Scope and Content
"I owe you many apologies, but I will begin by thanking you for the very delightful Christmas card. It's odd you should mention the table with the map of Ampthill under glass, as it has now quite a different appearance! Shortly after the arrival of the furniture here, the glass got broken, and when I took it to be repaired, the man in the shop suggested I should have a piece of mirror cut to fit in the frame, and so it is now! Heaven knows what became of the map of Ampthill.
Now for the apologies. This year has been such a year of movement and sorrow and confusion, that I am afraid many things have gone by the board. I remember seeing your pencils, but I must have been away when they came: and I imagine they are in one of my drawers here, along with your letter and the Nicholls article. But in June I had to go up to Yorkshire to settle up my father's affairs, and it was a long and involved business. (Ever since 1947 I seem to have been occupied in settling up affairs!). Moreover, I seem now to have accumulated a vast correspondence list, reaching out to all parts of the world, and my heart almost fails me when I see the pile of letters on my desk whenever I have been away and come back! (I like reading them all the same!) Heaven knows what happened to Aunt Eva's cake! I expect they decided to open it and eat it. If Miss Florence did, she would certainly not remember it, as her memory is almost nil. At the end of the summer, my American cousin Cynthia and her husband who had been over for the Festival of Britain (what a washout it was!) were due to go back on the Queen Mary. Then the husband ran into some people who wanted him to accompany them on a cruise in the Mediterranean: an all-male crew. After a great deal of chaning of mind and indecision, I eventually decided to take over his berth on the Queen Mary and return to America with Cynthia, as Miss Florence is in good and capable hands here, and (apart from her poor old brain) is in wonderful health. She urged me to go, and said she would be all right. So I went. My cousins live at Santa Barbara in California, and it was while I was there, thoroughly enjoying the sunshine and life generally, that I began to have trouble with my inside. I will spare you the sordid details, but it had to do with my bowel. The specialist I consulted in Los Angeles could not quite make it out, but he said it could not be very serious, as my general health was, for my age, over rather than under par. He wanted me to go into hospital for observation and tests. I thought that if it meant hospital, I had better get back to England, as I knew Miss Florence would be in a mighty flap if she thought of me dying out in California; and she would be sure I was dying if I was in hospital. So I flew all the way home. On arrival in England, I consulted Harley Street, and they soon diagnosed the trouble. I went into the nursing home attached to the Richmond Hospital and was duly operated on. Now I am as fit and well as ever again. I should have been returning to England for Christmas in any case, so all is well.
I must explain about the Valders. Ever since we left Ampthill, Mrs.V. has conducted a regular correspondence with Miss Florence. But the latter is now completely unable to write a letter. She has no power of concentration. So what correspondence she has now has to be written by me. i write to her two sisters for her, and anything else that crops up. While I was in hospital, I made an effort to write to people who were waiting for replies, and Mrs.V. was one of them: so of course I told her about my operation.
Miss Florence is in wonderful health physically, considering her 85 years. Her eyes trouble her a bit, and she has the usual aches and pains of old age in her feet and legs. But she is active about the house, and does jobs in the kitchen: but of course the old efficient touch has completely gone. The doctor says it is a clear case of senile decay. Her mind is muddled, but she can talk quite sanely about everyday things. But the past and present become increasingly blurred in her mind at times. She talks very often as if Di were still alive, and had gone away on a visit somewhere! That also applies to her sister Alice, who died 50 odd years ago. Her greatest interest and amusement is the Siamese cat, Valentino, I bought her three years ago. He really is an adorable animal, and he is her devoted and inseparable companion. But she lacks the power of sustained thought now. As the doctor says, it is just old age. Some people's bodies deteriorate with the advance of the years: other people's minds. Although perhaps one ought not to say it, it is a pity she did not go first, and leave Miss Di to survive. The latter was quite clearheaded, and very capable, and also a woman who was able to occupy herself with sewing and so on (Miss Florence never was a needlewoman). But of course things do not work out that way.
I think the item of news in your letter which surprised me most was the engagement of Conington to Frank Giles. I always imagine C. to be in her 30s at least, and Frank Giles I think of as a lad in his teens. I received a card from Bill Billington at Marston, with his address boldly inscribed on it: but I really cannot start up any more correspondence, and above all in that quarter. It was never cleared up, that business about Jean and the lorry driver at Wrest Park! So far as I am supposed to know, that eldest child is not Billington's at all. But do they still take up that line? Or has time merged the child into the Billington family tree? I see in this morning's "Times" that Miss Russell's brother, Sir Odo Russell, has died. When I was in Ampthill, it was always generally supposed (by Sir Anthony among others) that if Mr.Broun died, Miss Romola Russell would take the house. But perhaps she has decided to remain where she is. I am indeed very sorry to hear about Mr.Broun. No, I am afraid I did not notice the Dr.Griffiths case. But she must be a dreadful woman. It is a wonder to me that Mr.Broun survives it all. But perhaps he is beyond any conscious thought. It must be very galling to him if the woman treats him unkindly, as he was an extremely proud old man.
I have missed my father greatly since his death. He used to write to me regularly every week without fail (he took this over from my mother when she died), and he was a wonderful letter-writer. My happiest memories of him are strangely enough connected with the summer of 1942, after my mother's death, when I spent a month with him in Yorkshire, and we went cycling and riding in that lovely countryside N. and E. of York. He was wonderfully young for his age, he was over 70 then, and though nothing of cycling 50 to 60 miles in one day. It will be ten years next May since my mother died. My father outlived her for nine years almost to the day. How the time has flown! In fact, when one thinks that this is the FIFTH Christmas we have celebrated since I left Ampthill it seems incredible.
I agreed to help the Vicar of Richmond at the midnight mass. There are two churches under his control here, and there is an assistant priest. As you know, I was never keen on the midnight mass, but of course one cannot boggle when it comes to giving help. The assistant priest was singing the midnight mass at S.Matthias, the daughter church of the parish just up Queens Road. When I got there at 11:30 I found a message to say he had collapsed with 'flu: so I had to take over the whole thing, singlehanded, and with over 200 communicants, it was 2 a.m. before I got away and to bed. Then I was up taking the 8 a.m. at the Hickey Chapel a few hours later. So you see I am still very much a Reverend, in spite of my adventures. We have been having quite a lively Christmas, as my godson, Adam Stavert, a young Eton boy, and his sister Patricia, at school at Arundel, are with us until tomorrow, when I put them on the train for their home in Scotland. Their parents are out in India, and I got landed with them as the people who usually shepherd them when their schools break up are having troubles of their own at present, and Stavert begged me to step into the breach. They are delightful youngsters, and no trouble whatever, and I think their presence has done Miss Florence a lot of good. She and Adam get down to the washing up together in fine style. We have had a good many people popping in and out, so I am feeling rather tired. However, I must get on reducing this pile of letters, so I will close, with very best wishes from Miss Florence (I told her I was writing to you) and myself for the New Year to you and all your family.
Yours sincerely,"