George Orwell: A Life in Letters (4 page)

I am afraid I am gone on Eastwood. This may surprise you but it is not imagination I assure you. The point is that I think you are too, at any rate you were at the end of last half. I am not jealous of you. But you though you aren’t jealous are apt to be what I might call ‘proprietary’. In the case of Maud & Caroe° you were quite right but what I want you to do is not regard me as another Caroe whatever points of resemblance there may be. Don’t suspect me of any ill intentions either. If I had not written to you, about 3 weeks into next half you would notice how things stood, your proprietary instincts would have been aroused & having a lot of influence over Eastwood you would probably have put him against me somehow, perhaps even warned him off me. Please dont° do this I implore you. Of course I dont° ask you to resign your share in him only dont° say spiteful things.

[X, 60, pp. 79–80]

Connolly’s copy in the Orwell Archive concludes: ‘Rather a revelation . . . Anyhow Eastwood has noticed it and is full of suspicion as he hates Blair.’

1
.
Christopher Eastwood (1905–1983) became a senior civil servant. See
Remembering Orwell
, 16–18, for his reminiscences of Orwell at Eton.

2
.
Einar Athelstan Caröe (1903–1988) became a grain merchant and broker, associated with Liverpool. According to Connolly’s notes, he was unpopular at Eton.

3
.
Baron Redcliffe-Maud (1906–1982) became a particularly distinguished civil servant, and he later became High Commissioner, then Ambassador, to South Africa, 1959–63; Master of University College, Oxford, 1963–76.

A letter from Jacintha Buddicom*

This letter seeks to comfort a relative. It looks back on the writer’s own history and, in particular, her relationship in her youth with Eric Blair long before he became George Orwell. Its full background is explained in the Postscript by Dione Venables to Jacintha Buddicom’s
Eric & Us
, 2006. I have omitted one or two personal names not relevant to Orwell. I am deeply grateful to Dione Venables and Jacintha’s relatives for permission to publish this letter and to Mrs Venables for providing background notes and the two photographs reproduced in the plates.

4 May 1972

‘Dragons’

John Street

Bognor Regis

I have just finished reading your sad letter and hasten to answer it. I cannot believe that the same miserable tragedy has struck twice in the same family but I CAN give you my total understanding and sympathy which might help a little. Strangely, your letter comes at a time when my mind and concentration are centred on similar events that took place in my life also some time ago.

After the publication last year of
The World of George Orwell
for which I wrote the opening essay, I am now writing a short monograph of my own on the subject (they edited out most of the important bits) in the hope of ridding myself of a lifetime of ghosts and regrets at turning away the only man who ever really appealed on all levels.

Your experience has many similarities, but the difference is that you briefly carried Xxxxx’s child and then refused his proposal. The loss of the first was your decision (I did not have the option and the result has been the cross I have had to bear ever since). But your integrity and courage in refusing the proposal of such a high profile figure makes me feel very proud [
a few words omitted
]. Such a union in 1958 would certainly have ended in tears, especially as he died so young. How I wish I had been ready for betrothal when Eric asked me to marry him on his return from Burma. He had ruined what had been such a close and fulfilling relationship since childhood by trying to take us the whole way before I was anywhere near ready for that. It took me literally years to realise that we are all imperfect creatures but that Eric was less imperfect than anyone else I ever met. When the time came and I was ready for the next step it was with the wrong man and the result haunts me to this day.

You were absolutely right to reject marriage with a man who you know will be constantly unfaithful because that is the way he is made. What credit that decision did you, even though you are still plagued by it. Memories of the joys and fun that Eric and I shared, knowing each others’ minds so totally ensured that I would never marry unless that ‘oneness’ could be found again.

You are still an extremely beautiful woman, even if you feel that this has been your downfall. The men in your life have not wanted your very great intelligence and so it has caused you to drift from relationship to relationship, looking for something you never find. A tragedy which you simply
must
take control of, or life will begin to depend on the bottle rather than the fascination of other lives and situations. At least you have not had the public shame of being destroyed in a classic book as Eric did to me. Julia in
Nineteen Eighty-Four
is clearly Jacintha, of that I feel certain. He describes her with thick dark hair, being very active, hating politics – and their meeting place was a dell full of bluebells. We always wandered off to our special place when we were at Ticklerton which was full of bluebells. They die so quickly if you pick them so we never did but lay amongst them and adored their heavy pungent scent. That very bluebell dell is described in his book and is part of the central story but in the end he absolutely destroys me, like a man in hob nailed boots stamping on a spider. It hurt my mother so much when she read that book that we always thought it brought on her final heart attack a few days later. Be glad that you have not been torn limb from limb in public.

Gather yourself together, my Dear. Our family is well blessed with looks and brains and you have both in liberal quantities. You are an extremely elegant communicator so enjoy what you have instead of looking at the past. [
sentence omitted
] You have the finest of minds which outstrips your physical attributes. Make both work for
you
. Look ahead. What is past is gone. It is the only way I manage to keep my reason. . . . . .

What the writer and recipient of this letter had in common was that both had conceived children outside marriage, at that time a matter of shame. The recipient terminated her pregnancy; the writer, Jacintha, gave birth to the child she was carrying but it was adopted by her uncle and aunt, Dr and Mrs Noel Hawley-Burke. A street photographer caught the moment when Jacintha, her uncle and her aunt left the solicitor’s office after she had signed over her six-month-old baby to them. The contrast in the body language, even in such a poor quality photograph, perfectly captures her pain and their joy.

Dione Venables, in her Postscript to Jacintha Buddicom’s
Eric & Us
, gives a graphic account of the occasion that led to Jacintha’s break with Orwell before he went to Burma. He had ‘attempted to take things further and make
SERIOUS
love to Jacintha. He had held her down (by that time he was 6
'
4
''
and she was still under 5’) and though she struggled, yelling at him to
STOP
, he had torn her skirt and badly bruised a shoulder and her left hip’. The assault went no further and Orwell stayed with the family for the rest of the holiday but he and Jacintha kept apart (p. 182). It will be recalled that in
A Clergyman’s Daughter
Orwell was required by Gollancz’s libel lawyer to tone down the first line of p. 41 and Orwell responded to the lawyer’s concerns by saying he had ‘altered the statement that Mr Warburton “tried to rape Dorothy”.’

As Dione Venables goes on to explain, on Orwell’s return from Burma, he ‘lost no time in contacting the Buddicoms and was invited to join Prosper and Guiny [ Jacintha’s brother and sister] at Ticklerton. There was no Jacintha – and the family were evasive and embarrassed on the subject so that Eric must have assumed that, even after all this time, she was still angry with him and would never forgive his momentary fall from grace. The tragedy is that in fact, Jacintha had just, in May 1927, given birth to her daughter Michal Madeleine. . . . The father escaped abroad as soon as her condition was discovered’ (p. 183). Michal emigrated to Canada. She had six children and was killed in a car crash in 1997.
As Jacintha’s sister, Guinever, later observed, Orwell ‘might well have welcomed the little girl as his own child’ (p. 186).

Because Jacintha was not at Ticklerton on his return, Orwell persuaded Prosper to give him her London telephone number. He rang begging her to meet him, but in vain. He tried again a fortnight later, but she still could not face meeting him. He was desperate to patch up the past; she was distressed over the imminent adoption of her baby yet still felt unable to tell Orwell of Michal’s existence. Orwell had gone so far as to bring her an engagement ring from Burma. They never again met. Jacintha did not know that Eric was Orwell until 8 February 1949 when her Aunt Lilian wrote from Ticklerton to tell her. She asked his publisher for his address and wrote to him at Cranham Sanatorium. He immediately replied with two letters on
14 and 15 February 1949
.
He hoped she would visit him but she felt she could not. So, there was a kind of reconciliation but, alas no meeting. So much was lost for both of them. Although Jacintha might not be Orwell’s only inspiration, it is clear that many of his female characters as well as Julia in
Nineteen Eighty-Four
owed much to Jacintha.
¹

1
.
A forthcoming study by William Hunt,
Orwell’s Demon: The Lonely Rebellion of Eric Blair
, explores in much greater detail than is possible here the links between Orwell and many of those he knew and the places where they met. (The title draws on ‘Why I Write’, XVIII, 3007, p. 320.)

To Max Plowman*

1 November 1930

3 Queen St

Southwold, Suffolk

Dear Mr Plowman,

Thank you very much for the copy of the
Adelphi,
which I found an interesting one. I see that Mr Murry* says in his article, ‘Because orthodox Christianity is exceedingly elaborate, it presents a greater appearance of unity than (childish superstition)’. I know this is so, but the
why
is beyond me. It is clear that the thicker the fairy tales are piled, the more easily one can swallow them, but this seems so paradoxical that I have never been able to understand the reason for it. I don’t think Roger Clarke in his article on Sex & Sin gets to [the] very bottom of the question. He says rightly that the ‘spiritual love’ stuff fixes the desires on something unattainable, & that this leads to trouble. The point he doesn’t bring out is that the ‘sinful lust’ stuff also fixes it on something unattainable, & that attempts to realise the impossible
physical
desire are even more destructive than attempts on the spiritual side. Of course it is important to teach boys that women like Esther Summerson
¹
don’t exist, but it is just as important, & far harder, to teach them that women like the
Vie Parisienne
illustrations
²
don’t exist. Perhaps the writer had not the space to bring this out thoroughly. You will, I know, forgive my troubling you with my reflections, as I was interested by the questions raised.

Thanks very much for the books. I find the novel
³
well enough, the Cayenne book
⁴
interesting, though it is almost certainly exaggerated. The book on Bodley is more solid stuff, but I don’t know that it is the kind of thing you would care to use much space on. What I suggest is doing about 1000 words altogether on the three, either in one article or separately as you prefer. I think they are worth mentioning, but not worth more than 1000 words between them. Would this do? If so, I can let you have the review in about 10 days. If you don’t think it worthwhile, I will send the books back.

I enclose the other article, reduced to 3,500 words.
⁵
Thank you for giving my M.S° to Mr Murry. I hope he understands that there is no hurry & I don’t want to be a nuisance to him.

Yours sincerely

Eric A. Blair

[X, 100, pp. 189–90; handwritten]

1
.
The docile heroine and pseudo part-author of
Bleak House
by Charles Dickens (1882–3).

2
.
Highly glamorised pictures of showgirls.

3
.
In the April 1931 issue, Orwell reviewed
Hunger and Love
by Lionel Britton and
Albert Grope
by F O. Mann (X, 105, pp. 203–5). Neither may be referred to here, though Britton’s book is a possibility.

4
.
Reviewed December
1930 (X, 101, pp. 190–1).

5
.
From its length and timing, this is probably ‘The Spike,’ April 1931 (X, 104, pp. 197–203).

To Dennis Collings*

16 August 1931

At 1B Oakwood Road

Golders Green NW
¹

Dear Dennis,

I said I would write to you. I haven’t anything of great interest to report yet about the Lower Classes, & am really writing to tell you about a ghost I saw in Walberswick cemetery. I want to get it on paper before I forget the details. See plan below.