Didn’t expect a letter, now did you? Wasn’t it just too-too sweet of me to write you despite the knowledge that I’d be home before you got it? It has an ULTERIOR MOTIVE behind it all – you have to very very nice to me right away.
I felt awful on Saturday after Friday night’s party. At least that is what I anticipate at the moment. I’m afraid it will be too confusing for me to write in the past tense as what is yet to happen has already done so. I’ll get back to my state of mind on Friday Aug 27th
7.30 am
Had an interesting trip to the cattle Station “Humpty-doo”1The town of Humpty Doo was named after the cattle station which though comparatively small for this, is silly writing you a letter about something I’ve already told you. Consider this purely as a happy good day note and a reminder to you of my sterling qualities.
Just consider how happy I am to be home. And how I like to see your sweet little mug again.
Well what are you waiting for, I’m here aren’t I?
Or would you rather have a cuppa?
A big kiss
from
Willie
Notes:
1
The town of Humpty Doo was named after the cattle station
This I hope will be the last letter you get before you get me personal like.
Unless someone, or something causes a priority travel hitch I should be back home Monday evening. So get yourself polished up today my girl – I’ll be seeing you tonight down by the Bay.
Didn’t have a party on our anniversary. The lads here are saving up for a do on Friday night – farewell to some Flight – Loot who is going down on leave. Looks as if I may be included in the festivities – we, I hope, (not because of his company but because of the plane) shall travel down together. Had three glasses of beer on the great occasion. They drank our health and I drank yours.
Am going out to a cattle station1The cattle station called Humpty Doo was adjacent to Livingstone Airfield where No. 457 (Spitfire) Squadron was based for two days leaving after breakfast this morning. So won’t be writing you again.
Lots and lots of love dear
Hope everything in the garden is lovely – Freddie.
From Friday, August 20, through to Monday, August 23, 1943, Wep was on assignment at a Mission Station on Milingimbi Island. Whilst absent, Wep penned a letter to Jess, of which the first 13 pages have been lost or misplaced.
At an Aboriginal mission station, Milingimbi Island, 20-23 August, 1943WEP with two Aboriginal women at Milingimbi Mission, 20-23 August, 1943
Continuation of letter written 23 August
Page 14
…. but plain damn silly. I wish you hadn’t told me. Anyway I’ll be home within a week of you getting this letter. So expect a lot of things to look up.
Study for Interior – Cockpit, Transport Plane. The plane is a Lockheed Hudson.
Had a fair trip back. Couldn’t see much as we were flying blind in bush fire smoke for a hundred miles. Am glad to be back and have already made application for my return trip. Hurry up that new dress and look your damndest. Only the two of us together the night I come back.
Am getting tired as I have had to put off writing tonight until the typists gave up the ghost – which they unwillingly did about 10.30pm. Didn’t sleep to well over on the island. The nights turned out too cold for only two blanket over me and the sand fly itches gave me de woiks. Used to wake at 2 or 3am, or even earlier I imagine, & toss for the remainder of the night. No good.
And so to bed. – Goodnight my darling. I hope you managed the anniversary pleasantly & tolerably happily. I haven’t got to mine yet although I’m only about ¾ hour off the 24th August. Lots of love sweet, save yours all up for my return.
24th August
Page 15
Good morning my bride. Tis the wedding morn. Ten years removed. Got your telegram – Thanks a lot dear. I hope you got mine on the right day. I had to get the man mountain1Fellow corresopndent Jimmy Smyth from the Truth and Daily Mirror newspapers who stood 6′ 5″ tall here to send it for me on Monday as I was still away. They say that it would get there on the auspicious occasion. I hope so. Everyone has wished me happy anniversaries. To give the real domestic flavour to the day I have lit up the copper and am about to do the washing.
Am trying to get air transport to Sydney, but there seems to be some bother, a lot of the air services have been cut down. So, at the moment I’m still in the air (i.e metaphorically speaking) again. Give me the works when you dress up for the happy day.
XXX Bill
Little flowers for anniversary day. They were a frangipani & a pretty red wild bloom.
Postcript
Years later in a letter (2 September 1972) written to John Olsen congratulating him on being awarded a commission to paint his mural Salute to Five Bells at the Sydney Opera House, Wep recalled his trip to Millingimbi Mission.
“Was intrigued to see your bright shininess cavorting over the Arnhem Land – Fascinating! A lucky well deserved jaunt. What a place. During the war I made a trip (by plane) to Milingimbi – Never forget the swamps and Christ knows what we flew over to get there. The bloody beautiful birds in their millions! Nice, the indications of what you were doing about them. I can still remember the roar of the wings over the lagoons of Humpty Doo.”
Interior – Cockpit, Transport Plane, The Australian Women’s Weekly, 20 Nov 1943, coverSketch study for Interior, Cockpit Hudson Transport PlaneSketch study for Interior, Cockpit Hudson Transport PlaneAt an Aboriginal mission station, Milingimbi Island, 20-23 August, 1943At an Aboriginal mission station, Milingimbi Island, 20-23 August, 1943At an Aboriginal mission station, Milingimbi Island, 20-23 August, 1943
Story about the Planes that crashed in Milingimbi in WWII – Ganygulpa Dhurrkay and Jimmy Burpur and SImon Gaykamangu telling stories about the bombing of Milingimbi and cleanup of the crashed World War II planes by Milingimbi ALPA CDP workers. Produced by ALPA CDP media student Hazel Wanambi
You won’t be getting another letter after this one for at least 4 days as I am leaving at dawn tomorrow. Hope to get back here on Monday night. I hope to heavens the sand flies grant me some mercy – otherwise I’ll be coming home an object of abhorrence with itchy excrescence liberally besprinkling my poor old bod.
It is 8pm at the moment & I sweat like a pig. No better this morning – God damn it I’ll have to wait until Tuesday now before I know what gives out down there in Sydney. The last letter I received from you was attached to the cutting re the much publicised Ron Bennett.1Ron Bennett was Art Director at The Australian Women’s Weekly and a close friend of Bill’s and Jess for many years Pretty horrible to have all that stuff splashed about in a blasted rag like Truth.2Artist Alleges Drunkenness Against His Wife (1943, August 8). Truth (Sydney, NSW : 1894 – 1954), p. 20. I should imagine Betty is slinking around in a hell of a state. I notice she is not defending. Doesn’t seem much she can do about it.
Have done nothing today but tour the town during the morning and go for a swim in the afternoon. The tide was surprisingly low and we had to walk about 300 yards from the high water mark across an absolutely flat and sloshy sea bottom to reach the water. Another 100 yards or so till we were in water only up to Fred. Did’nt fancy it much – kept thinking of sharks and the long run home. Hermit crabs (tiny crabs which find an empty shell get inside it for protection and pull it around with them) lung fish (a small species of fish which can breathe out of water and come up on the sand for sunbaking) were in their hundreds squiggling and crawling all over the place.
Very little to report save the indignation and dismay of war correspondents who object to doing their own washing and ironing. As OFFICERS & GENTLEMEN they claim a batman. The Department of Public Relations has recalled the original unit which was serving the crowd here and replaced it with a fresh bunch which is 2 men lighter & have issued an edict that the press men are not entitled to the rights of Army Officers who in this respect have all their work done for them by their individual batman. There has been a great protest meeting – their dignity has been insulted. What will the commoner think of to see them as Officers choring at the tub. At the thought of it one goes purple in the face, another grows pallid, yet another shakes as with a palsy. All by the grace of God are not speechless, indeed they as a body are extraordinarily vociferous both orally and in writing. Typewriters are running hot, pleas & denunciations march forth in effort to regain the status quo. I, like Pilate, wash my pants and say, “what is washing?” It’s all very funny to me – I’m not staying.
L-R: Bill (Wep) Pidgeon (Australian Women’s Weekly), Bill Caldbeck-Moore (Daily Telegraph), Jimmy Smyth (Truth and Daily Mirror) and Frank Tierney (Sydney Morning Herald)
At the moment of going to press the boys are not holding their own. Urgent signals for reinforcements from newspaper proprietors have been sent. The battle is begun. I have designed the banners – newsprint drawers, pants and socks are hanging on the wireless aerial stretched across the mess. Each bears an appropriate motto. Death before dishonour!!
I hope nothing prevents my return on Monday as I want to be sure the telegram gets to you on Tuesday. If it misses it won’t be my fault.
There is just a possibility you’ll get this letter on the wonderful 24th so if you do take it as a loving wish for lots more of them to come darling. We’ll celebrate both our tenth and your birthday on the 5th. We’ll make it a real day my dear. On the 24th do everything I’d like you to do and nothing I wouldn’t like and I’ll do the same. The boys may have a bit of a party for us. Have a good time yourself. Once more – many returns.
And now bung-ho, wifie!
from husband.
Notes:
1
Ron Bennett was Art Director at The Australian Women’s Weekly and a close friend of Bill’s and Jess for many years
Am just sneaking the use of one of the lad’s typewriter while he’s out on a job. Came to after a spot of spine-bashing to find the place empty. Have done nothing at all today except sit around on my arse and be bored – time I had a bit of a rest of sorts. The boys are on their way back so off with the machine and up with the pen.
Sitting around is soul destroying – I can’t settle down to working in this mess as there are absolutely blink-all in the way of facilities for such a comfort loving craftsman (?) such as myself. The moment of 5.20pm finds me sunning in the same spot as I occupied yesterday and pursuing the delightful occupation of considering your dear charms & graces. Sweet, what?
This is by far the most pleasant time of day – the sun seems stationary & shines with mellow warmth – the breeze, soft and sensuous, slides round every limb. I wish it were a little fiercer – this colour I’m after is anything but permanent – damn me if it doesn’t appear to wash off under the shower. Maybe it’s only red dust impregnated in the skin. In any case it is a highly impermanent pigment.
At dawn this week am off on the plane trip I spoke of. I’m supposed to be one of the crew – heh! heh! You won’t get any mail from me until I return from the island. I will be 2 or 4 days there – other than the planes there is no mail contact. So don’t worry if you don’t hear from me for a while.
I’m getting a bit sick of the unsatisfying contact letters afford. I don’t feel like writing to any length. The novelty of things has gone – and I’m just anxious to get home – all very similar to the counting of days before vacation, only I’m in reverse.
Hours later.
I’m still mooning about the house – gawd help me there’s nothing to damned well read in blasted place. I’ve been through all the magazines more times than the covers can stand up to. I can’t be bothered with newspapers a week old. The books (what there are of them) are dull – I’d ever write one if I wasn’t so languid – It’s a wonderfully lazy joint. Haven’t seen anyone sitting down to a good solid think since I left the zero regions. If & when I go away again something long & heavy in the way of literature will accompany me.
Cheerful, breezy, letter, yes? Voted today – i.e. 3 days before election day. An enormous amount of work is involved in army polling. Every vote has to be sealed up in an envelope with the soldiers name, address & army no. on it – posted down, unsealed, counted, etc. Probably take longer in this election to get final figures than is usually the case. I hope you didn’t give Old Billy your approval.1The 1943 election was won by the Australian Labor party lead by John Curtin with 49 seats, a gain of 17 seats. They defeated the coalition of the United Australia Party and the Country Party who won 19 seats, losing 18. Interestingly, the coalition was lead by Arthur Fadden who was the leader of the Country Party, the minor partner to the United Australia Party, lead by Billy Hughes (a former Labor Prime Minister) who had taken over in 1941 after Robert Menzies resigned. Following the Coalition’s crushing defeat, Fadden handed the leadership of the Opposition back to Menzies who had resumed leadership of the UAP.
Later again – have been out for a walk round the town & called into the YMCA2The YMCA was situated at the Inter-church club, corner of Smith and Peel streets. – quite a decent place 3 full sized billiard tables – piano – books & all the what have yous. Borrowed 2 books – may keep me quiet for a while.
YMCA facilities, Inter-Church Club, cnr Smith and Peel streets, August 18, 1943
Still restless – have suggested some supper. Approval has been expressed. We shall sit down to a frugal snack of cold boiled eggs, tomatoes, sliced tongues and hock.
That operation was efficiently taken care of – we are all now in advanced stage of pre-spine bashing somnolence – the brains of many have already gone to sleep. Mine included. Will retire to my cot in which I sleep with only a sheet & the old man Fred.
Lots of love darling – hope to get a letter tomorrow – seems a bloody long time since one arrived.
And so to bed
Bill.
Enclosed find some local blooms of Bougainvilleas – press them to your heart.
[Then all crossed out.]
Would you please write out a cheque for 28/- payable to Hugh Dash & put this accompanying letter with it & mail it to Hugh Dash, c/o “Courier Mail”, Queen St, Brisbane. I tried to send it direct from here but there are no postage notes available until Sunday on which date I will be away.
Skip it!
Love to my
Darling.
YMCA facilities, Darwin; 18 Aug 1943YMCA facilities, Darwin; 18 Aug 1943It’s fun to stay at the YMCA, Darwin, 18 Aug 1943
Notes:
1
The 1943 election was won by the Australian Labor party lead by John Curtin with 49 seats, a gain of 17 seats. They defeated the coalition of the United Australia Party and the Country Party who won 19 seats, losing 18. Interestingly, the coalition was lead by Arthur Fadden who was the leader of the Country Party, the minor partner to the United Australia Party, lead by Billy Hughes (a former Labor Prime Minister) who had taken over in 1941 after Robert Menzies resigned. Following the Coalition’s crushing defeat, Fadden handed the leadership of the Opposition back to Menzies who had resumed leadership of the UAP.
2
The YMCA was situated at the Inter-church club, corner of Smith and Peel streets.
Am back in the correspondents’ mess again. Arrived in this morning after a car trip of some 4 hours. The weather here is certainly to be preferred to that at the bomber strip1Fenton airfield which I reckon must be the hottest blarsted spot in the whole N.T. Think I might have got a touch of the sun yesterday after setting out in the middle of a glaring road with no shirt on. Felt quite sick after ½ hour or so although I didn’t get burnt much. Possibly the glare of white paper with the sun shining on it may have been responsible. Anyway, I up & left. One of the yank officers reckoned I must have been a bit troppo to pick the spot in the first place what with the heat & thundering great trucks raising all smothering dust within 20 yards of me, etc.
At a water hole on a dusty Northern Territory road near USAAF camp, Fenton AirfieldAt a water hole on a dusty Northern Territory road near USAAF camp, Fenton AirfieldTrucks parked at a water hole on a dusty Northern Territory roadStudy for Smok – Transport men are seen at a halting place near a waterhole on one of the winding, dusty roads of the Northern TerritorySmoko – Transport men are seen at a halting place near a waterhole on one of the winding, dusty roads of the Northern Territory.” – the Australian Women’s Weekly, 26 Feb 1944, p9
Working out of doors in the middle of the day knocks you up alright. I feel positively exhilarated at the prospect of the cool Sydney spring. We’ll go out places together – eh? I’m practically certain to be down before your birthday. If I get transport accommodation OK. So when you get a telegram from me you’ll know to meet me at Rose Bay.2Arriving via sea plane I’ll be looking for you – save up some juice. I won’t be able to tell you much in the telegram I shall send when I leave – It will be up to you to find out time of my arrival. Put some beer in the frige for us. Which reminds me to tell you I am happily having my weekly bottle at the very moment. It’s extremely good & most welcome as I have just finished doing the weeks washing & ironing 3 shirts 3 pants, handkerchiefs, underpants socks & towel. It’s hot work in these h’yar parts. The weather is getting warmer as the wet season approaches. Blarsted flies are banging about too – damn their wings. Don’t worry about me drinking a lot. There isn’t that much here! Even a few knocks everyone and I haven’t had more than 4 real hangovers in 6 weeks. I don’t suppose I have lost much weight really. Although one sweats to a prodigious extent water is consumed in replaceable quantities.
Have now taken up my pew in the sunshine as I must bring you back some visible indication of the tropics. One’s colour is said to disappear very quickly so I shall devote my last days here solely to the acquisition of a body tone you will really want to touch. Cunning little man!
Have also switched radio on and am listening to short wave transmission from the eastern states – whether Sydney or Melbourne or Brisbane I, as yet, don’t know. Ah me – how I am suffering.
Have just heard it was from Sydney.
Am becoming quite benign in all my attitudes – the bottle is practically empty. My good intentions of a long letter weaken – my sole desire at the moment is to sit by radio and dream happily & nebulously about you. With the pilots I say “I’ve had this place” – but also I say – “I want to have you”
A week today to the 24th. Oh dear! I wish I could buy you something! Some little permanent thing we could keep for remembrance of our tenth. After all it’s quite a while. If you should see anything buy it for me to you. Up the clothes, I’ll buy them for you anyway. But I guess there is nothing left about anywhere. Maybe King in his second hand snoopings will see something. However don’t worry pet, about it – one day I’ll find something. Your best present to me will be to look your prettiest & to be ever so pleased about my being back. I think of you such a hell of a lot now. Seems as if I’m back at the going out to Brighton stage in my love life. High time I changed the record – playing this old lonely note doesn’t help either of us much.
You appear to be living an extremely quiet life. For goodness sake honey don’t drive yourself nuts. I hope you are eating something substantial occasionally for there has to be something left for me to grab hold of.
I’ve just come back from the pictures – a waste of time sadly regretted – the Ritz Bros in “3 Roaring Romeos”3“3 Roaring Romeos” (1939) was originally titled in the U.S.A. in 1939 as “The Three Musketeers” starring Don Ameche and The Ritz Brothers – My God! What a show!
Have plenty cigs for you. Looks almost as if I have been receiving stolen goods.
I should be able to write you for hours tonight as I am (believe it or not) the only inmate at present incarcerated in the asylum. All the others are out on their job. There’s been quite a bit of plane activity about here lately and they are covering all the news angles from the pilots, bombardiers & so on and so forth. 3 of the fighter pilots I was staying with bagged a bird each.42022 Cooper, Anthony; Darwin Spitfires; the real battle for Australia; “The triumph of 17 August”, pp477-486 Nice going. You’ll read about it all in the papers before this letter reaches you.51943 ‘AUSTRALIAN PLANES IN N.-WEST THRASH JAPS.’, The Courier-Mail (Brisbane, Qld. : 1933 – 1954), 19 August, p. 3
This particular aircraft is believed to be the wreckage of Japanese Mitsubishi ‘Dinah’ Ki-46 II reconnaisaince plane #2237, shot down on the morning of August 17, 1943 near Fenton Airfield by Sqn Ldr Ken James of 457 Squadron. Wep most likely encountered the wreckage when departing Fenton to return to Darwin.This particular aircraft is believed to be the wreckage of Japanese Mitsubishi ‘Dinah’ Ki-46 II reconnaisaince plane #2237, shot down on the morning of August 17, 1943 near Fenton Airfield by Sqn Ldr Ken James of 457 Squadron. Wep most likely encountered the wreckage when departing Fenton to return to Darwin.Crashed Japanese Mitsubishi ‘Dinah’ Ki-46 II, NW AustraliaSite of crashed Japanese Mitsubishi ‘Dinah’ Ki-46 II, NW AustraliaSite of crashed Japanese Mitsubishi ‘Dinah’ Ki-46 II, NW AustraliaSite of crashed Japanese Mitsubishi ‘Dinah’ Ki-46 II, NW Australia
Wish I had our coleman stove – I’d set down right now to hot toast & asparagus. As things are I would have to build a wood fire. That’s too much.
Still haven’t any butter. Altogether I’ve had it only a week & a half since arriving. Oh boy, will I make a hog of myself down south.
Have just turned on short wave radio to some oriental station broadcasting some indescribably mournful dirge which suits my present mood like a tight collar. It’s really wonderfully glum. One of these days I must get me a short wave set – an amazing variety of stuff comes over – surely sufficient to suit every mood.
I’m still trying to make up my mind as to whether I should or should not, wolf the asparagus. The betting at the moment is two to one on that I do. May as well get something inside me – you can’t tell but that the yellow men may not be over later tonight. The moon is still perfect – they have had time to rest their bomber crews after the last raid – and they a getting a bashing from the yanks here – which sort of thing tends to make them a little angry. Perhaps I should remain awake a while – with no one in the house I may stay asleep at the wrong moment.
Only 14 or 15 days before I clear off. I’m beginning to count them. I suppose you will too, now that I have told you what I hope to do.
Asparagus is out in front turning into the straight – it’s no race folk – Asparagus wins pulling up, 3 bellyfuls in front of Some Bread and NO Butter.
So lots of love and kisses
from yours
as ever
Freddie
XXX
Notes:
1
Fenton airfield
2
Arriving via sea plane
3
“3 Roaring Romeos” (1939) was originally titled in the U.S.A. in 1939 as “The Three Musketeers” starring Don Ameche and The Ritz Brothers
4
2022 Cooper, Anthony; Darwin Spitfires; the real battle for Australia; “The triumph of 17 August”, pp477-486
Or should I say darling? This is the first time I have been alone in this house. Until 11 pm typewriters & dopes clack out their stuff and I cannot settle down to think of you and myself to the exclusion of everyone else.
God, darling, if you and I had a house to ourselves (and heavens know there are many empty) we would have a time such as only those days in the trailer gave us1Reference to Wep and Jess’s six month caravan trip in 1937. Tonight for some reason one of the permanent lieutenants asked me to accompany him for a drink. He & his & our understrapping sergeant enlisted more or less together in 1940 and they have a fellow feeling or pact to get stinking at least once a week together. Tonight they asked me to accompany them. This of course all under the lap as far as this end is concerned as officers & sergeants just don’t drink together. Be that as it may it was my privilege (and I take it as such) to have been the only one asked to drink with them. From what I can gather they really hate the guts of the fellow correspondents! Any goodwill I seem to have gathered is because I still can mix with people of the lowlier orders without being the perfect quince &/or pounce, or ponce or (blast it you know what I mean!).
There is so much to tell you honey. I can’t fit it all in these rapid scribblings. The pages left unsaid in which I could say how much I would like you to be here are legion. I went to the pictures again tonight & saw “Johnny Eager”. Robert Taylor & Lana Turner. God only knows why they insist on showing pictures in which the dames crawl all over the man’s body. Not very helpful to the troops. Got home about 10.30. (Harold Dick took us in his car by the way.) Had a couple of gins on return & then went out with this chappy and polished off (amongst us) some port & sherry. Returned about 1. Strangely enough I felt very restless & a bit sick. I tried to get to bed – lay there ½ hour, decided to put the old finger down the throat & write you. Not since Thursday previous to my leaving have I had so much to drink. (Special note – The mosquitoes are really eating me alive. When I say that it’s no foolin!) Everyone is asleep and its nice and peaceful and I feel as if I love you with the affection of a thousand Willies in the month of July 1932. Look after yourself, pettie.
Went for a swim today. The water was wonderful. The whole setup was much the same as we had at George Warnecke’s place at Ettalong. The weather is the same & the surroundings fairly similar.
Tomorrow I am going on the road again. Always it is about as far as Mittagong to get anywhere. And the dust is colossical. I’m getting an occupational disease – you could almost call it potters lungs – there is so much clay about.
Have spent the day on the beach watching a regimental anniversary picnic. Quite a GOOD SHOW marred only by the untimely death of the pig for the greasy pig race. Poor bastard snuffed it about 2 hours before it was due to appear in the race!
Bike Race; 2/11 Aust. Army Field Regiment Third Anniversary Beach Carnival, Mindil BeachWatching 880 Yards Race; Third Anniversary Beach Carnival, Mindil Beach, Thursday, 15 July, 1943Low tide 10.30 Thursday; Third Anniversary Beach Carnival, Mindil Beach, Thursday, 15 July, 1943
This really is a wonderful winter climate – you’d go nuts about it. The town is full of slick & well conditioned brown gods – not that you’d notice them! The only soft bodies here are senior officers & war correspondents. Am getting sunburnt. Lolly pink – that’s about my status at the moment. Shall meet fluttery eyed Gloria – from the Officer’s husband, F/O Newton when I get down to Caldwell’s Spitfire Squadron.
Guess I should go to bed.
Send me a little kiss in your letter.
Love from Winnie the Poo
P.S. (Something out the back stinks something dreadful!)
Wep’s plan view of the War Correspondents Mess, Darwin, July 1943
I first met Bill when I was a seventeen year old copy boy in the artist room at the Sydney Daily Telegraph in 1944. He had just returned from New Guinea and I was greatly in awe of him. I had seen his work long before (my father had worked in the publishing rooms of various papers and always brought copies home – the Telegraph, Smith’s Weekly, Women’s Weekly, etc) so I was familiar with his comic illustrations. What I now discovered was his immense versatility in the war paintings he did.
He was probably the first adult I was encouraged to call by his first name. At his insistence he was either Bill or Billy Wep or Bill Pidge. Everyone else was Mr. or Sir. He was very warm, friendly, encouraging and funny.
He had a reputation for heavy drinking being among those that appeared in the pub when they opened at 10a.m.. What very few knew was that he’d already worked six hours, rising at 4a.m.. Newspapers were pretty boozy places anyway so the reputation did him no harm.
I didn’t know Jess at all as she was very sick but I heard a lot about her from his friends and colleagues. I know he adored her and that she was strikingly good looking and that he adored her not only for that but for her spirit and all the qualities she had and shared with others. He nursed her until her tragic death.
He used to come to the Artist’s room to get pencils, ink, white poster colour and paper but would always look at what I was drawing and say things like ‘that’s very funny, do more like that’ or show me the books of the old masters. I remember him showing me a book of Hokusai the Japanese 18th century print maker and telling me that he signed his work ‘An old man mad about drawing’. Bill thought that was marvelous.
Bill would appear always wearing a pork pie hat, always well dressed in a casual way. He had a soft voice, workman like hands with solid blunt fingers (as I well remember, from having one of them down my throat to make me up-chuck some of the excess liquor I’d consumed at the Artists’ Ball so I’d be sober enough to drive home.)
He was great encourager of young talent, Brett Whiteley, Peter Harrigan and me. He even set up a travelling scholarship which I was told later he meant for me but I was in the Army in Japan and madly in love with an American girl and didn’t enter. Peter Harrigan did and deservedly won a year in London. I think he was so in love with drawing and painting and just creating with his hands that when he saw talent in others he couldn’t help but foster and encourage. I remember him showing me a short flight of concrete steps at Northwood. He was so proud of having made them that he signed them Wep.
His friends Geoff Turton, George Finey, Bill Mahony and others told me stories about him shocking a posh dinner party with an oyster stuck in his nostril waggling about. About him taking Lennie Lower away to the Snowy Mountains with instructions not to give Lower any more money than two shillings (20c). Lower went to Cooma with his two shillings and came back rotten drunk with seven and sixpence change. He’d gone into Cooma, told everyone who he was and that he was there with Wep so no-one would let him pay for a drink and actually pressed money on him thus defeating the other instruction ‘sober him up and keep him sober’.
I saw a lot of your father when he was cartooning for the ‘Sunday Tele’ as I was rostered on on Saturdays. We used to drink in the Windsor hotel in Castlereagh St. He had his paper on the bar marking stories that might give him an idea for a cartoon. We’d go back to the canteen for a cold pork sandwich and he’d buy a bottle of dry sherry to share with the women in the Social dept. next door to our rooms.
Ure Smith the publisher got me to design the cover for ‘They’re A Weird Mob’ which I did but came down with appendicitis. Ure Smith asked Bill to illustrate it which was a bit much as he was trying to break away from illustration for serious portraiture and in fact had won his first Archibald [not at that time – 1957]. I think it was when he and your mother were either courting or had just married. I know he visited me in hospital to tell me he would do it. I only mention it because when the book launch was held, the author John O’Grady, a XXXX man at best, made his speech he hoped “You all made enough out of my talents to buy a new suit of clothes.” This was greeted by us all in stunned silence until someone announced that Bill had won his second [actually his first] Archibald. O’Grady was lost in the cheers that went up. O’Grady was very put out.
I met your mother several times both before and after marriage and have fond memories of her.
This is dedicated to two small boys and all the terrifying real people who used to live around the Five Ways. If some of the people mentioned are not as real as they should be – it is mostly my fault. I hope I have caused no offence to any one I may have mentioned – through the vapourising of the past they were all helpful in bringing me down to what I am today.
Wed 24-Oct-56: Wandered all round the shopping areas & saw Sacre-Coeur church in morning – went to Lido night club. Up very late.
Thu 25-Oct-56: Longchamp – went to Longchamp race course in afternoon & cooked Chinese grub in Roley’s flat in evening.
Longchamp Race Course, Paris 1956, painted by W.E. Pidgeon in 1957
Pullen’s Palace
33 Rue St Augustin [33 Quai des Grands Augustins]
Paris, France
Wed or rather Thursday
The 25th Oct 1956
My very dear darling, I have made three attempts to write to you about the Tyrol which I think must be one of the most beautiful places in the world. Each time I get started some interruption occurs & the Tyrol is up the spout. I can’t force myself to write about it – I love it too much – I will tell you on the 28th of November when you are in my arms, and there is no tensions anywhere in the world, and for the little while we have some appreciative peace. I want to tell you so much about it. I cannot write much when I am staying with people. Please forgive the aimless scrawl – I have put the drop in the eyes & am not seeing very well. – Plus the feet too [?]. I have been to the Ritzy-est nightclub in Paris which means anywhere. The story is too long. I was where I was, with an English photographer from the Daily Express & it cost plenty just to sit at the bar counter & look over the shoulders of those who paid more than real money. I do not forget my darling girl. You are my wife and I your husband and its very silly, and it’s also very true and there is not much that can be done about it expect think of each other. From the Lido we went down to the Market’s area where we had a couple of beers. For 7 hours I have been pounding the foot path and now, really couldn’t care less about the sight & hide of the dopes who look after them.
At this point your poor dear erring, but loving husband, took the knock. He had a lot to tell you, but was breathless, and too slow on the draw. All I want is for Roley to get his washing away from hanging over the bath, so that I can get some of mine into the same position. Me – I’ve been washing too! I got very loving towards you (not that I am not always in that state when I’m 12,000 miles away) because you are the earth I put my anchor into and you take it & have not to leave it. I think you are quite the nicest girl – and also, the most forgiving little bugger – in the whole of the southern hemisphere – and the northern too, for that matter – And no amount of scolding, or disappointment in me will alter that sad fact. I love you. I wish you were here because I am now very cold & am shivering like a leaf (aspen). Part of this fatal affection for is maybe put down to the fact that I walked around for seven hours yesterday on only a bit of a bun and 1 ½ cups of coffee. You remember Georges Simenon, the Belgian author who wrote those short novels I sometimes got you to read. Novels about the gloomy French & their problems. He often talks about his lousy, unhappy heroes leaning against, or upon, a zinc lined bar, listening to the rain beating on the pavement outside whilst they drown their sorrows in a glass of Calvados. Well, I have never had a glass of Calvados, and didn’t know what the hell anyone could find to drown in it. So I ups and bought a flask of it for only 175 francs which is 4/3. There is still 2/1 worth left in the bottle and it is a very pleasant sort of fire water, made I am told, out of apple juice. Only goes to show, doesn’t it? Look, if you don’t forgive me, I won’t ever be the same. I’ll do a Blunden on you and regret it for ever afterwards [Wep’s friend, journalist Geoff Blunden deserted his wife Micky and married another woman]. I wouldn’t be writing to you if I didn’t think more of you than my actions indicate. Yah!
Yesterday afternoon, I was gloomily looking in a shop window on the Rue des Capucines, when a voice said “Do you think they are nylons or orlons?” I. quick as a flash, replied “I wouldn’t have a clue”. (Smart, eh?) Then he says – “I don’t think I come from too far away from you”. Me – “Could be, Lane Cove, Australia,” Him “Bondi, Sydney, what are you doing?” Me – “Contemplating a beer”. Him – “Oright, we can we go?” Us – “Let’s see”. And so, one of the world’s fleetingest friendships was formed between W. Edwin Pidgeon, late of Northwood, NSW and Ron Watson, not a Sergeant of Detectives, Bondi, NSW. He is over here on some business for Hoyts & has invited me to accompany him to a movie taking, involving the newest French glamour puss, next Monday. He says “come out with me & have a free lunch with the director”. So by the time you read this letter I shall have been irrevocably seduced by the vision splendid – I hope. In any case you are not too bad yourself – much slicker than most of the Frogs I have seen. At your age too, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Remember the nice happy beer we had together at Bulli – the day after we were married. I liked that. Still do. I spent all day looking at the shops which had nothing on Sydney’s. Funny thing is that the shop keepers move great quantities of their stock out on to the foot paths – and you see washing machine demonstrations – cooking exhibitions – bundles of clothing, meat, fish, & God knows what, all displayed halfway across the street. Enough to make the civic fathers of Sydney turn in their graves. I tell you, it’s crazy. Everybody tells me it is nutty to buy goods in Paris. And on looking at the prices I’m inclined to agree. They say wait till you get to London. There is nothing much in the stylish line around. Perhaps because winter is just around the corner. I still love you. I am one of most contented goons, you are ever likely to meet up with. I think you are a bit sappy too. Enough of this love talk. Roley is getting his secretary to take me to a big time fashion parade. I hope I can remember what to tell you – about the details & who’s there & what have you. This Paris is quite a [place – even if it is only the tourists who play. Roley says most of the Parisians have never seen the Folies Bergere [history of], and to prove his point, immediately asked his cleaning up woman (not a bad line of about 40) if she had ever seen the show – she had not.
I don’t need any money – I still have £210 left. I can’t see any point in spending it on shows & things. After all – they fundamentally the same in Sydney – if not as well done. I’m sick of gaping at notable buildings – I find the flavour of a town in its shops & its people. The way they go out – the way they work – The slums & the shops – the devil take the equestrian statues. Just now I wouldn’t mind being home or having you & Graham here with me. Yesterday morning I had a little pleasure in doing a note of the Pont St Michael [Pont Saint Michel], took a photo too, so may be able to get something out of it. The Pont Neuf is the next one up on the river & can be well seen from the windows of Roley’s flat. He & his secretary usually eat out but think it a good idea if I cook them a Chinese meal. I’d like to have a go, & see how the old form is. I still love you.
I have suddenly lost my punch – and find it hard to write any more. Although I am too lousy to let this letter go without filling up the back of this page. Looks as if I’ll finish off a bit half cooked. Which reminds me, that I bought some books by a yank named Henry Miller – strictly banned in England & USA – and no wonder too. King would know of him. I bought the extra books because from what I read in his, which I bought in Rome, “Tropic of Capricorn” he has approached a sort of Indian Tantric, (i.e. sexual union) form of mysticism. Half of this book is straight out surrealist writing – the other, & really vivid half is devoted to an extraordinarily detailed, and enthusiastic account of fucking. It will make your eyes pop out. I can’t quite work out just how much exhibitionism is involved, or whether it is a purposeful contrast between the flight from self & the submergence in self. Seems like a contest between the flesh & the spirit. Anyway – in whichever vein he writes, he is equally moving. Needless to say his books are on the banned list but it is possible that I can get them in. You know, by just walking through Customs with them in my hand – or pocket, etc. Funny thing – Every country I have been through, just accepts your word that you have nothing to declare. Not once has my pack been opened. The bag, incidentally is getting a bit of a bulge in it. Packed pretty solid. Have had the jumper on only 3 or 4 times. Extraordinarily warm over here. Dearest, dearest [little love heart illustration with arrow through it]
Even if it kills me I’ll finish this page. You would (please say yes) wouldn’t you, rather have a letter of nothing, than wait for some Baedeker description of Paris?
How is Graham? I hope I am more understanding when I get back. Something has been missing. Am finding it hard to know what to get him. The limitations of plane packing have to be considered. I’m glad to hear you are all well. I still haven’t got your measurements – but any letters from Bucarest haven’t been sent here yet. I am very glad you know that I am out of the satellite countries. I think it may have been somewhat worrying if you had thought I was still there whilst the big blue is going on between Poland & Hungary & Russia [Hungarian uprising and the Russian invasion].
Au revoir & auf wiedersehen to you, dear wife, and terribly earnest thoughts for Graham. Am looking forward to seeing Trellie – 2 months difference – I won’t know her, nor she me.
I cannot, without complete collapse of gentlemanly restraint, tell you all how much I miss you.
Am getting to the stage of looking forward to my return home. Not that I’ll be any better, once I settle down. But there it is – Many hugs, restrained & otherwise, ditto for these xxxxxxxxxx
X – this one for the female hound, Nortey Trellie.
If I had the space I’d bring her back a piece of French fence post to sniff at.
(P.S. Our entrance to the Lido cost us 25/- each for 1 Scotch. We sat at the bar & looked on. We only had the 1 Scotch.)
116 Champs-Élysées 75008 Paris, France
Route des Tribunes 75016 Paris, France
Paris, France
75006 Paris, France
Rue Muller, Montmartre, Paris; 24 October 1956 (Looking down Rue Muller on the right and Rue Feutrier to the left from the lower steps of Rue Maurice Utrillo. The cafe on the left remains a cafe today)Rue Maurice Utrillo, Montmartre, Paris; 24 October 1956 (Looking down to Rue Muller from about halfway down the stairs of Rue Maurice Utrillo)Pont Saint Michel and Notre Dame, Paris; 24 October 1956Pont Neuf, Paris; 24 October 1956St Paul Metro Station Rue de Rivoli, Paris; 24 October 1956Possibly Boulevard Poissonnière, Paris; 24 October 1956Looking west along Boulevard de Bonne Nouvelle at the corner of Rue d’Hauteville, Paris; 24 October 1956Street art along Boulevard de Bonne Nouvelle near the corner of Rue d’Hauteville, Paris; 24 October 1956Looking southwest from Boulevard de Bonne Nouvelle at Porte Saint-Denis, Paris; 24 October 1956Junction of Boulevard Saint-Denis and Boulevard de Bonne Nouvelle, Paris; 31 December 2013
![[Longchamp Race Course, Paris 1956]](http://wepidgeon.com/pidgeonpost/wp-content/uploads/2013/10/WEP-Artworks-1735-copy1.jpg)
