Irene King, nee Daniloff, my little Russian friend from Calcutta, who married a man in the R.A.F. He came to N.Z. about a year ago as an instructor, and we just missed them at Christchurch. I feared we would not see them, but by a stroke of luck they had to come across from Blenheim on the north of the South Island, on business of some sort, and their visit just coinsided with our stay in Wellington. The small daughter, aged two, was amusing with Herbert. She stared at him a good deal, and presently she got up and stood on the sofa beside him leaning on his shoulder, and gazing at him at close quarters. Then she took her finger and carefully felt the wrinkles in his forehead, and having done so, carefully felt her own forehead. Herbert was somewhat shocked to find that he had deep furrows in his forehead. He always, and justly, accuses me of wrinkling mine. It had never occured to me to tell him that he does the same. I shall be seeing Irene’s mother and step-father when I get back to Calcutta, and shall be able to report on the family. Unfortunately we had a good deal of cold, windy weather in Wellington, and Herbert’s cold was still hanging about. He was’nt feeling very grand on Wednesday, so he stayed in all day, and was able to get some calculations about figures done for the bank, and to write a few letters. Luckily our engagements were not ones that mattered much to him. I was booked to meet the Canadian girl, Helen MacDonald who was at the Glacier Hotel with us, for an early lunch, and then we paid a visit to a famous library, which has a magnificent collection of books, especially books on the Pacific. One of Capt Cook’s log books is there, and was shown to us by a nice young librarian, who turned out to be a member of the Canterbury Mountaineering Club, and was most friendly. When Helen had to go off to take a class ( She is a physical training instructress) I put in a little shopping, before meeting another girl for tea. This girl I met at Omaru. She is a great friend of some of the men who were to have come to India to climb, and had seen all my letters to them. We had a great treat in the evening. We went to spend the evening with old Mr. Harper, now seventy eight years of age, but as upright and spry as a man of fifty. He was one of the early surveyors of the West Coast, and the first man to study and report about the N.Z. Glaciers. He has had a wonderful career, and has been a sort of father to N.Z. climbing. He lives at the extreme other end of town from the Graingers, on another hill top (Wellington is built on a number of steep hills). Dorothy Grainger volunteered to drive us along in the car, which was specially nice, as it saved Herbert standing about in the cold to catch trams. The result was that Dorothy was so thrilled by Mr. Harper’s lantern slides, and tales of his explorations, that she came home detirmined to buy a pair of climbing boots and spend her next holiday in the mountains. There were no other guests at Mr Harpers and we spent a most interesting evening. I had read his book, and much about him in other people’s books, so I was delighted to talk with him face to face. We had met for “morning Tea” the previous week in the town. The first men to survey a country like N.Z. when scarcely any tracks exist, and when what they have to work on is a huge block of snow mountains, glaciers, deep river gorges chocked by dense Bush, need to be tough and brave and patient. We had another delightful mountain evening on Saturday when Mr Shanks, the Secretary of the Central organization of the N.Z. Alpine Club, invited us to his house to meet about a dozen of the local members. Certainly the N.Z. mountaineers have done us proud with their friendliness and hospitality, and have made our visit as great deal more interesting than it would otherwise have been. We were lunching out again on Wednesday and had tea with the Seddons, and on Friday, which luckily was a perfect day. Jean Gilmer, who had been at the Glacier Hotel and had climbed Mt Moltke with us, called for us after breakfast, and took us in her car to spend the day at her mother’s garden cottage about 25 miles from Wellington up the Hutt Valley. Mrs. Knox Gilmer is a daughter of the famous old Prime Minister, Seddon, and people say she is the only one of all his children who is really like him, not only in looks but in general drive, force of character, and marvellous memory for people and ability to get on with them. She is quite an important figure in N.Z. public life, both in politics and in the garden world. She stood for Parliament in the last election and polled a surprising number of votes in spite of the great turnover to labour, though she did not get in. I had heard much about her, and expected a smart, perhaps rather overwhelming sort of person. Nothing could be less like the real Mrs Gilmer. She is a rather stout homely woman, with her wavy grey hair, coiled up in a bun on top of her head, and fastened in place with a few hairpins stuck in at random. Her clothes are well worn an obviously old friends, and her shoes flat and comfortable, - - - - and that, say her friends, is always Mrs Gilmer, whether she is addressing a public meeting, opening a baby clinic, or going to lunch with the Governor General’s wife. Her little estate climbs the steep side of the upper Hutt valley, and is an enchantingly pretty place. Garden and bush run into one another, and she grows her beloved rhododendrons where ever she thinks they will be happiest. It was a glorious sunny Autumn day, and we sat on the stoop in front of the house drinking tea, before going off to see the garden. Herbert was specially interested in a section which she has allowed to go back to natural bush. When she bought the place about ten years ago, the ground had been eaten bare by cattle and just had a few big beech trees standing on it. She has done nothing but fence it in and protect it, and now it is thick natural bush, with thousands of young trees coming up, not only beech, but the more valuable things like the red and the white pines. The house is a wooden structure consisting of one big long room with a huge open fireplace. This takes up the whole of the front of the house, with a sunporch in front. Behind are the kitchen, a few bedrooms and “the usual offices”. Mrs Gilmer comes out there when ever she can get away from her many duties in Wellington, and she says she is looking forward to the moment when she can abandon her Wellington house and go out there for good. After lunch, leaving Herbert in front of the fire with a book, we went to look at the rhododendrons, not in flower, of course, but I wanted to see how the many Himalayan varieties she has, were doing. Himalayan Rhododendrons dont like wind, and she has put them into sheltered nooks on the hillside, or given them screens of brush-wood to keep off the almost constant wind which blows in Wellington and its neighbourhood. About half past three some friends of the Gilmers arrived, and it turned out that the husband, on hearing my name mentioned by Jean, asked if he could come to meet me, for he had seen my name mentioned in several of the books on Himalayan Climbing, in which he is intensely interested. It was interesting to find that he knew so much about the Himalayas. He even knew the geography of Darjeeling, and how the cars stop below the Planters’ Club, and how the porters congregate there. He asked me heaps and heaps of questions about the different climbers who have made their names famous in accounts of Himalayan Expeditions, and expressed sorrow that we were leaving Wellington so soon, and that our remaining time was full up, for he said he would have liked to have had several more long talks. Meantime the people with whom we were going to have supper on our way back to town had turned up. They were the eighty-year old Mr Gifford, with his much younger wife, and a son, who was driving the car for them. Apparantly they had rung up Mrs Gilmer, and suggested sending the son with the car to fetch us back to their house, about eight miles nearer Wellington. Mrs G. promptly asked them all to tea. It was one of Mr Gifford’s books that Herbert had borrowed from Mr Kennedy in Christchurch, with a view to learning something about the southern stars. Being unable to buy a copy anywhere he kept the book for some months, with the owners permission, and copied out all the star maps in it with infinite labour. This so impressed old Mr Kennedy, when Herbert returned the book to him in Christchurch, that he said he would write to the author, Mr Gifford, and ask if he had by any chance got a spare copy he could let Herbert have. Soon after our arrival in Wellington, Herbert received a parcel from Mr Gifford, containing several small books, including the one he specially wanted, and a charming letter asking whether we could possibly go out to a meal with them, preferably the evening meal, as Mr Gifford has a four inch telescope, and weather permitting, we could have a look at the stars through it. The visit fitted in well with that to Mrs Gilmer. Mr Gifford is an astronomer of some note. He has conducted several discussions with both Jeans and Eddington, differing from them on certain points. He is a charming old man, and looks more like sixty-five than eighty. During the time they were at the Gilmers, I was engaged on a three-cornered conversation with Mrs Gilmer and Mrs Gifford, and I found it very, very interesting, for Mrs Gifford mentioned what a great admirer her husband had always been of old Prime Minister Seddon, even in the days of his early political career, when he was fighting vested interests and was extremely unpopular. This led Mrs Gilmer on to tell lots of tales of her father, and those early days in the political world out here. In the car on our way to the Giffords, I discovered that Mr Gifford was also a keen mountain trekker and explorer, and that he had been on many expeditions with two men, Grave and Talbot, who explored much of the country near Milford Sound. At their very charming house, in a long room lined all round to a height of about seven feet with book-cases, he showed me interesting photos of that country. After the evening meal he gave his time to Herbert and astronomical matters, though to our great disappointment clouds had rolled up and we were not able to look through the telescope. When the time came for us to go and catch the bus for Wellington, the son said he would drive us down to the road, and old Mr Gifford said he was coming too, fetched his hat and coat, and showed me the way down the steps and through the garden to the garage. Good, at eighty years of age, don’t you think? I have devoted rather a lot of time to talking about the Gilmers and the Giffords, for both families are so interesting, and such splendid types of citizens. With a good sprinkling of people of this mental and moral caliber, N.Z. should not take long to develop a fine culture of her own, and to be able to give to the old world, as well as to take from it, ideas, as well as mutton, wool and butter.
Not being satisfied about Herbert’s health, I had suggested that he should go and see a Dr Hardwick-Smith, who had been at the Glacier Hotel with us, and who, as I heard from many people, makes a specialty of giving people a complete general overhaul. Herbert went to him on Thursday morning. He finds that Herbert has low blood pressure, and finds him to be one of the unlucky people whose chemical balance is a bit out of gear, so that he needs more vitamins than the ordinary mortal. He now suffers from a weak stomach and tricky liver, probably the result of life in India with its attendent diseases of malaria and dysentry, but the other condition is one with which some people are born. As far as it is known it can not be cured, but it can be greatly mitigated by taking certain drugs when specially “down” and by always taking care to eat food specially rich in vitamins. I am glad to have had the opinion of a good doctor, and to know that Herbert’s sub-normal temperatures are not due to some obscure fever. He has given him two lots of medicines to take:- one is some combination of vitamins made into little pills, and the other some preparation of nicotine, which has recently been found efficacious in America with people of Herbert’s type. Dr H-S says he has given it with success to two or three patients lately. Some of the things that Herbert has been told to eat are oranges and bemax, so he goes down to breakfast armed with a large tin of bemax, which he puts on his eggs or fish. I think a week of this regime has made him feel better, and it has had the effect of making his tongue much redder than it has ever been. I hope with care we shall be able to keep him in fairly good health, so that when we get back to India he will be able to carry on his work without due strain.
Fancy I am nearly at the end of the third page, and I have not finished telling about Wellington, or said a word about Wanganui or this place. As for Wellington, I need not say much more than that we had several more reunions with people we had met on our travels, a charming drive round the harbour to tea with people who live at a little sea-side place called Eastbourne, and that we felt sad at our parting from the Graingers on Monday morning. We left about ten, and our train, one of the main expresses by the way, meandered along in what seemed to us a leisurely manner, through good country, following the rich coastal plane of the West coast, and leaving the high ribs of grassy hills inland. Except that the hills are much higher, the country is much like England. For many miles from Wellington, it is mostly grass land, devoted to Dairy-Farming. It is interspersed with arable land here and there, and a certain amount of market gardens and big glass houses. Nearer to Wanganui the country is devoted almost exclusively to sheep, but it is very different from sheep lands we saw in the centre of the South Island. There the so-called paddocks were vast tracts of yellow tussock-grass country, with a small number of sheep running to every acre, and enclosed by wire fences. Here the fields were of green grass, and much the same in size and appearance, as fields in England. The sheep were as thick in them and they were surrounded by hedges or by stone walls. All this country was the first to be settled, and was the scean of the Maori Wars. I dont wonder the Maoris were not keen to give up such good lands. We arrived at Wanganui just before four o’clock, and Dr Wall met us at the station. They had written that most regretfully they had to say they could not have us to stay, as both the maids had left, and Mrs Wall was coping single handed with their large house, and a small grand-daughter, who was staying with her while the mother went into hospital for a slight operation. Mrs Wall is neither very robust nor very young, and I dont wonder she did not feel quite equal to having two more people on her hands to cook for and to look after. They got us rooms in a comfortable hotel nearby, and looked after us most nobly, taking us about each day in their car, and showing us all there is to see. Wanganui is a pleasant sea-side town, standing in a great bend of the Wanganui river where it reaches the sea. Inland it has a splendid view up over range upon range of blue hills to the snow summit of the volcano, Ruapahu, some eighty miles away by crow-flight, on the foot of which we are now staying. The Walls whose house stands up on a small hill, have had a big plate glass window put into their dining-room to frame that lovely view. Away to the East, and not so distant, is another extinct volcano, Mt Egmont. It is a lovely perfect cone, but it obstinately hid itself while we were in Wanganui, in spite of the fact that we had two lovely days there. The Wanganui River is one of the beauty spots of N.Z. It winds down from the heart of the volcanic district in the middle of the North Island, cutting its way through the hills, so that for much of its course it runs between rocky cliffs, or steep bush and fern-clad slopes. It used to be the regular highway of the Maoris in their canoes. We did not see much of it, as the boats do not run up and down it so late in the year, but we saw some extremely lovely paintings of it in the admirable little art-gallery belonging to the town. This comparatively small town also possesses an excellent museum with the best collection of Maori things I have seen so far. They certainly were good craftsmen, and performed wonders with their stone tools. The Walls took us to see a Maori village on the outskirts of Wanganui. The doctor has attended the family of one of the leading families, and phoned the wife to ask if she could show us round. It was interesting seeing the meeting house, built in the old traditional style, and incorporating some ancient carved pillars, while close behind it stood a modern village hall, where popular dances are held. The traditional village store house stands in the middle of an open space, and is not used much except for storing tribal belongings, especially the necessary furniture for a funeral. Close by is a small church recently built by the Maoris on the site of one of the old Mission Churches. It is roofed and decorated in the Maori style. The walls are covered with the woven cane panals with which the Maoris always lined their chief buildings. Each tribe has its own design, and in the Church, the panals were done by many different tribes. It seemed odd to see the posts of the door carved with “the Ancestors”, always so important to the Maoris. Herbert never can get over the fact that the grandparents of the present generation were still eaters of human flesh. New Zealanders seem to fall into two classes; those who dislike the Maoris, think poorly of them, and have as little to do with them as possible, and those who seem to see the Maoris and their every action through highly rose-tinted spectacles - I have scarcely seen enough of them to form any opinion. Near the town there is a lovely tiny lake surrounded by charming gardens, where we spent part of a morning. Oh dear! I know this paper is going to run out before I have had time to tell you anything about this place, to which we came by car on Wednesday afternoon. We left Wanganui at 3.30 p.m. and got here at 7.15, for the road is hills and corners all the way and one cant make any speed over it. It winds through and over a perfect tangle of hills, some grassy and some covered with bush. The latter part of the Drive through the great area known as Torogariro National Park, was unfortunately after dark, but the character of the country had changed and was superficially like the Yorkshire Moors, except that the rivers have cut deep gorges into the soft volcanic stone. This Hotel, said to be N.Z.’s most ambitious and up-to-date country hotel, is a big place built to accommodate about 400 people. It has a huge lounge, with a dancing floor in the centre of it, and both it and the dining-room have great plate glass windows so that one can look out and get an uninterrupted view of the two volcanoes, Tongariro and Ngauruhoe. Its busy time is in mid-winter when good skiing grounds are close by on the slopes of Ruapehu, which rises up close behind the building, and is always snow-crowned. It is the highest mountain in the North Island, 9,167 ft (I’m not quite sure of the exactitude of the odd 67 ft) The three peaks were originally given to the government by Te Heu Heu Tukino, paramount chief of the biggest tribe in the North Island, to be kept as a national reserve of native flora and fauna. Since then, more land has been added, and the park now comprises about 149,470 acres. We had some fine glimpses of Ruapehu as we were on our way here, before it grew dark, but yesterday and to-day it, and the two smaller cones have been hidden in the cloud. It was a nice bright sunny morning yesterday, and we went for a jolly little walk to a small waterfall. In the afternoon it rained a bit but cleared after tea, and allowed us to get out for a short walk before dinner. It was raining when we woke this morning, but cleared a bit by 10 o’clock, and we had a good rough walk over moor-land and through beech forest and scrub land, seeing some silica springs en route. The first fine morning, we are going up the mountain. A road passable for cars goes for 4 ½ miles, leaving only 4 miles to do on foot to the summit. Its said to be an easy ascent up snow slopes, to the crater, where there is the odd spectacle of a steaming hot lake, surrounded by cliffs of ice. I hope we get a fine day for the expedition. There is said to be a superb view from the top when it is clear.
I think we are at an altitude of about 1,500 ft here and the air is beautiful. In spite of the height, it is far warmer than it was in Wellington. It is warm indoors too, for the place is centrally heated. We move on to Wairakii on Tuesday, where we shall see all manner of geysers and such oddities, and a few days later we go to Rotorua, for more peculiar things of that sort, before we get to Auckland, and the boat to take us to Sydney. Letter-writing may be difficult to fit in, so forgive me if there is a bit of a gap.
Best love to you all. The constant thoughts of you all are far more real to me than all these things we are seeing. The things we are seeing are like a shadow play taking place on a drop curtain, behind which real life is going on all the time. Again, my love to you
LJT
From LJT to Annette No 15
Chateau Tongariro
National Park. N.Z.
May 3rd 1941.
My darling Annette,
Letters of the 19th Feb and the 1st March reached us last week-end. In a sense, the more serious the War news, the more precious letters become. They seem something to cling to: something that brings one a bit nearer the people one loves and values, and with whom one so longs to be shareing the hardships and privations which you are all undergoing. Thank goodness you are all robust people. Though its selfish I cant help being thankful that Dad is not in England. He finds so many difficulties to face in life as it is, that I fear he would suffer tremendously under present conditions at home. As for myself, I just ache with the desire to be with you all, and to be able to help in some way, even if it were only living at Highways, and working in the garden and helping Uncle and Aunt in all their activities. it was nice to hear from Aunt that you were looking well and specially tired. I hope Mr Evans has remained in a good mood. Its sad that human nature so easily becomes petty, in spite of the fact that it is capable of so much heroism and unselfishness. Will you tell Mrs Roscoe sometime that I think of her with great gratitude and appreciation. its such a comfort to know that there is a comfortable home to which you can go whenever you like. Are the family Quakers? You mention in your letter that Barbara is going away to train for work in some Quaker Relief Society. I was glad to get some news of Doris. In a letter written to me for Christmas, which eventually followed me to N.Z. she told something of how trying the old Aunt had become. She has been a wealthy widow for so many years, that she has been able to have her own way about everything, and it has become more and more trying for the people round her. Doris must be feeling a bit anxious about June in Port Said these days, I should think. I have been wondering whether she will go down to South Africa or somewhere a little further from a war zone. If you see Doris again, do give her my love. I am always meaning to write, but find it difficult to cope with more than the family letters, and business things. I suspect you gave her message correctly. Sir Herbert Cumming was a high court judge during our early days in India.
A few days ago we had the cable telling of Auntie Do’s death. its strange to think she has gone. I dont know that its exactly sad, for if she was ill, as from recent reports she seems to have been, maybe she is better out of life. My sorrow when oldish people die, is so much less that when young people are taken, but death its-self is a sad thing, for we know so little about it. I like to feel that life here is only a part of a series of existences, and that what we manage to develop in the way of mental and spiritual development we in some way carry on into another existance, possibly on earth again. I say I like to feel that, but the trouble is that I do not completely believe it. I have not confessed it to Aunt, for it might shock her, but when we came into the hotel at Wanganui and saw a cable in the rack for us, I felt my heart miss a beat. When I opened the envelope, and found that the message did not relate to you or Richard, I could not help a feeling of intense relief. Dad confessed to the same series of emotions.
I am glad you had been over to see Uncle Bous and family. I must write to him! Its ages since I had any direct news from him.
Your Recorder Band must have gained quite substantial proportions. Its funny to think I dont even know exactly what a Recorder it.
There is lots more of interest in you letters, but its almost lunch-time, on a wet, wet morning, and my feet and hands are cold, so I am going to finish this off. Best love, my dear
Mother
From LJT to Romey
Chateau Tongariro National Park, NZ
May 4th, 1941
Handwritten (quite damaged in places)
My darling Romey,
Your letters 11 & 12 with enclosures from Helen, backed by your efforts of touch-typing, (which have been most encouraging to Dad) and another letter from Helen to both of us plus the little slip giving us the dates on which the letters are received--all reached us here yesterday. We send our thanks to both of you for them. We do appreciate the fact that even when busy swatting for exams, you find time to write such long letters to us. I can assure you they are a tremendous joy, and some real compensation for being parted from you for so long. It’s interesting to see how my letters have arrived. It’s annoying that both my letters to you and yours to me, so often miss one fortnight and arrive two together. Yours have been better lately.
I’ve just been going through your letters for the second time and have made a lot of notes about things to talk of. Your imminent examinations were evidently holding a large place in your mind, as was only natural and proper. It will be tremendously interesting to hear how you did in them, but don’t think we shall be too disappointed if you haven’t been very successful, for you have had a somewhat upsetting year and have had to make so many adjustments, that it wouldn’t be surprising if your work had suffered a bit. Congratulations on getting through your oral chemistry. Do you ever give any thought to what sort of a career you want to aim at in the future? I often think and puzzle about it. I have a few ideas, but I don’t want anything I say or suggestions I make to influence you unduly, for it’s out of ones own self that one must eventually find out what course one wants to follow. I have sometimes thought you would have a good temperament for a doctor, but that is a profession which I do not think should be taken up unless there is a strong personal urge towards it. Also it needs good ability to tackle the exams and patience to face the five years of study before one can qualify. One of the reasons I liked the idea of your taking the Natural Sciences is that I think there are a fair number of openings in such concerns as Imperial Chemical Industries, the scientific side of various experimental Agricultural Farms and Colleges, or places like Professor Crew’s Institute of Genetics.
Of course your tastes might be in quite other directions, and being so far away, it’s very hard to help you in any way by discussing things. At times I have wondered whether the idea of doing veterinary work would appeal to you, but Professor Crew advised against, partly on the ground that still a pretty rough type of man goes in for the work and you would have to train and work with them. When Annette and I went to see the--I can’t remember the right name--but it is a Bureau dealing with Careers for Women, the Secretary asked whether Annette fancied any sort of Social Work. We did not go into the question as Anne did not fancy it, and I don’t really know what sort of openings there are, but from what she said, we gathered there were quite a range of possibilities and I should talk these things over with Cousin Susie and Helen, if I were you, because it would be quite a good thing to get some notion of what you are aiming at. Another possible line might be work on psychological lines. There are all sorts of institutions for testing children and giving special training to backward children and so on. America is ahead of England in these sort of things, I fancy. I don’t know whether Canada is too.
Now, before I use up all the available space on the paper, I want to give you the name of a cousin of some very nice people who have been staying here; a Capt and Mrs. O’Regan (Army Medical). The cousin is Plot Officer Martin Hume NZAF an he has just gone to Canada for training---they don’t know where--but as you said, so many Airmen are now in Winnipeg, I thought it worth giving them your address to send to him, just in case he finds himself in Winnipeg. I can tell from your letters that Cousin Susie is so hospitable to the lads who are training, I knew she would not mind my suggesting that this lad should look you up, if he happens to be near. The O’Regans are dear people, both of them, and we were so sorry when they left here this morning. Capt O’Regan’s father is or was one of NZ’s Judges. I do hope you meet some of the NZ lads. We have received such tremendous kindness and hospitality in this country that I’d dearly love to think that you could be kind to New Zealanders who are out of their own country. We like the New Zealand people so much. On the whole they seem much less rough than the Australians. I’d like to have met the man who was on the Imperial Airways between Karachi and Australia. How true, what he says, that anything repeated over and over again becomes routine and tends to become boring.
It’s interesting to hear that the Australians you met complain of a lack of beer in Manitoba. I was not in Australia long enough to know much about it, but I have see more drunk people in the few months we have been in New Zealand than I have in the past twenty years elsewhere. It seems to be thought manly and rather amusing. I suppose its all part of the country being very young and new. So many of the men who work in rather lonely places and have not had much training in the things of the mind seem to have no other idea of amusing themselves when they come into town. One hopes they will learn.
I am glad you mentioned the arrangement of the Varsity terms. I had been a little puzzled about them. From your point of view the very long vacation will be a great advantage, for it will give you the chance to do your Second Year Chemistry pretty thoroughly. Evidently your meal hours in Canada are like New Zealand and due probably to the same cause -- ie lack of domestic help. We did not find any difficulty in getting used to them. This is a country which seems to have enormous quantities of food. Everywhere they give such big helpings of meat. I am always asking for half portions. Then there are always big bowls of cream on the tables--not content with the meals being so big, most people have quite a tuck-in at “morning tea”, about 11 o’clock, and again at “Supper” ie tea, cakes and sandwiches, about 10 pm. It is heartbreaking to think that this surplus plenty cannot be sent to England.
I have been studying the Winnipeg map and wondering which way you and Polo go for your walks. I should like to have seen her just after she was washed with her “plus fours” on. The time of the thaw must be a bit nasty, but I have an idea that the Spring is specially lovely in countries that have been under snow all winter. What is your “brush” like? Is it trees, or is it shrubs? Also, are there forest round about Winnipeg, or is it all wheat country?
I had heard the word “gumbo” before. When my American friend Louise Rankin stayed with us in Chinsurah, we took the dogs for a country walk and as it was early in the Rains, we encountered a good deal of rich Bengal mud, which she spoke of as “gumbo”. I wonder how the ‘millennium’ after the exams is working out. I’ve looked forward to so many and have been going to accomplish so many things during those golden periods, but when they should come, they generally turn out to be just as busy as the times that have preceded them. You would think that living in hotels all this time, I would have had masses of time on my hands, but actually, I have not. Whenever we are not doing anything special, I find I have lots of washing and mending, and always letters to write.
How is the money question going on? I do hope you have enough to meet expenses. I have so little idea what everything is costing you -- but you will let us know if you are short, won’t you?
Today we had hoped to go up the 9.176 ft high extinct volcano, Ruapelu. This hotel is at 3,000 ft--on the slopes of the massive hill. A road passable for car climbs up another 2,500 ft or so, leaving abut 3,500 ft to be done on foot, but its not very steep. The weather however, was not good enough, too much cloud. It was a jolly day for walking though, and we tramped over the moors to a Lake in an old sort of crater -- some 11 miles there and back. I wish you could see the view out of the great plate glass window in front of which I am sitting. It gives a wonderful view of rolling moor and patches of bush, leading to the perfect cone of the still active volcano, Ngaurahoe (pronounced na-ru-he). In this light it looks a deep purplish hue and there is a rim of snow round the crater.
Best love dearest, from your Mother. PS .About photos -- do you think it would be rather nice to have a “studio Portrait” taken. Also I think the snap of you in the fur coat “Quite the young lady” one, is worth enlarging.
Mother
Family letter from LJT No 16
Wairakei Hotel, N.Z.
May 7th 1941.
My Dears,
Does one get used to the idea of a tragedy? Or is it that while the incidents are taking place, one is torn by anxiety, which gives place to a settled grief, when the action is finished? I feel something like that about the evacuation from Greece. While we did not know what was happening, I found it hard to concentrate my mind on other things, and would wake in the night, and find myself wondering what was going on. I had a letter from Mrs. Grainger last night. They have had no news yet as to whether their son and son-in-law are safe. Its bound to take some time to get any idea of what has happened to those who are not actually accounted for, I suppose. We are feeling almost spoilt, for we had a mail from home, a mail from Canada, and yesterday a big one from India, all within a week. It gives me such a nice satisfied feeling when I have recently had letters, just like the change from being hungry, to the peaceful feeling that comes after a full meal. Thank you , to all concerned for your contributions to this feeling of comfort!
And now I will carry on the sort of diary account of our doings. The weather did not treat us well at the Chateau, and during the six days that we were there, there was not a single morning when the clouds were off the summit of Ruapehu, and on one or two days we had rain. I actually posted the last batch of mail letters on Friday night. As far as I remember I sat at a writing table in the writing room, looking out through a big plate glass window, straight at the perfect cone of the still mildly active volcano, Ngauruhoe (pronounced Na-ru-ho-e: each syllable receiving equal emphasis, as is the case in all Maori words). The rain clouds slowly cleared from it, and showed it as a dark indigo blue, the rim and sides of the crater snow-covered from about a quarter of its height above the moors. It is only about eight miles distant from the Chateau, and the foreground was rolling country, green and russet, with tussock grass and a short bracken like fern, and with bands of beech forest in the valleys. I made several mistakes in my letter last week. Fro instance one cannot see Tongoriro from the Chateau. It is blocked out by Ngauruhoe. We drove right round under it when we came away. It is a great truncated volcanoe, now only 6,000 ft odd but experts say that in the dim ages it must have blown its head off, and they reckon that before then it was good 15,000 ft high. Certainly it looks like that. Another mistake I made was about the altitude of the Chateau. It is 3,600 ft, not 1,500 as I said, so its no wonder the air is clear and pure. From the dining-room and from our bedroom windows, we looked right up at Ruapehu, a great sprawling giant of a mountain, not looking obviously like a volcanoe. We had a chance of a closer look at it on Saturday afternoon, for after a wet morning, when we did not go out, a Military Doctor and his wife, Capt and Mrs. O’Regan, with whom we had made friends directly we arrived at the hotel invited us to drive up the mountain road as far as the car would go, for it had turned into a beautiful clear afternoon. The road is steep, but well graded, and rises to an altitude of something over 6,000 ft, to the spot where the ski club have their hut. Its not often possible to drive so high, because the snow comes down there as a rule. At the moment we were there, above us on the not very steep slopes, there was just a confused mass of volcanic rocks, hurled in all directions, and many of them looking as if they had been boiled till they were all bubbling, and then suddenly cooled. Beyond them snow slopes led up to the rim of the crater, but really there is little in the shape of the mountain to tell that a crater exists. When I am writing about mountains, I always seem to take a lot of time about it. I suppose its because they appeal to me more than most things. Our remaining two mornings were taken up by long walks, fine ones too. On Sunday we did 11 miles between breakfast and lunch, right out to-wards Ngauruhoe over the moors, through patches of forest, and up stream beds, to a blue lake, lying in what might have been part of an old crater. There are good walks from the Chateau, but like so many places in N.Z. there is so much country, with so few tracks, and its often hard work to get across country without them, so that in our six days there we covered all the recognized paths. We found pleasant company in the hotel, especially the O’Regans, whom we liked immensely. Herbert had slight neuralgia in his face the last two days we were there, which would have made it unwise for him to go up the mountain even if the weather had been good. On the morning of our departure all the clouds had cleared off the high lands and the weather was brilliant with us, though we could see cotton-wool-like clouds sitting in the valleys away below us to the West. I was delighted that Mt Egmont’s perfect snow cone was showing brilliantly clear eighty miles away to the South West. One would never have guessed the distance to be so great.
We had had a Service Car to ourselves for the drive from Wanganui, and we were in luck again for the drive here, and were the only passengers except for a certain amount of mail, news-papers and parcels. The road makes a great half-circle round the volcanoes, and then veers northwards over the uplands of the National Park, dropping gradually to the great lake, Taupo, along the shores of which it runs for some thirty miles. This is the heart of the Maori country, and we saw more Maoris in the one morning, than in all the rest of our time in N.Z. I am disappointed in their appearance. They have a singularly heavy build, with short thick legs, and bull necks. They seem to run to fat while they are still quite young, and are very dirty and untidy. At one place a Maori woman was standing by the roadside, and signalled the driver to stop. She wanted a letter posted, but did not begin to fold it, put it into the envelope or write the address, till after the car had stopped. She squatted down in the middle of the road, to write, with the letter held on top of a tin of tobacco, out of which from underneath the tobacco, she finally dug out a three-penny bit, to pay for the postage, her long wavy black hair falling all over her hands and the letter while she was doing it. The driver meantime, good-naturedly told her that her was using up half a gallon of petrol, waiting for her, and would have to charge her for it. This brought forth peals of laughter from her and another damsel who was hanging about in the background. The driver says the business of the letter was typical of the Maori lack of time-sense. Sometimes a party of Maoris from one village will hire a bus to go to some other village for a party or festival. They will perhaps go on a Saturday morning, and they will say that they will all be ready to leave again at 9 a.m on the Sunday, “but”, says the driver, “you’re lucky if you get away by 9 p.m.” Lake Taupo is a great fishing centre, and here and there along its shores there are little settlements of country-cottages, with perhaps a wooden shack used as a primitive shop, sometimes calling itself “Tackle Shop”. At the northern end of the Lake is the Township of Taupo, quite a considerable place, in a lovely setting. The snow-topped peaks of Ruapehu and Ngauruhoe stand up finely beyond the southern end of the Lake, with the great flat-topped mass of Tongariro beside them. On the slopes of Tongariro, by the way, there is a blow-hole, which sends out never-ceasing clouds of steam. All the country round about is hilly and wild. The volcanic soil here is just a white pumice, very different from the fertile soil of some volcanic regions. Few things grow well on it. The manuka bush is the chief of these, but it was discovered that the Baltic (I think!) pine, Pinis Insignis takes kindly to this queer soil, and great tracts of country are now covered by flourishing pine forests. The trees are seeding themselves, too, as one can see for ones-self. For the five miles between Taupo and this hotel, the road runs chiefly through pine woods, with glimpses of Waikato River. The driver stopped the car at a spot where the road is high above the river, to let us see the Huka Falls, a fine violent cascade, where the river has to push between rock cliffs and take a big jump down on its way to the sea. Our drive was only about 70 miles, but it took from 8,45 till about 12.30, for we stopped at little post-offices to deliver mail-bags, and at many places to put letters and parcels into way-side boxes. Wairakei is only the hotel and a store.
8.5.41 It exists here because of the most remarkable Geyser Valley, another valley, called Waiora, in which the thermal activity takes the form of hot springs, forming pools in close juxtaposition, but each of some different colour, owing to the different chemical content of the water, and to a great blow-hole, spoken of as “The Safety Valve of New Zealand”. I nearly forgot to mention that many people stop here for fishing, too. A hot stream runs through the grounds, and there are two swimming pools on it. The upper one has a temperature of 102 and the lower one, of 97. The water has a thick milky look, and is said to be full of alum. This, is supposed to close the pores of the skin, and so prevent the danger of chills. Herbert and I bathed in the hotter pool yesterday, and I found it a little too hot, and rather think I shall go into the cooler bath this morning. Evidently natural pools, have been increased in size and the sides built up with concrete, making baths about 60 ft long. The natural herbage of bushes and ferns grow down to the waters edge, except on one side where a few wooden huts are provided for dressing. We visited the Geyser Valley on the first afternoon, and truly it is full of marvels! It was a brilliantly fine afternoon, but as we walked up into the valley, great clouds of white steam were rising in every direction. There must be at least a dozen geysers of different sizes and habits: boiling pools; pools with super-heated steam constantly pushing up through them; pools that overflow every so often making solid cascade of silica, sometimes whitish cream, sometimes turned to different shades of pink and red or dull yellows by the red and yellow ochres in the soil. Each geyser has its special interval for playing, except the great geyser, which was upset by the Napier earthquake some years ago, and has never got back into regular habits since. It now goes off at intervals varying from 10 to 15 hours, so its just luck if one sees it playing. We did not. A Maori guide took us round, a quiet man, who , thank God, did not try to be funny! Almost the first thing we came to, were some terraces on the hillside, formed by the over-flow of one of the pools disturbed by a constant uprush of super-heated steam. The terraces were of whitish-yellow silica, but there was a good deal of green algae of differing shades growing on them, so that when the guide said “see the beautiful yellow terraces,” we could not help feeling that they were more odd than beautiful, for they closely resembled ripe cheese. This feeling of being odd, rather than beautiful was with me all through the sight-seeing, and was much what I expected. One would not want to se these things day after day as one does a beautiful mountain or sea-scape. its a little comparable to looking at some oddity through a microscope, compared with the pleasure of looking at a beautiful flower. One geyser has its vent hole blocked by a big rock, weighing two tons (I cant imagine how they know this weight) Every eight minutes the steam piles up sufficient power to force the rock up, and showers of water are thrown into the air for the space of 1½ minutes. After the rock sinks back into place, one can look down into the pool, and see it, but immediately it begins to heave, one must run back or one will get a shower-bath of very hot water. The prettiest geyser we saw, was one called “The Prince of Wales’ Feathers”, the centre spout of which was flung high into the air. For the most part, one misses seeing a good deal because of the clouds of steam. We are hoping to go to the Waiora Valley this afternoon. (This page is being written on the 8th, by the way) It was perfect weather yesterday, and we walked about four miles to some beautiful rapids, quite the best rapids I have ever seen. The trout somehow make their way up them to spawn in the lake. How they succeed in getting up against that rush of water is certainly one of the marvels of nature. Unfortunate-ly it is drizzling this morning, but the clouds show signs of breaking, so I expect we will soon be going out for a walk. We sat up late last evening, talking with two families, who were at the Chateau with us, and who have been to Rotorua and returned here. One is an ex-naval man, Capt Hall, who retired soon after the last war. It seems that he was the first man to take a gun boat up the Yangtse, and after he retired he went to China, and ran a boat up the river as a commercial undertaking. Subsequently he retired to N.Z. The other man seems to have been in the Air Force in the last war, but he has travelled a great deal in Europe and Africa, so between u all, the talk ranged far, and we did not go to bed till 11.30. I am rather sorry that these people went away this morning. Conversation in hotels is chancy. Sometimes one gets such good Talk and at others it is deadly dull. Its cold these days. There was a thick white frost the morning we left the Chateau, and there was frost here yesterday, and lovely crisp air. I shall leave this now, for the sun is coming through, and it will be good for Herbert to go out.
Later: Yes! It was a glorious morning for walking, and we finished with a bathe in the second hottest pool, that is the one at 97. I liked it far better than the very hot one. After lunch the bus which takes people along to the Geyser Valley, took us on to the top of the Wairoa (wai=water & ora = life) Valley. There were just our two selves and a Maori guide, a nice clean young man in grey flannels and a polo jersey. I am glad the Maoris here don’t try to dress up in their Maori clothes, which they have all given up wearing long ago, and which they now only put on as a show for the Europeans. Its a walk of a couple of miles down the valley and another mile into the hotel, and its an interesting bit of country. First we saw the crater lake, quite a sizable affair, of a milky hue, tinged with pale green. This is the source of the hot stream that supplies the swimming baths. It is heavily impregnated with soda and alum. Walking down the valley we passed different pools of steaming water, each with a different chemical content, and distinct in colour from its neighbours. A pair of small ponds have copper sulphate in them, and are just the colour and about the same transluscency as jade. Round the edges of the pools, and where they overflow there are traces both of the reddish yellow of the copper, and also of the green. Another big deep pool is full of iron. The water is a dark clear colour and the edges of the pool are amazing formations of iron, soda, and silica in shades of rusty yellow. And so we went on passing different, mineral pools and watching the colour of the water in the stream changing, and the deposits on its bed turning from cream to deep yellow, and tinged here and there with red or pink. One small waterfall showed the rocks coated with many different colours. Another was almost pure rust-colour. The most astonishing of the pools was one that contains manganese. It is a deep reddish wine colour, and is known as the “Port Wine Pool”. Its one of those sort of things that its difficult to believe is natural. Here and there, the pools and the stream are varied by areas of bubbling mud founts, of different sorts and sizes. In one place, one of these mud vents builds up a miniature volcanoe for three or four years, and then it blows its head off and starts again. The hillock is about four ft high now, and of the perfect volcanic cone shape. Almost at the lower end of the valley, we saw perhaps the oddest of the lot. In a sort of crater filled with black mud, two big mud fountains were playing. One is on the way to being like a young geyser, and the guide says that very occasionally it does throw jets of mud quite high in the air. The valley itself has steep sides and is filled with manuka scrub and pinus insignis, with occasional groups of blue gums, and it would be a pretty walk even without the strange sights of these hot mineral pools. We have one more day here and move on to Rotorua on Saturday and on Mon to Auckland. I am sad to think that we have only just over a week more in N.Z. The country and its people have been kind and hospitable to us, and it is a lovely land. You may wonder why I have written so little of my impressions of the government and politics, but I think I shall be able to write of those things better when I have left and can look back. One has to be in a country some time, and talk to many people from many spheres of life before one can form any sort of picture of the government that lies behind them.
Herbert continues with his vitamin treatment, and even makes himself eat liver on occasions. He has rather more energy than he had, I fancy, and certainly his tongue has gained a redness it has not known for many years.
Last week I said I did not know when I should find time to write again. I repeat that now. I dont know how busy we shall be in Auckland. Its useless sending this by air-mail, for, for the time being air mails are stopped between India and Egypt, so I suppose that affects us.
Best love to you all my dear ones. Dont think me heartless and inconsequent for writing about geysers and all sorts of trivial and unimportant things.
LJT
P.S Message to Grace, Richard and Annette. I wrote long letters last week, so just send my love and greetings this week, for I am anxious to write to one or two friends before we leave N.Z., and time always seems short.
Family letter from HPV
May 8th, 1941. Thursday
Good evening, Everybody:
This is Wairakei, New Zealand, broadcasting an almost worldwide transmission to listeners (or readers) of the Townend family in England, Canada, India and the like. This message tells of further movements of the broadcaster’s base, impressions gained on the route, bulletin regardings the broadcaster’s health and spirits, the remarks of a man about the likeness of a disease to a domestic animal, rashness of New Zealand botanist, thoughts of or on golf and typewriting, and admiration of Maxie. Here is thenoos, as brother Harry calls it, and as I have mistyped it.
The last days of our stay at the Hermitage were made less pleasant by pains in the jaws and fears that there might in spite of the assurances of the Dunedin dentist be an abscess coming in one of them, as well as the apprehension that the pains might prevent me from going up the mountain and cause Joan to lose a pleasure to which she had long been looking forward. In part the apprehensions were justified. The continuance of the pains caused Joan to cry off the idea of trying the mountain when we at last got a day which looked as if the weather might permit a climb with some hope of a view from the top. It was a consolation later in the day when the clouds failed to shift off the mountain, although it was clear lower down and we had a pleasant walk. The day of our departure from the Chateau
For Hermitage above read Chateau
was superb and a climb to the top would have been a pleasure, subject always to remarks later. I cannot say how splendidly exhilarating the fine days in the mountains of this country are, and shall not attempt to do it. The drive started with forebodings for me because I knew that it might occasion those feelings of nausea that are so repugnant to a thinking man; and it was quite a time before I remembered that it was supposed to be a treat, a thing which people do voluntarily, and was not merely a journey to the other end. The remembrance when it came did me good and this was the more so because by that time we were beyond the really wriggly bits of the road. The start ought to have been good enough; we went down almost straight stretches steeply and quickly through bright sunshine into lower country under a blanket of thin cloud, but I turned a bit green and saw Joan gazing at me with that acute side-glancing indifference that indicates expectation of spasms in a travelling companion. All went well and we had an agreeable cup-of-tea just before we arrived here, made more pleasant by the stroking of a kitten too young to know that appreciation should not be shown by driving the claws of all four legs into the hand of the stroker. This is a good place, with everything in it that when young I imagined would conduce to happiness in a place.
Health and spirits. The spirits to which this section refers are whiskey. This was put first among the recommendations made by the doctor who overhauled me at Wellington. It is a sad thing that in this way I am unable to adhere to the one war-furthering resolve made by me which was to give up drinking it; a resolve without any particular merit because I do not like its taste. He also advised the taking of things rich in vitamins, because the lack of these he thinks to be the source and origin of all my miseries; oranges and lemons, Bemax and Marmite, liver and oysters (but these last I cannot tackle) and two drugs, names now to me unknown. Sleep or at least a lie-back after lunch. Avoidance of excess of energy. And so on. Low blood pressure very pronounced. All very gloomy perhaps but to me satisfactory, because I had given up hope of getting better since the failure of the best parts of New Zealand to accomplish the trick and now we are full of hopes. The reason why it is a good thing that I did not have the chance of going up the mountain was that on our last day I found my temperature drop two degrees after a not very strenuous scramble up a valley and Joan deduced that the long day up the mountain would have been an instance of excess energy, for which see above.
An agreeable man who had been in India during the last war, recouping from efforts in Mespot, said that it was dysentery and that it was a cow of a disease. So now we know how to think of it.
At Wanganue which should be spelt Wanganui, we found in a hothouse in the Winter Gardens no less a thing than Water Hyacinth. It seems rashness approaching mania in a country that has suffered so heavily from imported pests to run the risk of establishing so notorious a sinner as Water Hyacinth, even though the odds are heavy against its being able to establish itself in so cold a climate as this.
The thought on golf is that just as I have been telling people about the proved possibility of learning Golf from the good book, Brother Harry reports a sad setback; and the thought on touch typing is like to it – to wit, Rosemary says that she does not touch-type or try to. As to Max, he has won a first prize for length and a second for beauty. These awards give me more pleasure than if I had won them myself.
And that concludes our programme.
Much love
Dad
Family letter from HPV
Auckland. N.Z.
May 14th, 1941.
Dear Richard and Annette (handwritten salutation)
Only three more days in New Zealand. We arrived here the day before yesterday, and have been blessed with two perfect days, fine and bracing. My spirits have gone up in harmony with them. But some credit for this must be given to the regime inaugurated by Dr. Hardwick Smith, which really does seem to have had some effect. It is difficult to remember to drink between meals, and I find myself forgetting to take the various medicines and oddments at the proper times: but I do find myself feeling alive in an unaccustomed way and it is hardly likely to be only the weather that is responsible.
All these days I have forgotten to tell about the essential simplicity of mountaineers, as demonstrated by an article on” A holiday in Southland” in the N.Z. Alpine Journal. It started off by saying “The general neglect of the Southern virgins is deplorable and it is time that a concerted attack should be made upon them: thought should be devoted to devising means for making this attack successful.” Only the fact that the whole magazine deals with the question of climbing shows that these neglected virgins are mountain peaks. Funnier to find suddenly than to repeat, of course. At Rotorua I was caught out by the driver of a bus - wholly owing to my kindness. He was pointing out the sights as we went along and said “Some call that valley Poison Gully”. In order to encourage him I asked why; and he replied “because one drop’s enough!” This caused Joan and a whole bus-load of young soldiers to collapse into laughter of the least dignified. She still laughs when she thinks of it. Perhaps it is funny, though it would be more so if one did not think that probably he works the gag off on someone every day of the year.
Rotorua did not appeal to us greatly: there was too much of a stink of sulphur in the air, I thought, and the sights are so widely separated that one has to charge round in a car or bus if one wishes to see them. It is true also that the hot springs and geysers are not so impressive as those of Wairakei, although they cover a much larger area. There are no walks near to the hotels in Rotorua, which by the way is quite a large place with broad asphalt roads. In this respect it was far inferior to Wairakei, situated in the middle of woods and allowing one to start at once on delightful walks as soon as one stepped out of the place. Wairakei is the hotel and nothing more. It was a strange feature of that hotel that the manager appeared determined to throw every obstacle possible to him in the way of any proposal to go on a walk. In particular he declared it almost out of the question to walk down to the blow-hole, which turned out to be only a short three miles through delightful country. He wanted us to go there by car at night and see the blow-hole lit up by kerosene thrown into it in tins: the blazing kerosene tin is thrown high up into the air by the force of the steam and all those present are much pleased. The whole programme filled Joan with repugnance and I did not think highly enough of it to be tempted out into the cold night air. It was cold too. The first night I couldn’t keep warm in bed: and I was reduced to putting under my pajamas a vest and over them a pull-over, and eventually to wearing my dressing gown as well. A bad business.
Nothing at Wairakei was better than the open-air bathes in the pools fed by the hot springs: there are three bathing pools, one too cold, one too hot, and one just about right. But most people preferred the too hot, because they went into it at night, by the light of electric lamps, a thing which I feared to venture upon. At Rotorua there are so many different baths to choose among that finally we did not bathe at all.
During these last two days I have resumed my practice of typewriting and by dint of doing exercises invented by myself I have attained to a surprising pitch of efficiency. This I tell you because you would never be able to judge it for yourselves by examining this specimen: but there have been handicaps. Joan was proclaiming that we ought to be going out if we were going out at all, and her presence in the room was a distraction. Also I was dashed in my spirits to find that the kind of thing included in my second paragraph was so dull when put on paper. Add a good deal of trouble with the typewriter ribbon and you will understand that there was cause for falling below the standards.
My stock has fallen, for yesterday I bought some grapes as a gaterie for Joan at 3/- the pound and found just as good two or three shops further down the street in a window for 2/6: thus I forfeited her respect.
Of course, there was a precipice above the gully. And of course to be honest I ate most of the grapes myself.
Family letter from HPV
Dear Richard and Annette (handwritten salutation)
Friday, May 16th
Much was omitted from my last page and as Joan has finished with the machine I am resuming. She has told about Auckland but there is more to be told. For instance this is the only town known to me where the sea-gulls stroll about in the streets like sparrows. From the top of One-Tree Hill where we were taken by Miss Scott’s cousin we looked down on a golf course and it was pretty to see how as each couple walked up the fairway a procession of seagulls walked on either side of them, at precisely the same pace. Were they waiting like robins for worms to be dug up? On the same run-round there was another strange thing: to wit a shop calling itself the Onion Shop, outside which there were strings and strings and again strings of onions hanging. Not in a street of shops but in a fairly open suburb. The real strangeness was that it advertised Teas and Mrs Coates, the cousin, said that some time ago it was the thing to run out there for tea from the town. This reminds me of the Welcome to the buried Village notice of which the circular letter tells, though it is not a real parallel. And the mention in her letter which I have just examined in order to avoid repetition, of our visit to the Blow Hole renubds ne if tge Tie-gybgubg or (striking the approximately correct keys) reminds me of the Toe-ganging, always verboten, that we used to do in Java. I wish that I knew whether the failure of the machine to space properly was due to my hitting the space-bar wrongly or to the perverseness of the abominable thing. Notable also among the habits of the Auckland sea-gulls is the sitting by hundreds and thousands on the sea-wall: like patches of snow-drops, said the man who was giving us the drive, and very like too. Among the habits of the Auckland shop-girls may be numbered the jumping up into the air with pleasure in the shop so soon as the time came for dropping work and the marching through the shop with singing (not a procession, one girl only) in order to change into outdoor things; very innocent and pretty, you might say, but I did not say anything of the kind, thinking it an exhibition of bad manners. In one shop the head girl said to another that she must go out at once, as she was five minutes too early. The parable of the buried talent might be quoted with effect here. Across a narrow valley not far from this hotel there is a bridge, of a considerable height: and above the railings there is high netting, to prevent suicides of which there were many, people say, before the precaution was taken. It seems a pity in a way to put a stop to so innocent a pleasure, when there is a burial ground so handy and all under the bridge, as well as an (irrelevant) patch of Native Bush, very pretty. Be surprised to hear that I looked with nothing but benevolence upon the many children at the hotel at Rotorua: they made much noise but of a suitable kind and they behaved with politeness and were nicely clad. The two who were in our carriage and in the seats just ahead of us on the train journey to Auckland from Rotorua gave me great pleasure, beginning to ask about stops for refreshment almost as soon as we started -- and we started immediately after breakfast, - and resuming the enquiry almost as soon as they had had any of the refreshment so demanded. It is the custom in New Zealand for half the train to make a bolt for tea as soon as the train stops anywhere where tea is obtainable: a young man whom we met said that the first time he left home he rushed out three times the first night in the train to get the refreshments, not at all because he wanted them but because he did not wish to be thought ignorant of the right thing to do. Such are the customs of this country.
I started on this new page in order to show myself that after all I could type better than the first page would indicate. Again something has gone wrong. It is like my golf; I never but once played my real game. It would have been better though if I had looked at the results of my typing as I am doing now; at least the difficulty caused by the carriage not moving would have been avoided. But I cannot continue typing with my eyes on the results; such is the effect of trying to practice the real method.
The speech about Joan at the Alpine Club lunch was a perfect example of praise of the worthy; the chairman had dug up the fact that she is a vice-chairman or rather vice-president of the Himalayan club and went on to say that her work as regards the porters has made it an easy thing now for expeditions from overseas to get the men they need, a thing admirable beyond whooping so to speak. And what is more this is true.
Much love
Dad
Family letter from LJT No 17
“Stonehurst”
Auckland
New Zealand. May 16th
My Dears,
To-day is our last in New Zealand, but as we have seen most of the sights of this excellent town, and done all the jobs connected with moving from one country to another in War-Time, I have a fee afternoon, and have already written three or four letters of farewell to people who have been specially kind to us, and shall now try to get a short letter to all of you finished before tea. If I were sure of calm weather of the voyage to Australia, I could write during the days at sea, but who knows? The Tasman Sea has a bad reputation. At present the weather looks pretty good, and we have had lovely days during our stay in Auckland, and find it much milder here than it was further South. I see I finished my last letter a day before we left Wairakei, so that I did not tell you how, in spite of the manager’s protests that we ought to go to see the Blow Hole at hight (Its supposed to be an “n” at the beginning of that word) and his assurances that it was too far for us to walk. (It was three miles according to his own advertisement) and finally that all the gates were locked so that we should not be able to get in, we just walked there in great comfort on a glorious frosty morning, cutting off along a track from the main road in the direction of the great pillar of steam we saw rising about the place where we knew the Blow Hole should be. We met no locked gates, having avoided the only one by going on the cross-country track. The Blow Hole is impressive even in the day time. From a hole in the ground, about a foot in diameter, a great rush of steam pours upwards with a deep roaring sound, forming a column about 60 ft high, without pause day or night. The little guide-book says it is estimated as having a pressure of 180 lbs to the square inch, which means nothing to me, except that it sounds impressive. We found Wairakei weird, but attractive, and were so glad that we spent some days there and only left one day at Rotorua. We made the 50 mile journey from one place to the other by bus. The country was a land of volcanic hills, covered in places by scrub and in others by thick pine forests, all the way, though near Rotorua there are evidently forest-planting experiments going on, for areas are planted with different varieties of tree, such as blue-gums, spruce, red-pine from California and others. As far as I could see, they all seemed to be flourishing. My natural dislike for “watering-places” made Rotorua unattractive to me. It is a fair sized town, centering round big public gardens, in which are a number of large bath-house establishments. The gardens border the lake, from which a strong smell of sulphur constantly rises, and along the shores of which there are many vents with hot steam coming from them. The town is full of hotels and boarding houses. We stayed at “Brent’s”, not the most expensive, but the biggest and the oldest hotel there. I found it even more amazing and interesting than the geysers. During the May school holidays, apparently it is the thing for people in Auckland (and possibly elsewhere) to take their children to Rotorua, and this huge hotel was full of parents and children of all ages. It was more like some sort of large Club, for the visitors mostly seemed to know one another , and the staff of the hotel, which was amazingly well run. A pleasant feature of it was the guests were prepared to be friendly to outsiders, and did not make one feel a stranger. On our only day in the place, we walked a couple of miles after breakfast to a Maori village, where the people have built their houses all amongst the hot pools and the geysers, which they use for cooking and bathing. It and some of the neighbouring country are a Maori Reserve. Alongside the village is a model of an old Maori village, or “Pa”, with the pallisades round it. One is taken in hand by a licensed guide at the entrance to the village, who spends about an hour showing all the wonders, and explaining the old customs and the design of the Pa. The guides are all women, as far as we saw, and seem to have all the faults of professional guides, including feeble puns and jokes. How much nicer was the young laundry boy at Wairakei! The village is interesting, and I am glad to have seen it, even at the cost of having to endure Minnie’s (for that was the guides’ name) jokes. Three lads off a merchant ship at Auckland went round with us. They were nice young men, and as one of them said, it was better to spend a few days leave coming to see Rotorua, rather than hanging about Auckland and getting drunk! One afternoon we spent in a bus-drive through pretty mountain and forest country, past the Blue and Green Lakes, and a buried village, which was overwhelmed when the volcano, Tarawera, blew up in 1886, destroying the famous pink and white terraces, which used to lie on its flanks. They are now buried under 180 feet of mud. We stopped on the banks of Lake Tarawera, and looked across at the extraordinary barren ash heap of the great block of mountain, with its many craters. Even now looking evil. On the way back we stopped to see the buried village. This was covered above the roofs with mud and ash, but it has now been dug out, and one can see the huts with their simple belongings, and in one the dried remains of a pet cat, seemingly perfectly preserved. Herbert was hugely delighted at a large notice “WELCOME TO THE BURIED VILLAGE”. and said it was rather like being welcomed to a cemetery. Our companions in the bus were mostly young N.Z. soldiers from the training camp near Rotorua, and they were a nice lot of lads. Early the following morning we left by train for this place. From Rotorua the line climbs over a range of mountains, and the train creeps along at slow speed with much puffing, till it tops the pass, when it seems to give some snorts of pleasure, and starts off down the other side at comparatively break-neck speed. There were big tracts of fine native bush on the hills, looking so completely different from the forests of imported trees, and further on over gently undulating country we passed some of the best dairying lands in N.Z.. I was not surprised to hear that this was so, for the pastures were deep green, and the many cows looked in splendid condition. We reached Auckland at 4 p.m. Its a fine city, moderately hilly, with a number of small extinct volcanoes sticking up here and there which by some stroke of genius, have all been kept as parks, or “domains” as they are called both here and in Australia. The harbour is quite different from that at Wellington. There is one huge basin with high hills round it and a narrow entrance between bluffs. Here it is a wandering affair of many inlets and islands, pretty, but not nearly so impressive, though Auckland people, when one speaks with admiration of Wellington, say; “Wait till you see Auckland” There is one thing about this harbour. I should imagine that is much more fun for sailing or any kind of boating. Here again we have received much hospitality. A cousin of Marion Scott’s, whom we met in the train coming up from Dunedin, took us for a charming drive one afternoon, and to tea at her house. The Grainger’s son-in-law, whom we met in Wellington, had written both to his mother, who lives here, and to some old friends, Professor and Mrs. Algie, who are keen mountaineers, and people who love travel and exploration, and we spent delightful evenings at both these houses. The Algies also invited us to the annual lunch of the Auckland Section of the N.Z. Alpine Club which took place yesterday, and which was a nice little function. We have paid two visits to the splendid War Memorial Museum, which stands on top of one of the small volcanic hills, and is one of the best arranged museums I have ever been in. We devoted one visit to the Maori rooms, and the other to the Polynesian and Melanesian rooms. This seems the right place to look at these things, for somehow “The Islands” are neighbours here, though most of them fairly distant. Some more walks, business with shipping company and bank, and a visit to the cinema to see Ginger Rogers in “Kitty Foyle”, about filled our time here, which has been blessed by mild and delightful weather. One can see the big difference in climate here from the plants and trees. Things which flourish at three or four thousand feet up the Himalayas, plants from Mexico and from The Cape, are all flourishing out of doors here, which proves they don’t get much frost. In many of the gardens flowers are still blooming, which were nipped off by the frosts further south before we left Wellington. There are many fine public gardens, and a most impressive range of beds on each side of a long entrance drive to the Race Course, which is one of the finest I have ever seen. I thought the Calcutta Race Course was fine, but this beats it!
Herbert seems to be keeping up his improvement in health, so I do hope he will be able to go back to India a comparatively fit man.
In concert with the rest of the world, we have been vastly intrigued by the Hess affair. It certainly outbids fiction. Its terribly sad to hear of the havoc in London. I fervently hope we are doing as much damage in Germany, but in a more sensible way.
Best love, dear ones.
LJT
P.S. May 13th Letters which missed us in New Zealand, arrived here yesterday, with a fine collection of Post marks. ie Wellington – Auckland, Sydney – Brisbane – Yours was dated March 6th and told of the week-end at home - Do you remember the diphtheria scare at Jalpai, when we were told that the little Vaughan Stevens had diphtheria – and the next day you had a sore throat and a temperature? You had the anti-diptheria injections, rather than risk delay waiting for news – and then the answer came that the child was perfectly well but the nurse had flu!
I’m sorry there will be no more long week-ends for you – Its lucky that you have friends near enough to make it worth while going to them for the short week-ends – Best love, again – Mother
From LJT to Romey
Cheverell’s Hotel, Sydney Australia
May 22nd, 1941
Handwritten to Rosemary, fairly damaged in spots
My darling Romey,
It is clever of you to hit off exactly the right moment for sending letters here. Your No. 14 & 15, with a personal note, all in the same envelope, post-marked Winnipeg May 8th, were sent on by the Bank here and reached us this morning. Thank you for them and all the time and labour that goes into them. I well know what letter-writing on this scale means, and I do appreciate it. It is a bit of luck for me, who have had to be separated from you so much, that my son and both my daughters are such good letter writers.
I am so glad that John Averill was able to spend a few days with you. I expect it was a great pleasure to him, being welcomed by a friend, and I am sure you must have enjoyed seeing someone from home, especially someone you know as well as you know John. I would be nice if you could go to stay with the Averills. If there is enough money, don’t hesitate to use it, for you might never get a chance to see the Rockies again. I have still only the vaguest idea of what your expenses are, for though you did once send me some very detailed cash accounts, they did not make any mention of your College fees, or what you are paying Cousin Susie. ( I do hope she is taking something from you now) and your general expenses. Susie said she thought that we were sending enough to meet your needs. I wonder whether you have needed the balance that I think there should have been at the Eastern Trust Co after your quarterly allowance had been paid. We have not received an “Statement of Account” from them up to date. If the balance is there and you have not already used it, you could draw on it to pay the cost of getting to Victoria.
I, too, am muddled about the Clipper Mails. Different post offices give different opinions it seems to me, and I am taken by surprise that there is said to be one going on sat 24th, but am hurrying this letter off to catch it.
It’s nice to hear your news of Spring---spring seems almost summer at once. It must be odd to have such a sudden change, and it must be nice to see green things appearing after snow has lain over everything for so long. I am glad you are able to help with the garden and I trust your efforts will meet with success.
My hair must have grown even quicker than yours! I had the sides and back permed about 2nd of January and already the curl has grown so far down that for some weeks past, I have had to resort to curlers at night to keep the curls at the sides and the roll at the back in place. I am having a fresh perm on Monday and shall be very glad when it is done. I wonder if you have had yours re-done yet?
It is amusing that the news of Peg’s engagement should have reached you via me ---- but now the first details I have heard about Michael reach me via you, for I have had no letter yet with any mention of Michael in them. It is a long time since I had any letters from England, and I wonder whether Air Mails were interrupted, got as far as Egypt and then had to be sent back down to Durban to wait for a ship. A sea-borne mail arrived about five days before we left New Zealand, but it only brought me a second and different photo of Richard. Aunt said she should send two by different mails. This one is the head only, and I like it better than the three-quarter length one. He still has a slightly popish expression. Of course he has aged, matured, a very great deal since I last saw him and that shows up very much in this picture. He is no longer a boy, but definitely a young man.
Dad’s treatment truly seems to be doing him good He has been far more full of energy and more consistently cheerful lately than he has been for many years past. He finds the climate here perfect and the dry bracing air suits him. He has made suggestions about going out ---- almost unheard of thing for him and has dealt with questions about our plans and about our Air Passages etc, without moaning or exhibiting signs of weariness and distress he usually does. It will be marvelous if we really have found some method of keeping him in good health.
I am playing with the idea of buying a new dress and hat. I have had nothing except some cheap dhirze-made cottons since I was home in 1937 and now I am in towns where people dress smartly, I feel a bit of a tramp. Clothes here seem smart and very moderate, one might almost say cheap, so I think I shall take the opportunity of getting a very thin wool or a fairly warm silk dress that I can wear hear and in Brisbane, also in Darjeeling at Puja time and in Calcutta in the Cold Weather. I rather feel that any clothes buying, except the most dire necessities, is extravagant in wartime, but I comfort myself with the thought that I have spent very little on “my back” in the last three years.
I don’t quite know how I have covered two sheets of paper with writing for I don’t seem to have said very much! So glad to hear that Helen has got a boost up in her work, and we are entertained to hear that you have been made Publicity Representative of the Women’s Athletic (Club? Society?)
Love and greetings to Susie, Helen and young John, and best love to yourself, darling,
Mother
From HPV to Romey
Sydney, Australia
May 22nd, 1941
My dear Rosemary,
I am stimulated by reading the three letters that came in from you this morning to write today a reply. They filled me with admiration for you industry.
We arrived here a couple of days ago and after a vitality-demonstration-effort on my part ( observe the Sanskritic compounds, very convenient when one has made a typing error which has to be covered up) to wit, avoidance of sea-sickness on a voyage of three days, that is worthy of mention and of imitation by others. Those who think of traveling on an American vessel that endeavors to be a “Luxury Liner” should abstain, if accustomed to having tea in the early morning or to comfort, as known to the English. The Americans serve their tea with numbers of colored labels hanging on strings out of the pot. At the other end of these strings are little muslin bags and at this end, the visible end, are the names of the teas used. A harmless affectation that annoyed me like almost everything, because there was really no chance of getting any tea that one wanted unless prepared to face indefinite delay.
Similarly the library which according to the notices was to be open three times a day for an hour or an hour and a half each time, was never open unless one searched for the boy in charge --- and he asked how he could be expected to be at the library when he had to be at the other end of the ship serving hot dogs. I did not see any hot dogs, and they left me cold because I am on a diet; but it annoyed me to be given pamphlets and leaflets which said the ship was mine and to find that the library was almost in purdah and that deck chairs had to be hired at the nominal rate of one dollar (six and eight pence, New Zealand) for the three days. The lounge steward who was in nominal charge of the youth who was in nominal charge of the library, said that it was not worth worrying about getting books out of it because it was punk and he had a better library himself, which may very well have been true. These typing errors are, as I believer, due solely to the realization that the dinner gong, a rather pleasing effort on a series of eight pipes of different lengths, is due to sound at any moment, and it has in fact sounded while I wrote about it. The cabins were good, excellent. And the food was good, excellent. But when your mother telephoned at 8:15 for breakfast to be sent her, the stewardess did not turn up till about 10. So much for luxury --- but my dear brother Harry always said that there was more fuss than efficiency (my words) among Americans.
Outside the Cathedral there is an advertisement of an address to be given by a man named Rumble on “It’s God’s turn now”. And in the papers there is news of a gentleman named Hugh Smellie Shanks, dentist, who seeks a divorce. Both fine names. The papers tell also of the prosecution of forty persons for jaywalking; of these some gave no defence, they say, but the others explained that they did not notice that the policeman was watching. This very reasonable statement gave your mother intense pleasure and that is why I repeat it here.
A most strange feature of life in Sydney is that under a tree in a park there are four tables, each of which has marked on it four chess boards. On either side of each there is a bench and every board this afternoon was occupied by earnest players of chess or draughts, some with a friend to help or hinder with advice. Many appeared to be down-and-outs, but some looked like people fairly prosperous. A thoroughly good idea, in a place with a good climate.
Discussing illness, the man at our table said that he had never been ill, thanks to his habit of drinking a tablespoon of olive oil before every meal --- or maybe he made his wife take it, and that his wife was always ill. It is, he said, very trying to live with a person who is always ill, and he would have left her long ago if he had not loved her. How wise! Judge that he collects stamps, not like most people, but seriously. So I put him onto Mr. Mackenzie and if they exchange ideas as well as stamps, they should get on well together.
I have bought a new pullover and what might be called a new bust-bodice (it has no sleeves, but otherwise is like the pullover), the one because my old one is worn out, and the latter because it was very cheap. Now I have four such garments; I shall of course not abandon the habit of wearing the old two merely because they are disreputable.
Time to close. How lovely a place New Zealand was but how miserably bad a Government runs it! It was sad to see how the attempts to benefit the labouring classes by savaging all others had recoiled upon them.
Much love,
Dad
Family letter from LJT No 18
Cheverelle’s Hotel
Sydney. Australia.
May 22nd 1941.
My Dears,
Its queer how spending just a few days in a place, make it seem quite familiar when returning to it again. Its nice to have some idea of the lay-out of the streets, and the whereabouts of shops and banks and so on. The weather in Sydney was perfect when we landed on Tuesday, and continues so. Its fresh without being cold, no wind to speak of, clear skies and bright sunshine, and the air dry and bracing. It seems to be suiting Hebert well, and he has been brisk and full of enterprise. This private hotel, to which we were recommended by people from Malaya, who had stayed here, is a pleasant, quiet, comfortable place, and we like it far better than the regular hotel in the centre of the city, where we stayed before; - indeed we like Sydney much better in this weather than we did in the intense summer heat which was ruling when we were here before.
Its a bit difficult to keep my mind on letter-writing this morning, when we are so anxiously longing for news of how the battle is going in Crete. One can keep ones mind on other things for a while, but directly control is taken off for a moment, back ones thoughts fly to the Middle East. There is a wireless in the main lounge here, but I have not yet grasped the hours of the news broad-casts, except that there is one at 12.50, just before lunch. Now I must go back to my personal news.
We went on board the American ship in Auckland directly after breakfast on Saturday Morning, and were through the customs and on board with little trouble and very quickly. Although ours was one of the ordinary first class cabins on D deck, it was large and beautifully fitted up and decorated. The whole ship was in pale ducks’ egg green and white, very cool and pretty. At first sight the various lounges, smoking room, writing room etc, seemed luxurious and well done, but in practice they were not very comfortable. Many of them were passage ways, with all sorts of people, including the ship’s personnel constantly passing through, and the chairs had been designed more for beauty than comfort. To the dining saloon we give full marks. It was a big air-conditioned place on E deck, still in the pale green, and with charming lighting, and what is more, lots of space. The food was excellent, almost too good. Every time the menu was put before me, I thought betterly of you all in England, having to do without so much; - - - still, that was not the ships’ fault! Alas, I did not get full benefit from these excellent meals. The first day was alright as long as we were going up on the East side of New Zealand’s long north stretching beak. We passed pretty islands, and saw lovely sunset effects behind rugged cliffs and mountains. During the night I realized that had grown rough, and I was woken many times by the motion of the ship, something between a roll and a pitch. Boldly in the morning, pinning my faith to the fact that I had been taking glucose for a couple of days, I ate an excellent Californian orange, with the most disasterous results! Sadly, I resigned myself to stay in bed, and spent the day reading and dozing and refusing food, till the evening, when I managed to eat celery and biscuits. Herbert, wonderful to relate, remained well, had all his meals and lost none! He had been taking glucose D for some time as a protection against car-sickness, so I fancy my friend Mrs Stanley was right in telling me to take it for at least a week before a voyage. On Sunday night the motion of the ship abated, and the movement was comparatively small on Monday morning, so after a simple breakfast in bed, I got up and went up-stairs, feeling a little limp, I must confess and not in the mood to write my impressions of government and politics in New Zealand, which was what I had planned to do on this short voyage. The ship was still moving enough for me to be glad to absorb myself in a book, and forget its wigglings. I read “Reaching for the Stars” on the day I was in bed, and “Enchanter’s Nightshade” on Monday. This latter is not a patch on Anne Bridge’s “Pekin Picnic” and the one about Dalmatia, whose name I forget. “Reaching for the Stars”, which everyone else has read ages ago, I found beautifully written, with the same directness and clarity of style that Norah Wain displayed in “The House of Exile”. Its ages since I sat and read books all day. On Tuesday morning we had to be ready for Medical inspection at 7.30, followed by passports, before we were allowed breakfast. Its a fine sight coming into Sydney Harbour. The North Head stands up splendidly guarding the comparatively narrow entrance. It was 10.30 or so before we berthed at the jetty, and the customs took ages so that we did not get up to this place till past 12, o’clock. We thought the system on which the customs were arranged, poor, but the officials obliging. It is interesting to have travelled on an American boat, but in spite of the boasts of efficiency, and such things as a little booklet entitled “The ship is yours” which is placed on ones dressing-table, and sets forth all the things one can have and do, give me a modern P & O or a Dutch boat every time for solid comfort!
Here we have had a number of things to do, including settling up about our air-passages to India. We leave Brisbane at the end of the first week of August, and have six days flying, not four and a half, as appeared on the folder I got in Java. Thinking again, I should say five and a half, for I think we leave Brisbane about mid-day. We spend nights at Townsville, Darwin, Sourabaya, Singapore, Rangoon and arrive at DumDum on the afternoon of the six day. It still seems rather like magic to me! We are sending off some luggage from here as soon as a ship goes, and spent some time last evening sorting out everything we thought we could spare, and have now reduced our baggage to two suit-cases each, plus my hatbox, and a canvas bag containing our heavy boots, and of course, this precious old typewriter!
Prices in Sydney seem wonderfully cheap after New Zealand, and the shops here are good. We are struck afresh by the magnitude and the liveliness of this city. It is a true metropolis! Still, (and we must whisper this low!) we privately think that Wellington Harbour is more beautiful! Herbert and I went shopping yesterday to get him a new pull-over, which he sadly needed, and some woolen socks. I also got three pairs of stockings, to replace those I have worn out during our five month’s stay in N.Z. I have spent a long time in the Tourist Bureau of N.S.W. and of Queensland, studying maps and literature, on the basis of the various bits of advice I had collected here and there , about places to go. So far now our plans are settled, that we leave here on the 31st and go by Service car via the coast road to Brisbane. It is rather over 600 miles, and the journey by car takes four days. Accomodation en route is arranged by the Bureau. I am promised that the road is not very winding, so I hope Herbert will be able to enjoy it. Herbert wants a few days in Brisbane in which to see the Government Dept through which he has to draw his leave pay, and we shall stay a few days at the Private Hotel where Teresa is living. We then plan to go to Southport a little south of Brisbane, which is said to be a charming place of beach, islands and hills. When tired of that, we shall move on to Mount Tambourine, some fifty miles inland, and possibly later still to Toowoomba, still further in on the “Main Divide”. Everyone says that the climate in Queensland is perfect at this time of year, so not only should we enjoy these two months, but I think, plus his vitim diet, they should do Herbert a lot of good. A letter from Teresa was waiting to greet us here. Mrs Tonge had also sent a note of greeting, though we were sorry to learn that she has moved from this part of the town to North Sydney, across the harbour, to be near one of her married daughters. We are to go over and spend Saturday afternoon with her. Her sons are all now away, and the family in general did not like her being so far away from any of them as she was in her flat here at Elizabeth Bay. Old friends of Teresa’s, Major and Mrs Avery, are away till to-morrow, but write that they hope to see us after they return to-morrow, and to-morrow we are to meet a great friend of Mary Ow-Wachendorf’s, who sounds charming over the telephone. We are looking forward to visits to the Museum and the Art Gallery, both of which we were only able to see very briefly on our last visit, and I think we will cross the harbour and spend a morning in the Zoo, which is a charming place. Did I ever tell you, by the way, that not long before we left N.Z. I had a letter from Mary Ow, saying that she had got her quota number for permission to enter the United States and was on her way to join her mother in Baltimore. The letter was written in Manila, where she was waiting to pick up “The Clipper”, and contained a delightful description of flying over the islands. Sad as she was to say good-bye to her beloved Java, she was obviously over-joyed to be rejoining her mother. It will be interesting to hear how she fits into American life. I’ve a letter from Romey this morning posted in Winnipeg on May 8th. She has hit off the time of our arrival here perfectly. I am so glad she saw John Averill, and I’d be very pleased if she could go to stay with them in Victoria. I wonder whether it will be possible. I have left a deposit of money and instructions with the Banks in New Zealand, for sending on any mail that comes, by air, so I hope any letters from England, even if they have gone there, wont be long getting back here. Its a good time since we had a mail from England. Oh! Just before closing, I want to say that we went to see “Pinoccio” the other evening, and loved it! We had kept on Missing it in different places, and I feared we should never see it.
Love and greetings to you all
LJT
From LJT to Annette
Cheverell’s Hotel – Sydney
May 23rd 1941
For news of Nannie Roper – see 2nd page of Richard’s letter.
My darling Annette –
Its a long while now since we had letters from Highways and I suspect that Air Mails got held up while sea-mails have come through – A “surface” mail (as they seem to be called) arrived while we were in Auckland and another arrived here to-day – In Auckland we got the second photo of Richard – the head and shoulders only – which I like much better than the three-quarter one – though this one also has a slightly poopish expression! Of course, I suppose the real trouble is that this Richard is a partly new and different Richard from the one I knew 2 ½ years ago. In this picture I can see how much he has matured. He’s definitely a man, now and has left the boy behind – I wonder whether you have changed as much – I would like to see a photo of you very much indeed – but hesitate to ask you to spend money on such a thing – Perhaps you could get quite a cheap one done some time. May 24th I was so sleepy and Dad so talkative last night that I gave up the attempt to write – It seemed queer and rather pathetic to get a letter from Auntie Do yesterday morning. It was a long and interesting letter too – and I am very glad to have had it. She timed it well, for it was directed to Sydney – and it has put me in touch with an old friend of the family, “Pompey” Hanmer –Dad and I are to spend this evening with him and his wife – He was amusing when I talked to him over the phone – and seemed genuinely delighted to have a voice out of the past – I cant have been more than six or eight years old when we last met. At the moment I seem to be living very much a double life, as far as the mind goes – for all the time, thoughts jump to Crête and Iran – besides constant consciousness of strain and hardship in England – Dad is wonderfully full of energy and alto-gether brighter than he has been for ages – so I hope the doctor has found the right thing to help him in this diet full of vitamins –
Best love, to you, dear daughter – Mother
From HPV to Annette
Sydney
May 24th 1941
My dear Annette
My hopes run high that there will be a great step forward in my typing very soon: because the typewriter is being overhauled! Your mother was against it: she has had it overhauled again and again in Calcutta but no good came of it, ever. I asked how much it had cost each time but she says that she never paid anything because no good ever came of it. I was against the overhaul too: but I changed my mind when I found what a difference it made to have a new rubber on the roller. My typing after that looked fine. So I took the machine back and said to go ahead. Almost all day I carried the machine round: to the shop in the morning to have the new roller-thing and back to the hotel afterwards, then again to the shop with the carry-on message. The realisation that the results were good came in a ten minutes interval before lunch. It will be a blow to me when I find that this firm also has swindled. This hotel is quite a good hotel: as such go. Cheapish as compared with New Zealand, and the food well cooked. There is a table in our room and for some reason your mother has not been so busy on the typewriter: so I have used it and done exercises. I also wrote a letter to Rosemary of which I send you a copy: in fact I send the original because your mother wrote a message on the margin of it: on the whole I think it shows improvement in technique: what do you think.
Stirred by your failure to buy French books I had a look round in the secondhand section of the big bookshop here: nothing attractive but I bought a selection of Kipling translated – the chief interest being that obviously the translator utterly failed to understand much. He knew for example what a top hat meant but a silk hat had him beat. I suspect that it would be dangerous to use in talk many of the words in these translations: they look like “”peculiar to sailors” stuff. Yesterday after failing to fall in the street – like the dear Robert who manqué de s’étaler just before he was clutched by the Dame with the ribbons mauve (no it was Jim: he drove) – but having saved myself by using the typewriter case as a prop, I went to the Australia hotel where a lady was to give us drinks: and she did, by Gum, for the waiter brought two glasses of sherry and whatnot for everyone at the first go off, to save the trouble of ordering a second round. This knocked a hole in my regime, which does not include sherry at all, let alone two sherries.
We went to a movie today and it turned out to be a play: it had not occurred to either of us that such a thing could be found outside London, though I really knew that there were theatres here. Interesting to realise that the movie attitude is quite out of keeping with a play: I doubt if I settled down to it really. We were caught by the rain this morning and had to sit interminably in a tea kiosk: very exhausting. But your cannot imagine how much more energetic I am these days: bits of my tongue have actually been red and at this rate I shall before long feel an interest in food.
I have gone back to reading again the Linguaphone French course. Strange that I do not know it all by hears. I thought that it was indelibly fixed on the unwriteen tablets of my mind: but it isn’t.
I am glad that you have been standing up to war conditions so cheerfully. Bless you.
Much love
Dad
Family letter from LJT No 19
Cheverell’s Hotel. Sydney.
Australia. May 28th 1941
My Dears,
Our visit to Sydney is drawing to an end, and we are ready to move on. We have enjoyed being in a great town for a time, and it has been useful, for we have been able to get several jobs well done, and to renew a few clothes, and buy certain small things which are easily obtainable here, but may be difficult or impossible to buy in India. I have actually gone the length of buying a dress of the thinnest woollen material in a pretty shade like the underneath of a fairly ripe mushroom, with a little turban hat to match. I feel a bit guilty about it, but except for one or two cotton frocks, I have not bought any clothes since I was home in 1937, and the two silk coats and dresses I got then, are looking faded and shabby. I have also bought a thick woollen dressing-gown, a thing which I have been needing for a long time, but I could not get a decent one in India. This one cost 49 shillings in Australian money, which is only 41 shillings in sterling, and it is a lovely thick velour gown, of ample cut. I feel it will be a valuable asset for many years to come. One thing we are both very pleased about is the fact that this typewriter has had a complete overhaul, has a new roller (the old one had become hard like stone, and was cutting the ribbons and the paper) and now looks almost like new, and works ever so much better. I had become partially used to the tricks of the machine, but Herbert found them extremely tiresome. All these things, plus visits to the Tourist Bureau, the Bank, and the Company who are shipping our luggage to India, have occupied a lot of time. The weather, except for one or two violent storms on Empire Day has been fine and bright, but turned much colder. Some of you will be interested to hear that we spent Saturday evening with Pompey Hanmer. For the benefit of those who do not know him, Pompey is an old friend of the family dating back to the Hedingham Castle days. He went to Hedingham to learn dairying in Father’s dairy, and arrived at the Castle shortly after I was born. After all sorts of strange adventures, including coming back from Australia on the first cattle boat to take live stock to England, and going to Klondike for the Gold Rush, he stayed with us at Bush Hill House, when I must have been seven or eight years old, and we had not met since. Last Friday morning I got a long letter from Dora. It seemed so strange and sad to be receiving a letter like this so long after she had passed away, but it was a great pleasure to have it too. In it she said that most probably Pompey and his wife were still in Sydney, and suggested that I should look them up, having the forethought to tell me Pompey’s proper name, which is Walden. Pompey was only a nick-name given to him by the Bevington family it seems. He answered the phone when I rang up, and it was fun to hear his exclamations of surprise when I explained who I was. He seemed genuinely delighted and wanted us to go round that very evening, but we happened to be engaged to meet Mary Ow’s friend, so we fixed to go round after dinner on Saturday. He was leaning out of the window of their flat, and waved to us as we crossed the street. When his wife remonstrated with him, saying the people he waved to might have been a couple of strangers, he said “But I knew Joan at once. She was so like Puff”. I don’t pretend that I should have recognized him if I had met him in the street, but his face was familiar, and I am sure it had remained in my memory. We had such a talk! He brought out an old photo album of pictures taken at Hedingham, Witham and Bush Hill House, as well as the famous old group taken on the steps of the Castle, with me as a fat baby in Father’s arms. It was an extremely interesting evening to me, for I learned more about that period of our family history than I have ever heard before. The Disc Churn was only a name to me before, and I just vaguely knew that some dairying business had been purchased in Ireland, and that Jack was sent over to work there, and that presumably the venture was a failure, because it was sold. These bare facts have now been clothed with some sort of story for me. Pompey wanted news of all of you, and by 11.30 we had not half finished all we have to talk about, so we are going to them again to-night. They have a son whom they believe to have been in Greece, and from whom they have not yet had any news. One daughter is an army nurse, and was also in Greece, but is safe. She has lost everything except what she stood up in. Another daughter is married and lives in Perth. A third daughter works in a Bank here, but is away on holiday with her sister in Perth. May is the one of the family who will be most interested in this I expect.
We liked Mary Ow’s friend with reservations. She is evidently a wealthy woman, and likes the racket and rush of “Smart Society” I should say. Nothing could be further from Mary’s tastes, but perhaps Mrs Thompson has other sides, and she is certainly kind and hospitable. She asked us to meet her in the vestibule of Sydney’s biggest, newest and most expensive hotel, “The Australia”. I gave her some idea of what we looked like and told her what I would wear . After we had been a few minutes in the appointed place, a lady came up to me and said “Are you Mrs Edmunds?” Naturally I replied “No”. She and a girl with her went on waiting and we went on waiting. After five minutes or so, Herbert said “Let’s ask at the office if they know Mrs Thompson, or if she has left any message for us”. While I was waiting for him to come back, the lady approached me again and said “Did I say Mrs Edmunds? I meant Mrs Townend”. Of course we all laughed heartily, and a trifle embarrassed she explained that she is exceptionally stupid about names and always getting them wrong. The girl with her was Dutch, now studying at one of the Australian Universities, and very charming and intelligent. We waited a few moments longer for another guest, and when she arrived, Mrs. Thompson firmly introduced us to her as Mr and Mrs Edmunds! There was more laughter, and more explanations, and then we all went into what I believe is known as “The Winter Garden”. It was a huge sort of lounge, full of people having drinks, for though it was only half past five, it was cocktail time for Australia, partly I think, because the evening meal is so early and partly because bars close at 6 o’clock, except to residents in a hotel. When asked what I would have, I did not really know what to say, not knowing Australian habits in this sort of way, so I asked what Mrs. Thompson proposed. She said she was going to have a brandy something - - I don’t like brandy, so joined Herbert in asking for a sherry. To our amazement, when the waiter came back with the order, there were two drinks for each of us! I didn’t really like it, for I did not much want to take one, and I really didn’t want two! We talked about Java and about Mary Ow-Wachendorf, and so on. Then the other guest whose name I never got, remarked on a huge diamond on Mrs Thompson’s finger, asking since when she had owned the Koh-I-Nor - Thereupon, Mrs T took off the ring to show it to us, saying that she believed it was the largest diamond privately owned in Sydney, about the size of a typewriter key. (I was trying to think of something to compare it with, and my eye fell on the keys.) There seemed to be a good deal of talk illustrating her wealth in one way or another, which grated just a bit. She was keen for us to go with her to Sydney’s smartest Night Club. (The Embassy, I think it is called) but luckily we were engaged to go to the Hanmer’s, and anyway Herbert had packed up his evening things to send back to India. Failing that Saturday, she asked us to keep the next one, but our luck held, for we are leaving Sydney on Saturday morning. I pictured Herbert’s horror at finding he had to go to a Night Club, and would not be able to get home till two or three o’clock. I am being rather nasty talking like this, and I am really grateful to Mrs Thompson for being so kind, and wanting us to have a good time. For myself, I would have no special objection to going to a night club, but they are places I do think you want to go with a congenial spirit. She and the Dutch girl were going away on Monday till to-day, so I don’t suppose we shall see them again.
We spent a part of a morning in the excellent Art Gallery, and an afternoon at the Museum looking at the Australian mammals and birds and shells. The collections are fine and well displayed. One afternoon, having seen a notice in the paper to the effect that there was to be a cinema and lecture at the Museum on the subject of the Barrier Reef, we decided to go, thinking it might be interesting. It was one of those free educational things, and there were a strange crowd of people there, amongst them a good many shabby old men, who gave the impression that they were there more because they were glad of somewhere to sit, than because they wanted to hear the lecture. They were about right, for the films were not very good, and the commentator was poor. The “Marvels of Nature” series, and other things of the same sort have rather spoilt us, and made our standard so high, that the cine-kodak size black and white of underwater life, had’nt much appeal.
29.5.41 We spent last evening with the Hanmers again. Pompey told us a lot about his adventures in Canada and Klondike. What a rolling stone he must have been! His story sounds like a Jack London romance. He has material for interesting memoires if he had the knack for writing. To judge from his method of talking, I fear that on paper he might be a good deal too diffuse. He has most kindly given me his copy of the old family group taken at Hedingham Castle, with me as a baby in Father’s arms. He says he is getting an old man now, and that when he goes, the photo wont mean much to his family, whereas it might be of interest to me and mine. It was difficult to get away, for there were so many “last words” to be said. Pompey sends his love to May and to any other members of the family who may remember him. Its strange how well Ida knows all of us and all the old people at Hedingham and Witham. Even her sister, who was there last night, said she had always known the Bevingtons by name. I suppose the days at Hedingham must have been the happiest and most care-free of Pompey’s life.
Our Sunday afternoon was completely occupied by a visit to Mrs Tonge who, as I think I told you last week, has moved to the Neutral Day district of North Sydney, across the Harbour. We went by ferry across to Neutral Bay, and it was a most enjoyable little voyage. We were fairly close under the great bridge, and skirted the grounds of Admiralty House, which stands in a splendid position looking across the harbour. We were delighted to see dear Mrs Tonge again, and glad to find that the youngest son, John, a young doctor, now in the Army, was home on a day’s leave. He is doing splendid work in connection with blood transfusion. It seems a big job for so young a man. He only qualified last Autumn, and was wearing khaki for the first time when we were here in December. He has been studying the subject of blood transfusion, and has recently been on a tour to many of the big towns in Australia organizing a campaign to get donors of blood, which will be dried in some new way so that it can be stored indefinitely and sent overseas. There was also at Mrs Tonge’s an old gentleman, whose name, Mr Trumble, meant nothing to me when introduced, except that I thought it engagingly Dickensonian. Luckily Herbert had known and remembered more about cricket in his early youth, and was able to say “Are you THE Trumble?” What’s more, he was! At least he was one of the Trumble brothers, who both played for Australia. Mrs Tonge, John and I sat talking in one group, and Herbert and Mr Trumble got on like a house on fire. It seems that Herbert was a first class audience, for when Mr Trumble got up to go, he said to Mrs Tonge, “please ask me to meet Mr and Mrs Townend again”. Mrs Tonge was going away for a week on Monday, so explained that she would not have the chance. I suggested that Mr Trumble should come to dinner with us at this place one evening, but he said he would rather we went to tea with him at the Royal Sydney Golf Club, where he stays when he is in Sydney. His home is in Melbourne. We went there yesterday afternoon, and were charmingly entertained by Mr Trumble, aged 78, and a great friend of his, whose brother was an international cricketer, Mr Pope, also nearing eighty. The R.S.G Club is a marvellous place. It stands on Rose Bay, out towards the South Head, or Southern point guarding the entrance to the harbour. The town has grown out round it. The Club House, one of the finest I have ever seen, stands on the hillside looking up the harbour towards the bridge. Rock gardens slope steeply down to a range of 36 tennis courts and a number of bowling greens in front, while away to the back lie the links. It was interesting to hear the two old boys talking about Test cricket, and recalling all sorts of incidents. Names slipped off their tongues which were familiar to me in my youth; Archie MacLaren, Plum Warner, C.B.Fry, and so on.
It is now after dinner. This morning I called at the Girl Guide Office, to get the New South Wales State Badge for one of our girls in Calcutta, who is making a collection of State and Provincial Badges. There I met one of the Guide Commissioners, who asked if I could not possibly come back in the afternoon and have tea with the Secretary and one or two others who at that particular moment were engaged with the monthly Executive Meeting. I made an appointment for 3.30, and sent Herbert off to get some tea elsewhere, arranging that he should call for me at the office at 4 pm. When he arrived he was welcomed and included in an invitation from the State Commissioner to go across and visit her at the Mayor’s Depot of Comforts for the Troops. It was interesting seeing the organization and all the work that is being done. From there we were taken to see the Guides Depot for clothing for both old and new for evacuees in England. It is a stout effort, and well organized. The N.S.W. Guides have collected over 500 in one week towards a mobile kitchen unit for the forces. The sum asked for was 750, but the organizer says that from the promises they have got, it seems that they will easily clear a thousand pounds. Tomorrow I am being taken out to see the Guides permanent campsite, which should be a pleasant outing.
Impressions of Sydney are a bit mixed. On the whole people are friendly and willing to help, but like most great cities, it is a place where most people are in a hurry and intent on their own business. The girls in the shops are smart, good-looking and well-spoken, as well as being highly efficient. The Australian twang is not nearly so apparent as one would expect from the accounts one often hears. In many people it is not apparent at all, and this was so amongst most of the girls who have served me in the shops. On the other hand, it often crops up in quite well born people. People dress smartly, and the whole city gives the impression of having a lot of wealth behind it. Only room to say goodbye.
Best love to you all
LJT
From LJT to Annette No 19
“Cheverell’s.” Sydney
Australia.
May 30th 1941
My darling Annette,
“My heart danced” as it were, when I saw a familiar envelope from Highways in the letter rack this morning. We had received no mail since May 3rd, just over three weeks ago. I suspect that one or perhaps two mails are knocking round New Zealand, and will reach us sometime. There were two letter from you dated 19th and 25th March, for which many thanks. Thank you also for paying the two quarters’ allowance back to Grindlay’s. It was silly of me not to make my instructions clearer. I suppose it never occurred (Note: add an extra r in that last word) to me that you would not need some allowance. Its excellent of you to be self-supporting. When we get back to India, by which time we should have a “statement of account” from Grindlays’, I hope I shall be able to write and tell them to put £100 of that into War Loan. I feel that a fair sum should be kept against an emergency. I hope you will always remember that it is there if you need it.
Its interesting that you should have mentioned food in this letter. I am very glad that Mrs Evans is such a good manager. It must make a big difference. Only two days ago I sent off a parcel of cheese to Aunt and a parcel of cheese and of honey to you. I addressed the parcel to Highways just in case you should have moved. I hope it reaches you safely. I’ll try to send something more later on. It comforts my heart greatly to know that you have such good friends as the Drakes and the Roscoes. It must make a big difference to you being able to get away occasionally to such congenial people. I’d have loved to have heard the recorder trios being played at the Drakes. Impressions of London are always interesting, not only to us, but to many people out here, who have not many contacts with “the Old Country” as they generally call England. Its good to hear that you looked more at the crocuses in the Park that at the Air Raid damage. Bless you all for your courage and cheerfulness. Its a constant marvel to people away here, and seems to have drawn the bonds of union between the Dominions and the Mother Country much closer. The Peo-ple of England are spoken of with such warm affection and real pride. Your Scottish Dancing and Fencing activities are well chosen to counteract the effects of sitting for many hours at a stretch at a desk. I always admire the foot-work in the Scotch dances, and I am sure the spring required to dance them properly must make and keep one light on ones feet. In Aunts letter to-day there is the first mention of Michael Pringle. It will be rather fascinating to have the romance unrolled for us, like those films which start with a short scene, and then jump back to show what led up to the situation. From Romey I heard yesterday of the arrival of a cable announcing that the wedding was to be on “the 17”, which must have meant the 17th May. I hope the marriage will be a great success, for Peg had a hard deal from the last young man, and took it well. Its good news that Romey got through her exams, and though her marks are not brilliant, I think they are fairly satisfactory, considering all the circumstances. The way she has developed as a letter-writer is quite amazing, for she used to have little gift for self-expression.
The talks I have had with the old family friend, Pompey Hanmer, about our family history. have interested me greatly. Somehow my fathers way of living and actions seem so typical of the latter part of the last century, when so many people who had made a solid or even handsome fortune got a fever for promoting companies, and backing inventions. The precipitate way that father plunged into things, and the extravagent way he went about fussiness, living meantime like a millionaire at Hedingham Castle, seem quite made to Dad and to me. Let’s hope he got his fun out of it, but I fear it must have been pretty trying for my mother. I’d like to know more still about it. I wonder how much Auntie May is capable of telling. Pompey Hanmer came to train in Dairy work at Hedingham, before going out to the colonies. Just at that moment Father had become entranced with an new invention, the Disc Churn. He took a great fancy to Pompey, and made him his sort of personal secretary and assistant, taking him round all over the place to demonstrate the churn, and that is how Pompey knows so much about the family affairs. The whole thing, plus the butter-making venture in Ireland, would make a good background to a novel. Of course Pompey’s life would supply the background for three or four tales of adventure. I got him to tell me a good bit about the Klondike trail, but I would like a lot more details filled in. All the stuff is there: the crooked gambling hells: the light ladies from San Francisco and elsewhere, who got a percentage on all the drinks they persuaded the men who were treating them to take, even to sticking the tallies for the drinks into the tops of their stockings; dud-claims; rich finds petering out: dead mens’ belongings fetching phenomenal prices,: simple public services bringing in more money than the gold. Pompey and his friend pulled their belongings for something like 300 miles on a sledge. They staked out claims, which subsequently turned out to be just where the borders of Canada and Alaska met, and they were not allowed to take possession or work it for a time. Meanwhile on the strength of being able to raise about four razors and a few pairs of scissors, they set up a barber’s shop, and so kept the wolf from the door. In the end the claim was no good, and Pompey came back from all that adventure, broke, as indeed according to his own account, he has been many times in his life. Its strange how some people not only can endure lives of such uncertainty, but positively enjoy them!
I must not go drifting on like this, for its after dinner now, and I must write to Dickey, and finish my packing this evening. We have to breakfast at 7.30 to-morrow, and leave here at 8 a.m. to start our four day motor journey to Brisbane.
Oh! One more thing I must tell you. Amongst several other addresses which I gave to John Tonge (see family letter) I wrote down yours. John and his medical friends who qualified last year, and have joined the Army Medical Corps, are now being sent to all sorts of places. He or one or other his friends may find themselves in England. They are awfully glad of personal introductions to people, so I have him some, in case. Should some young Anzac doctor write or call upon you, greet him kindly both for his sake and for mine, and pass him on to any friends you think might help to make England pleasant to him.
Good-night, and best love to you
Mother
From LJT to Romey
The Royal Hotel, Taree
May 30th, 1941
Darling Romey,
Economy of weight space, compels me to use the back of the Family Letter for your personal one. Before going any further, congratulations on getting through your exams! I am glad! It must be a relief to you, and it clears the way for the ensuing year’s work. You have done well to pass, considering the circumstances.
As I rather suspected, your letter No 13 of April 22nd, the last one you addressed to New Zealand, must have come in by the Clipper which arrived on the Thursday evening before we left, but was evidently held up in the censor’s office. It was sent on to Sydney and reached us the day after I posted your last letter. Your letters Nos 14 and 15 had already reached us, and to our great joy, those of May 14th (family) and 5th May (personal) numbered 16 reached us on Thurs 29th May, so came actually from your hands to our hands in exactly a fortnight. You are a splendid girl to write so much and so well. I hope you realize a little what keen pleasure an comfort it gives us.
I have just spent at least an hour reading through Nos 13 to 16 with their accompanying personal letters, and making notes of things I should like to comment on. There is such a big list I shall never be able to mention them all, and no doubt it would bore you if I did. I must pick out some things. First of all, in your letter No 13, you give me the totals of your chief heads of expenditure. This was the very thing that in my last letter I said you had not told me. It is a help to me to know, and I am glad that it seems to be comfortably inside the money we are able to send. I hope you will find, or have found it possible to go to stay with the Averills. Thank you for sending Mr. Averill’s address. I must write to him some time. I should be so interested to have seen his book, had it been published, for I gathered that it was an anti-socialistic, and after seeing how badly socialism seems to be working in New Zealand, I should have liked to have read Mr. Averill’s analysis of the system, or what he conceives the system to be. I am glad his new wife looks so nice in her photo, and hope she and John will like one another and get on well together.
Now. Two questions! What is “Cid” short for? And what does C.K.Y. stand for? I’m glad you met Cid again and find his family so charming. I hope when you eventually return to England, it will be possible for you to stay a little with some of the cousins in Halifax, and see something of the space which they did so much to help to grow.
Details about household matters, such as removing the storm windows, and fitting on the fly-proof screens, the clearing up of the garden, and such things, interest me, for they go to make up the picture of life in your part of Canada. What a curse the mosquitoes must be. It is wise of you to have got trousers to give you some protection from the brutes. Do you use citronella oil? It helps to keep them off, if dabbed on fairly frequently. It’s good that the N.Z. tourist literature reached you. I have got some Australian stuff now, and must send a selection along when I have done with it, though it is scarcely as fascinating as that from New Zealand.
June 1st Dad came and fetched me out to have a cup of tea at a little restaurant across the way from the hotel at that moment last evening. Not being allowed to drink with his meals now, he has to swallow a certain amount of liquid between times, and it’s not always easy to arrange when staying in hotels and traveling about. In some hotels they give tea at 9:30, but they did not where we were last night.
It’s good that small John is showing more initiative and more ability to carry things through. His early upbringing discouraged that, but there must have been something of it in his nature. Charlotte is suffering from the curse of being over looked-after, but I don’t think it has destroyed her independence or application, though I do think it must be much more difficult for children who have been treated like that when they go to school or are left with people in England. Do you remember my telling you about the three delightful children I liked so much at the Dairy Farm near Wellington? Many times when I was with them, I mentally contrasted their way of life, with Charlotte’s, and the advantages were mostly with them.
In one of your letters you talk about birds, mentioning that the Canadian “robin” is about the size of a thrush. In the Sydney museum the other day, I saw a number of Australian robins, with breasts of a great number of varying shades, from yellow, through orange and pink to bright red. They are jolly little birds, about the size of their English cousins, but not quite so fat. They seem to have wonderful birds in this country, far more than in New Zealand, but then I suppose when you get a great continent stretching from the tropics well towards the Southern Arctic, and varying from damp forests to desert dryness, it is reasonable to expect a big variety. What I loved about the NZ birds was that they were so friendly and seemed to seek human company, especially the fantails.
Mr. Shebbeare in India once commented on a cabaret dancer by saying that she had two faults on both sides, too much bust and to much bustle. We were reminded of this and of your anecdote of “prominent figures” by a vulgar colored postcard in a shop in the little town where we stopped for “morning tea” yesterday. A lady of that description in very scanty tennis shirt and shorts, saying to a friend “My form is very out and in this season”. In the same window there were a lot more really coarse postcards, which we were surprised at the shop exhibiting. I suspect that there is a strong strain of coarseness in this country. It goes with all the drinking and the fact that people who don’t drink themselves, seem to think it natural and rather funny when others do. I think it will be a good thing for the Anzacs in Manitoba to find out that in other parts of the world drinking is not thought natural, clever, or funny.
In Aunt’s last letter she mentions Michael Pringle for the first time, so I now look forward to hearing the story of the engagement and marriage unfolded, rather in the way that some books or films start with a dramatic situation, and then turn back to show how it arose. In the cable, Aunt said they were to be married in June, but evidently they decided not to wait so long. I had a feeling they would not, and cabled congratulations and a wedding present home to them at once. I do hope Michael is really nice and that the marriage is a great success, for Peg had a rough time over the last young man, and stood up to it so well.
The overhaul of this typewriter has been a great success. It seemed a lot of money to spend ie 4. 17 6, which included the price of the new roller. They took the whole thing to bits, re-enameled and re-plated it, as well as putting in a big list of new parts, and new rubber feet. The machine looks almost like new now, and works so differently. Dad is pleased, for he hates anything old and shabby, moreover he found it hard to deal with all the creature’s little tricks. I fancy he is hankering to do some practice on it now. He has made up some lovely sentences. Eg. “Assessors assorted the assistants of the assassins at the assizes by shapes and sizes.” (Dad has put that in for me.) I am filled with wonder and amazement at his patient work on the touch-typing and his success.
It’s a long time since I wrote to Helen or to Cousin Susie. Sometimes I wonder whether I ought to write more often, but I fear it may be rather a nuisance if I do. I am sorry there has been a bit of difficulty over maids, but I hope the old one has come back and is satisfactory.
Best love, darling, and thanks again for your letters,
Mother