Wep’s 1956 Romanian adventure: 24 Nov; London – another look in at the Tate

Sat 24-Nov-56:  Bought ticket to Zurich – sent off books to self & S. Rotaru. Tate Gallery in afternoon.

1956 MM-DD WEP Romania_0149

Sat 24th of Nov 56
London

Sweetheart,

Oh girl, oh girl, oh boy! Is is good is sit down? Have had it again!

Bustled round Oxford St and Piccadilly trying to buy some string, get books all cleared away-went to Thomas Cook’s and got my ticket to Zürich. Pretty near all set-must go through all the bits and pieces of paper etc.-to see what I can clear out to make space and save weight. There seems a lot of fiddly little things I want to arrive back with to save all the filthy delay of surface post. Superficial odds and ends-just to have something to show what’s been doing. Oh-perhaps fell finish up getting posted like the rest of the stuff.

Went to the Tate Gallery after a few Guinness and sandwiches and spent the best part of three hours there, and left completely wrung out. It is very difficult to take all these pictures in-so many one has seen reproductions of. And rarely do the reproductions have the soft and convincing atmosphere, or colour relation, that is inherent in the originals. Somehow they always harden up and become more aggressive, more blatantly colourful than the paintings from which they were taken. Van Gogh’s sunflowers have so much more vitality and tenderness. Saw the original of that painting in our hall too, incidentally. A couple of Gauguin, much more impressive in reality. Dozens and dozens of things you’d recognise, I have seen. It gets tiresome. I’ll get it back stop all very much to the good I think, because you get the feeling you’d like to experiment and get at it a bit yourself. But apart from making some contact with Ampol (if the commission is still available) I want to sit down for a couple of days. I haven’t done so, except in a plane, or a train, all whilst eating, or writing, since I got off at Rome. I warn you, I am only 11 stone with sports coat, jumper, and overcoat on. Anyhow I am sure you will spoil me-and fatten me up for the Xmas killing. I love you.

Talking of Xmas-Regent St and Oxford have now got all Xmas trees, coloured lights, and Father Xmas out, and the place is quite bright, but bloody cold. It makes me glad that Xmas will be at home with my highly specialised family-would be the very end to get stuck here (or anywhere else) alone when all the spirit is building up, and the half crowns are jingling in your pocket. A very great number of 2/6 pieces here-more than florins. Never quite sure whether I am planking down 2/6 or 2/-. In any case they hardly last long enough to notice. Grog is a colossal price over here-Sherry 3/- glass, claret 2/6 small glass, Scotch 2/6 or 2/9, gin and tonic 2/4 or 2/10. 1/3 bottle (they make beer in little bottles like the tiny Guinness Stout you might have seen) beer 1/1 -stout 1/5 – 1/6 equivalent to about 3 glass to bottle. Consequently everybody is very sober over here.

I’m not very verbose tonight but want, very much, for you both to get a letter are day practically up till the day before I arrive-that way you will not be stamping about the unpruned rose bushes wondering what has happened to your errant (hah! hah! That’s a laugh) husband. I should be in bed with you before you finish reading my last note-and you had, very definitely, be prepared to like it.

Enough for now, I’ll see if I can squeeze a number drop out of this pen in the morning, when the alleged daylight arrives. And with that I give you another consignment of good old home spun love. Kiss, kiss, SAOH.

Sunday morning [25 Nov 56]. Woke early, about 4:30-and read till 5:30-thought I’d give Morphens another visit and stayed with him till 8 a.m. when breakfast brought me to. I am about to wash ½ doesn’t handkerchiefs, one day for the way home-have a horrible pile of dirty ones. Roley’s place was the only opportunity I have had to boil them up and iron them. Nevertheless we manage along and I hope to get home reasonably clean. I’ll diagnose my dirty stuff when you are not looking. It has been raining during the night which seems all to the good as it is now warmer and not so foggy. This is my second last letter as after tomorrow nothing can beat me bringing personal tidings of joy and affection for my two very dear people. I send you a great deal of love darling, and for Graham a great anxiety to see how he has grown-and how long, if not taller, young Trellie has grown. Love, love and more love from your very close at hand husband,

Bill.

Wep’s 1956 Romanian adventure: 13-15 Nov; London-moving hotel

Wed 14-Nov-56: Walked shops & booked in Debenham Court [Granville Place]. British Museum, saw sculptures of Egypt, Greek, Hindu.

1956 MM-DD WEP Romania_0104

Tuesday 9:30 p.m.
13 Nov 56
London

Darling,

I shouldn’t write at all tonight. My mood might affect you who are so sensitive to other’s condition. But seeing as how, this thing of mine will be about a week in the past when you read this, I don’t guess it will matter much. It gets dark so dammed early here-a little later than 4:30 p.m.-and the evening seems so long. I went out for a meal and staggered down to a newsreel for an hour. Place was full of necking couples. Here on the continent people seem to neck anywhere-particularly so in Paris where it’s nothing to see them kissing in the underground trains or in the cafes. Have just ordered a cup of tea-it is something they really make well in this lounge. As a matter of fact it is a much more cheerful drink, than Guinness Stout.

Graham said in his last letter that you weren’t well and you have mentioned seeing Cummins. I do hope you are managing to keep going without too much strain, sweetie. I don’t want you to feel poorly while I’m away. I wish I could help somehow-like being home-I wish I was at that. I should have written you about the Gallery at lunchtime when I was fresher. I went back and it was nearly dark when I came out. It’s got a bit wearing-despite the magnificent early Italian works. I think I’ll read for a while and go to bed.

You needn’t worry about me getting home-things here seem quite normal and placid. In fact, one hears little talk of trouble. A few letters in the papers, appears to be the only manifestation of steam letting off. This ponderous letter will be the death of you. I really must cease. Shall carry on in the murky light of dawn. Lots of love to you my dear little hugging girl. Nothing, absolutely nothing would be better than really to sleep against you, and there somehow, find again a small boy’s peace. I occasionally get quite frantic at the thought that such a pleasure is so far off. Seems, sometimes, I’ll never have it again. But then, that’s nonsense-in fact it is less than three weeks off. But how long those 3 weeks are to become is more than I care to contemplate. I am desperately in need of you. It’s weak of me-but I get relief and comfort in admitting it. And why shouldn’t I open up to you, who are now so much part of me? As I have, it seems, become part of you, and the rest of your life. We are now, inextricably woven of a piece and it gives me happiness to think of it. Good night-other half of my heart. Sleep easily from me.

Wed 9:30 a.m. 14 Nov.

I am a new Willie-stronger in all respects-ready to face the rain of intrepid calm. I have been posting off some small books and catalogues and pamphlets. Getting too heavy to handle. My bag is now swollen and I shall have to get a cheapjack one to take the overflow. Must make a move to organise myself more precisely. Trouble is I don’t know yet what the accommodation will cost by the time I leave tomorrow. I’m moving into a 21/- a day dump. Have to, as I want to buy some things. And feeling much brighter and had best make a move out into the drizzling city. God bless you, you little beaut! I love you brightly this morning. Watch out for a vigourous return of the prodigal boy.

7 p.m. back again from the cold dark city. Am up in my eyrie, back with you, where I belong. Went out to the shops again this morning to have a look around and as there are so many of the flaming things I am little better off now than when I started. Called at Simpsons to get an idea of what they have. Looked in lots of other windows-made arrangements to move up near Oxford Street, behind the fabulous Selfridges store. By the time I leave here (in the morning) this place will have cost me £18.5.2. (8 nights at £2, one dinner 14/6, one ½ bt claret 8/6, 1 coffee 1/-, 3 breakfasts 19/6, 4 phone calls 1/8). The new place looks quite comfortable and I’ll be £1 a day to the good. Wish I had moved earlier. Food is expensive in London and cigs are 4/-a packet. Although I haven’t bought many. Still smoking some I got duty-free on the ship I came across the Channel in. Incidentally I am writing this letter with a pen I picked up in the Rue de L’Opera, Paris France. I feel very fond of you, ducky. Got my air plane ticket and pick the plane up at Zürich. I will be home at 7 a.m. on Sunday 2 Dec.

I’m leaving London on Monday (as far as I can recollect, having lost the folder. Anyway I must buy the ticket tomorrow, to make certain that is paid for) about 7 p.m.-spend about 5 hours aboard ship and arrive in Holland about 7 a.m. where a full day’s journey by train alongside the Rhine gets me into Basle about 10 p.m. Tuesday. As this hour is too late to catch a plane due off at 10.40 I have made these arrangements, and will write Basle for accommodation overnight Tuesday and spend day in Zürich to get plane on Wednesday 28th at 10:25 p.m. And the whole fare is only £8.16.0. To catch the plane here, first class, would cost me £21.12.0. So it’s quite a saving and if it does by some mischance happened to be a nice day I’ll see quite a bit of the Rhine. Wish me God spend, dearest, I am getting closer. Also bought another suitcase-very much like the one I have, only smaller and light grey in colour. Lined, and with two pockets, soft top, etc, practically an albino twin-45/-at Selfridges. Bought a new translation of the New Testament by a Jewish scholar. Should do me good, more soothing than that wicked Henry Miller I’ve been reading. Went up to the British Museum where my legs gave out and I had to totter off to have some tea and toast. Went back feeling better. Saw a lot of Indian sculpture-was disappointed in the relics of Stupas they had. The whole effect was overburdened and maggoty. Very sad reaction to the old enthusiast. Some of the single figures were very fine. Perhaps I was too buggered. This was before I had the tea. The Tibet’s have some very vicious and naughty concepts about their other worldly hierarchy. The principle of the male and female union, as the basis of all things is depicted with extremely vivid realism. Moreover it is a union that is quite normal in its management. They are very naughty ‘Adavayas’ indeed. After the tea I stayed on the ground floor and was delighted with the Greek and Egyptian stuff. Must have another look. If ever I’m fresh enough I should take some notes. The Tate, National, and Museum should just about use up my time. I was going to take a run up to Oxford but don’t know off I can make it. I certainly can’t get up north to see your father’s people. Finances just won’t stand it. I am not wasting money-but must bring something back. Should go out to Windsor though, it’s only an hour in the bus stop and going out to Rex Reinits place tomorrow night at 6:30 p.m. so we’ll have a little social life for our secret anniversary. He is an Australian writer I used to work with many years ago. I think I mentioned I bumped into him in the bar here, or rather next-door. He has a radiogram so I’ll be taking my Romanian records and shall hear them myself for the first time. I hope the technical aspect of the recordings is all right. I am sure the musical part was performed in a suitable manner in the first place. I hope your old trotters have not been giving you too much trouble-and that the warm weather is allying the old screws a bit. You poor little thing-I’d only be too happy to mass arguing this moment-I’d willingly put up with your squawks and shrieks for the pleasure of being around on the chance of getting an occasional nip at your earlobes. Hotel rooms are deadly things on an empty stomach-so I’ll take myself off and fossick for a meal someplace handy. I’ll be with you again very shortly. I’m sure to get chips with whatever I have. These Londoners seem to live on nothing else. Chips-chips-chips-they eat such enormous quantities of them you’d reckon on getting some fresh some time. But not yet.

9:45 p.m. Back again in my beloveds arms.

How right I was about the chips. Just had a great reason plate full of them with a little piece of steak. I think it is the fat that clings to the chips which makes them so much of a must in food. Like Eskimos eat walrus fat, or candles, the carbohydrates are very warming. Better than Guinness. Not inspiring though. This letter is becoming very staccato in touch-little has happened to fire me off into a grand, and sustained, broadside of enthusiasm. Still haven’t dreamt about you, although for £2 a sleep one would expect even a modicum of entertainment during the night. I feel as if I am being diddled by someone, out of a free and harmless pleasure. Don’t know whether to get into bed, or go down and have some tea. Perhaps tea, and a last look around the lounge of the Howard Hotel. This letter is becoming a struggle because I have more than half a page to go with nothing to say on it-absolutely nothing. I’ll go down and see if I can find an evening paper to squiz at.

9 a.m. 15 Nov. have been thinking of you since I got up. I wish I could be at home to give you the loving kiss you deserve on such a day as this. Two years during which I think we are becoming better suited and as for me more deeply attached to you. I send you a great deal of love, my darling, and hope the way I feel at the moment will remain always deep in my being. Rows, I suppose, will be inevitable, but I trust they will be nicer and fonder.

Lots of love again-please get Graham to give you a kiss from me-and ask Trellie to give you a horrid great leak in one go from top to toe. Tell Graham I am anxious to hear the triumphal return music. I hope he has it all pat by the time I get home-he has that extra week’s practice.

I have been sweating blood on working out finance-and if I get the things I want all have to starve to death. I don’t know whether to get you to wire me £20 or not. If I just had an extra tenner I would be right. It’s a flaming curse. Oh, I think you had better-it’s mad to get oneself into a jam all this way off for the sake of £20. O skip all this, I have just seen Peter Gladwyn and he tells me not to worry. They will be able to do something for me. I got your loving cable off him too. Thanks so much, sweetie, I sort of thought I might get one. God love you!

I don’t know whether to catch the plane here-Cook’s Travel Agency says it might be cheaper. I am going down to see capital BOAC about it. It’s hard to determine things whether to see the Rhine or not. Will let you know in my next letter.

Much love and happiness to my dearest little wife from her loving fellow, Bill. XXX

Tell Graham S.A.O.H. to him to!

For the 15th Nov 1954.

London 1956

How do I recall-
   Lips parted
   In a crimson pleasure
   Of love?
How do I recall-
   Their pearly packets
   Piercing irregularities into
   My willing limbs?
How do well recall-
   The tiny, ardent breast
   When my lips
   With full of her,
   And love?
How do I recall-
   I, Pygmalion,
   When her limbs
   Came to life
   In warm embrace?
How do I recall-
   The liquid anguish
   Through which we fired
   A smouldering sleep?
How do I recall-
   My Dorothy?

From your husband

Bill

1956 MM-DD WEP Romania_0110 1956 MM-DD WEP Romania_0111

 

203 Piccadilly St. James's, London SW1Y, UK

Granville Place London W1H, UK

London, UK

400 Oxford Street London, UK W1A 1AB, UK

Wep’s 1956 Romanian adventure: 12-13 Nov; London – National Gallery

Tue 13-Nov-56: Great pleasure, National Gallery morning & afternoon.

1956 MM-DD WEP Romania_0099

12 Nov 56
9 PM London

Dearest girl,

The heat from posting your letter at 5 PM has petered out. (It didn’t get the mail anyway, as it was 5 PM, London GPO, wherever that may be.) There’s nothing like being in a slightly (or really) class hotel in London for being out on a limb. There is not even the satisfaction of imagining what all the mugs are talking about. Or even the pleasure of watching them throw their hands and eyes around in mad explanatory abandon. Everything is controlled and everything is in its place-even if, as I have said, they work for it, and it is part of their tremendous solidity. I don’t have any affection for London-I think it is a wonderful crystallisation of one aspect of the human drive. Perhaps I’m being biased about it all because this pub is in a legal and business area withdrawn, dignified, and not play house. Even serious people like Ulanova apparently stay here. It really is very comfortable-exceptionally clean-and a good table. As a matter of fact, I could not imagine a better place for you and I to be in, if we were together. It is not flashy American. The seats on the lounge writing rooms are all shapes and sizes, and a gentle murmur of slightly foreign voices permeates the air. Two people could-and do-sit in the corner and make modest love and it is very becoming and warming. The only laughter I can hear, is from the young-at heart-passé dame who serves in the cocktail tiny bar. She said “good night” as I came in, and I needed it. However amiability at 3/- for sherry has its limits. After two I couldn’t afford any more jolly converzione with the couple alongside me. Please don’t think this is a whingeing letter. I am merely trying to place a picture which needs no comment one way or the other. That is all there is to it. If I were full of fairies I would say the same, but perhaps sing it with a gayer melody. Guinness is good to you! Look at me!

I don’t mind the European accent-it has as a rule, a rather silvery quality catching the lights and cadences which rise above the abysmal undertones of the lounge. But God spare me the loud over-ripe persimmon squashyness of the American tourist-or even more, God strike dead, all American lecturers or guides, who conduct their compatriots around the Tate Gallery and explain the delicacies of Gainsborough in tones of the loudest molasses. Opposite are three people, one of whom, is like a good-looking Mrs Bookalil (we met her at Ngaire Phillips do) she is foreign and handsome-must have been a beauty-about, oh who could tell-she couldn’t be 50-and she couldn’t be 43. She looks old enough to be your mother, it seems to my far distant eye. I think you are lovely. But I think all girls are lovely-and the younger they are, the lovely-(and sillier). But you are still my girl-and you upset all ideas of what peoples (female) ages should be [Dorothy was 40]. I am getting you younger and younger every minute. And when I get home will be warm enough for us not to have to sit on the lounge-much as it holds associations that are unforgettable for us both. The whole of our loyalties have come from there-and we must not toss its contribution, or existence, aside too lightly. I am finding letter writing much easier in this lounge than in the Regina Venice. I have my finger on your thing, and nobody is disturbing me or even noticing us. I love you and I even hope you will think damply of me while you read this-my yen is for the comfort you can give me. There won’t be many more notes from me that you can answer. I reckon that the next two will be about the limit. Don’t send me anything that I can’t get by the 23rd or 24th Nov. I will be leaving by train to Zürich on Monday 26th. So please send me a bold and encouraging word before this. I guess this wickedness is enough for tonight.

Your Bill.

XXXXXX

2 p.m.: Tuesday [13 Nov 1956]

Garrick Theatre; 2 Jan 2014
Garrick Theatre; 2 Jan 2014

I am just adding this note whilst having a Guinness in the Garrick Hotel, which is opposite the Garrick Theatre. And is immediately behind the National Gallery. David Garrick was a famous actor and friend of Samuel Johnson’s. So I suppose the sites of both theatre and pub have been long established. I didn’t wake up until 9:30 a.m. this morning-must have been because I had the blinds drawn. Decided I may as well start on the Gallery as I’m not up to rushing around today. Not that I got on the scoot last night. A bad cold is helping to subdue my spirits. The weather in France and England would give you the creeps. It’s not wet, but an awful grey filters into your bones. There is no colour apart from the pearly lustre of a period greys. The blue, white and gold of a sunny harbour will hit me like a bomb. I do so wish you were with me to see the very wonderful pictures that are in the National Gallery. The English have done it again. I think even on a grey day both the National and Tate Galleries are fine display houses. I’ll save up for my next letter something of what to say about the pictures.

Do miss you being with me-so many little inconsequential details of interest one forgets to mention. All those little fine herbs that constitute the bouquet of flavour a particular city has. They are so ephemeral-some time, some stimulus will bring them all back-and perhaps I can give you a hint of their being. I don’t know why beauty depresses me one would think it to have the opposite effect. Perhaps it’s too big for my triviality-makes me want to crawl into a common place bar for a break and a breather. I am ready to tackle it again after I posted this letter. I am making up a schedule for myself for the remaining time. Must get away from the aimless wandering and get myself a purposeful routine. I want to settle down to the galleries and come home hot with the good intent. I love you, again and again. And will properly never again harbour such affection for you, as I will on Thursday the 15th. A deep kiss you.

From your husband,

Bill

Wep’s 1956 Romanian adventure: 11-12 Nov; London – Remembrance Day

Sun 11-Nov-56: Went 11am ceremony at the Cenotaph which Queen attended. Hyde Park & Pall Mall in afternoon.
Mon 12-Nov-56: Chelsea by bus – walked to Battersea & to Tate Gallery – got Dorothy’s Rumanian letters.

1956 MM-DD WEP Romania_0094

1 PM, Sunday 11 November 56
London

Dearest girl,

I have only just posted a letter to you, that may as well begin again, who knows when this episode will get finished, and sent off. It is sure to be a serial effort. I have just put some drops in my eyes, so for a hour or so will be useless on the streets, sightseeing. I haven’t been using them during the day as it becomes impossible to see a thing. I didn’t put them in early today as I wanted to walk along the embankment, post some letters and see the doings. Saw great crowds conveying towards Westminster, so I followed on and discovered it was remembrance Sunday when a service is held at the Cenotaph which the Queen attends. Couldn’t get anywhere near the Cenotaph but watched all the preparatory organisation. Military bands leading detachments of various forces towards the Cenotaph. The boys in busbies, looks fine again and they led a small group of really Ruritanian guards dressed in long red capes, shiny helmets with long white plumes all horsehair, I suppose, hanging from the top of the helmet. Some were in black capes with red plumes from their helmets-all marched with drawn swords held squarely in front of them. They marched so well-and the clothes so finely cut-that it did not look at all Hollywood-indeed, they were quite impressive. A wonderful splash of colour against the sombre lined crowd lining the wide cleared stretch of Whitehall which contains the Cenotaph down at one end. It had been drizzling, but a few moments before 11 AM, the sun straggled fitfully out for a moment, to disappear in the grey and impressive silencing of London for two minutes. Then the last post was played-followed by a hymn and prayers. But I was too far off to really appreciate the ceremony. Anyhow, the Londoners turned up in a big way. I came back here to get my coat. It was cool, but sunny, when I left. Quite cold and damp later. Sunny again now-and pleasantly the raise a shining into the room as I write, alongside the hot water heater thingummy in the room. Pleasant enough but not lively. Jolly good for such an afternoon as we tossed off in Narooma nearly 2 years ago. I have on my black suit, yellow tie, and a bright red poppy, the whole ensemble giving the effect of an emaciated, that animated Belgian flag rather appropriate for the day, but perhaps it would be an improvement if I were in some shades of red white and blue. Nothing of consequence to say that find it company to natter up a large and expensive air mail fee. However I suppose I should go out and carry on the good work. No galleries from me on Sunday. Hyde Park probably is the right thing. Yes to Hyde Park, by the end of this page. I still love you.

9 PM. Here’s the old minute writer back on the job.

[Canada Gate, Green Park, London, 1956]
[Canada Gate, Green Park, London, 1956]

Caught a bus down Oxford Street to the corner of Hyde Park and arrived about 2:30 PM. I think any other Sunday would have been all right for a normal Hyde Park session, that Armistice Day has changed the overall pattern. There were not many of the famous park orators in operation. No show worth speaking of. It, the park, is roughly 1½ miles long by ¾ mile wide, about half to ¾ the size of Centennial Park. It is mostly flat and open and has a curved lake known as the Serpentine in which ducks, and scullers, disport themselves. Alongside the lake one promenades up and down, ad nauseum. Completely isolated from the bustle of the traffic, the crowds find something of rest and idleness. The feeble afternoon sun kept up just enough illumination to make things affable. But by 4.30 its rays have had it. Cantered over to Rotten Row to gape at the horseman and women. But they seem to operate mostly on an empty stomach before lunch. Finally found my way round to Buckingham Palace, which it not as imposing as the great royal constructions of Paris or Vienna. Still hundreds and hundreds of English and foreigners walking around the outside hoping for some loyalty to appear-or failing that, crowding round, inspecting the poor wretched young sentinels do their marionette pacing up and down, and foot banging, he’ll stamping formal turns at the end of their allotted stretch. What a life. Walked up the rapidly darkening tree-lined and gas light Pall Mall and watched immediately put upon by cars and pedestrians whilst the myriads of starlings and pigeons search out a perching place along the cornices of the surrounding building. The starlings kicking up a frightful racket. Had a cuppa-and walked round to have a lousy Chinese meal. Came home tired and have been reading the paper for an hour. Tired now, and think I’ll shout myself some tea and toast, or such, in the lounge and so to bed. No pubs open today.

Waterloo Bridge from Victoria Embankment; 11 November 1956
Westminster Bridge from Victoria Embankment; 11 November 1956
Thames River looking towards Waterloo Bridge from Embankment; 11 November 1956
Cleopatra’s Needle from Victoria Embankment, London; 11 November 1956
Looking towards St Martin in the Fields with the National Gallery to the left at Trafalgar Square; London; 11 November 1956
Remembrance Day Parade, marching down Whitehall towards the Cenotaph, just up from Downing Street, London; 11 November 1956
Remembrance Day Parade, marching down Whitehall towards the Cenotaph, just up from Downing Street, London; 11 November 1956
Remembrance Day Parade, marching down Whitehall towards the Cenotaph, just up from Downing Street, London; 11 November 1956
Remembrance Day Parade, marching down Whitehall towards the Cenotaph, just up from Downing Street, London; 11 November 1956
The Horse Guards, Whitehall, London; 11 November 1956
Looking towards Trafalgar Square from Whitehall, just outside the Lord Moon of the Mall Hotel on the left, London; 11 November 1956
Trafalgar Square, London; 11 November 1956
Trafalgar Square, London; 11 November 1956
Trafalgar Square, London; 11 November 1956
Trafalgar Square, London; 11 November 1956

4 o’clock 12 November. Have just called down to Consol Press and they gave me all your letters. I am back at the pub and I am overwhelmed with the light that you should love me so much. I haven’t even had time to read all the notes returned from Bucaresti. I just am of a twit that you should be so sensible as to send them to me. I’ll have them like Spanish sherry-a sip at a time-I’ll extract all your affection slowly. My how the sparks will fly, when we meet! You are a honeydew, and just right for the picking. Sorry we have to hang out that extra flaming week. But I love you very much and a week more into the bargain. I’m tired of pushing around. I adore you so much I am going to run up the road and posters before I read all your early letters. I want you to know I am very happy indeed that you sent them. I am breathless with affection and I think I will celebrate with some Guinness Stout-it’s supposed to build you up no end-and seeing that the beer is crook I like it.

I caught a bus down to Chelsea this morning had a quick walk through and over the Thames to Battersea through Battersea Park and back across the river to the Tate Gallery which contains British paintings, modern European paintings, and modern sculpture. Was too gone in the leaks to stay long but will ride their next time. Called up to office and got the wonderful present. Am very happy. Have been a bit lonely in London. It is a big place-and pretty remote. Lacks the entertainment of the Gallic humanity. It was easier to watch in Paris. You are a very dear girl and I am your very sookie husband.

Bill.

St Mary-le-Strand Church from outside the Courtauld Institute of Art, Strand, London; 12 November 1956
[St Mary-le-Strand Church, London 1956]
[St Mary-le-Strand Church, London 1956]
St Clement Danes from The Strand adjacent to Australia House, London; 12 November 1956
Battersea Park, London; 12 November 1956
Albert Bridge from Battersea Bridge, London; 12 November 1956
Looking north from Grosvenor Road up Westmoreland Terrace, now part of Lupas Street, London; 12 November 1956

 

Albert Bridge Road, London SW11 4NJ, UK

London SW1A 1AA, UK

South Downs National Park, Lewes, East Sussex BN7, UK

London W1D, UK

Greater London, UK

London WC2N, UK

London SE1, UK

London SW11, UK

London, UK

St. James's, London, UK

Westminster, London W2 2UH, UK

WhitehallLondon, UK

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