George Orwell: A Life in Letters (48 page)

9
.
Presumably Miss Sparrow was a secretary at the Ministry of Food, where Eileen had worked until June
1944.

10
.
George Mason was a surgeon and one-time colleague of Laurence
O’Shaughnessy.

11
.
In his Diary for 20 June 1940 Orwell writes, ‘Thinking always of my island in the Hebrides’ (see
Diaries
,
pp. 257 and 258). This may have been prompted by his reviewing
Priest Island
by E.L. Grant Wilson on 21
June 1940 (XII, 640, pp. 190–1). Jura itself was doubtless chosen because it was recommended by David Astor who owned land there. He also suggested Barnhill which had been empty for several years. Avril describes Barnhill in her letter of
1.7.46
.

12
.
Margaret Fletcher (1917–; later Mrs Nelson) went to Jura with her husband, Robin, when he inherited the Ardlussa Estate, on which stood Barnhill.

13
.
Garrigill, a village near Alston, Cumbria, about midway between Penrith and Hexham.

14
.
Catherine Mary, Gwen O’Shaughnessy’s adopted daughter, who was known as Mary until her cousin, Mary Kopp was born, when she took Catherine as her first name. She was also known as ‘Mamie’.

15
.
Orwell had taken
P.G.
Wodehouse and his wife to a small restaurant near Les Halles in Paris.

16
.
Eileen and Orwell had hoped to adopt a little girl as a sister to Richard.

17
.
Raymond Blackburn, son of Mrs Blackburn, the housekeeper.

18
.
Psmith in the City
, a novel by
P.G
. Wodehouse (1910) is discussed by Orwell in ‘In Defence of
P.G.
Wodehouse’ (XVII, 2624, pp. 51–63).

19
.
Oranges were unobtainable for most of the war and fats were severely rationed. A special allowance of concentrated orange juice was made available to children as a Welfare Food.

20
.
Not identified with certainty, but probably Nell Heaton, a friend of Eileen’s. They met when they worked together at the Ministry of Food. In 1947 Nell Heaton published
The Complete Cook
, the foreword of which states: ‘I owe a debt of gratitude . . . to George Orwell and Emily Blair, to whose sympathy and encouragement I owe so much.’ Eileen was known as Emily at the Ministry of Food.

21
.
Ostermilk is a proprietary brand of milk powder for babies.

22
.
Farex is a proprietary brand of food for newly weaned babies.

23
.
This may possibly mean attend Court in connection with the final formalities for Richard’s adoption, although Eileen, in her letter to Lettice Cooper (
23.3.45
), says ‘Richard’s adoption was through’.
An alternative possibility is the kind of law court Orwell refers to in his report, ‘Creating Order out of Cologne Chaos’,
Observer,
25 March 1945
(XVII, 2641, pp. 106–7).

24
.
The signature is an indecipherable scrawl.

Eileen Blair* to Lettice Cooper*

23 March 1945 or thereabouts

Greystone

Carlton

Dear Lettice,

I’m sorry about the paper and the typewriter but Mary got at both. You practically can’t buy paper here so I can’t waste that and although I could do something about the machine I am bored with it after about twenty minutes spent in collecting the ribbon and more or less replacing it. A typewriter ribbon is the longest thing in the world. It will go round every chair leg in a good sized house. So I’ve just discovered.

Richard was delighted with his coat and it will see him through the summer. He was just getting very short of jackets because he is so large. Mary’s cast-offs will hardly go on, knitted things anyway. He took over her nightgowns the day after she inherited some pyjamas of Laurence’s and even those aren’t at all too big. He’s still backward but has great charm which will be a lot more useful to him than talent. And he is not so stupid as Mogador
¹
because he found out about pulling trucks by their strings before he was ten months old and is now investigating the principles of using one object to drag nearer or to pick up another. He’s a hard worker.

I really would have written sooner but I came up to London about a fortnight ago to see my dentist so I thought I’d ring you up. Then I got ill and rang no one up and finished with all kinds of dramas at the Ministry. On the way up I went to see a Newcastle surgeon because as Richard’s adoption was through I thought I might now deal with the grwoth° (no one could object to a grwoth) I knew I had. He found it or rather them without any difficulty and I’m going into his nursing home next week for the removal. I think the question about the hysterectomy is answered because there is hardly any chance that the tumours can come out without more or less everything else removable. So that on the whole is a very good thing. It was worth coming to the north country because there is to be none of the fattening up in hospital before the operation that I was to have in London. London surgeons love preparing their patients as an insurance against unknown consequences. I think they’re all terrified of their knives really—probably they have a subconscious hope that the patient will die before getting as far as the theatre and then they can’t possibly be blamed. In London they said I couldn’t have any kind of operation without a preparatory month of blood transfusions etc.; here I’m going in next Wednesday to be done on Thursday. Apart from its other advantages this will save money, a lot of money. And that’s as well. By the way, if you could write a letter that would be nice. Theoretically I don’t want any visitors, particularly as I can’t get a private room; in practice I’ll probably be furious that no one comes—and no one can because such friends as I have in Newcastle will be away for the school holidays. So if you have time write a letter to Fernwood House, Clayton Road, Newcastle. It’s a mercy George is away—in Cologne at the moment. George visiting the sick is a sight infinitely sadder than any disease-ridden wretch in the world.

[
Handwritten
]
I hate to think that you are no longer at the Ministry & that this will be the last extract from Miss Tomkins’ conversation. I clearly remember the sweetly pretty painting of snowdrops.

Tell me whether the flat materialises. It sounds perfect. Incidentally if you want somewhere to work or to live for that matter, use our flat which is rotting in solitude. Doreen Kopp
²
, who lives at 14A Cannonbury°
Square, has the key. Ours is 27B Cannonbury Square. And her telephone number is
CAN
4901. She has a son, very large, with the hair and hands of a talented musician. I expected to be jealous but find that I didn’t prefer him to Richard, preferable though he is. To return to the flat, Doreen can tell you whatever you don’t know about its amenities, which don’t include sheets. The last lot have disappeared since I came North. But you could have a peat fire which is a nice thing.

Raymond Blackburn is going to Stockton & he must carry this in his hand. It has taken about a week to write . . .
³
But all this time we have been thanking you for Richard’s present, he & I.

Lots of love

Emily
⁴

[XVII, 2640, pp. 104–5; typed and handwritten]

1
.
Unidentified, but possibly a grand form of ‘Moggie’ and therefore the blue cat Eileen refers to in her letter of
21.3.45
.

2
.
Doreen Kopp, half-sister of Doctor Gwen O’Shaughnessy, and wife of George Kopp*.

3
.
As in the original; nothing has been omitted.

4
.
‘Emily’ was the pet-name by which Eileen was known at the Ministry of Food.

Eileen Blair* to her husband

25 March 1945

Greystone

Carlton

Dearest

I’m trying to get forward with my correspondence because I go into the nursing home on Wednesday (this is Sunday) & of course I shan’t be ready. It’s impossible to write or do anything else while the children are up. I finish reading to Laurence about a quarter to eight (tonight it was five to eight), we have supper at 8 or 8.15, the 9 o’clock news now must be listened to & lasts till at least 9.30 (the war reports the last two nights have been brilliant
¹
) & then it’s time to fill hotwater bottles etc. because we come to bed early. So I write in bed & don’t type. Incidentally I did while explaining the poaching laws as I understand them to Laurence make my will
²
—in handwriting because handwritten wills are nearly always valid. It is signed & witnessed. Nothing is less likely than that it will be used but I mention it because I have done an odd thing. I haven’t left anything to Richard. You are the sole legatee if you survive me (your inheritance would be the Harefield house which ought to be worth a few hundreds, that insurance policy, & furniture). If you don’t, the estate would be larger & I have left it to Gwen absolutely with a note that I hope she will use it for Richard’s benefit but without any legal obligation. The note is to convince Richard that I was not disinheriting him. But I’ve done it that way because I don’t know how to devise the money to Richard himself. For one thing, there has been no communication from the Registrar General so I suppose Richard’s name is still Robertson. For another thing he must have trustees & I don’t know who you want & they’d have to be asked. For another, if he is to inherit in childhood it’s important that his trustees should be able to use his money during his minority so that he may have as good an education as possible. We must get all this straightened out properly when you come home but I thought I must cover the possibility that you might be killed within the next few days & I might die on the table on Thursday. If you’re killed after I die that’ll be just too bad but still my little testament will indicate what I wanted done. Gwen’s results in child-rearing have not been encouraging so far but after the war she will have a proper house in the country containing both the children & herself, she loves Richard & Laurie adores him. And all the retainers love him dearly. I’m sure he would be happier in that household than with Marjorie though I think Marjorie would take him on. Avril I think & hope would not take him on anyway. That I couldn’t bear.
³
Norah & Quartus
⁴
would have him & bring him up beautifully but you’ve never seen either of them. Quartus is in India & I can’t arrange it. So in all the circumstances I thought you would agree that this would be the best emergency measure.

RICHARD HAS SIX TEETH
. Also he got hold of the playpen rail when I was putting him in & stood hanging on to it without other support. But he doesn’t really know at all how to pull himself up so don’t expect too much. Yesterday Nurse & I took all three to the doctor for whooping cough injections. He lives about 2½–3 miles away, partly across fields. We got lost & had to cross ploughland. The pram wouldn’t perambulate & neither would Mary. She sat in a furrow & bellowed until carried. Laurence cried to be carried too . . .
⁵
Laurence however didn’t cry when the needle went in but Mary did
and
made an enormous pool on the surgery floor. Richard was done last. He played with a matchbox on my knee, looked at the doctor in some surprise when his arm was gripped & then turned to me in astonishment as though to say ‘Why is this apparently nice man sticking needles into me? Can it be right?’ On being told it was he looked up at the doctor again rather gravely—& then smiled. He didn’t make a sound & he was perfectly good all day too, though his arm is sort of bruised. The other two unfortunately remembered that they’d been injected & screamed in agony if either arm was touched. It was a happy day.

But Richard did a
terrible
thing. He will
not
use his pot, nearly always goes into a tantrum when put on it & if he does sit on it does nothing more. The tooth upset his inside a bit too. After lunch I sent the other two to bed & left Richard in his playpen while I helped wash up. Then there were cries of agony. He had done what Mary calls tick-tocks for the third time, got his hands in it &
put his hands in his mouth
.
I tried to wash his mouth out, hoping he’d be sick. But no. He seemed to swallow most of the water I poured in, so it was worse than useless. In the end I scoured his mouth with cotton wool, gave him some boiled water & hoped for the best. And he is very well. Poor little boy. And I was sorry for myself too. I
was
sick. Blackburn however says a lot of children do this every day – – – – –
⁶

I haven’t had a copy of
Windmill
⁷
& I haven’t had a proof. Surely you said they were sending a proof. And I failed to get the
Observer
one week which must have been the relevant one. I’ve also failed to get today’s but shall get it I hope.

Your letter with the
Animal Farm
document came yesterday & I’ve sent the enclosure on to Moore. He will be pleased. This is much the quickest exchange we’ve had.