evoked before he knew he was the only one in the room - and then
began to draw on his experience with the help of a few basic rules
of the trade, and then on his own, to develop a style of drawing
which was unique - and then - eventually - equal to the task
of creating a drawing that would stand out in a crowd

9th July, 1946

self, self, self, everyone it

Dearest Fido,

Look what I have here! You'll be finding my letters
far more readable from now on, after disentangling those inky
struggles for so long. Though even this will probably be very
messy by the time I get through, it's been months since I last
typed. I acquired it at a peculiarly gangstersky little shop on
the East River end of 42nd St; feel there must be some awful snag,
as the price wasn't at all black&markety - though the model is
one of those antique Corona portables, feels as if it might give
way at each line. But I'm very pleased, and feel lucky; type-
writers are still the most sacred scarcities, in the nylons-motor cars-
white shirts-refrigerators class.

Thank you so much for the amusing letter of 2nd July.
What a time, what adventures you do seem to have had. I'm quite
sad at having missed the Matterhorn snow scene. And the Schwarz-
see, and everything. How sad that you couldn't stay any longer,
but I suppose the dogs are like little ones, what can you do....

Many thanks, too, for the two letters from our Kat, who
sounds very much as if she were recovering. Kenneth also had one,
and was very pleased.

I sent Robert two more parcels, one full of sticky sweets
and fruits etc. the other utilitarian, with good nourishing ham and
canned milk and corned beef hash. The shop said I could, indeed,
subscribe; so I'll do that, as soon as his present month's interval
has lapsed. Then he'll be sure of regular supplies, whether I'm in
town or not.

I'm looking very sunburnt from a long weekend in Connect-
icut, not in Kenneth's place, but further north and on the coast,
at Grace Pell's - a young old dame who has opened her house as a
sort of privatehotel for the summer. Not the least bit like a
hotel, more a crazy house party, everybody very chatty and strewn
around the lawn with almost nothing on. The whole set-up was
complicated by Jean Parker; perhaps you remember her from the films,
she always played sweet innocent girls, and the leadin Ghost Goes
West, and the human love interest in films about wild animals.
Well, she's now gone into summer stock, nearby; she was doing all
her final rehearsing over the weekend, some of it at the theatre,
but a lot of it at the house, kept on floating down thestaircase
in billowing white chiffon and trying out lines O- which was a
bit startling when one first arrived. She is playing the lead in
an incredible 1922 drama about a maid who pretends to be a baroness -
and then somebody gets murdered, but I got rather vonfused at that
point. There was another Stock Company in a rival town, playing
Claudia. Claudia's husband (the stage one) came over on Sunday, for
a swim, a most beautiful young he-man with muscles, and I had to
help him learn his lines on the beach. Altogether an eventful

PTO

c/o Mrs. Pell
Madison, Connecticut

9th August, 1946

Dearest Fido,

Your letter of the 2nd arrived yesterday, faithfully forwarded to me here by the Roger Williams. I meant to give you the address myself, but didn't get around to writing before; everything was a bit rushed and complicated in town, as you can imagine, what with Kenneth's various crises, getting myself packed and organized out of town, the biggest and best heat-wave yet, Ray being turned out of his flat and having nowhere to go and using me as an intermediate warehouse, and a whole batch of bosom friends converging on New York from different parts of the continent. However, I think all is fairly well under control now - anyway, I've left people to their struggles, and I'm having a wonderful time down here, lying in Long Island Sound. Not that life is exactly peaceful, even here. I'm staying in that mad soi-disant boarding house where such startling things happen all the time; you remember, Jean Parker and her husband were staying last time I wrote about it...... the following weekend they had the most fascinating row. 2 a.m.: Loud shriek piercing the whole house and echoing off to Long Island Sound, and La Parker's voice pitched to the best Hollywood dramatics, "You pig, you filthy monster, you're no good in bed or out, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you......" SLAM goes a book across the room, and a chair flies back. Husband's voice (he is a Mittel-Europaischer agent who looks after the stars' income tax) You little bitch, you no-good trollop - CRASH lands a glass on the opposite wall. And so it went on, with variations, until dawn, with repeat performances practically every night. But now they have both gone, she is app earning at Peekskill Summer Theatre, in the same dreadful little play about a maid who pretends to be the Baroness. The house seems quite empty, I miss them. But so many other things manage to happen. Grace Pell is one of America's champion L's, though not too alarming to look at, she's like a roly-poly teddy bear; but her life has been varied and intense, and she is now beginning to find her soul, writes long tragic poems about loneliness and wandering like an empty spirit through the foam and sea-shells..... you know the sort of thing. My typewriter has made all the difference to her life, she is copying all her great works and sending them off to New York editors; she seems to have written a tremendous amount, and is catching up on it in the most intensive way, so my machine has been in constant use - one of the reasons I haven't written sooner. Some emotional moment made her do the weirdest things to the ribbon - pause, while I unwinded half a pool and unravelled a sort of rope in it, and started over again. During the course of her complex career, she also managed to get around to two husbands, and a son with each. The older son, Peter, is 15, and so grown-up, so sophisticated, with Life at his finger tips. He wants to be an actor, is always dashing around clad in some trailing bit of velvet and a pompadour wig on his head, looking like an imitation of Douglas Byng imitating Queen Elizabeth. Or gets drama into his own life, rushed down the

staircase, saying It's No Good, he Can't Bear It, he is going to
End It All. The rest of the time, he appears in the local Summer
Theatre, as noises on, noises off, or assistant-assistant prop man.
Everybody thinks he is going to be a genius, nobody is quite sure.
The small son, Mike, age 8, is on my balcony at this very minute,
trying to rip out bits of the wooden roof so that he can make a
nice fire for me - being the hottest evening of the year, I feel
it's one of their things I can do without, quite apart from the
state of Grace's roof; however, he refuses to be discouraged. The
other day, he was tumbling around Mama when she was trying to
write poems, saying Mummy can I have an ice-cream, and Mummy what
can I do with myself - finally she snapped back "I don't care
WHAT you do, chop up the piano if you like." And he did. He
summoned a little soul mate from next door, borrowed a hatched
from the shed, and they had a most wonderful afternoon. The piano is
stacked outside in great hunks, a tremendous thing like a giants'
harp propped against the porch, and sometimes Peter dresses
up in the satin bedspread and plays on that. Mike is the roundest,
fattest object you ever saw, and covered with every known kind of
grime and smears of ice-cream; never stops eating, for a minute -
ice-cream cones, gooey sweets on sticks, lurid fuzzy drinks in
bottles; as soon as Mama can tear herself away from her poems or
her house-guests to wash him, he runs out of the house and falls
into a bog; or wanders off to catch baby eels in a revolting ditch-
cum-sewer at the bottom of the golf course.

So life goes on. It's such a peaceful place in appearance,
a lovely house, nice green grounds, a beautiful golf course, and the
sea; all most idyllic. But somehow, never a dull moment. The
strangest assortment of guests comes and goes, one never quite knows
what will appear next. The local summer theatre is very much on
the doorstep. That young man whose lines I helped rehearse on the
beach, "Claudia's" husband, you remember, is a regular dropper-in -
a pleasant, sort of dumb he-man type, all brawn and muscles, not
the most brilliant conversationalist you ever heard, but pleasy
to cope with.

(Pause: Mike insists that I join him in an orgy of
iced tea and chocolate cake, and a poker game)

About an hour later, Mike says he loves me dearly,
and please may he spend the night in the other bed in my room;
Mama has gone out to the theatre, Peter is cross with him, and
it frightens him to sleep all alone downstairs. So he has
curled up, with a pile of Funny Books, and a box of crayons which
is being lovingly crumbled over the blankets while he tries to
colour a book called The Adventures of Cosmo Cat.

I now feel I know what it's like to be the mother of
a strong, healthy little one. Dear Fido - how ever did you
cope with so many years of me.

Madison, Connecticut

26th August, 1946

Dearest Fido,

I hope this reaches you on time to wish you a very
Happy Birthday, with a lovely exciting year to follow, full
of everything you most want. Sad to think I won't be with
you on Monday, but I shall certainly be thinking of you, even
more than usual, all day, sending you happy returns by psychic
thought wave. I'm sure Elsie will look after you and cook a
wonderful dinner in celebration.

Now, about your present. You remember a learned book
you wanted, and wrote down on a list along with Robert's food
parcels and Mrs. Spender's music. Well, when I first arrived,
the book was out of print, and they expected it to be back in
at any minute. But then I lost the bit of paper..... and the
other day, René wrote and said that you wanted a book that
sounded learned and Shakespearian, I'm sure it was the same one;
had I sent it to you, if not, should he? So I wrote back, post
haste, and said please send it off without delay if he could
find it, but please let it be my present to you. I haven't heard
since - and don't know whether he was able to get it. But I do
hope so; if not, I shall bustle around and send you something else
equally glamorous as soon as I get back to town. It's all very
complicated, and I very much hope it was one and the same book and
that René was successful - because I know you wanted it.

I was going back to New York today, but it suddenly
turned very hot all over again, so I thought I'd wait till this
wave subsided - also there is a kind of August Bank Holiday on
Monday, Labor Day as it's called, on your birthday, so travel
is a bit congested. And the actor son is making his great debut
in a barn, with a fourteen year old leading lady, tomorrow night,
which of course, one must attend.

Such excitements since I last wrote. My hostess has
a great bosom friend called Agnes, a rather staggering lady who
arrives down here from time to time, always dressed exactly as
if she were stepping into the Waldorf for cocktails; she wears
incredible hats the size of tea-trays, trimmed with little
frilly rose-buds, and veils with birds, you know the kind of
thing...... Anyway, Agnes has a beloved poodle, who was suitably
married a couple of months ago, and produced eight precious,
aristocratic poodlets. All this in New York, at a dogs'
maternity home. But then, Mama developed various post-confinement
troubles and depressions, and the doctor ordered a complete change
and country air. So Agnes telephoned in a great state and said
she was arriving, with nine poodles - did arrive, with nine
poodles, and had to dash off to Philadelphia the same day, to cope
with a sick sister; has not yet returned. So you see, that left
us with a depressed Mama poodle, and eight incredibly valuable
four-week old children. They have to be fed, every two hours,

from six in the morning onwards; if service is a minute off
schedule, the whole household echoes with protests. They're
just old enough, as you probably know from your own experiences,
to walk and talk vociferously, to eat paint, and chew up the
newspapers one puts down as a carpet; and seven of them tumble
around and eat the back of one's leg, while the one is being
fed with a fountain pen filler. They wouldn't eat the first
day, just lay around like so many little mops; Grace and I were
convinced they were dying, and rang up the vet, who rushed in -
but said the journey had unsettled them and all was well.
Certainly they've been making up for lost time in every way, since.

So you see, life is in the country is not dull.

Then our Summer Theatre friends gave a party to
celebrate the opening of "The Little Foxes" which is the last
play of the season. A few fascinating creatures arrived down
from New York to assist; gentlemen, so to speak, in slinky
sportscars, and all wearing the most beautiful silk scarves
and canary coloured shirts and socks etc. By 2 a.m. the
party was very much in full swing; everybody was teamed up
with somebody, on a sofa, or under a sofa or a table - a few
were scouting around fixing their teams. All the ladies were
gathered in fierce huddles in corners - except for one, a nine-
teen year-old ingenue straight from the Pasadene Playhouse,
hadn't yet quite found out about Life and was rather bewildered.
I wasn't too sure, myself, which group I should join - but then
go+ annexed by a growling old gentleman who always plays elderly
barons and butlers; his idea of conversation was quoting long
hunks of Shaw, verbatim; after about an hour's solid Candida
and Pygmalion, Grace mercifully appeared and said she had to
get home to bed early because of the puppies' breakfast, so I
left with her. But the party went on till 7 a.m. and the
hotel was littered with corpses all day. Absolutely made
local history, and the cast of The Little Foxes has been
looking somewhat battered ever since.

Talking of Shaw, I saw "Caesar and Cleopatra" last
night, you remember, that fantastic Technicolour masterpiece
with Vivien Leigh, which opened at the Regal last winter, and
which we could never quite bear the idea of. It suddenly
arrived at the local village movie. And we loved it - wasn't
nearly as bonus and silly as it might have been; bits were
really beautiful, and very well acted. It's been a great
success here, all the critics raved about it; you remember
how they all panned it, in a body, when it was shown in England.
So do see it, if it should suddenly appear at the Montreux
local; I only hope they don't infuse French voices and dialogue.

Haven't seen Kenneth for over three weeks. I _think_
he's in New York, but nobody quite knows.

Much love to you, darling Flea. Many, many, "happies"
once again.

And all blessings,

Madison, Connecticut

16th August, 1946

Dearest Fido,

I've just been swimming rather stormily; it's the wildest day, with a kind of gale blowing, and the sound is all whipped up as if it were the middle of the Atlantic - great breakers lashing around. I got thoroughly drenched by two of them, and so decided I might as well be completely drowned, and shammed the salt out of my hair. So I am sitting here dripping into the typewriter, and my grubby small boy friend Mike, is stretched out on his tummy on my bed. Two unexpected guests are arriving at any minute, and his distraught Mama said would I please, please keep him quiet for an hour while she cleaned the spare room; she doesn't care what I do with him, but please keep him out of her way before she collapses into a nervous wreck.

I wonder whether you have gone off to Zermatt again. It does sound heaven there; next year, I think I will have to join you, and we will all scramble up the various Horns together. What adventures you and Robert certainly did have, such energy; I felt quite exhausted after every one of your letters.

I think I told you, I sent Robert two hefty packages, and was going to subscribe as soon as the month had elapsed. But then René rang up and said he had put in a monthly subscription from another shop, and that I needn't bother. But would you like me to send him the extra package? I should imagine one could hardly have too many in England just now. Oh, and do you know Lotte's address by any chance? Because there is a new service of parcels to Germany and Austria; I felt sure you would like me to do something about Lotte, but of course got held up through lack of addresses. And what about YOU? Rita gave me such enthusiastic reports about the Kenwin meals; I hesitated to send coals to Newcastle which you might have to pay endless francs of duty on. Yet I feel there must be things you need. And now you can write and ask for things without any inhibitions; so, please tell me, because I do so want to send you a parcel, but I want it to be something you want.

Coutts have notified me that my income is definitely coming through, with the blessings of the Bank of England. Which makes me feel very happy and rich; I shall probably go to school this fall, like all the Veterans - I have heard of a very good advertising course, which might be fun.

I expect to be here another week or ten days; New York is still rather overwhelmingly tropical. Though I advise you to write to New York when you answer this.

I hope all is well and gay and happy in your life. Much love to you, dear Flea, and blessings,

Roger Williams Hotel
28 E. 31st St.
New York City

20th September, 1946

Fido dear -

I've just switched on swooner-crooner Frank
Sinatra to inspire me with my morning correspondence.
He always comes on at nine sharp, the WHN Summer Melody
Cruise with the Gloom Dodgers, a four hour programme
every morning; then Bing at ten. I'm longing to
introduce you my highbrow New York habits. Are you
really still thinking of coming over this winter? I
do hope so. It would be fun to show you around, and
so many people keep on inquiring anxiously when, oh WHEN...?
Yes, indeed, Rene and I should be able to combine "pull"
and secure you a little nest here; just let us know as
soon as you know, and we'll apply some concerted diplomacy
on the staff. If really desperate, an extra bed can
always be moved into my room, the way we managed that time
with Rita; or I could camp with friends somewhere. You
won't be stranded and homeless in any case - but I'm sure
we'll be able to fix you up. And what fun it will be
showing you around and watching your reactions to everything
and everybody.

We're having a heat-wave all over again, quite
suddenly, which is a bit overwhelming at this point. It
got quite cold and frosty for a week or two, one fetched
out one's woollies, and one's mental woollies and a brisk
autumn tempo - and now it seems to be hotter than all the
other times put together. Also, a large gang of road-
menders has suddenly moved in under my window; they're
happily turning a whole section of Madison Avenue inside
out with pneumatic drills. So my little room isn't
exactly the most peaceful place in the world at this moment.

Things have been a bit hectic here, in other
ways too, with the trucking and maritime strikes. Food
and cigarette supplies dwindling fast (though certainly
nothing to compare with Our Wartime Shortages) and people
getting quite unduly agitated. However, it all seems to
be vaguely under control now - until the next batch of
strikes starts up. One major bore of it was that all
the foreign mail got held up, both in and out going, so
I don't seem to have heard from anybody for weeks. However,
I expect a nice, heavy haul will be coming in at any moment.

I should be going away for the weekend, but
I'm not sure where. Kenneth drew up tentative plans
to go to his place, but it all hinges on whether we

have a car or not. The driver of the car (whom Kenneth
refers to cryptically as My War Hero) has gone off to
the Deep South and should be back today, but hasn't
manifested so far, and refuses to answer telegrams.
So I may go to the "madhouse" instead, among the poodles.
They're still there, all eight of them, bursting with
health and permanently ravenous. They seem to grow
in number as they grow in size, so now it's just like
having twenty Shetland ponies around the place. If
you're not very careful, you may find yourself presented
with one on arrival. There's a large brown one, I think
you'd like - a very fierce, woolly gentleman who growls
aggressively at everybody and tries to eat down the wire
fence the whole time. And there's a little black girl,
technically not a good poodle, but far from having an
inferiority complex, she has more personality than any
of the others, always first on the spot when food appears -
and she leaps into the bowl with all four feet and yaps
viciously at her brothers and sisters.

Mike has recovered from his accident. He
was very thrilled by the alarm on the ambulance going
into hospital - they have sort of air-raid sirens, as
you probably know from the movies. He has a beautiful
scar, sewn up with stitches, which he proudly produces
at the least provocation, and altogether he was the
local hero and got a lot of new prestige at school.
Both sons are back in school, so Grace has some peace
during part of the day - when she isn't nurse-maiding
poodles.

I saw the Wormsers the other night, the first
time in many months. Both looking very well, though
Rene was a bit harassed about a lecture he has to give
in Detroit or some remote place - all about Wills or
something. He told me once again, that he had ordered
your book, is still waiting for it to come. Apparently
it's quite difficult to get. I may try a few other
bookshops as well, if it doesn't come soon. So you may
find yourself with six copies.

I trust all goes well and is still fun. Do
think very seriously about coming States-wise, as they
say here. I INSIST.

Lots of love,

28 E. 31st St.
New York City

21st September, 1946

Dearest Fido,

Your letter of the 17th arrived this morning, together with a bunch of older letters from various people and places - so I gather the worst of the strikes must be over, at last.

I loved the description of Bulldog and his reception. What excitements you must have had.

But I'm sorry you're still having such problems and difficulties with our poor Kat. It all sounds a great worry for you. I do wish I could do something to help. Is there anything? I have written a couple of times, but just chattily, not in the least profoundly or psycho-analytically. And I sent some maple sugar and a little book for her birthday, though when they will arrive, is dubious. Some parcels seem to take about six months to get anywhere, others just flit through in a matter of days - makes one's presents very difficult to time.

I didn't get away this weekend, after all. Which is just as well, as the weather has now turned dripping wet and dark and cold - right on top of being so hot one couldn't breathe. New York's climate is quite the most difficult thing to keep up with.

I am seeing Kenneth tonight. We're having a party with Ray and the new War Hero, who has suddenly turned up, but without his car; that's why we couldn't get to the country. I'm very curious about this new gentleman, will relay the dirt to you.

Pop returns to England on the 17th. He got a passage on the America, which is making its first voyage since being de-G. I. ed. He was staying with Kenneth all week, but was ousted by War Hero, so has gone to Eileen's on Long Island.

PLEASE TELL ME: Have you the New Yorker, Time, and Life? I know they used to arrive in England, but are the subscriptions still alive? It would be the easiest thing for me to see to that. And wouldn't you like a two months old poodle sent out by Constellation. Do let me know, without delay!

With best love,

28 E. 31st St.

Tuesday, 8th October

Dearest Fido,

Thank you so much for your two letters, the recent one all about our Kat. Oh dear, oh dear, what a distraught-making time you must have had. It does seem sad that you have to go through all this - but I know you are coping in a brilliant and angelic way.

How brave of you to go back and face London, and all the perils of the "war front" - though it will be fun seeing everybody again. I imagine Switzerland will be best beginning to get a bit cold and bleak by then, so you'll probably welcome a short change. I long to hear your impressions - gather things haven't got noticeably better.

And what wonderful news that you really are thinking of coming out here. I'll be right there at La Guardia, you can be sure.... and then right here, to hold your hand - which will need a good deal of holding, I'm sure; New York is just about three times as hectic as you remember it, and there'll be snow on the streets. But PLEASE don't get discouraged, and decide not to come over; you'll enjoy it, and of course the food is wonderful - so much so that I've had to switch to the other extreme and go on a diet. My glamorous shape became anything but. Things are under control now, I've lost thirteen pounds, and feel very well on less Perdita.

Weather here alternates violently between hottest summer and coldest winter. I'm invariably shivering on street corners in my thinnest dress, or puffing down a sweltering Madison Avenue in my stoutest English winter suit. And now the Florida hurricane is scheduled to hit New York at 50 m.p.h.

I went away for the weekend; it was then being summer, and I sat on the beach in my abbreviated sun suit, feeling too hot even so, and dipping my toes into the surf. Poodles were in great form. A bit sad and depleted the first day, as they had just been wormed - but they soon revived. They're quite enormous now, full of fiendish energy, and have discovered how to push over the wire netting of their run; one spends one's life trying to chase eight overgrown poodlets in eight different directions all over the garden. Mike was very well, too; he burst into my room at six on Saturday morning to tell me there was a local fair, with swings and coconut shies and freak shows, and that his life would be ruined if he didn't go, but he'd spent all his week's allowance on ice-cream and Mother said he couldn't have any more money till next Friday. I managed to produce a solution, and trotted off with his little friend from next door; Mama was duly relieved to have him out of the way.

Best love and barks,

Roger Williams Hotel
28 E. 31 St.
New York City

2nd December, 1946

Favourite Fido,

Received your letter of the 27th this morning. Yes, I think you have a room. In fact, I'm fairly sure you have; it's just a bit complex, as the nice manager downst airs, whom I'd trained beautifully to cater to my whims, suddenly decided to retire and live in Florida. A new gentleman has taken over, quite amiable and cooperative, but it did mean starting from scratch, with all my charm. They're so desperate now, that they won't take any bookings more than a week in advance.... but I did vamp him into saying that if I asked him at Christmas, he would see that something was arranged, without fail. Now, it is two rooms, isn't it - you and Rita. And which date, exactly? You told me Jan. 7th, but a more recent letter chatted so glamorous- ly about the Southern Route, Rio, Lisbon etc. so I wondered whether that rearranged your dates at all. I must say, your letter sounded too Cooks Travel Folders for words. You've got me restless now. I'm making plans too. But so much has evolved, I hardly know how or where to begin.

I think I mentioned that I was going to school. Yes, I enrolled in a ladylike secretarial school on Fifth Avenue - where I'm taking a most intensive six months course, a two year program drastically condensed for GI Janes. Alas, I don't get it free, under the GI Bill of Rights, as they do, but I managed to squeeze in on the strength of my battle experience, it's very full up, like all schools these days. A number of people, from Rene to Norman, recommended a course like that; OSS was so delightfully different from any office one is likely to work in, ever again - and over here, it does limit one's job scope if one doesn't have certain qualifications. I've decided I would like to be a career girl in the USA at some future date - not just a girl typing with thirty others, or selling girdles in Macy's; fun to be some film executive's devastating secretary, or else get into an advertising agency, or onto a newspaper. I'm enjoying it very much, in a distraught sort of way; it does make life a busy, busy thing, piles of homework.... and oh, shorthand..... and lectures on American Business Efficiency and how to handle a business deal on long distance from San Francisco when the boss is ill with flu. And so on. The school also acts as an employment agency - which might come in useful.

Now the thing is, one can break the course in the middle, to visit an anxious mother in Arizona or Seattle. The next recess is in the spring, wanderlust time.... and I thought, why not visit two anxious mothers in Europe. The beauty of that idea is that if I travel BOAC or Cunard, I can pay for it with some of those lovely pounds sterling that are so firmly riveted to my London bank account (oh yes, I did get my year's income through, you were asking....) and like you, I say "what is sterling to me?"

I shall write to Rita and spring the idea on her.
Thought I might fly one way, and "Queen Elizabeth" the other.
Be away four, possibly five weeks, aiming at being in S witzer-
land for my birthday. I suddenly feel I want to see everybody,
so much, including the house, Dyna, and a couple of stray boy-
friends who have arrived back from the wars. But not to stay
in London for more than two weeks, if that; oh dear no, from
what everybody tells me.

So, angel - thank you a thousand times for your
wonderful offer to ship clothes. What a gruesome assignment
you would be taking on. There isn't really very much, what
there is, seems to consist of ancient slacks I wore in the
Blitz and never quite wore out, and other little numbers of
the same kind. But if I do whisk through London, I can whisk
through them and decide just what to do.

Reading through your letter again, you quite definitely
said Rita. For a room here, I mean. Rene called up about the
whole problem, just before I started writing, and said he thought
Rita had plans of her own. That's what got me confused.....

Haven't seen Kenneth for months. Well, a month.
We had lunch just before I went to Washington, and you know
how vague he is, and as he has no telephone in his new apartment,
there's no way of contacting him other than knocking on his
front door. And I've been so busy being a studious GI Jane,
I just haven't managed to do anything else much.

It's very cold. A sort of Ice Age has set in. No
snow, so far, but it will be here any minute. It was very
windy today, with the temperature way down below somewhere, and
a clear, brilliant sky. You know those New York days, rather
exhilerating, but I haven't quite readjusted yet; we had such
a long and overwhelming Indian Summer this year, it's difficult
to realize that one's great aim is to keep warm rather than get
cool. The black market lamb (remember him?) came out of Storage
a few weeks back; he had a nice long summer sleep in a refrigerated
vault, also a beauty treatment, and looks very elegant; very
welcome too, you can imagine.

Oh dear, I must wash my nylons, curl my curls, study
my little manual on Poise and Composure in business, and
go to bed.

Blessings and much love,

30th January, 1947

Fido, my pet -

I certainly did miss you on the way down, you
would have loved the trip. Though it didn't start when
you waved me into the bus at 7.30, not by any means. We
got to La Guardia at breakneck speed, then sat and sat and
SAT. Trailed off to breakfast in the Pan American Coffee
House (my third that morning) then came back and sat some
more, finally left slightly after 12.30. But then all
went quite beautifully for a change. We did what I've
never done in a plane - flew right over New York, very
low, from one end to the other, over Central Park and th n
down Fifth Avenue, one could almost pick out the shops,
and if we'd hovered a bit longer, I'm sure I could have
picked out the Roger Williams fx three blocks to the left
and down from the Empire State Building. It all looked
very beautiful in the sunlight, I waved and blinked away
a sentimental tear. The Statue of Liberty was rather
bored and boring as usual, we zoomed right over her bonnet,
and then the stewardess, but she x is a he on this run,
said lady you look sleepy, and proceeded to dimmantle the
seats across the aisle, which were three in a row, and with
the arms wrenched out it turned into a nice little bunk.
He tucked me in with cushions and a blue blanket, and I
lay there in a stupor all the way over the Deep South and
most of the Caribbean (or whatever it is underneath Miami).
Only gained consciousness when we landed at San Juan,
at midnight. There, we were carted off to a hotel -
another Slight Delay with the engine - and sat under a
pleasant wavy palm tree, drinking orange juice and coffee,
were dragged back to the aerodrome by an agitated gent on
the loudspeaker, and then proceeded to stand (there were
only three seats in the waiting room) while another Slight
Delay developed for two hours.

Trinidad was lovely. We got there just at sunrise,
and saw the Caribbean surf washing against white beaches,
and then that very green, lush looking island, which we
plunged into the middle of. The eternal breakfast once
again, and our next stop was Belem, just past the equator.
This time we had lunch, the second within an hour, and
trailed through the Immigration Authorities, who took our
temperatures - we all sat like children in the school
measles epidemic, sucking our thermometers and feelin
slightly nervous and foolish. The rest of the trip was
almost entirely Brazilian jungle, it goes on for hours,
and as far as you can see, with a great wide round
horizon like the sea; it looks just vaguely green, as
if millions of little baby cabbages had been dumped in
a va

a vast spread. I wished we could go down lower and pluck out
a couple of monkeys and a parrot to send you as a souvenir.
Then I slept a bit, and next thing we were climbing to the
top of the sky and jumping down it, with flashes of lightning
shooting across the wings. Later, I learnt that we were
negotiating the ring of mountains behind Rio, always very
high and deep and wild, and inevitably thundering.

Rita was most nobly there to meet me. There is
an aerodrome near town, but the big planes have to land way
off in the middle of nowhere, on an island. A little truck
takes dazed passengers to a boat, and the boat chugs across
to the mainland, slowly and endlessly, the lights of Rio
getting no nearer (so it seems) and everything smelling of
oil, and a busy Portuguese handing out orange juice and limp
sandwiches. It was about four by the time we arrived, and
then the luggage had to come - it has an even slower launch
of its own, which leaves a good hour later - all of which
took time.

Rio is great fun. How we do wish you were with us.
It is hot, but no worse than New York's August efforts, and
one arranges life accordingly, with open sandals and the Saks
dresses and a languid tempo of doing things. We were both
a bit overcome yesterday, went off to a beach on an island
in the morning, and then collapsed here the rest of the day.
I had an incredible hot swim, like stepping into a bath tub,
felt slightly warmer afterwards than before. Then we had
lunch in a Portuguese restaurant, rather colourful and slummy,
Rita said it was just like Portugal, with a mangy goat and
a starving cat and three hopeful coffee-complexion children
gazing at us hopefully sucking their thumbs.

We're going to the glamorous hotspot, the Copacobana
tonight, to eat and drink and dance, a farewell party for Herny
King who is off to the Argentine for three months leave, fishing.

The main thing that worries us, is the way the water
gets cut off, at all odd hours, without any warning. So
nothing in the bathroom works, but nothing. Then it gets
turned on again, for no particular reason, and the bathroom
becomes a hive of activity, we pull plugs, wash stockings,
leap into the tub... always at some silly hour when we
don't feel like a tub, never, never in the morning or when
one is going out for dinner.

We go to Sao Paulo on Monday, for three days. Then
back here, and Lisbon (tentatively) on the 10th. Everybody
has warned us against the Carnival, just like Coney Island
gone mad, they say, plus a riot of drunken Portuguese.
So we're getting out in good time.

Rita is also in the next room, I'm about to join
her in my own room. We had a very large lunch, and it's
hotter than ever - but fortunately we have rooms on the 14th
floor, overlooking the Sugar Loaf and a blue bay, and there's
a nice breeze wandering in through the window.

I hope this reaches you in New York, and in good
time to say Happy Trip. So nice seeing you,
we look forward to reunion-ing again, very soon.

SLOANE 8861.

32A, LYALL MEWS.

LONDON, S.W. 1.

1st May, 1947

Fido dafling,

Many, many thanks for your letters.
This is just a hasty scrawl, for I'm
due to leave for the Cote d'Azur in
an hour or so. My address, you remember,
is Hotel Beau-Rivage, St. Raphael. I
shall beat my way Capri-wards on May
10th. I've written to Kenneth asking
him to book a room in his XXXX pension,
or some other, nearby.

London has been such fun, I'm
sad to leave it, strange as that must
sound. But I suppose it's better to
go while one is happy, rather than
linger on for weeks with time to get
depressed.

Fungus situation is all under
control now. There are just yawning
charms in both the rooms, which have
to continue yawning while a) I get a
permit for floor-board timber, b) I
get a permit for a man to lay same.
But Nan, her girl friend, and Mrs.

SLOANE 8861.

32A, LYALL MEWS,

LONDON, S.W. 1.

Saturday

26 Ap 1947

Darling Fido,

Thank you so much for the various letters and forwardings. I'm glad Zurich was fun, and that Kat got away to the Tessin all right. I had a very excited letter from her, she seems to be enjoying herself. Have you been down there yourself, I wonder, with a rucksack, as planned.

Quite contrary to expectations, I'm finding London a lot of fun - my chief regret being not that I came, but that I'm not staying a bit longer. Of course the spring weather has helped tremendously, it's been sunning and sunning, for hours daily, with daffodils in all the parks. And it's been lovely seeing everybody. As for the food, I just never seem to stop eating....!

Just as well I arrived when I did. The house has developed a mysterious disease (there's an epidemic of it as delayed result of the bombs) called dry rot, which consists of fungus-forests

under the floorboards. If not attended to,
one tends to walk right through the floor
into the room underneath, and eventually the
whole place collapses with a dramatic thump.
Mrs. Thompson (bless her) rushed through the
permits and priorities, and got A Man, many
men, in fact, who burst into my bedroom
at 7.30 sharp and scrape fungus briskly till
night, and have to be hostessed with endless
charm and cups of tea. All very my sister-
Eileenish, I can't help giggling. The
sitting room and dining room are perfectly
allright, it's just the bedroom and bathroom,
but the scraping job is nearly done, then
they have to cauterize the whole thing with
a sinister sort of flame thrower.

I had lunch with Rita and the famous
Denys (at last) and naturally spoke of
you. My next moves are all fixed up,
I fly to Eannes on Thursday 1st May, then
struggle down to Rome and Naples on the 10th
in a horrible train which takes for ever,
but should be an adventure. Is Kenneth
in Capri? I was wondering about a place
to stay, but gather it is the one part of
the world minus a hotel crisis. My address
is Hotel Beau-Rivage St. Raphael.

How is Kenwin, I wonder? If you're
haging this weather it should be heaven.
Bestest love to The Bear and the Vee -
especially to you....

Grill the other night, by one of our mutual Capri friends. They were about to head South for good - finance finances and new villa all fixed up; very clever management, I do think.

Colby, I know sends his love. He is still away on his Winchester house-party, won't be back till late this morning. He did so enjoy the Kenwin visit, and is going to write to you very soon, asked me to mention him when I next wrote (if I got my correspondence organized before he did) and to thank you for all your kindness.

Yes, Fido, you really have been an angel to everybody within a radius of the whole world. We love you much. It was a happy, happy summer, especially that last Kenwin-Zermatt-Lugano-Zuri-Kenwin circuit. I long to return and do it all over again.

Pop

SLOANE 8861.

32A, LYALL MEWS,

LONDON, S.W. 1.

7th October, 1947

Fido darling,

Thank you so much for two letters, both with enclosures; one was waiting here in the wire box when I returned from Paris, the other arrived this morning.

Yes, Ann Glover; she has been on my mind and conscience. I rang up Sunday, but the family goes to the country at weekends, so I tried again this morning, had a long conversation with Mama, and they're probably coming to tea tomorrow. Annie is at the hairdressers at this moment, but will ring me back. Apparently the hairdresser is a sacred Tuesday ritual. They want me to dine, but I felt tea here was really a much better idea all round; I can entertain her with the house and gramophone records and cats..... last item still being in the plural; one son is Maxx with us, and due to be launched into the great world (with the porter of the flats behind us) but Mrs. Thompson says he has to remain chez Mamma for another week, because of The Milk. The others have all gone into welcoming homes, we even had a sort of waiting list, there's a shortage of cats and a surplus of mice in our part of the world. The (next door) Baileys have been overrun by all sorts of nasty things ever since their Bambi passed away from distemper, so they snatched the tabby

SLOANE 8861

32A, LYALL MEWS,

LONDON, S.W. 1.

shatteringly expensive, on the whole; yet our
very de-luxe rooms at the Lancaster (which is
supposed to be right on top of the most elegant
bracket) cost less than half what I pay wiii
at the Roger Williams, and lavishly supplied
with fresh flowers and scalding bath water.
It's all very odd. Can't say I really liked
the sniff of the atmosphere much; everybody goes
around saying "things cannot continue like this"
which of course they were saying in April, and
in April two years ago. All the jeunes ecrivains
seem to be scribbling like mad, and the theatre
is thriving - so they tell me, though I can't
really tell you; we were so busy looking up old
friends that we never got near a theatre... and
the idea of Existentialisme (horrible word to
type) discourages me so much that I never even
get as far as cutting the pages of the new books,
but Adrienne assures me that they've grown out
of their murky phase - I must try again.
What else....? Oh yes, we saw Garbo in the Ritz
Bar, chatting to a boy-friend right in the middle
of it and at the most social cocktail time, as
near to us as I am to Dyna this very minute;
she was wearing a very peculiar black shovel
hat, and a sort of wiii wiii witches' cloak, altogether
rather gaunt and ghoulish comme general effect,
but features as lovely as ever. The waiter was
so excited that he nearly dropped his tray, and
everybody had a happy stare; she was quite
undarneted, chatting, laughing, tossing down the

c i

cocktails like any little social butterfly those.
So all in all, Paris was fun, and well
worth the trip. Lovely flights there and back;
if only BEA were representative of the present
government, we would feel quite differently about
everything. Each moment was so polite and
comfortable and efficient, and nice planes - those
new Vikings, which really are the last word in
sky luxury, even more so than Constellations; they
go purring up from the aerodrome to the coast and
across to the other coast and down onto Paris,
before you even have time to leaf through Time
magazine. I'm glad the Government can do some-
thing... though I suppose it is only an Export
dollar trap. I postponed my return to Saturday
night, had a most romantic flight through the
stars, with Eastbourne a mass of twinkling lights
under the starboard wing, very, very pretty;
the pilot insisted on sitting down beside me,
pointing out landmarks, and chatting in an
immaculate BBC voice... I felt he should be
in quite a different place, piloting his plane,
but it seems to be part of the BEA service.
The hostess (a nice Roedean type) was also so
solicitous that I couldn't even get through the
first pages of Time, kept on wanting to wrap my
feet in rugs and supply refreshments, all inter-
larded with Madams and Certainlies. Then we
landed "on the beam" whatever that is.

We're still in a state of glorious
uncertainty as to whether we sail next Tuesday,
or NOT. Cunard have turned skittish and coy,
we're obviously dealing with the worst end of

Roger Williams Hotel
28 East 31 Street

27th Octob er, 1947

Dearest Fido,

Nice to get your letter of the 22nd - a pleasant
link with the Old World. I can hardly believe I left it
two weeks ago; I've been so caught up in the whirl of the
New, a busy business as you no doubt remember. And it's
been great fun, if exhausting. I was slightly apprehensive
about getting back after all these months, thought it might
be so huge and terrifying, that I'd get lost in the chaos and
burst into tears and catch the next east-bound thing. But
no.... it seems to be having the tonic effect.

That skyline was terrific. I'd forgotten it's
impact, which of course one misses with the La Guardia
a approach. It was the right kind of time, on the ideal
kind of day - brilliant 10 AM sunshine, blue skies and
sparkling water and down-town windows, and all the little
tugs and barges and the Staten Island Ferry tooting around.
We always did that in mid-winter in the old days, so it was
wonderful being able to stay on the top deck and watch it
without one's nose running and threatening to freeze. I
stood right there until the East mooring rope was cast off -
and then joined the final fringes of the Health and Immigration.
Unfortunately, Health didn't like my small-pox credentials
(written by one of their excellent New York doctors) - they're
so fussy now, and thought up a new clause while I was in
mid Atlantic; it has to state whether you have an immunex
or non-immune reaction. Remember when you come over. Crisis
was easily solved; they just pushed me across to the next desk,
where the ship's surgeon jabbed me, snatched two dollars (a
lucrative racket, for half the ship was caught that way) and
back to Immigration. That little man had decided to fill in
time with a drink, returned ten minutes later in very mellow
mood, mind hardly focused on job, I would say; seemed to have
the haziest idea what he was admitting to the Land of the Brave
and the Free.

My domestic arrangements are working out very happily.
Ann4 has found a room nearby, but still keeps some of her things
here and pops in and out - so I have the contact and chats, but
with the extra Lebensraum. I'm glad we kept the place on;
the rates have gone up by a dollar a day, but having been here
over a year, I count as resident and pay the same. You must
certainly come and perch with me when you arrive. I had a most
touching welcome from the entire staff, some of which enquired
after you too - very pleased to hear you were coming back.

Rene and Nell were also full of fond questions about you. They fed me a nice dinner in their flat - which they have to move out of, expansion for the new Arrival. Nell looks very well. Her lovely figure is no more, of course, but she seems well, and happy about the whole thing. Rene is so pleased that he bursts into a wide grin whenever It is mentioned, which is approximately every ten minutes. The earth-shaking event is billed for early January, and all mixed up with moving day. We're going to have rather a distrait solicitor for a time, I feel. But quite good occupational therapy for the Wormser household.

Who else, what else......? Ray, of course, and my first Man hattan dinner, which made a cozy evening. More enquiries about you. The Bryher cult has its faithful followers wherever we go. He is still in his Newspaper firm, but a bit grander and better paid, and very busy, for he has come over all ambitious, goes to various evening classes and trots around with great packets of homework. Seems very happy on it. The glamour boy, Paul (I think you met him at Kenneth's) also appeared on my phone the minute the ship was signalled, and still proposes daily, which gets monotonous. A decorative playmate, I feel, but really not much more; these things are seldom detrimental to a girl's morale, however, and he makes an excellent playmate and background and sort of decoy duck for making other people jealous. I just adore being adored and having lots of admirers in different parts of the city, and different parts of the world, all getting jealous of eachother. I dread to think what will become of me in my old age. But it's certainly fun now.

I had dinner with Tom and Sarah Lee last night. Most touching of them to invite me, for it was Tom's first evening at home for months, and months to come. He has now opened up his own decorating agency, works just about twenty hours a day, building very successfully, I gather. He is doing all the Bergdorf Goodman windows for this season, a nice contract for to start free-lancing with. But entails working right through several nights a week, so that the new windows are there in the morning, all bright and new and dazzling, as if Santa Claus had passed through. Sarah is still on Harper's Bazaar. They are rather worried about their small son, who has grown to about twice the size since I last saw him, with all the driving energy of a rocket bomb, and a fine and brilliant mind which his progressive school refuse to curb in any way. He mustn't be confined among the usual class subjects - so he takes radios and Daddy's electrical razor apart, talks learnedly about atomic energy, sophisticatedly about Mother's clothes and all the people who come to the house. But can't read or write. Tom is too busy to cope much, so Sarah is left with him, and gets a bit exhausted wondering what he is going to take to pieces next, and just how it's all going to turn out. I suppose that's what happens with little ones.

I do hope the Lugano/Zuri/Pully move worked happily, and that you've all settled in. Lots of love to Kat, I'm writing her tom La Paix this morning, tell her, if this yours arrives first. And to Kenneth, if he really has appeared. IF!

June 29

Hello Fido !

I think it's a bit like
Jornalot. We drove a car
in a snow storm,
spent a weekend in
a log cabin in a
investigate love
Maul Pimp

BOULDER
JUL 1
2 PM
1948
COLO

ADDRESS

Mr. W. Byghen
Hotel Miners
LUGANO
Switzerland