CHAPTER NINE (B) BACK TO EARTH AND BACK TO SCHOOL
Handwritten letter with cartoon. No date but mentions funeral of Everest, in Exeter – death was in April 1945.
Office
Tuesday 5.45pm
My Own Lovely,
Just a short note today, as I have only just got back from Exeter where I attended the funeral of poor Everest.
After that, I went to the pictures and saw a very good film called “Dodsworth” with Walter Huston.
Thank you for the keys. I hope you have found the key of the house.
I may be going over to Seaton on Thursday with Makeig-Jones, who is going to speak to the women there. It will give me a good chance to have a heart to heart talk with him. The present arrangement is quite impossible and I am getting a bit bored with it.
I am glad you like my crude drawings. I shall have to think up one pretty quickly now as the post goes in 10 minutes.
Until tomorrow all my love to you all. I have sent you money for this week, haven’t I?
Your own loving
Man
Cartoon of two fish kissing, labelled DUFF and FIG
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Handwritten letter
Office
13th April 4.45pm
My Own Lovely Darling,
I have been typing most of the day, so it is a change to do a bit of writing. I am glad my letters reached you in the right order.
Poor old Roosevelt! What a marvellous man. Fortunately his death has come late in the war, as I shudder to think what might have happened if he had died earlier, when there was a big Isolationist group in the States.
The war generally looks all over bar the shouting and then we shall all have to fight the peace, which I think is going to be damnably difficult.
I have been putting the Association books in order today. There has been no book keeping at all during the War, so you can imagine the mess. I have straightened all this out and have balanced them up to the last penny.
I have also been getting out a rough estimate of our annual expenditure and as far as I can see it will be in the region of £1,000. The present annual income is about £200, as someone will have to get busy and it won’t be “little Willie”. The finance of the show is entirely a matter for the Treasurer and Finance Committee, and, apart from drawing my salary and keeping the books, I am not going to worry about it.
Mr Roberts, of Woodbury, has just been in and has invited me to dine there on 25 April. They have a Whist Drive and have asked me to speak. God only knows what I shall say! D-Darbyshire is now living in retirement at Exmouth. I have not seen him since I came down, but I am told he has aged terrifically since his wife died (or committed suicide) of an overdose of sleeping tablets. She always looked a very unhappy woman. However – de mortuis……
From her – Mrs Roberts, I mean! – I or course got the usual tirade against Drewe. I doubt if he has a friend in the Division!
I am sorry about the potatoes. There is a shortage down here too.
I have worked quite hard this week, so am looking forward to the week-end. How glad I am to have the trouser presser. It takes a fortnight now to have a pair of flannels pressed.
Governor’s desk arrived today from Bournemouth. It is very nice, but I have not much use for it in the office, although I suppose it will be useful in our new house, if we ever get one. I believe Marion sent you the key of the desk. If so, you might post it on to me.
The key of the house was on my key ring which should be on top of the white chest of drawers. In any case, I have not got it here. If not in the bedroom, it might be in my desk.
Until tomorrow, all my love to you all.
Your own
Man
Typed letter with cartoon
Office,
Tuesday, 3.30. p.m.
My Own Lovely,
Your letter has just arrived. I saw the postwoman through the window and dashed out to get it.
About the typewriter; I have been thinking again about it and am now quite sure it would not be wise to sell it to the Association. For this reason, that, although they would pay me the price agreed by a typewriter firm, this would probably be considerably less than that obtainable in the open market and I’m b……d if I’m going to let the Association make a cheap profit out of me. If they want a new machine, they must try and get one, or else be satisfied with letters executed in my fair round hand.
Last night, I had a run up to Marley and called in on the Raikes. Their house is a veritable menagerie, with dogs and cats sprawling all over the house and with hens and bees all over the garden. I should hate to live in an atmosphere like that. These blasted animals ruin all the furniture and carpets and are as much if not more trouble than a house full of babies. Give me babies every time!
I stayed about an hour with them and then went on down into Withycombe, where I had a drink at the Holly Tree. There were several in there who knew you and asked to be remembered to you.
Today, they have put my telephone in, which will make life somewhat easier. I shall be able to speak to you now, as it is quite cheap after 6.30. p.m.
The little mother in the house is very grateful to you for your various specifics. She has already tried some of them, but is now going to have a go at the others and see what happens. Everybody fusses terrifically over the child, who, apart from the skin trouble, seems to be quite normal and healthy. The parents were married 14 years before the baby appeared, so perhaps that accounts for it.
The weather down here is bitterly cold, too, and tonight when I go to Axminster I shall wear my Jeep coat. It will be ideal for motoring.
I am sending you by post today some French cookery books which I discovered in Governor’s desk. They probably aren’t much good, but they may amuse you.
I have written to the Income Tax people today to find out what happens about my Tax now that I have left eh Army. I don’t want to be landed with a whole lot of arrears as up to the time I came here, I was up to date with the payments.
I think I can truly say that I have now seen everything! Today, in the South-Western, I saw a baby wild rabbit, sitting on the counter drinking beer out of a saucer and smacking its lips with evident relish!
I hope when the weather becomes sunny again you will take some more snaps of the children and let me have copies. I noticed that with the last lot you only sent six. Are there only six exposures on the film, or were two of them no good?
I shall have to go now, Lovely, as I must try and think up something to sat at my meeting at Axminster to-night.
Meanwhile, all my love to you all
Your own loving,
Man
Cartoon underneath of the two talking on the telephone with a long wire connecting them. Christiane has a heart-shaped face, with eyelashes, pink cheeks and lips and is wearing a skirt. Jeffrey is smiling with heart-shaped face, raised eyebrows and wearing trousers.
Typed letter, with pencilled handwritten note at the end – no idea of date
Office,
Saturday, 6pm
My Own Lovely,
You beast! No letter to-day, which means I shall have to wait until Monday morning. I know my last lot of stuff was not up to standard!
This afternoon I have been in the cinema (free of charge, of course) and saw Greer Garson and Walter Pidgeon in Mrs Parkington, an excellent film. There was also a very good “short” about Racing Stables at Newmarket.
It has been bitterly cold here today, and I have been very glad of my Jeep Coat, which is quite the warmest garment I have ever possessed. The office, too, has been like an ice house, as, because of some asinine rules, fires in offices are not allowed, although central heating systems are allowed to go full blast.
Kemeys-Jenkin came in this morning and I told him I was not going to sell the typewriter. He quite agreed, and is going to set about getting another one. He also said I could buy a new duplicator – a self-feed model costing £20.0.0, so you see I am getting things pretty much my own way. I tackled his vigorously on the question of a house, and he went straight off to see Crews. He is going to offer the head man there a bribe of £10 to get me a house, and is going to charge up the amount to Organisation expenses. So let’s hope that something good will come of it. It is funny that, although everyone warned me that K.J. was a difficult customer, I now have him eating out of my hand.
I had a very pleasant time with the Hays yesterday, but had quite forgotten that you and I went to tea with them before the War, when they were living on the Beacon at Exmouth. Do you remember it?
What a joy it must be to have no bumps now and to be able to go to bed without alarums and excursions.
Your letter has just arrived, so I take back all I said in the first paragraph!
I will try and phone you this evening.
All my love to you all,
Your own
Man
The reason the typing is so bad is because I have been sitting with my coat on, and the sleeves get in the way.
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handwritten letter – no date
Office
Wed 4.45
My own Lovely,
The attached is with my love. You say my stuff is good. Is it funny? That’s what I want to know, as I can go on writing it by the ream.
I have sent Lickle some super marbles today.
No time for more, as the rubbish has taken quite a time.
My love to you all
Your own
Man
Typed letter with cartoon (mentions news of Mussolini’s death), so probably Monday 30th April, after the death 28th April 1945)
Office,
Monday. 4.30pm
My Own Lovely Darling,
You are a good girl. Two letters this morning. I had a look at the postmarks to see which to open first! I am so glad to hear that Lickle is so much better. Perhaps he has really turned the corner now, as he has never been strong since he was born – thanks largely to Darbyshire and Ruffingham. It does not matter two hoots about his Cockney accent: he will soon grow out of that.
What a joy for him to be able to buy ice cream. I hope it is decent stuff and that you give him plenty of pennies for it.
I am afraid I am sending you today another parcel of fine linen. I am sorry to give you all this extra work, but I am now nearly reaching the end of my tether as far as clothes are concerned.
I had a letter form Makeig-Jones this morning and will quote what he says “Yesterday I was talking to a man who knows the Member well and likes him. He goes about a lot in the Constituency and I asked him what he thought of the Member’s chances. He thought a bit, and then said: “Frankly, I don’t think he’ll get in” Makeig-Jones goes on to say “We shall have to work”. Why we”? And why “shall”? The once who ought to work is D R E W E. There used to be a practice known as “nursing a constituency”. If that is so, then the poor Honiton Division will soon die of neglect. As to work – what the hell has everyone been doing since 1931 when an ill wind blew Drewe in through the open door.
I was talking to him (~Drewe) on Saturday evening, and he was the same as ever. Evasive, lazy, arrogant and uncouth. How can one possibly raise any enthusiasm to work for such a . . . . . ? However, that’s enough about him.
The weather is perishingly cold here still and this morning we had several heavy showers of snow! This office is like an ice-box and it does seem damned silly that one can’t have a bit of fire.
I am sending you a notice of a Meeting at Sidmouth, just in case you would care to attend!
I have not done any more writing over the week-end, as it was a bit cold to sit around in the office, but I will try and do some more this week.
Isn’t the news marvellous? Mussolini dead and Hitler probably dead or dying! The whole business can’t last much longer now.
I must go now, Lovely, or I shall miss the post.
Until tomorrow, all my love to you all
Man
Illustration of a heart faced Jeffrey in the snow and looking angry with a speech bubble stating I WANT TO GO HOME
handwritten letter with cartoon. Early May, 1945
Office
Tuesday. 11.30am
My Own Lovely Darling,
Herewith the wages of sin. I believe I’m up to date now, aren’t I?
I expect your letter will come by the second post today, but I must not be greedy, as I had two yesterday.
I am sending you a couple of letters Drewe has had from a poor soul at Budleigh Salterton, as I thought you might care to see them. Please let me have them back. She seems a really good sort, and I shall go and see her, although Heaven only knows what I shall be able to do.
Probably, being fellow sufferers, we shall fall on each other’s shoulders and weep.
This is a very difficult time for political organisation, and everyone’s thoughts and attention are on VE day (May 8, 1945). Also, I find that except for a few old party “hacks” there is a general revulsion against a return to political strife and reality. People have become so accustomed to being directed, advised, warmed, cossetted, and cajoled, that, although they hanker after personal liberty, there are either too indolent or too bemused to take the first step in that direction. Added to all this there is the local overriding factor of DREWE.
My father, who whatever his other faults may have been, did not lack intelligence, said that one day Drewe would lose the Honiton Division. My guess it that he won’t be wrong.
I went to the cinema again last night and saw Pat O’Brien in “Secret Command” – a slashing hard-hitting sabotage story. I have not seen the German horror film yet, but shall do so at the first opportunity.
It is still bitterly cold here, and each night I long to be able to nuggy-up with you. I have introduced this word into the household where I am staying, and I think it will stick!
I must go now, Lovely, as there is still a good deal of work to do.
All my love to you all
Your own loving
Man
Cartoon to base of Jeffrey giving FIG a medal.
FOR LOYALTY, COURAGE, CHEERFULNESS,
and for just being YOU.
Typed letter with attached agenda for AGM
Office, Thursday, 4.40. p.m.
My Own Lovely,
I have been rather busy in the office today, and so have had no time to write rubbish. However, I think today’s definition is worth including. Vol au Vent – “Gone with the Wind!” I think I must have a perverted mind, as I am always thinking up things like this! I have tried hard to think of a suitable title and have had no inspiration so far. The best up to date are “Around the Mulberry Bush” – “Fun Salad” or “A la Carte”. None of them very good!
I had quite an enjoyable time at Woodbury last night. I dined with Major and Mrs Roberts, whom you will remember always used to be at the Darbyshires when we went back there after Meetings. After this, I went on to the Whist Drive, said a few well chosen words and then pis (sorry!) pushed off. By the way, the Old Boy’s letter to Makeig-Jones which was read out at the Executive Meeting seems to have created a terrific impression.
Today, I have had the Duplicator people down to try and revive my decrepit machine. They have not made a bad job of it, and I enclose a specimen of some work I have turned out today. This typewriter is not very good for cutting stencils as the platen is a bit too soft.
Tomorrow, I am having tea with Col. And Mrs Hay at Budleigh Salterton and afterwards am going to see Minshull, the Vice-Chairman. There is the usual squabble as to who shall be Chairman of the Branch and I want to try and straighten it out. I hope the Super Marbles arrived safely. They were specially made for Lickle by the son-in-law of my landlady.
I am glad Lickle liked the bunny on the envelope. I was inveigled into buying a packet of these labels by Aimee Wreford, so you will be seeing plenty of them.
Do let me know when you want any more clothing coupons, as I am not using any down here, and you can always use the loose ones anywhere.
Well, you’ve had your wish about the Russians getting to Berlin first. Let’s hope they make the most of their time before the British arrive and spoil things.
Until, tomorrow, all my love to you all,
Your own
Man
Enclosed notice:
HONITON DIVISION CONSERVATIVE AND UNIONST ASSOCIATION.
Payhembury Branch.
THE ANNUAL GENERAL MEETING.
Will be held at
The parish Hall, PAYHEMBURY
--- ON ---
Thursday, 17th May, 1945, at 8. p.m.
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Capt. Jeffrey Gibbs (Chief Conservative Agent)
Will be present and will give a short address.
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ALL CONSERVATIVES and supporters of the National
Government are cordially invited to attend
this Meeting.
_________________________________________________________
page 2 of a typed letter, with illustration to base – no date
My fine linen arrived this morning. The parcel was a bit battered and my blue shirt was sticking out! However, it seems none the worse for it.
I have just been running the old cinema projector and it goes perfectly. I put through that old film I used to have of Arthur Prince the ventriloquist, you remember the one I use as a test film. How Lickle would have loved it!
I am sorry you have to entertain the Arch villain but, poor old fellow, I expect he feels a bit lonely, like I do. If Drewe were a man, he would buy a house for his Agent and then rent it to him, but that sort of thing would never occur to him. It does seem a damned shame to come out of the Army and then to have to be separated. It doesn’t make sense.
I had better shut up now, or else I shall get morbid, but I will write again tomorrow.
Until then, all my love to you all.
Your own loving,
Man
Drawing of a tree (apple?) basket with apples (|?) in and cat/dog.
Cooker with steaming pan on it and a
Jar of marbles (?) with a box saying 2 points pointing at the jar
ALL IN A DAY!
Typed letter with illustration to base – no date
Office.
Friday. 5.45pm
My Own Lovely,
I hope my missing letter has now turned up. I have written every day.
I hope Lickle will like the parcel. They were all I could buy, as, even such things as these are rationed nowadays. I hope to be able to get him some blood alleys (marbles) soon, but I had to search the whole of Exeter to find even the miserable specimens I have sent.
Just got back from Exeter and the Executive Meeting. As I expected, it was the same old tired and wear brigade and I had to take charge of the meeting. I got splendid support from Clinton, who, I imagine recognises brains and ability when he sees them. At any rate I shall have an absolutely free hand. Everybody was quite charming and really genuinely glad to see me back. But so they bloody well ought to be. If you agree, I will give it one more month,and if nothing in the way of accommodation turns up by then, I shall quit.
The weather has broken and I am afraid, so I shall spend the week-end in writing some more nonsense for you. It is good practice, amuses me, and might come in handy one day. I hope you spotted the subtlety of the dates in my little rhyme!
I must go and catch the post now, but I will write again tomorrow and Sunday.
Love to you all,
Your own loving,
Man
Stick drawing of heart-shaped faced man running to the postbox.
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Hand written letter – page 3
Yesterday was a perfectly lovely day here and after going to church in the morning, I spent the afternoon sunbathing and got quite brown – or rather red, which will turn to brown. I like St Andrews. There is of course a whole lot of palaver with incense and vestments and chanting, but I like all this. I like my religion wrapped up in cotton wool and tied with pink silk ribbon, rather than bare bones and Bible-punching and Hell Fire.
Today, the weather has again been perfect, and I had about an hour in the sun after lunch. Very bad – but very nice! I have introduced the mother of our house baby to Farex and have bought her a box. Let me know when you want another.
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Typed letter
Office,
Monday 5.15. p.m.
My Lovely,
Sorry it’s only a short note to-day, but life is a bit hectic, and I have only just got back from Exeter to find a telegram and two urgent phone calls waiting for me. I wish to God they would put my phone back, as every time I wish to make a call I have to trail out to a call box and also have an assortment of coins available, as, of course, I do not know all the charges for all parts of the division.
I managed to put in 35 new claims, but when I got to Exeter the Registration Officer tried to turn them down on the grounds that they were not signed by the claimants. I fought him on this, however, and am glad to say won the day.
I collected my new raincoat this afternoon. It had to be shortened but now looks very smart and is quite well made for a utility. In Exeter, I met my old friend Bonar Thompson, whom you will remember used to speak in Hyde Park. He is now appearing at the Theatre in Shaw’s “St. Joan”. He certainly is a versatile chap. (Bonar Thompson, known as the Prime Minister of Hyde Park was popular in the Thirties and Forties as a political orator and commentator who reached a wide audience through theatre, radio and print.)
I had about a 75% response to my letter to the branches about Registration. Not too bad after 5 ½ years. Needless to say the only rude brute was Moncrieff, who addressed his envelope Mr. J Gibbs. My next letter to him will be Mr. Morton¾Moncrieff! I am just not going to put up with insults from anyone. Either they behave decently and I stay, or else they behave like pigs and I go. You see that my spirits are as good as ever!
What wonderful new about the “bumps”. They always seem to stop when I go away. Perhaps I am considered a legitimate military objective.
I really must go now, Lovely; all my love to you all and tell Lickle I will try and get him some more shells next week-end.
Your very own loving,
Man
P.S. I thought you might like some more note paper
Handwritten letter
Office
Friday 3.15pm
My Own Lovely,
Thank you for your letter, and I’m glad you like my stuff. I’ve had no inspiration today, but send the enclosed for what it’s worth!
I am just off to tea with Col Hay, and after that am going to see Minshull of Budleigh Salterton.
It is beastly cold here today, with heavy intermittent showers.
Last night I went out to see Hallet of Lympstone, who is Vice-Chairman of the Association. I had a most useful talk with him, and then went on and had a drink at the George and Dragon which was full of Americans and prostitutes. The two seem inseparable.
I am not much looking forward to the week-end, but maybe I can write some more nonsense. It is a good safety valve for me just now when I get annoyed or depressed.
I am so glad all the parcels arrived safely and that the contents found favour.
Until tomorrow, all my love to you all.
Your own loving
Man
PS I will write to AM (Auntie Mim). Isn’t she an ass!
Typed letter with cartoon
Office,
Wednesday. 4.45.p.m.
My Own Lovely Darling,
What excellent snaps! Poor Lickle looks so grown-up compared with Peter who seems to have been in a bit of a stink when the photograph was taken. It is very good one of you too, but the bottom two buttons of your cardigan rather give one the impression that there is another stranger lurking within! Perhaps it is just a trick of the light. How are Peter’s new clothes wearing?
I received my petrol coupons today and have been allowed 30 gallons a month, which should give me a monthly mileage of about 900 which is not too bad. I hope to have the car on the road on Saturday, but there will be no joy in having it, as you and the family are no there to enjoy it also. In addition, it will mean that I shall have to get about and do some more work which does not appeal to me very much in my present frame of mind. I find it very hard to be nice to people these days.
I ran into Ron Delderfield in Exmouth today. He is just down for 24 hours, and was full of his new play, which is now running at the theatre at Hammersmith.
Yesterday at Exeter, I saw Miss Bastin, who I believe is doing something with the Women’s Land Army. She was a bumptious as ever, and has never been a friend of mine. This morning Major Mill of Budleigh Salterton came in for a chat. His daughter is still unmarried and is now a journalist in London and works for the “Times”.
The weather here is still absolutely perfect and very soon it should be warm enough to swim. The caretaker has just brought me a nice big cup of tea, very strong and very sweet (the tea, I mean).
The Registration Revision Courts have been fixed for Friday, which means that I can’t go, as I have the Meeting of the Executive on that day. Normally, they used to give about 14 days’ notice, but now they only give one day, but I suppose that is bureaucracy rampant.
By the way, I believe I left my Dunhill pipe at home. It is the one with the white spot on the stem. I should be very glad of it, if you could manage to pack it up and send it on. My expression to “cock up” is quite correct, in spite of what your filfthy French mind may think. Talking about the French, remind me that Vansittart in his book, speaking of the attitude of Victorian England toward the French, says “the English always seemed to think that the French got more out of sex than they did. They were not sure what it was, but, whatever it was, they were certain it couldn’t be ‘nice’.”
I must go now, Lovely, or else I shan’t have time for my drawing, which I haven’t even thought of yet.
All my love to you all,
Your own loving,
Man
Illustration of a FIG TREE with Jeffrey trying to reach a fig. Underneath is written
Boo! Hiss! I can’t reach it!
Typed letter
Office,
Sunday. 11.15. a.m.
My Own Lovely Darling,
Here we are again, back at the old game of working on Sundays. To-day, however, it is inevitable, as my Registration Claims have to be in at Exeter tomorrow, and, as I expect a bit batch tomorrow morning, I am clearing off all my other work to-day.
Last week, I circularised all the Polling Districts, and it is really remarkable what a good response I have had. I believe that many people are genuinely glad to know that I am back, which is rather comforting a thought. Also, I have the impression that the organisation is not quite as defunct as I had been led to believe.
What a perfectly scurrilous speech by Bevin, as reported in the Sunday Express. If the Socialists had any sense they would refrain from mentioning anything about our lack of preparedness for the war. Their own record in this matter stinks. I do think the Conservative Party should make a more definite pronouncement of their policy for the removal of controls and the principle of private enterprise. Obviously, many of the present controls will have to remain during the period of transition from War to Peace. As to my private enterprise, as far as I can see, this merely means playing into the hands of the big firms and combines and the creation of monopolies. There are shining examples of this in Exmouth, where all the small bakery shops have been taken over by one firm, and all the four cinemas in Exmouth are now under one ownership. Not much private enterprise or competition about this!
Last night, I took a walk up to the Beacon Hotel and had a long talk with Mrs B. and Joan. They were very interested to hear about you and the Pigs. At the Beacon, I was kidnapped by an elderly woman, who insisted on buying me drinks and telling me all her troubles. I also flirted heavily with a young widow, whom I had met previously when I stayed there about 18 months ago. Poor creature! I am afraid I led her terribly up the garden path and left her long before we reached the end of it. Anyhow, she is a spoilt bitch, who received far too much attention from the myriads of officers who throng the place.
It is really uncanny the faculty I have of being to get on with people, and I often think I should have done well as a solicitor, especially on the police court side. Maybe I shall go back to it one day.
I have developed a terrific passion for reading lately and have been gobbling up books at an enormous rate. I have read “Zero Hour” by Agatha Christie. Good, but no Poirot. “Berlin Hotel” by Vicki Baum, author of “Grand Hotel”, an excellent exposition of the theory that all Germans are rats, and lastly, “Road into Burma”, which is an account of the expedition by Wingate’s Force. This is especially interesting to me, as it covers most of the ground over which we travelled.
This morning, I again went to early Service at St Andrews. As you know, I am by no means a regular church-goer, but I do feel that as a family we have got a whole lot to be thankful for and that gratitude is due to someone, whoever it may be.
The weather here is dry but beastly cold and I have been very glad of the gas fire in my bedroom. I always think that gas is very cheap, as the fire seems to go on for a terrific time for 6d.
My new suit has now arrived and I am very pleased indeed with it. It fits perfectly and the cloth is really first-class. I am very glad I ordered it, as down here it takes about 6 months to get a suit made.
The new caretaker at the office has turned out an absolute trump, and brings me a cup of tea and some biscuits every morning at 11 o’clock. Some people are really very kind.
Until tomorrow, my Sweet, all my love to you and the Poisonous Pigs.
Your very own,
Man
Telegram 26 Jul 1945
216 Exmouth
To: Gibbs, 69 Court Farm Road, Mottingham London SE9
Well done Figgy – Mam
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28 JRG
Typed letter on Division headed paper and 3 x telegrams – 27th July 1945 after the declaration of the election results on the 26th.
Friday.
My Own Lovely Darling,
Well, Old Duffins has brought it off once again, and has given Drewe and the Honiton Division the most resounding victory in all their history. In the midst of a Tory landslide to have secured a majority of nearly 12,000, is little short of miraculous, and, as you will have noticed it was one of the largest majorities in the whole country. As you say it is certainly a feather in my cap, and it amused me yesterday to hear the fulsome praise of those who a few short years ago placed me on probation, and who only a few months ago wanted to do the same thing.
In this Division, I attribute the victory to three main factors – or possibly four:
First, that I played Churchill as hard as I could throughout, as I knew he was the card to play down here.
Secondly, the complete metamorphosis of Drewe as a Speaker and a Fighter.
Thirdly, I deliberately kept the election as quiet as I could and shunned any form of ballyhoo, which I know would be misunderstood by the staid and sedate people of these parts.
In any case, the Socialists would have beaten us hollow at that game, as they are naturally more noisy and vociferous, and,
Fourthly, that our organisation really functioned; so much so that, on Polling Day, we had a Committee Room open in every Polling District in the Division.
I, too, am absolutely stunned by the results in the rest of the country, and our local fruits of victory have turned a little sour as a result. No one yet has been able to put forward a satisfactory explanation. It cannot have been the Forces, as they only constituted one tenth of the Electorate, and, in any case, many of them did not vote at all. In this Division, I estimate that the Forces vote was about 40 to 60 against us – certainly not more./ No, to my mind, the people who have turned this Election have been the under 31s – that is, those who have never voted before – and also what, for want of a better term, one would call the lower middle classes.
And now, we shall have a Socialist Government in for five years, as, with a majority like they have in the House, there is no power on Earth that can turn them out. In that case, you had better get your fountain pen fully charged, in order to cope with the forms in triplicate you will have to complete in order to live. You will have thousands of puffed-up little officials and bureaucrats, and worse still, you will see a rapid growth of the spirit of insolence and indiscipline which has been so obvious in the country recently.
What a horrible picture! The only people who now appear to applaud Churchill are the fashionable fraternising frauleins of Berlin (vide the photograph recently published in all the newspapers).
I will send you more comment when I have fully recovered from the shock.
Yesterday, I sent the Old Boy a telegram in the words of Alexander when he had defeated the Germans in North Africa. The telegram, addressed to Major-General Kerr, ran:-
“I have the honour to report that the whole of East Devon has been cleared of the enemy.”
His terse telegram today in reply, said:-
“Congratulations – So What?”
I think Hugh’s Report is a lot of tripe! Incidentally, Spelling seems to be the weak spot of M.B. who can only get as far as G. when she means Good.
Your telegram just received. Your words are the nicest that you could have thought of. God Bless you, Figgy.
I must go now, Lovely, but I will write again tomorrow, and also send you the local papers, if there is anything of interest in them.
All my love to you all
Your own loving,
Man
Telegram 1:
11.30 Eltham
To Captn Jeffrey Gibbs, Manchester House Exmouth – Devon
Duffins true to Form Love
Figgy
Telegram 2:
11.15 Pangborne
To: Jeffery Gibbs Conservative Office Exmouth-Devon
Congratulations on good work with splendid results.
Uham
Telegram 3
11/50 London
Gibbs, Manchester House Exmouth
Congratulation so what
Kerr
So despite such a stunning electoral victory and with the praise of his MP and the Conservative Association still ringing in his ears, my father resigned.
He had decided that he could provide a better future for his family back in London and so joined the Civil Service Commission, based in Burlington Arcade, quickly proving that he should be switched from a freelance contract to an established position.
However this appreciation of his talents was accompanied by a sting in its tail – he would have to take a temporary but sizable pay cut. When he protested that he could not provide for his family on less money, he was told he could “live on his fat.”
It must have been a shattering blow coming so soon after the euphoria of the election victory and would have called into question his decision to leave Devon.
He returned to our rented house in Court Farm Road, Mottingham, near to tears, telling my mother: “But we have no fat to live on, lovely.” She consoled him and then with typical practicality said: “There’s nothing for it, I’ll just have to go to work.”
So she took me on the bus to the LCC offices in Woolwich, where despite the evidence of her degrees from the Canadian and French universities, she had to persuade the authorities that she was qualified to teach remedial children in South London.
My mother started at a Kidbrooke primary school, which meant a long bicycle ride in all weathers.
During the winter, thick, yellow smogs were common and she often had to wear a mask as she cycled, hoping, probably mistakenly, that it would give her lungs a modicum of protection.
One of my mother’s favourite phrases was “Sweet are the uses of adversity” and in later life her enforced teaching career meant that she had an LCC pension to ease her retirement.
Soon we had all moved a short distance to a two-bedroom rented flat in a three-storey house - 31, West Park, Mottingham – owned by a disreputable cowboy builder, who would regularly serve time in prison for non-payment of debts and other petty offences.
My parents had tried unsuccessfully to get a council flat, which why my mother was especially incensed to learn that one of her pupils, who did live in such accommodation, was “the son of a German storm-trooper” – an ex-prisoner-of-war.
She later moved to Kidbrooke comprehensive school – the first of its type in Britain - and my mother hated the vast impersonality as well as an experimental policy which meant that the students stayed in the same place while the teachers had to travel long distances between classrooms
As she walked the echoing, featureless corridors en route to a class of often disinterested pupils she must have thought back to her university life in Edmonton and scholarship year among her peers at the Sorbonne in Paris.
After a day’s teaching, my mother returned to make tea for Hugh and me before ushering us off to our bedroom, which we shared with the family bicycles that were hidden behind a large curtain of black-out material.
Her instruction followed us – “Bedtime is booktime” – and it was also radio time, listening to Dick Barton, Special Agent, and Journey Into Space on a hefty wooden set with the dial displaying such mysterious places as Hilversum, Budapest and, of course, Luxembourg.
It was important for my mother that my father should have his evening meal in peace – like a Victorian household there was an element of “children should be seen and not heard,” although he would always put his head round the door and wish us a goodnight.
After they had eaten, my mother would go to bed exhausted, knowing that she faced another day of hard labour.
My earliest memories of my father were of a rather stern, military-like figure, who would put up with no nonsense and certainly no challenging of my mother’s authority, although both Hugh and I knew exactly how to get round her.
But my father had a gentle loving side, which would be shown on expeditions on the bus to nearby Chislehurst Common, where he would dispense to his boys the natural history knowledge he had no doubt picked up on happy childhood holidays at the farm of his Uncle Charles Giles and Aunt Annie (nee Michelmore), at Waterhead Creek, near Kingsbridge, Devon.
He would point out different types of trees and plants and species of birds and insects and show us carefully how we could burn our initials on his stout walking stick using a magnifying glass and the power of the sun.
Yet on one fateful occasion, when my mother was confined to bed with an excrutiatingly-painful boil on the sitting-down part of her anatomy and he was at home preparing lunch, we missed his deadline for our return because of having too much fun in the Chislehurst woods.
We were punished with a solid spanking administered with a plimsoll - my mother was not pleased with him, but we never forgot the lesson.
My father’s artistic nature and inate sense of humour were thankfully never far from the surface and he would delight in peppering our birthday cards with puns, jokes and drawings.
The most memorable of these was the 6th birthday card he made for me when confined to an isolation ward at Shooters Hill Hospital with a life-threatening case of jaundice, probably picked up from a dirty needle during his army service.
The cheap paper was adorned with six merry rabbits, a horse chestnut tree and stringed conkers, my cap from Pope Street primary school in New Eltham and more sixes than you could throw a stick at.
I was clutching the birthday card proudly in my hand when I later stood in the hospital grounds with my mother and brother and waved to my father where he stood at a third floor window.
In 1952 our landlord in Mottingham became increasingly aggressive towards my parents and when they refused to be evicted put stink pellets under their bedroom floor to force them out.
My parents had to move their old-fashioned wooden double bed into the living room alongside the dining table and that is where they slept for several months.
Thankfully Uncle Eric, who by now was European bureau chief of publishers Time Incorporated, came to the rescue and lent them £500 to put down as a deposit on a house of their own.
It was the passport to the home my parents had dreamed of during the long war years and must have thought at times would forever be beyond their reach.
The removal van, which took away their meagre, mainly utility furniture with its distinctive trademark, from the dingy flat in Mottingham, only had to travel a few miles, but we were transported a world away to a new life in New Eltham.