6.9.69 - more on the new job

6.9.69 [handwritten]

Dear Mum, just got your letter about Kevin’s visit. I had asked him if he’d go and see you ˗ but I was surprised that (a) he did so soon and (b) that he stayed so long. Did you think he’d changed much? I suppose the mere fact of the above shows that he has ˗ and  didn’t he dislike cats before?? I wonder if Fred actually remembered him ˗ they’ve certainly met before.

Though it’s only the late afternoon I’m working and have been since about 11.45 at the Cinema. One of the day cashiers is sick so I got an emergency call this morning ˗ just after I’d bought myself some steak for the next two days. I left a letter for David who arrives today to help himself to it if he wants but I doubt if he will.

We never all seem to be together in that flat ˗ today will be one of the few occasions so far, but tomorrow Angela goes on holiday back to her home so we’ll be back to four again ˗ or five rather; we’ve had a permanent guest ever since I’ve been back from Hastings. He does contribute to the upkeep so I suppose that’s something.

The job is going along and though it’s six hours a night, the time does pass fairly quickly. I’ve got to work through till 10.00 tonight ˗ time and a half for the day part of it ˗ but it’s still a hell of a long time. And possibly tomorrow as well.

The mixture of people there continues to fascinate me ˗ the doorman is from Trinidad, a European, but he has the native accent. There’s an Irish night ticket lady, and another cashier is Irish (with Maltese and Italian parents), another doorman grew up in NZ! What a place! I still don’t know whether I have a job after the 15th, but I’m not greatly concerning myself.

Last night (a night off) we got a call at the flat from Hazel to say that a man had approached her outsider her present flat, and had so upset her that she’d told him her flat number and all! She wanted some company in case he did arrive and caused any more trouble so Ian and I went over. The man never showed up ˗ he’d said he was a film actor! ˗ but Hazel gave us a meal to compensate for calling us over for nothing! She’s quite mad, but marvellously sweet. We had a very enjoyable and relaxing evening really, so it was rather pleasant after all.

Must go back to work ˗ and leave this Italian restaurant, where someone in the kitchen seems to have a bad case of grumps. There’s a great palaver going on out back.

Later. What nice people they are that work here! On Saturday I think it was one of the ticket collector girls went out and bought me a sandwich and ‘forgot’ to tell me how much it was, and tonight someone has gone into the baker’s behind the theatre and bought me a Danish pastry ˗ and won’t take anything ˗ what fatal fascination have I that people want to buy me food all the time!!

Have I told you I bought a (cheap) camera yesterday. Might at long last get some pictures of the sort of places I inhabit.  Love, Mike

18.8.69 - Back to London

18.8.69 [handwritten] Back at Bethune Rd

Came home today to a bonanza of letters from you, and also Korea, and the Home Office (I’m now free to stay here, apparently for an unspecified length of time) and a long overdue postcard from Michael T in Rome ˗ I’d seen him back in London before I left! I’m very pleased to hear that you’re doing so well, and I was quite delighted with the slightly ‘droopy’ letter of the 12th! Sorry that you weren’t sure what to do with the mail ˗ I did get two letters (I think that was all) in Hastings, via the flat, but the others might have all arrived here after the date when I said not to send anymore on. It’s great that, as usual, you’re making so many friends and seeing all those others you haven’t seen for years. Have you had that race down the Ward yet? Or are you leaving such trivial things to those who are fairly new to this hospital business?

The flat here has started to look quite lived in ˗ I was quite glad not to have had to go through the transition period of getting everything into place once the others moved in.

My foot, I’m afraid, is misbehaving somewhat though it can hardly be expected not to be upset after what I did to it yesterday. As it was the last day, I went in twice (in the water, sorry) and almost ran on it. The result was, naturally, that I could barely walk on it when we finally got home and it’s been feeling fairly tired all day today.

Mrs S fell flat on her face going to work the other morning (she works three days a week in a typing office) and has a chin slowly going purple. She's really very sweet and we get on very well. I was quite sorry to leave this morning in fact, though I had thought, up till then, how nice it would be to get back to London again. I’ve been invited back again anytime ˗ which seems a fair enough criterion, doesn’t it? [More to the point it was extremely generous, since I doubt that I contributed anything to my board while I stayed there!]

If my foot clears up sufficiently to be able to walk comfortably before the end of the week I’ll try and get a job. I don’t know if I’ve already said I’m thinking of trying a job working front-of-house in some theatre ˗ that way I should have quite a bit of the day free to study in. It seems to be full of disadvantages ˗ there’s so much I won’t be able to see, but I can’t see any other way of working. If I get thoroughly fed up I’ll just have to try something else.

Keep getting well, Love, Mike. 

16.8.69 - travel and some foot damage

16.8.69 [handwritten]

Dear Mum, I’m presuming that you’ve written again since your last letter and I hope it contains good news about the ops. The thing is I’m not yet back in London ˗ will be next Monday ˗ and as I said to the others at the flat not to forward any mail after Wednesday, I’ve now made things a bit awkward because I can’t keep up with the news. I was invited to stay over yet a third weekend, rather than go back to London, and so I accepted. But I definitely must get back on Monday in order to see Kevin before he goes. I’ve decided I won’t go to Belgium with him ˗ basically because I’ve not yet heard from the Home Office; they still have my passport in fact, and as I have no way of knowing whether it will now be returned in time I don’t think it’s worth the fuss. [This, I think, was to get a certificate of patriality - now called a Certificate of Entitlement - so I could stay on in the UK, my father being English.] I wrote off and cancelled the tickets, so I hope everything sorts itself out there. Reg said he’d let me know if anything arrived from either the Home Office or the Bank of NZ (where the travel arrangements were being made) by phone, and last night he called to say that he’d received a letter from the Bank addressed to Mr Flaherty! Honestly the amount of time wasted over carelessness like this here is phenomenal. As I’d already written off to cancel the tickets I hope that all that will work out okay.

Harbour Arm, Hastings
courtesy gofishing,uk

The weather here is only today returning to its former glorious self ˗ we’ve had two days of very miserable, though mild weather ˗ and I’m sitting on the pebbles here watching the other two dry off. I didn’t go in because on Wednesday evening we met up with Paul again, and prior to going for a drink with him went out on the old rock Harbour Arm. Coming back off it I jumped down off one rock onto another, and either through being over-cautious, or else thinking that the distance was greater than it was I gave my whole left side a terrific jolt, right through my body. Fortunately the only apparent damage done was to my left foot, and though it seemed okay it got progressively stiffer and sore as the evening went on, so that finally I was in difficulty walking. It was a little less bad the next morning but I went to the doctor just the same. He only prodded around my toes and instep, taking the usual practitioner’s delight in finding the tender spots, and declared that possibly it was a little dislocated, but unlikely to be anything serious. Anyway, he was nice enough I suppose, but probably thought I was making a fuss about nothing. I was glad to have gone because at least it calmed any thoughts of its being something really nasty. It's today walkable on, but this causes it to ache rather much (up till now I’ve been limping around ˗ doubt that does it much good) but I guess it’s improving all right.

The sea looks strange here: it’s artificial somehow. Because the sky merges into it ˗ they’re both very grey at the horizon ˗ the end of [it] doesn’t seem far away and it looks as though the people are swimming in a gorgeously designed (and rather enormous) bath. And the waves are provided by some mechanical means. They’re far too gentle to belong to Mother Nature! Get well, love, Mike.

(P.S. I got Mrs S some flowers today ˗ they’ll arrive on Monday, I trust.)

9.8.69 - Still in Hastings

9.8.69

Dear Mum, Just a small growl that I should have put in before: what is the use of your getting $2 extra a week Sick Benefit if you turn round and give it to me? All right, so you’ve discovered that you can now get $2 Postal Notes, but that’s no excuse to give twice as much as usual to me! As it is I left you with quite a bit to pay for insurance and building society and TV (okay, so you took the latter two over ˗ that’s not the point) and yet you’re still showering money on me week by week. It’s very naughty. Sorry to start off like that and I hope this won’t arrive to spite me just on the day you have an operation or summat, but please do look after yourself. I don’t especially want you to wind up in the poor house. Let me know, when you feel like, how things are going for you, and I’ll keep doing the little I can here.

I’m still being well and truly looked after by Mrs Syrus (particularly) ˗ I haven’t had such a good lot of eating since I left home ˗ except perhaps at the Crowls at Christmas. And we get on fine. Mr Syrus talks to me like another son, and Mrs treats me like one. I’ve been invited to stay on for another week ˗ “if I want to”!! What an invitation.

We’ve been going on the beach at low tide the last couple of days ˗ this way you only get pebbles on the beach and not in the water ˗ although today we got nasty little cuts on our legs ˗ I stepped on a very sharp ledge of rock and came out of the water with blood dripping from half a dozen nicks and scratches!

We had another David-friend with us today: Michael Keenan ˗ a Catholic, would you believe ˗ a rather strange lad, very tall and thin, with a tiresomely quiet voice ˗ though he’s fairly pleasant if a little vague as a person. 

The Powys family

We went for a walk today amongst the Saturday morning shoppers ˗ one shop is selling psychedelically-coloured underpants ˗ I was tempted to buy a pair (I do need ‘em). We went into a bookshop (secondhand and new) and while in there, I noticed how many books this man (an Irishman with a beard, and short and tubby) had by people called Powys. I said I’d never heard of them and thought it strange he should stock so many. Apparently he’s an agent for them and sells them all over the world. So in the end I bought one for interest’s sake ˗ it seems he may be related anyway, the name outside the shop is Powys! There are four brothers and a sister-in-law, all authors, and at least one has made the Penguin Classics series, so they must be reasonably well-known.

So, keep being cheerful, and I’ll keep praying. Love, Mike.

12.8.69 - Back in Hastings

12.8.69 [handwritten]

Dear Mum, I’ll address this and the next few I write to the hospital, although there should be a couple lying at home for you if someone hasn’t already collected them. By this time I suppose you’ll have had either one or both of your ops, and will be well on the way to organising races up and down the Ward with anyone else who cares to take you on! There’s one thing I must sort out ˗ I meant to do it last time but forgot. I received a notice to pay my next lot of Francisco money recently and I have a Postal Note for £3 here to do it. What I want to say is that I hope you haven’t worried about it, because I really think it’s up to me to pay it, even though I’m still not earning anything especially. Just in case you’ve been the usual Good Samaritan that you always are and have paid it, I’ll put a note in to Mrs O’Flaherty saying that she should put the extra £3 onto the next quarter. Will you let me know so that I know how things stand?

Today it is raining, although it’s still very warm (temperatures have been in the 80s and upwards for over a week!) This is the first rain since I arrived here. David’s fourth friend did come to the beach on Sunday. His name is John and he’s about to do his final two years at a Theological College before becoming a Minister. He’s much the same age as all the other friends ˗ between twenty-two and twenty-three ˗ (it’s amazing what a variety of youths you can get at that age) ˗ and quite the liveliest of the four. He’s also the most popular with the Syrus parents (David reckons I come a close second!), but it seems that the other three boys I met don’t bother to try and communicate with an older generation.

We went in the sea four times that day, and stayed longer than usual because for the first time we had a ball to play with, and that kept us all playing around a lot more. John and I seemed to be the most energetic of the lot (!) ˗ we stayed in longer than the others on at least one occasion and were at the forefront of the various other activities that went on (like building a sandcastle (my second childhood this!) and playing a sort of catch-ball on the sands.) David’s father came in too (as he had at Camber) and thoroughly enjoyed himself. He’s much more cheery when he’s in the water (!) and laughs and clowns around pretty energetically. The previous night he and Mrs and David and I had stayed up discussing religion till 2 am ˗ the parents are Methodists, and David leans towards Anglicanism. (He’s been to Church with me both Sundays. The discussion didn’t really get anywhere ˗ except perhaps to clear up my own ideas. Mr S is pretty staunchly Methodist. Love, Mike. 

7/8.8.69 - Alistair's wedding

7/8.8.69 [handwritten]

Dear Mum. Well, well ˗ this is the third day I’ve said to myself I must write properly to you ˗ I only posted a postcard today that I wrote last Monday ˗ but because we’ve spent so much time doing all sorts of things I’ve not had a minute really to spare. The weather has been constantly fabulous and I look more like a Red Indian than a Paleface.

Alistair’s wedding went off very well ˗ the reception was held at Woking, about 20-30 miles from London, at the house of Imogen’s parents, a large country house place with a magnificent flat garden with carefully looked-after shrubs and bushes, and far enough from Woking proper for it to be peaceful. The day, which started out as overcast, became very hot and sultry and all the younger men dispensed with their coats very quickly. I wore my old suit, but helped it on its weary way with a fabulous tie I bought a while back. This seemed to make me acceptable amongst all the superbly dressed people. Imogen’s family seem to be pretty well-off, and so, many of the relations were dressed in considerable finery. There was champagne flowing in all directions, and everybody was in high spirits until the heat quietened them down. Alistair had a gorgeous waistcoat on (he must have been very hot) that Imogen had made out of some furnishing material; it was all gold and bright and green. Imogen was in a white mini-skirt with gold trimmings and with her hair in a sort of Regency fashion. Alistair had composed an Epithalamium (a wedding piece they tell me) for the day based on the usual wedding march, and full of musical quotations, which was written for available forces ˗ mainly his Nottingham University friends ˗ which included David Syrus on piano, [plus] oboe, clarinet, bassoon, basset horn (his father-in-law) and several strings.

The reception broke up about 3.30 and David and I headed back to London, where because we had such a long time to fill in we went and saw A Night at the Opera (at the Station Cinema) ˗ me for the fourth or fifth time! [I must be exaggerating about this; I don’t know how I would have seen it this often.] Then on to Hastings, which is a combination of a seaside resort (unpleasant), a hilly town (pleasant), lots of parks (delightful), an old town (very quaint), and a gorgeous surrounding countryside. The beach, unfortunately, is another one of those pebble ones, although we did go out to Camber yesterday where it is all sand.

Mr Syrus is a dear old shoe shop owner of sixty-six, and Mrs S is from Sheffield, in the North, originally, and very easy-going, a good cook, very motherly (and though it’s perhaps a little hard on Mavis ˗ an efficient housekeeper without being unnecessarily tidy). Peter, David’s younger brother ˗ he’s twenty ˗ is another student musician, rather more practical than David (and a bit lazier ˗ but all young people are!) and very easy to get on with. Last, there’s Scamp ˗ their eight-year-old cat. Love, Mike. 

8.8.69 - Holidaying in Hastings

8.8.69 [Handwritten, in Hastings]

You dear old thing! I just got your non-moany letter about the Rolling Stones. What are we going to do with you? You poor old soul. And you won’t even have me to come in and see you when you don’t feel like seeing anybody...! David [Syrus] says that you’ll be first on the transplant list for kidneys - trust you to be different! All this semi-jocularity does conceal some concern however, and I hope you won’t have any more problems once this lot is over. Anyway, I’m sure all my deputies will keep an eye on you. [I assume this was another reference to my mother having gallstones.]

I’m writing this on the beach actually, sitting on those ridiculous pebbles they have on most of the coasts here. I’m getting used to them, I guess, though I can’t run casually over them the way David does. At least this time I haven’t wound up with just blue bruises on the undersides of my feet. There’s a lovely golden labrador tearing about the beach here ˗ the pebbles don’t seem to worry her unduly! She seems to belong to a perpetually grinning boy of fourteen or so who’s sitting close by.

Over the last few days I’ve met two of David’s friends, one of whom, Paul, is going out to Australia, pretty definitely, some time about September, to teach. Probably in Canberra. I’ve never seen anyone with quite so jaunty a step, but he isn’t actually a very jaunty person. He apparently failed an important Varsity exam, and as a result would get a little more money in a teaching post here than the average teacher from a Training College who hasn’t gone to Varsity. [I think I mean he '\would have got more money.' if he hadn't failed.] Anyway, he’s been working on the buses in Hastings for the last year or so because he hasn’t been satisfied with what they’ve offered him in teaching. The other boy, Chris, has an artistic mother who does stain-glassed [corrected in the letter to ‘stained-glass] windows mainly, it seems. He has rather an inferiority complex because of her, though David says he’s a pretty good cellist, and seems very nervy.

We’ve just been in the sea, which is rather boisterous and pretty cold. There’s more wind around than usual today too. I haven’t been wearing my watch down to the beach since I’ve been here, though I must have done the first day we were out as the skin on the place where the watch and strap normally are is pink (but a deep pink) and not at all like the rest of my skin. It’s very tender too. I hope it will be all right, but I let it calm down a little yesterday, by wearing the watch again, and not letting the sun at it. In fact we didn’t go near the sea yesterday. I for one felt that I was burning to a cinder, and wanted to give myself a break from the overall suntanning I’d been having. We went for quite a long walk out of the north of the town, through fields and bush, and it was really fabulously relaxing. When we went to Camber, we had to go via Rye (the town where the notorious Dr Syn had his headquarters) and we had a look at it. (Hastings has a lot of old houses in its ‘old town’ part, but no cobbles.)

We played golf here the other evening ˗ on a revoltingly hilly course ˗ Pete [David’s brother] and I were 100, David 102. But the views during the game made it well worthwhile. Dave and I are wending our way through the Wagner Ring cycle (nineteen LPs!!) ˗ he got the Solti recording set cheap recently. There really is a lot of fabulous music in these works, and for all his faults, he certainly knew what he was about. When you consider these four operas were written over twenty-four years ˗ it’s amazing how well they hang together and to each other.

[ Postscript written along the edge of the opening paragraph - somewhat reminiscent of my father’s approach to making the most of all available space in a letter.]

I’ll keep on praying for you ˗ though I’m sure the Good Lord has you down on his special list already - love, Mike