George Orwell: A Life in Letters (71 page)

Yours

Geo. Orwell

[XIX, 3330, pp. 255–6; handwritten]

1
.
Helmut Klöse was described by Orwell as ‘the German anarchist who was on the same part of the front as me in Spain and was imprisoned for a long time by the Communists’. He would later visit Orwell in Cranham Sanatorium. Orwell usually omits the umlaut; it is added silently here.

2
.
Karl Schnetzler (see
1.3.39
, n. 1 and
9.4.46
to Inez Holden
, n. 2).

To Celia Kirwan*

20 January 1948

Hairmyres Hospital

East Kilbride

Dearest Celia,

How delightful to get your nice long letter. I’ve been here about a month after being ill for about two months at home. I thought I’d told you what was wrong with me. It is TB, which of course was bound to get me sooner or later, in fact I’ve had it before, though not so badly. However I don’t think it is very serious, & I seem to be getting better slowly. I don’t feel so death like as I did a month ago, & I now eat quite a lot & have started to gain weight slowly, after losing nearly 2 stone. Today when I was X-rayed the doctor said he could see definite improvement. But I’m likely to be here a long time, as it’s a slow treatment, & I don’t think I shall even be fit to get out of bed for about 2 months. Richard is tremendously well & growing enormous. Of course I’m going to have him thoroughly examined when Avril takes him up to London shortly, but by the look of him I don’t think he’s caught this disease. I was very glad to be able to get away just before Christmas, so as not to be a death’s head. There were 4 of them at Barnhill & a nice fat goose & plenty to drink, so I expect they had quite a good Christmas. This is the second Christmas I’ve spent in hospital.
¹
It’s always rather harrowing, with the ‘parties’ they have—all the beds dragged into one ward, & then a concert & a Christmas tree. This is a very nice hospital & everyone is most kind to me, & I have a room to myself. I’m starting to attempt a very little work, ie. an occasional book review, after doing nothing for 3 months.

Yes, I remember the Deux Magots.
²
I think I saw James Joyce there in 1
928, but I’ve never quite been able to swear to that because J. was not of very distinctive appearance. I also went there to meet Camus who was supposed to have lunch with me, but he was ill & didn’t come. I suppose Paris has cheered up a bit since I was there at the beginning of 1945. It was too gloomy for words then, & of course it was almost impossible to get anything to eat & drink, & everybody was so shabby & pale. But I can’t believe it is what it used to be. It’s lucky for you you’re too young to have seen it in the ’twenties, it always seemed a bit ghostlike after that, even before the war. I don’t know when I’ll see France again, as at present one can’t travel because of this currency business,
³
but if one of my books
did
strike it lucky I’d get them to keep some of the francs in France so that I could go & spend them. If I’m cured & about by then as I assume I shall be, I am going to try & wangle a correspondent’s job this winter so as to winter in a warm place. The winter of 1946–7 in London was really a bit too thick, & I think it was probably what started me on this show. In Jura it’s a bit better, because it isn’t quite so cold & we get more coal, also more food, but it’s a bit awkward if one needs medical attention at a time when one can’t get to the mainland. Early last year my sister dislocated her arm & was nearly drowned going across to the doctor in a tiny motor boat. Inez [Holden]* exaggerated our later adventure a bit, but we did have a very nasty accident in the famous whirlpool of Corrievrechan
°
(which comes into a film called
I know where I’m going
) & were lucky not to be drowned. The awful thing was having Richard with us, however he loved every moment of it except when we were in the water. I think Jura is doing him good except that he doesn’t see enough of other children & therefore is still very backward in talking. Otherwise he is most enterprising & full of energy, & is out working on the farm all day long. It’s nice to be able to let him roam about with no traffic to be afraid of. Write again if you get time. I love getting letters.

With much love

George

[XIX, 3332, pp. 257–8; handwritten]

1
.
The first time was when Orwell went into Uxbridge Cottage Hospital just before Christmas 1933 with pneumonia.

2
.
The Café aux Deux Magots, much frequented by writers, on the Boulevard Saint-Germain.

3
.
At the end of August 1947, because of the grave financial crisis, the Labour government reduced food rations, and banned pleasure motoring and holidays abroad. Clement Attlee, the Prime Minister, said, ‘I have no easy words for the nation. I cannot say when we shall emerge into easier times.’ On 29 September, the Midlands was deprived of power for one day a week to cut fuel costs. On 9 October 1
947, to reduce foreign indebtedness, especially in dollars, the government cut the bacon ration to one ounce a week. The following month the potato ration was cut to 3 pounds a week.

To Eugene Reynal

28 January 1948

Hairmyres Hospital

East Kilbride

Dear Mr. Reynal,
¹

I must thank you very kindly for the food parcel which you so kindly sent me & which reached me here about a week ago. It was a very pleasant surprise. I was particularly thrilled to find in it a tin of olive oil, a thing we have not seen for years.

I expect Leonard Moore told you I was ill, as I asked him to let anyone in the USA with whom I had any connections know I should be out of action for some months. It is TB of the left lung. I have been ill for three months or more, but actually I think ever since that vile winter of 1
946–47. I feel better & I think I have just about turned the corner, but the cure is a slow one at best. Of course I can’t do any serious work till I’m in good health, but I am beginning to do just a little journalism. After months of idleness, I’m afraid my handwriting is getting a bit funny, but that is because I have my right arm in plaster
²
& haven’t got used to this yet.

Thank you so much again.

Yours sincerely,

George Orwell

[XIX, 3335, p. 260; handwritten copy]

1
.
Of Reynal & Hitchcock, New York, publishers of
Dickens, Dali & Others
(1946).

2
.
Why Orwell’s arm was in plaster is not known. He was confined to bed so could hardly have fallen. However, the phrenic nerve, crushed as part of the procedure described in his letter to his sister (see
1.1.48
), affects the arms, and it might have been related to that.

To David Astor*

1 February 1948

Hairmyres Hospital

East Kilbride

Dear David,

Thanks so much for your letter. Before anything else I must tell you of something Dr Dick* has just said to me.

He says I am getting on quite well, but slowly, & it would speed recovery if one had some streptomycin
(
streptomycin
).
¹
This is only obtainable in the
USA
, & because of dollars the B.O.T.
²
(or whoever it is) won’t normally grant a licence. One can however buy it there if one has some dollars. He suggested that you with your American connections might arrange to buy it & I could pay you. He wants 70 grammes, & it costs about £1 a gramme. I would be awfully obliged if you could put this transaction through for me, as no doubt you can do it quicker than I could myself. There is no twist or illegality about this, Dr Dick says, & the stuff is not difficult to send. I suppose it will mean paying out about 300 dollars. If you want to be repaid in dollars, I think I have enough, as I had started building up a reserve of dollars in the
US
, otherwise I can pay you in sterling. I must in either case pay you, as it is a considerable sum & of course the hospital can’t pay it.

I received from McIntyre
³
a parcel of butter & eggs, & he told me you had instructed him to send this weekly. It is awfully kind, but I am going to ask him not to send the eggs, as I can’t use them in those numbers & I expect the hens aren’t laying too well now. I know ours at Barnhill are still doing very badly. I feel we ought to pay for Bob if we have him 10 months of the year—however. He only gets hay in the winter—of course he’d get oats if he were doing harder work—but he was in excellent condition when I came away. Our new cow has just arrived & my sister can’t leave until it has calved. I’m afraid my writing is awful, but I have my arm in plaster. It’s much better that
way, as it doesn’t hurt but it is awkward for certain purposes such as writing & eating. I also have to shave left-handed. Dr Dick says he will write to you. I suppose it will be best to have the drug sent to him. His correct designation is Mr Bruce Dick.

Yours

George

[XIX, 3337, pp. 262–3; handwritten]

1
.
Streptomycin was discovered in the United States in 1
944 and was at this time being tested in Britain by the Medical Research Council.

2
.
Board of Trade, which controlled imports, and at this time refused to allow as many as it could, especially if payment was in dollars.

3
.
Presumably one of the Astor estate staff on Jura.

To Fredric Warburg*

4 February 1948

Hairmyres Hospital

East Kilbride

Dear Fred,

Thanks so much for your letter.
¹
As you inferred, my beginning to do articles in the
Observer
is a sign of partial revival, though even that is an effort, especially as I now have my right arm in plaster. I can’t attempt any serious work while I am like this (1½ stone under weight) but I like to do a little to keep my hand in & incidentally earn some money. I’ve been definitely ill since about October, & really, I think, since the beginning of 1947. I believe that frightful winter in London started it off. I didn’t really feel well all last year except during that hot period in the summer. Before taking to my bed I had finished the rough draft of my novel all save the last few hundred words, & if I had been well I might have finished it by about May. If I’m well & out of here by June, I might finish it by the end of the year—I don’t know. It is just a ghastly mess as it stands, but the idea is so good that I could not possibly abandon it. If anything should happen to me I’ve instructed Richard Rees, my literary executor, to destroy the Ms. without showing it to anybody, but it’s unlikely that anything like that would happen. This disease isn’t dangerous at my age, & they say the cure is going on quite well, though slowly. Part of the cure is to put the affected lung out of action for six months, which gives it a better chance to heal. We are now sending for some new American drug called streptomycin which they say will speed up the cure.

Richard is getting enormous & is very forward in everything except talking. I’m going to have him thoroughly examined when my sister goes up to town, but I really don’t think he’s T.B. to judge by the look of him. It’s sad that I can’t see him again till I’m non-infectious. Please remember me to Pamela and Roger.

Yours

George

[XIX, 3339, pp. 264–5; handwritten]

1
.
Warburg wrote to Orwell on 2 February 1948 saying that Orwell’s review of
India Called Them
by Lord Beveridge in the
Observer
(1 February, XIX, 3336, pp. 261–
2), ‘gave me heart to write and enquire how you are getting on’. He said there was nothing they needed to consult about but he would be greatly cheered by ‘a line, however brief, as to how you are and how soon you hope to come out of that wretched hospital’.

To David Astor*

Monday [9 February 1948]

Dear David,

Just a hurried note to say thanks awfully your seeing about the streptomycin. Meanwhile you’ll have had a telegram
¹
which crossed your letter & which I hope you didn’t bother to answer. Just having heard I got time to ring up last night, & as you were down in the country I then wired, as I did think it conceivable my original letter hadn’t gone off. We get them posted in a rather sketchy way here.

Of course
I must pay you for the stuff. But I’ll try & think of something else you’d like, or your little girl.

I’ve just heard the Darrochs
²
are ‘definitely leaving’ Kinuachdrach[d], but I still can’t find out what the row was about. It’s a sad business after D.D. has broken his back reclaiming the farm, & awkward for the Fletchers
³
too. However, they’ll have to get another tenant if only to look after their cattle.

All well here. They pump me so full of air once a week that I feel like a balloon for two days afterwards.