Scope and Content
The past month has found me so occupied that I have hardly had time to write more than an odd note to urgent correspondents. but I am making an attempt to clear my desk a little before Easter. I think your snaps are very good indeed. It looks a nice garden. Do you do it? or has your father (like so many retired business-men) turned into an enthusiastic amateur gardener? I am afraid gardening is not one of my passions: in fact I detest it: though I used to slave at that Rectory garden at Ampthill because I can't bear to see a place go to the dogs. But I should not bother to do so much if I had my time to cover over again! Oh, the mowing of those sloping lawns! It used to take me one whole day a week to do them. I was proud of them when I had finished! I could never get any of my "gardeners" to tackle them. I remember I got a motor mower once, but it simply would not take those steep slopes: so I sold it to the Bank Manager. (Did you see, by the way, that Caton, once manager at Barclays, and a very keen churchman, had died? He turned up here one day about two years ago.)
We are still in heavy weather here. Florence has been up and about for some weeks, and is as strong and vigorous as ever physically. But her poor mind has gone off a great deal. The Doctor says it is senile decay. She still attempt to do all her old jobs, but she is quite incompetent. She has, unfortunately, lost her power of concentration, so she makes little attempt to read. This is a great pity, as she used to spend hours happily pouring over the newspapers. So she has nothing to occupy herself with (except Tino, the Siamese cat I gave her two years ago, a really adorable animal), and is unsettled and bored. She feels a big gap has opened in her life, and there is nothing to fill the void. This makes her impatient and even angry at times, as she feels something has gone wrong somewhere, but she doesn't know exactly what it is! It is all really very sad. But at the moment I am more anxious about Di. She got over the 'flu and has been coming downstairs and sitting in the drawingroom sewing and mending for some weeks, joining us at meals, and displaying a good appetite. Then last week one night she had a slight heart attack and only got back to bed with difficulty. This has definitely put her recovery back. She gets up every day and comes downstairs, but her appetite has gone, and she exists on a boiled egg, Brand's essence, cocoa (she never like tea, oddly enough), brandy, soup and Bovril. She has become terribly thin and pale, tired and listless. I really wonder sometimes if she is going to pull round. Unless she can get some strength up soon, I feel she will just sink away from sheer weariness. The Dr. gives her tablets and what-not, but she is not getting on.
I think if only we could get some really warm sunshine, so that she could get out into the garden, or/and into the car for a drive, there might be a change. But this wretched winter seems to be extending itself endlessly. We had a long day of sunshine yesterday, after weeks of rain and cold, but there was a bitterly cold east wind with it, and now (as I write) the rain is here again, slashing against the windows! When will it end?
I took a day off a short time ago, and went with my New Zealand friend to Greenwich, where he had never been. I had the added object of finding something about Richard Nicholls. But all to no purpose, I made enquiries about him, but there is no record of his name in the annals of the Dutch wars. Apparently he was not an important Naval officer. It has always struck me as odd that he went into the Navy after such a distinguished military career in his earlier years.
Anyway, Gordon and I made the tour of the Queen's House, and into the Naval College (where I spent a short time in the 1914-18 war as a young RAF officer) to view the painted hall. I always enjoy a visit to Greenwich. It's a pity it's so awkward to get to in the winter: we went by tram to New Cross, then by electric tram to Charing X. In the evening, we went to hear the opera "The Consul" which Sir L. Olivier was so impressed with in New York, that he got it transferred to London. The press notices were most enthusiastic here: so we were surprised to find several completely empty rows in the Dress Circle. And now it seems it is coming off next week, owing to lack of support! Maybe the subject is too depressing for most people in these wretched times. But it certainly held my interest throughout, though I thought the music like Puccini at his least inspired!
I was sorry to hear of the death of dear old Chappell, a most loyal and devoted friend to me. And Canon Cotton has gone! I hear that Mrs.Du Sautoy simply cannot get rid of the house in Dunstable St. I don't know when I shall be able to come up to see Sir A. I heard from him a few days ago. He says he cannot read now, and writing is a great effort. Oh these poor old people!!
All good wishes for a Happy Easter.
Your sincerely"
"P.S. Yes - there were three Barton boys. The one your mother remembered , who died when he was about 14, was called Hugh. The others were William and (I've just forgotten his name, though I mentioned it last time). Gertrude Barton and Florence and Di were confirmed together and Ockley Church in Surrey, where the late Pierre Du Sautoy's father was Rector. His (the Rector's) wife was Annie Eagles, daughter of the Mrs.Eagles who was F & D's great-aunt. When the Eagles family returned to England from Trinidad, they were divided up, and Florence came to old Mrs.Eagles at Dunstable St. (She lived in that house about 40 years!), and Di went to Ockley to the daughter, and to be a companion to little Pierre (who was abominably spoilt, which explains his childish behaviour in later years). The Bartons were intimately connected with the Eagles, and used to pay regular visits to Ockley Rectory. But Florence and Di maintain that the Bartons were frightful spongers, and always pleaded poverty to get as much out of the Eagles as they could. However, the palings ended the connection at Ampthill, and now death is completing the sad story!"