Wednesday, May 23, 2018

21.9.67 - An evening with the Purdys


Sydney 21.9.67
Dear Mother,
How’s things with you? Got a letter from you yesterday, which was very nice indeed. By the way, I did get the things Jack sent me – sorry that I’ve not confirmed it before this, but (A) I assumed that you would guess I had since I didn’t panic about them, and (B) I just kept forgetting to tell you. [2018: this is curious. Back on the 11th, I'd told her that whatever this Jack sent – whoever he was – had arrived with unexpected colouring on it.]

Still no news from my source so I’ll very likely be coming home soon, I should think.

Went to Cecil’s last night for dinner – walked all the way (about half an hour from here) mainly because I missed the bus. I intended to get there for the first paCecil’s wife] is very nice – reminds me of Wendy Hiller (as she is now) for some reason – and we had a lovely dinner. Their lounge is one of the most comfortable-looking rooms I’ve ever seen. You go into it and look and immediately relax. Of course it’s full of books (including the compete set of Punch from the month it began till well into this century), lots of records, trophies, pictures etc; and it almost seems crowded out with furniture. You have to keep going round things to get anywhere. The house is a bit of a maze; I couldn’t see much of the rest because it was fairly dark inside, but rooms and passages seem to go off in all directions. Didn’t have tea till about 7.15 or so and the rest of the evening passed very quickly listening to Anna Russell (doing take-offs of G&S operas and the Ring Cycle by Wagner) and part of a record by Flanders and Swann. So, a very quiet and pleasant evening was had by all. They gave me a lift home afterwards which was also very nice!
rt of the trip. Anne [

I’ve finally finished David Copperfield – this morning – reading the last 90 pages or so in one go. Gee, it’s a fabulous book – terribly sad, of course. It’s always horrible the way characters that you’ve grown to like a lot are killed off in Dickens books. But it’s the way of the world, I suppose. And you seem to feel it a bit of a loss knowing that these people are going to stop cropping up in your life. You get very attached to them.

Well, this isn’t much of a letter, I’m afraid. I’m not doing anything at the moment, just sitting around waiting – I’d really like either to feel that on Saturday or some such I was either starting something here, or definitely going home. But nothing I do seems to hurry these people up at all. So ------ never mind,

See ya soon, I think, Love, Mike.

Telegram dated 23.9.67 from 8 Lane Cove, NSW:
Home Tuesday, Mike.  [2018: This address seems to be relatively close to where I was staying with the Newburys.]