Friday
St Chad’s Terrace, Shrewsbury
My Dear,
I’ve been meaning to write all week but the fact is that I’ve been so sleepy I’ve fallen asleep at every available moment. People tell me this is the usual complaint of ‘foreigners’ here. Also I’ve walked miles and miles every day. The policy of the paper seems to lie in keeping us all on the trot. So far I’ve never been more than one hour at a time in the office. One walks and walks – and what hills! As a matter of fact I did write to you on Wednesday night, sitting up in bed. I was half asleep and next morning could hardly read the letter myself so did not inflict it on you.
As you will have guessed from the absence of any telegrams, nothing has happened. The symptoms continue much to my discomfort. When I tell you that I’ve started knitting, you will know just how certain I feel about things. I haven’t been to a doctor about this yet, as I’ve been to the local vet nearly every day this week with my neck. I’ve just returned from my final visit now and the beast is healing up nicely. The bandage was dispensed with this morning so you need not be afraid of coming to see me. Mother and Chris are coming on Sunday, by the way.
Oh, darling, I do hate digs. These present ones are quite impossible so I’m going to give a week’s notice this evening, and I admit I do funk the job. Does one make up a pretty story or does one say straight out that the food is lousy and that one hates eggs with ‘Danish’ stamped shamelessly on their shells. I’ve spent most of the afternoon looking at other possibilities. Every landlady presents you with her view as if this makes up for everything. After staring at this damned quarry for a week I know that one new-laid egg is worth all the views in the world. I’m an awkward person about food, especially just now, so I’m rather in favour of taking a room I saw today, where I have to ‘find myself’. This mysterious phrase means that I rent the room, purchase my own food and let landlady cook same. I would have my midday meal out. One of the advantages of this scheme is that it would be good practice for me in learning how to cater. See how I think of you at every turn! Quite seriously, dear, I worry a lot about whether I’ll be able to make you happy from the purely housewife point of view.
While we are on this subject – don’t tell me what a fine cook your mother was every time I have a culinary tragedy!!! Remember that the tragedy will be just as obnoxious to my stomach as to yours, because my mother is also a good cook, as I have been forcibly reminded during my one week in digs.
Talking of food – that story of yours about there being only one fish and chip shop here is all boloney. So far I’ve counted six! My faith in you had been shaken, so don’t be surprised if I use the reminder “fish and chips” in any future argument!
With regard to this other business, it worries me sometimes that you might think I’m rather letting you down by not taking any more stuff. I’ve got all sorts of courage – as I’ve proved to myself to my own amazement every day this week, but somehow I haven’t got the courage to go on killing this thing that has stood out so strongly against my former violent onslaught. For one thing I do believe (and this is a positive and not a religious belief) that when you work directly against nature, nature will eventually have its own back.
Another point – as you probably know, I’m just a bit fond of you and a normal part of this strange emotion is that I want your child more than anything else in the world. That’s how I feel about things. In my long hours of tramping up and down the Salopian hills I’ve had an opportunity of weighing all the pros and cons. I’m not blind to any of the difficulties. I go sick when I think of my mother, and I’ll hate leaving my career at this hopeful point, but the fact remains that in spite of everything, there are moments when I’m bursting with pride. There is more primitive woman in me than I ever realised before.
I’m afraid I’ll get told off for writing like this, as I was before, but, dearest, I must talk to somebody about it.
Could you possibly manage to get here next weekend? Or will you be down for the Show? I do miss you so, and we must get everything straightened out soon. The chin is keeping up well, all things considered. I haven’t cried since last Saturday. There’s one thing about this – if the chin is still up, in spite of loneliness, physical sickness and mental anxiety, at the end of the next few months, I’ll know that it will stick up through anything. I’m keeping my job and my worries strictly in two departments. It would be fatal if I allowed them to mix.
Write to me here next week and then I’ll let you know my new address.
By the way, keep your chin up at your end.
I’ll post this and then I must face my landlady with my week’s rent in one hand and my week’s notice in the other. Oh dear! After that I’ll get on with my knitting.
Write soon, sweetheart, and let me know what chance there is of seeing you soon.
All my love,
Stella
Aug 071936