Scope and Content
"I am quite at a loss to account for the letter you wrote on September 4th. to Menton, and which has been returned to you.
According to my diary, I went from Menton on September 3rd. to Cap d'Antibes to stay with a French friend for a few days: then we both went in his car to Grenoble in the mountains, but I was back at Stella Bella on the 14th., and remained there till the 22nd. when I left for England! Of course, my cousin, who has rented Stella Bella from me (though I have my own rooms there reserved for me) is the actual permanent occupier, and his name is Nevin (I think perhaps I may have told you he is the son of an American father, an English mother (my mother's sister), and he himself became a naturalised Frenchman in the 1920's, and during the war married a French girl, the widow of his friend who was killed in 1940). But they were away from Menton all the summer until the end of September, after I left. The two servants at Stella Bella have been there for years. Moreover any amount of letters arrive there for me, and scarcely a week passes but my cousin sends some on to me. So it is all very mysterious. I did write to you from Menton sometime in July, and I received a letter from you there. However, I am glad the pencil crayon situation solved itself!
Your tale of illness in Ampthill has a parallel here. Just before Christmas, Miss Di had one of those coughing and gasping for breath attacks she used to have sometimes at Ampthill. She always called it her "chokes", but nothing was ever done about it, as it was put down to a little peculiarity of her own that cropped up whenever she had a cold. However, this attack, which came on just as she was leaving church, was infinitely worse then anything of the kind that had happened before. We got her into the car (I had parked outside the church to collect them after finishing my own service at the Priory), and home and into bed, still gasping and straining. I 'phoned the doctor and he came at once, and injected her and calmed her down. He told me there was definitely some serious trouble in the larynx. Well she stayed in bed all over Christmas, for three weeks, and of course all our arrangements and entertainments had to go by the board. When she got up, the doctor said she must see a specialist, and I took her to Savage, a Harley Street man who lives on Richmond Green, and she had an X-ray, and now it appears she has a growth pressing on her right vocal chord (which is paralysed) which is narrowing her larynx. This of course accounts for her "thick" voice: she has only half a throat to speak with, as it were. Savage says she must go into hospital and have the throat scraped with a radium bomb: so we are expecting to hear any moment that there is a vacant private ward at Richmond Hospital, and she will go in and have it done. He says it will only be a queston of a few days in hospital. Fortunately, Richmond Hospital is quite close ... in a road turning off Queens Road, adjoining Richmond Park.
She is very calm and brave about it all, and says she will be glad to get it over. This is the first hint of any kind of illness either of them have had since they came here: but of course it has to be remembered that Florence is now 82 and Di 81, and it would be almost a miracle if something or other did not develop. The doctor told me privately that if the operation is not done, she will have a bad time before long, and die within a short time. But the radium treatment may retard the growth for some time. It is all very like my dear mother's case. She had radium treatment for her throat, and it put her right for about five years. But it all came back again, worse then ever. However, we hope Di will have better luck.
Roehampton Priory is a private hospital for nervous and slightly mental cases. It has the reputation of being very expensive. A good many titled people seem to be treated there. There are about 100 patients, and it has a definitely religious foundation. There has always been a chaplain (the hospital began over 100 years ago) and the chapel is open to the public: so it is used (especially for the early services) by a good many people living in the vicinity. The house is like an early Victorian mansion: the same sort of thing as Ampthill House, only much larger. There are 50 acres of grounds round it: so it is like a country estate. I find a good deal to do there, one way or another: and of course it is quite handy to get to from here: so in the present circumstances, it is just the job for me.
I was lunching with a friend at the Cavalry Club a few days ago, and in walked Andrew Wingfield. He had been with Sir A to have an X-ray on his ear. I hear the journey to London rather knocked him up. But after all at 92 ... or is it 93 ...? I suppose Mr. Broun is still alive, as I have heard nothing about him, and certainly not seen his death announced in the "Times". He must be 92 also! I am afraid I offended him very badly before I left, by not going to say Goodbye to him. But that last week at Ampthill was just a nightmare of hurry and bustle. I had to come down here to see about getting a load of furniture into this house, and ovens fixed and what not: I returned Friday, Saturday and Sunday to clear up and clear out. I only just had time to nip in to see Sir A on the Sunday afternoon. I just could not find the time to go up and see Mr. Broun. I wrote to him at once on arriveal here, explaining and apologising ... but he sent no reply. I wrote to hime again from Menton (which he knew well in the old days): but again, no reply. I know he is a very touchy old man, but we had always been the best of friends during my time at Ampthill and I was very sorry to think it ended like that. What happened about the Du Sautoy house, by the way? Did it find a purchaser? We heard that Edward and his wife had gone to live near Woburn.
A friend of mine here in London was travelling on business in Beds. about a month ago. He often used to come and stay with me for a night at the Rectory before the war. Passing through Ampthill, he stopped his car outside the church and went in to have a look for old times' sake. Inside was Mrs.Perton, who began a long tirade against the Rector, and informed my friend the congregation was going to pieces, and the services had dropped off in every way. And so on. He strolled up Holly Walk and ran into Mr.Waddy, who invited him into the Rectory where they had quite a long talk. Edwin said it gave him quite a turn (as they say) to enter the drawing room again and see a grand piano standing exactly where mine used to stand.
I am sorry to hear about Mrs. Mile's husband. Did Mrs.Sexton get a divorce, by the way? Does Mrs.Dopping-Hepenstal still come to church? I note the Lawsons are very much to the fore nowadays. I am afraid I always though him rather a sneak. I discovered he was the man behind that Hitler and Mussolini business and praying for their souls which the Beds. Times made such a fuss about: but he never owned up to it, even when he heard me discussing the matter with Joe.
I hope your throat is quite better now. Kind remembrances to all your family.
Yours sincerely,"
"P.S. Eva sent a cake and a letter just before Christmas, and a card to the Miss E's. As she seemed to intend the cake for all of us, Florence sent her a card. But all her Christmas correspondence was a muddle.