Friday
London
Dearest,
I’m sorry I had to rush your letter so yesterday and I hope you were able to read it. With wandering around Charing X Rd looking for those mags, it was almost one o’clock by the time I got home. Jack Gray came with me and we went to the Beaver for a cupper afterwards. Then, soon after I got in, Jack E came home as he nearly always does on Thursday and didn’t leave until after 2 o’clock. So by the time I’d washed a couple of socks, time was getting on. I sat down for a minute and fell asleep (the affect of getting up at 3 a.m. I suppose) and it was well after 4 when I woke up. Then I made up your mags, which I hope you’ve received by now, and came into town to be sure of catching tonight’s post with them. Then on to the Beaver to scratch out your letter and it was well turned six o’clock. And that, my sweet, is how my day off goes by, though I had sworn to get some fresh air yesterday.
Darling, I’m hovering on the verge of making violent love to you. I’m in that teasing mood today when your life would be a misery. Or would it? You know the days I mean, when my hands are all over the place at all sorts of odd moments, but I think that instead of holding out on me as you used to do, you’d be dragging me away up the stairs, wouldn’t you? Oh, angel, this is doing me no good at all, but I thought you would like to know that my mood of yesterday has persisted, which only goes to show that you are not the only one to suffer in the cause of celibacy – and me cast away among all these Piccadilly pros, too. To say nothing of the shameless couples whose pulsating posteriors are very vaguely camouflaged beneath raincoats as they lie on the grass in parks, gardens and on river banks. Oh, sweetheart, there are times when the thought of you so far away sends me almost crazy. Precious, I wonder if you realise that I’m trying to tell you I’m crazy about you and that for me there’s no one else – but what wouldn’t I give to have you near. Do take good care of yourself, won’t you? And please make an early visit to the dentist to see what you need doing and what the cost will be. You only need to get your teeth right and I think you will have a long spell free from any sort of illness – even colds.
Last night, by the way, I had a most unfortunate experience. I’d been up to Fleet Street to see if I could get an ‘Echo’ and found the office closed, so I went to have a quiet beer. I got mixed up with a crowd of Scottish pongoes who mistook me for a sailor and kept pushing whisky at me. In the end I had to be positively rude to a couple for they would soon have had me as boozed as themselves! Anyway, I got out and who should I run into at the bottom of the Strand but Power, himself three parts over. “Alcohol,” he said. “More alcohol, that’s what you want.” And deserting a brigadier who was with him, dragged me into The Chandos (of 4/– sandwich fame – remember?). There we had a row with the barmaid, who was most insolent, and off we went to the Strand, where he bought quite a few beers before we were through. Although he didn’t want me to pay at all, it cost me money I could ill afford, but it may prove an investment, though I doubt it now!
I think that is all the news except that Dot would like the negatives of the children so that she can have some done for herself. I’ve sent Jane a copy of the one with them both on – or rather, I will send it as I’ve written but not posted the letter.
I liked your little “pome”. Hope it clicks. Why not send a few more to George Whitfield?
By the way, I’ve not had a ‘Journalist’ for ages. Do they still come?
Now I must get some sleep. I’ve got a hangover! Bye, my love, and take care of yourself. All my love to you, sweet.
Ever your own,
Arthur X
May 191944