Robin's Tree
Roehampton Vale
S.W.15

13 January 1955

Dear Mr Pound,

I write to wish both you and that Distinguished Person (D.P.) a Happy and Prosperous New Year. I had hoped when I saw that Mr Hemingway had taken up the cudgels on your behalf, that you were going to get a New Deal or a Washington Washout, or whatever you call it in your distant land. But so far, I have seen no realisation of my hopes, which, like all best hopes, never die, and so I shall go on hoping.

Many thanks for all the newspaper cuttings you have been sending me. That Pegler seems to be quite a lad. Am I right in believing that he is a Red sheep, now dipped, and in the White Fold?

You will have seen that our Political Champion received a tremendous Birthday Boost when he reached the four-score Veterans Club. The men who arrange these things are not simpletons; they do not waste their columns and voices on a fallen star. Therefore we may be sure that our W.C. has not yet completed his task. In fact he has told us that he does not propose to seek retirement until he has accomplished it. He was modest enough to add that he did not think there was anybody else capable of doing it. So it must be a very unusual task, only assigned to the top-notch performers in Mr Bauch's corps de ballet. What is this task anyway? I think it must be the endeavour to make your country and the USSR agree to live together in the same world without violent disapproval. In other words the Kiss of Co-Existence. I was interested to read that the Prime Minister of Pakistan when attending a meeting of political pundits at Colombo recently, had been successful in getting the word 'Co-existence' removed from some document, because of its Communist origin.

1955 is undoubtedly an especial year of destiny in the world's history. In this year the protagonists of the One-World Elysium will endeavour to achieve their goal at the expense of those with more modest targets. It is not a case of Greek meeting Greek, because the noses will be wrongly-shaped but it should prove an interesting, and anxious, conflict for the spectators sitting round the arena, ready to turn their thumbs up or down, as the case may be. The principal weapon to be used will be FEAR. Our withers will be wrung with forecasts of what the Hydrogen bomb will do to us, unless we are good boys. Thus it is hoped that we shall be herded into the large sheeppen owned by the One-Worlders, and intended for the reception of the rest of the human race. And then we shall all live happily ever afterwards. I am afraid that you and I will not be able to meet and compare notes during the contest, because we are both occupying back seats on opposite sides of the arena. We can only use the Air Mail (by kind permission of Mercurius) in which to state our feelings.

In the mean time there is a lull in the political news; only one or two trifling wars in progress, hardly worthy of the name. I do not understand Central American politics, but they seem to be pretty lively. At the other end of the world, the Chinese are still in flux, and will be for a long time. We have been having most unpleasant weather, and my racing has been sadly interrupted. I have hopes of starting again soon. My Irish cousins are hoping to run a horse at Sandown on Saturday, but the hard frost is not

Queen's colt Alexander, which may, I think, win our Derby. So don't forget the old witch of Roshampton, if he does. I am sure that D.P. will invest a couple of bob for you, for old time's sake.

An old Jew whom I meet on my morning walks with my dogs, told me this one a few days ago. A rabbi and a Catholic priest were doing a long train journey together, alone in the carriage, and sitting opposite one another. For a long while, neither spoke. Then the priest tapped the rabbi on the knee, and said - 'Have you ever eaten pork?' The rabbi admitted, between themselves, that he had been guilty of this sin. Another long silence, then the rabbi tapped the priest on the knee, and said - 'Have you ever had a woman?' The priest admitted this sin, with great regret. Another long, long silence. Then the rabbi gave the priest a final knee-tap, and said - 'Better than pork, eh?' Forgive me for being so story-telling this morning, it must be the spring in my blood.

All kind regards to th t delightful person(DP) and yourself.

Yours ever

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BY AIR MAIL
PAR AVION 15P14
AIR LETTERS
AEROGRAMME 95
S.W.15

EZRA DOUND ESQ.

ST ELIZABETH'S HOSPITAL

WASHINGTON, D.C.

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

→ Second fold here →

Sir Barry Domvile

Sender's name and address:

Robin's Tree

Ro hampton Vale

LONDON, S.W.15

AN AIR LETTER SHOULD NOT CONTAIN ANY ENCLOSURE; IF IT DOES IT WILL BE SURCHARGE OR SENT BY ORDINARY MAIL.

PLEASE CHE

IF WRONG AL

29 April 1955

Dear Mr Pound,

Many thanks for your letter of 17th April, and for cuttings
from Pegler. Our Press is functioning again now, after nearly a month on
strike. However so that we shall not feel strikeless, the railways come out
on Sunday.

First and foremost will you please thank that DASHING PUNTER (D.P.) for her cheque for 2/6d, which I hope to invest on Alexander for the Derby. I went all the way up to Newmarket driving myself to see the 2000 guineas on Wed. Alexander did not shew up well here, but I did not expect him to do so. He ought to shew up all right at Epsom, but the form is all out this year, due to the shocking weather we have had. Please to tell D.P. that I shall keep her cheque as a memento, and invest-the bookies' word-one of my own half-dollars, with a special prayer for victory.

Now I feel highly honoured that a humble writer of limericks and dirty rhymes should be asked by a world-famed poet to send him in extenso his little Spring Song written for the Britons dinner, and duly delivered. I have no course but to obey, metaphorically licking the dust. You may remember that Robert Browning called his poem 'Home Thoughts From Abroad.' In those days we talked English here, but now, as I explained to the Britons, we speak the new international lingo, which comes largely from your country. I had discovered that a Broad was somebody not quite nice in the new dialect; so that if I called my verses as per Browning, I laid myself open to the implication that I had visited a Broad's Home, to find out what her home thoughts were. So I had to change mine to:-

HOME THOUGHTS, FROM AN OLD LAG.

O to be in Brixton
Now that April's there,
And whoever wakes in Brixton
With glassy eyes astare,
Feels the prison bars round his dusty soul
And the warder's eye at the Judas hole,
Whilst he carols out his morning trick
Slop out: be quick.

And after April when May follows,
And my whitethroat chokes with the muck it swallows!
Hark, where my sturdy guardian in the hall,
Shouts to the roof and scatters on the air
Orders and precepts for the new day's call
That's the wise dick; he does his stuff twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine raucous rapture!
And though the floors are soiled with greasy dew,
All will be spruce when noontide wakes anew
The dinner plates with little edgeless tools
Far sharper than this world of witless fools!

There you are; you've had it. I don't suppose you will find my tombstone in Poet's Corner; in any case that would be too close to a lot of people whom I

dislike intensely. Far rather would I take comfort from Gray's elogy in
a country churchyard:-

Some village Hampden that with dauntless breast

The little tyrant of his fields withstood,

Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest,

Some Cromwell dauntless of his country's blood.

A.K.Chesterton, who is doing a good job over here trying to wake people up, asked to be warmly remembered to you; I gather that you once had a tilt at each other with the pen. The elect CAN DOWR.

Now we have a general election in sight; the dumb cattle are being told the same old tale, and will doubtless record their X's against their chosen hope, who will doubtless disappoint them once more, when he takes his seat, and adjusts himself to the party orders.

I do not know McNair Wilson, but will try and muster up courage to intrude on his morning privacy with some written impertinence.

My garden is lokking so lovely; I wish you and D.P. were here to have a
crack over our misrulers.

All good wishes.

Yours ever,

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AEROGRAMME

EZRA POUND ESQ.

ST ELIZABETH'S HOSPITAL

WASHINGTON, D.C.

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

Second fold here

Sir Barry Domvile

Sender's name and address:

Robin's Tree

Roehampton Vale

LONDON, S.W.15

AN AIR LETTER SHOULD NOT CONTAIN ANY
ENCLOSURE; IF IT DOES IT WILL BE SURCHARGED
OR SENT BY ORDINARY MAIL.

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23 May 1955

Dear Mr Pound,

Many thanks for your letter-undated. I wish I was. I told A.K.Chesterton that you did not recollect him, and he tells me that you accused him of embracing Fascism with out any reference to the Corporate State. (N.B.I do not know what that means, unless it is kissing the Fat Lady at the Fun Fair.) Any way you and A.K.C. had an acrimonious discussion in the Weekly Review. He says that he is in full agreement with you about the Money Question, but that it is hopeless to make it an election issue with the great British plebs. He thinks that if we ever get an HONEST Government they will extirpate the debt system. We are in the throes of an election- the tamest I ever remember; W.C. has called Attlee a piebald, and Attlee has called W.C. a chameleon. I could have done better myself, though no crimson politician. I should have called them both a pair of so-and-so punks, who have done nothing but harm for too long already. However I was not asked. I should certainly like to write a piece about them with you-the first number in the new work called The Indecencies of Two Elderly Buffers. Anyway the voters who put these blokes in the Parliament House at Westminster do not seem to be taking any interest in the show, and the Labour Party themselves only appear to be working at half-speed. My ma-in-law, who came to see me yesterday, says that the Labour Party does not want to get in as they say the next five years are going to be very DIFFICULT, after which they will come in with a bang, and stay for ever. She does not know anything, and is merely a gramophone record of contemporary chatter in Mayfair, or what is left of it. She is very amusing, especially when she does not know it. She lives at the corner of Grosvenor Square where there is a statue of a gent called Roosevelt. She told me that the Americans treat it with great disrespect, and take every opportunity of spitting on it, which does not sound very nice-de mortuis nil nisi bunkum. So your Potty Dot, whom I cannot identify, appears to have found the courage to do her bit of dirt on the deceased President. Prophetess, is she? To what tribe does she belong? Ingrid seems to have gone to ground, so I cannot give her pedigree a once-over, as I cannot find her in any of my books of reference. But I shall hope to be able to report some day who her papa is, or was, and all about it. I see in the Press that your Mr Baruch got cross at being asked to register devotion at some meeting in favour of the late Einstein, which rather surprised me. Possibly he was afraid of Communist contamination. You had better send his statue over here; we will put it up for you, for we are the Mugs of Democracy, and can always be counted upon to do any bit of dirty work, which nobody else will touch. When we had the Britons dinner the other day, we sat in the new Horticultural Hall, like a lot of prize dahlias. But one of the Vice-Presidents of the Horticultural Society objected to us meeting where the flowers sat, because we were ANTI-SEMITIC. Name of the Vice-President, Lord Rothschild! Can you beat it? Anyway I did not think much of the hall, which reminded me of a railway-station waiting-room, or underground lavatory. Now give D.P. a shot in the arm, and then break it to her that Alexander is scratched from the Derby; the last time he ran the jockey had to get off to see if he was anchored to the ground. I saw that race at Longfield. Having failed as a racing prophet, I am giving no other tip, but I shall take the

liberty of investing D.P.'s modest stake on another hair trunk, probably
Hugh Lupus, belonging to the Duke of Westminster's daughter, who is a friend
of mine. Anyway her money shall RUN. I hope to go in the company of two
ladies, whom I hope will behave themselves.

Then Thursday is the Election-a day of rest for me, I hope-and Friday is the Oaks, which I want to see.

Then I am due to go to Suffolk for a week's holiday, whilst the old house
is given some decoration with paint etc.

With kindest regards,

BLO
A
URG
NEEDE

EZRA POUND ESQ.

ST ELIZABETH'S HOSPITAL

WASHINGTON, D.C.

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

Second fold here

Sender's name and address:

Sir Barry Domvile
Robin's Tree
Roehampton Vale
LONDON, S.E.15

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4 July 1955

Dear Mr Pound,

Thankyou for your last letter, enclosing the Pegler extracts, which I have put in circulation, after perusal. I am much obliged to you for sending me these views from your side of the Atlantic, as they help me in getting a good picture of what is going on; unfortunate-ly the off-stage goings-on are not available, or we should see some pretty gilhouettes, and other black doings.

I see that Molotof paid a visit to Baruch roi before leaving your land, so the latter sees both sides of the so-called Iron Curtain, and can manipulate the pieces on the International chess board with greater accuracy. Heads I win, tails you lose.

A.K.C. was most grateful to you for your letter to me, which I forwarded to him, by your instructions. He asks me to tell you that he is going to use your statement that "even Douglas never expected a country to pay dividends unless it was run at a profit" against the many inverted Bloomsburians who pester him. He is also going to use some of the Dorothy Thompson article, so we have really helped him. He sends you kind regards and high respects.

I am enclosing a letter to Eustace Mullins, which has been returned to me, after spending nearly two months on your side of the ditch. I should be much obliged if you would be so good as to hand it to him next time you meet him as I know no other address, and I should hate it if he thought I was rude enough not to answer.

Some talk of Alexander and some of Hercules; of Hector and Lysander, et al... I hope D.P. has

2.

forgiven my grievous sin in giving her such a
bad tip for the Derby. Mea culpa. In other words
I am a damned Welsher. I hope to be racing
again this week; the railway strike has stopped
all my fun for June. I have taken refuge in
gardening, about which I know less than I do
about racing, but I have a lovely garden, looked
after by an aged man with green fingers.

A lull in public affairs, due to concentration
on International sport. The Russian won every
thing at Henley, and the Americans at Wimbledon
Poor old Britannia seems to have lost her skill
in athletics, as well as in the field of diplo-
macy. They are all getting hot and bothered
about Geneva, where they hope to go and hear the
old tale from Moscow in a few days time.
Some people think our old International should
be allowed to have one more turn on the
double-cross board used by the old hands, but
I think he has lost favour with King Baruch,
Handsome Pinstripe, as they call Anthony
Adverse is now in full command. God help us.

I remember when George V. was ill, Lord Dawson looked after him, and the wits wrote, "Lord Dawson of Penn has killed many men; that's why we sing; God Save The King." He was a good King

A Canadian has sent me a book he wrote, 'Pawns
In The Game', by Commander Carr. The multum in
parvo style, but has its good points, and will
be on the black-list. Ontario is his hide-out.

With all good wishes to you and D.P., or rather
to D.P. and you,

Yours,

Robin's Tree
Roehampton Vale

S.W.I5

19 July 1955

Dear Mr. Pound,

I have to thank you for several interesting documents, besides your letters; Corsini's article is good. I hope you did not mind me sending you that letter to give to Mullins; I did not know how to get it to him otherwise, as I must have had his address wrong.

News of Ingrid this morning; she writes from Park House, Saxmundham in Suffolk probably papa's roost, but I do not know. She wants to bring the del Valles down next week, so I have asked them all to luncheon any day that suits them. I shall be very pleased to meet the general, who has been doing such good work in your land; all power to hid elbow. It was good of you to let me know he was coming over, and I shall hope to report Ingrid's progress to you some day soon.

I liked your French rhyme about the tail of a shirt; I regret to say that my wife in her earlier and unregenerate days used to sing a song to me;

"Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! Qu'il est petit;

Je l'ai perdu au fond du lit."

She was brought up on the Lake of Geneva, where the GREAT ONES of the earth are now in Congress. All our papers are full of these talks at the 'SUMMIT. All I can say is that if these are the talks at the summit, I wonder what they would be like at the bottom; I suppose the whole thing is just a piece of window-dressing, and that they all got their parts before leaving USA. I saw that Molotov paid a visit to Baruchistan to get his brief. What fun it must be to pull the strings on both sides of the Curtain, and make all the puppets dance. If only I was there, on L. Leman, I should not have to go to the pantomime this year.

The Germans are in a strong position to bargain; to offer their services to the highest bidder. I am afraid that Adenoids is hardly the man to drive a really good usurious bargain.

I hope you did not miss the words addressed to the National Press Club at Washington by a gent called U NU, reportwd in the TIMES of 2 July. One of the finest bits of irony I have ever read, and I take off my hat to U NU, and only wish I had NUed him, when he was over here. In short he explained to the gum-chewing gangsters of your 'Fleet Street' that having had a look round the civilised world, he preferred the Burmese way of life. I, for one, do not blame him, when I look out of my window and see the endless stream of car-borne ants going up and down to the money mart-to and fro-every day, spending hours en route. If that's life, well I hope the Almighty will have another think, because it is not my idea of happiness. They all look so worried and cross and tired. A pathetic sight. There are many sad sights on the streets of this hub of civilisation, and none more pathetic than the warmed-up-old-deaths who have to totter about doing their own shopping, because they cannot get, and cannot afford if they could get, any help in their wretched old age. Almshouses for the aristos are badly needed, where they could get somebody to tuck them in at night with a hot-water bottle, and give them a goodnight kiss, to reminding them of better days.

And then U NU, with his tongue in his cheek, went on to say that Burma was just as determined as any other country to preserve their independence, and would expect the United Nations to come to their rescue, if anybody was rude enough to attack them. I wish I had been there. I should have applauded so loudly, I should have been chucked out.

There have been several encouraging signs in the Press lately, showing that people really are beginning to wonder where they go from here. The Grocers at their annual Conference blew a loud blast for freedom on their sugar trumpets. It did my heart good to see such courageous statements of national independence. I have just read Flynn's 'While You Slept,' and we have been undergoing the same hypnotic process over here. You cannot blame the plebs for being so stupid, when they are being attacked by insidious propaganda from all publicity quarters. I don't go to the pictures, but they must be as bad as the Press and BBC.

However I am an optimist, and am sure things will come right in the end. Do you know the tale of the optimist who always said "It might have been worse to any misfortunes related to him. One day he met a friend in the street, who said-"Did you hear that awful thing that happened last night; Jones came home and surprised his wife with Robinson, and shot them both dead." "It might have been worse," says our friend. "How do you mean it might have been worse? How could it have been worse?" "If he had come home the night before, he would have found me there." Ask D.P. to forgive me these indiscrections.

All good wishes, (I have never heard of Buckie Fuller)
(Nor of Henriot's finish.)

Yours,
Barry Domvile

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PUTNEY
3 - PM
19
W.15 AIR AVION
AIR LETTER
AEROGRAMME

EZRA POUND ESQ.

ST ELIZABETH'S HOSPITAL

WASHINGTON, D.C.

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

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29 July 1955

Dear Mr Pound,

I am writing to tell you that Ingrid brought the del Valles and her own husband down to luncheon two days ago. It was a pleasant party. The general is a fine man, whom you have only got to look at, to trust him. He is of a less mature vintage than your humble servant, but managed to serve with the Marines in World War I, in the Grand Fleet, under David Beatty. In David we found a joint object of admiration; I worked with him a lot, and we shared a mutual contempt for the politician's devious ways. Mrs del V., is a pleasant woman, claiming Irish ancestry. So I told her where she could see fairies when she got over there, and also of a house called Gormanston, where the foxes come down from the hills and sit round the house, whenever the head of the family is going to die. And when his body goes to the mortuary chapel, the foxes sit round that. All duly authenticated, and to be found in one of Donn Byrne's novels. When she gets to the Shelburne, she is going to drive out there; I went there with Lord Gormanston's daughter, who married Jock Ramsay, a fellow-sufferer in Brixton gaol. The Oirish are a fine people, but the English do not understand them; and never will.

Ingrid arrived in the latest fashion of dress-or undress-she has large eyes like a deer, and when she looks at you you do not know whether she is thinking what a wonder-man, or what a B....old fool! Anyway she is very sweet, and feminine. Her husband is also nice; not good-looking, but an attractive face, which looks as if it had been bent early in life, and never straightened. He drove the party down. I did not find out the name of Ingrid's pa, as I did not like to ask her right out what was her maiden name. It was a pleasure to have them; I wish you and D.P. had been there too. We should have had some saucy talk. I thought Ingrid's husband had trained on since he was down here last; the general was putting him wise about various things, which are elementary to the connoisseur.

I sent A.K.C. a copy of the article about you in Il Secolo D'Italia, and he hopes to be able to use it in CANDOUR; he has masses of Social Creditors of various brands, and it is difficult for him to prevent them from quarrelling. He has been in communication with Noel Stock in Australia, but had no reply to his last letter.

I have never heard of Buckie and his eight-hour lectures. Is he coming over here, or is he a local hero only ?

Well; the politicians have had their Lake meeting; many of the photographs reminded me of Yalta of ill-fame. All jolly good chaps together-I don't think! Our Rep.-Tony the Summit-looked rather unhappy in this vodka atmosphere, but I see he has persuaded some of the Red Stars to take a call in front of the Iron Curtain, and our Press went all haywire about this wonderful prospect. Far be it from me to discourage any embraces of this nature, as I have not got to take part in them. Kiss 'em all; back and front! Otherwise they do not seem to have got very far at Geneva, in spite of genial Ike the King of musical comedy, and noises off by the French.

Now back to Ireland; did you ever meet T.P.O'Connor? He was good company. Perhaps you read the Dooley Books, some of his best literature. Anyway, during the Paris Peace Conference I was sitting in a balcony next T.P., watching the modern dancing which was new in those days, and you held your partner rather tightly, whilst you jigged about. T.P. turned to me and said:

"Do you know what Dooley said about that?" And when I replied, No; he said Shurr; I never had such fun before—wid me throusers on!" I remember landing at Rosslare just after the Irish 'troubles', when they had just killed an admiral at Cork called Somerville, because he had told Irishmen who asked him how they could join the British navy.

I said to the Customs Officer—I hope it is a closed season for admirals. "Why," says he. I said "Because I happen to be one, and you have just brutally murdered one in Cork." Ah, says he—"Don't let a little thing like that stop you fellers from coming over here." A queer people.

A.K.C. said that of you ever liked to write something for CANDOUR, he would be happy and proud to publish it.

All good wishes to you and D.P.; don't show her my letter where I get a little vulgar; I should not like to have her bad opinion. Alexander second at Good wood. Who knows?

Yours,

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EZRA POUND ESQ.

ST ELIZABETH'S HOSPITAL

WASHINGTON, D.C.

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

→ Second fold here

Sir Barry Domvile

Sender's name and address:

Robin's Tree

Roehampton Vale

LONDON, S.W.15

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17 September 1955

Dear Mr Pound,

On opening the Hudson Review summer number at page 200 quite by chance, I saw my own name-spelt correctly-in a Canto by your illustrious self. A most unexpected honour, which I highly appreciate. It was nice of you to think of such a thing for a humble illiterate like myself. I have also read with less pleasure The New Times of Melbourne for 26 August, explaining the scandalous way in which you are being treated. The less I say about that the better.

I had a letter from Eustace Mullins recently, in which he said that you would be interested in the house of a Mrs Montefiore, mother of Sir Franci Montefiore, at which I was a frequent guest before world war I. This was the beginning of the entry of Jews in a big way into British society. The luxury of that mansion I shall never forget; Mrs M. was kindness itself. Many of the guests, who were mostly elderly, used to retire to bed after the first dinner, as their constitutions could not keep pace with their greed. I do not understand why these things would be of interest to you, but, if this is so, you have only to let me know, and I will write a Domvilian Canto about them. It will not be of the standard of yours, but it will be fruity.

I have just returned from a holiday; amongst other entertainments I went to, was the home of another poet; Will Shakespeare. Races were my temptation, but when I got there with my brother and his wife, we were the sole racegoers, as the races were off, on account of the rocky ground. We had not listened to the wireless, or read the TIMES, so we drove a long way for nothing. Stratford-on-Avon has cashed in properly on their poet; the place grows and grows as the tourists come in to see Ann Hathaway's cottage, and other matters connected with the Bard of Avon. I wonder what he would have thought of his countrymen today. Unfortunately we have no poet at Roehampton, or I should be living in a marble palace, eating my meals off gold plate, and hoping the next Roehampton Canto would soon be published. I did not find the world much improved since I went on holiday. This morning I read in the paper that the British representative on an arbitration tribunal has resigned in high dudgeon because of reputed bribery and corruption by Saudi Arabia. I do not remember the British members of UNO making the same gesture when Israel came into being, as the result of bribery and corruption unprecedented in International affairs. The inference is obvious. Had they done so, we could hold our heads higher today in the Moslem world. There will never be peace in the Middle East until the wrong done to the Arabs of Palestine is put right. Of course we all know that the Jews have every intention of expanding their land by absorbing more Arab country, and any excuse will be good enough to start this off. However the sun is shining, I went to the dentist and to Kempton races yesterday, besides two walks with my dogs, so what can there be wrong with the world? Apathy is the answer; no prize offered. The plebs will stand anything today, now that the queue habit is so well established. I watched a lady come to a bus stop the other day; she was the only person in sight, but that did not prevent her from triumphantly queueing, as she took her solitary stand.

I stayed at one or two hotels during my holiday, to break my journey

between visits, and they had practically no staff. At a big place in the
Dukeries at Clumber I had to tote my own baggage and empty my own slops.
Then I read in the papers that the West Indies are coming to our rescue,
as these crowded little islands cannot find servants here. So the next
time I go on tour I shall probably be tucked into my bed by a black mammy.
It is indeed a queer world.

Please give my kindest regards to DP; tell her that as I was coming back
from Durham, I kept on seeing signposts 'To The Races.' Like Adam, who only
could plead an apple, I fell in a big way, and attended York Races. One of
the bookmakers saw me, and said I was rather far from home. So I told him
that I had seen the signs, and asked him where I was. That polished him off

Yours very sincerely,

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CIVIL
D
J
O
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6

EZRA POUND ESQ.

ST ELIZABETH'S HOSPITAL

WASHINGTON, D.C.

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

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29 Sept. 1955

Dear Mr Pound,

I grovel-metaphorically only-because I cannot afford a new
pair of trousers-NEVER have you misspelt my name; most people do, and get a
black mark accordingly; one 'L' is my prerogative for being Oirish.
Before World War I, an old lady called Mrs Montefiore (why Mrs, when her son
was Sir Francis, je ne sais pas) built herself a palace called Worth Park near
Gatwick in Sussex. This was the real debut of the Jews into English society.
She asked several British ladies to help her build up an acquaintance in
high circles. One such tout was a cousin of mine, Lady Askwith, and thus was
I bidden to join the haut monde at Worth. The house was the summit of luxury
I used to take my naval servant, and he told me that the servants had tennis
courts, a billiard room, and took one another into dinner according to master
mistress's rank. One of Mrs M's first guests was the first Lord Rosebery.
She asked him to let her know if anything was lacking. His reply, on leaving,
was that he could find nothing wanted, except a smoking-room for the odd man!
The food-ye gods; many of the guests were elderly, and had to take to their
beds after the first dinner-greedy old devils. Sarve 'em right. Many letters
were written, as postage stamps, foreign and home, were in full supply in every
room. A general's wife, a certain Lady Maxwell, from the Southern States of
USA, told me this amusing tale. The Bulgarian Minister, rendered amorous by
high living, asked her where her bedroom was. She said he might have realised
that she could not abide any colour under the epidermis, before making his
bid for co-existence. Undeterred he followed her upstairs when she went up
to dress for dinner, so she laid him a trap by going into a certain apartment
used for toilet purposes (pardon, D.P.). Later, when they went up to bed, she
went to her proper bedroom, locked the door, and then used the keyhole as a
periscope. To her joy, the padding of Eastern slippers was shortly heard, and
the amorous Bulgar walked proudly into the W.C., and came out quickly, using
what she thought must be horrible Eastern oaths. Poor Louise Maxwell, she was
so amusing, but died an awful death. The old lady got fond of me; tried to marry me to several aristocratic Gentiles, and allowed me to help select the
guests for her parties. I once paid an unexpected visit, and found her living
in a corner of her mansion, the rest being shrouded in dust-cloths. It was
only opened up for the parties. She died, alas, in War I, and I attended my first
Jewish Service, in a London drawing-room, as I was on leave. I had been to the
Wailing Wall as a young officer, and not being satisfied with the strength of
the Wail, I told the guide to administer largesse, which produced a real
view-halloo, or whatever it is they do.

Such was my debut into Jewish society; she was a nice, kind old woman, and de
mortuis etc... In those days I was a bit of a lad round the town, and used to
go to many parties. London had the vulgar habit of keeping lists of people,
passed round from hostess to hostess, so that you found your mantelpiece
covered with invitation cards from people you had never met. I remember being
asked by one hostess to request a gent to depart, as she had not asked him.
The excuse was that he never took the trouble to look at the numerous cards,
but, whenever he saw the awning out over the pavement, he took it for granted
that it must be someone who had sent him a card. On this occasion he pulled
a loser. Sic transit gloria London?- It has never been the same since. Today
only the nouveaux riches entertain; I am neither nouveau nor riche, so I only

ask my friends; and how much nicer it is. I remember Lord Astor creating a sensation before the war by announcing in one of his papers that a very well known admiral, a courtier and equerry to the King, had attended one of Lord A's parties 'uninvited.' Mayfair hummed with this juicy bit of scandal. That is enough about society; let us descend to politics for one brief moment, just to smile at the irony of all the peace-lovers courting the Egyptians, and begging them to accept their warlike wars. A sad smile; too. The Middle Eastern chickens are coming home to roost quicker than I had expected.

Kind regards to you both; and a final grovel.

Yours,

← First fold here →

BY AIR MAIL
PAR AVION
AIR LETTER
AEROGRAMME

EZRA POUND ESQ.

ST ELIZABETH'S HOSPITAL

WASHINGTON, D.C.

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

Second fold here

LONDON, S.W.15

To open cut here

1 November 1955

Dear Mr Pound,

Thankyou for your letter of the 18th Oct. I do not remember
anybody called Yorke, who led the Mediterranean Fleet in pre-Adolf days.
I commanded a cruiser squadron out there in 1931-32, and our boss was Chat-
field. I think he succeeded Roger Keyes. In my days naval officers did not
know much about politics; my own education did not commence until I left
the Service. I was as innocent as a babe unborn about everything that went
on behind the scenes, until I retired in 1936, started the LINK in 1937, went
to prison in 1940. So I learned in the hard way. I expect you saw that AKC
said in his paper CANDOUR recently that Lord Rothschild was the gent who
had the last say in keeping us in durance vile, which sounds rather curious
unless you know what is what, and who wears the biggest boots, and that he
is not necessarily the man with the biggest feet. He is more likely to be
the man with the longest purse. Not always a British purse either.

I hope you got the dope on the Montefiore family, which I sent you a little
while ago. I have seen nothing of Ingrid since she brought some of your
countrymen down here in the summer. I ought to have gone up to London to see
her, but the truth is that I never go there at all if I can possibly help it.
I have only been once this year, and that was to the Britons dinner, when I
recited a poem which I had written in their honour- "O, to be in Brixton, now
that April's there." Not being a poet, I had to copy from a bard called
Browning, only he said England instead of Brixton.

The political gents are beginning to step things up what with Roosia trying
to arm the Moslems, and to make them good little Commies, and the Prime
Minister of Israel objecting to aforesaid conversion. The followers of
Mahomet are unlikely to adopt a new religion, when they have got one of the
finest in the world. Still they want the arms to avenge their defeat a few
years ago, and I am not surprised that Mr Sharett kicks up a fuss, as he must
know that he and his people are not wanted by the Arabs, as they have shewn
with remarkable plainness,

I have been to Israel often; first fifty years ago, when my papa commanded
the Mediterranean fleet, and I was a young lieutenant. I remember that we
also went to Constantinople and dined with old Abdul Hamid, and attended a
Selamlik next day. The house we occupied for this spectacle was cleaned
from top to bottom just afterwards, so as to get rid of any infection from
British heretics, unknown to the Prophet.

At the dinner party, each of us had a huge eunuch standing just behind our
chairs. Colossal fellows. I had to ask why they were so attentive, and the
reply from a smiling Turk was that they had just had a visit from an Amer-
ican fleet, and that some of the officers had taken away the gold spoons as
souvenirs of a happy visit! I suggested to him that I should like to take
a peek into the harem, but this was not at all well received. At Jerusalem
I had seen a rabbi, who had been converted to Christianity, plotting out the
measurements of Solomon's Temple. Just anticipating things by a few years.
He was almost interesting man, and his name was Hanouer. So we do see life in
the Navy. I was in Woptali somewhere about 1906, when Vesuvius blew his top.
I and a few friends were actually the last party to ascend the mountain, in

most alarming conditions; explosions and showers of lava burning hot. We went back there about a week later to help with the refugees, and I saw some wonderful streams of molten lava, pushing houses over with an irresistible impulse. It was nearly pitch dark all day, with the dust floating about in the air. I never want to live on the slopes of a volcano; too agitated. The last time I was in Rome, Musso was in command, and our politicos had just offended the great man, so I was not persona grata. Wh-t jolly visits to Italy we used to have; Naples and Genoa were just the thing for the young naval officer. I must get out my diaries and read up my spotty past.

Kindest regards to D.P. from the Ancient Mariner.

Yours,

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EZRA POUND ESQ.

ST ELIZABETH'S HOSPITAL

WASHINGTON, D.C.

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

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Sir Barry Domvile

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24 Nov. 1955

Dear Mr Pound,

Many thanks for your last letter, received on the 12th; yes, I did know Daniele Vare, whom I met several times at high-brow parties, my own brow being of a particularly low nature, in fact, almost incapable of being called a brow at all. I liked him, and I have several of his books, which he kindly gave to my wife and me. All that is in the dim past, before the world indulged in its second spell of concentrated lunacy, by order of Roscoe Feldt, and his masters. I wonder if Vare is still on this planet, or whether he has transferred his knife and fork to a better world.

It would not be difficult to find something better than this globe, judging by the day to day disclosures of our Press. The politicians who govern us appear to have discovered something which you and I found out a long while ago, viz that the Russians have been carrying out an unchanging policy ever since they started their mass murder business in 1917. Every now and then they pretend to have changed it, so as to give our misrulers the chance to say that at last the world is going to kiss and be friends everywhere. Repeated disappointments do not appear to have made them realise that they are being led up the garden path further and further only to be laughed at again when the détente is over, and Moscow gets back to the old, old song. Geneva is the latest example of this, when Tony the Summit, and Macmillan of the foothills have suffered once again the bitter disappointment of finding out what fools they are. If it were not so serious, it would be laughable. I have always thought that the Russians are the best diplomats-or rather the wildest-in the world. I have only been there once, in 1912, just before World War I. I took the Foreign Office Bag out to St Petersburg as King's Messenger. Quite the most luxurious journey I have ever made. Wherever I went, somebody came to look out for me, and see that I was comfortable. The only man I can remember meeting was the First Lord of their Admiralty, Prince Lieven. He assured me that the world would be at war in 1914. I had never even thought about it at all, and was very surprised to be told such a definite date. This prince was a man with a history. He had been in the Chevaliers Gardes as a young man, and had been chucked out for making his colonel tight, and driving him down the Quays in this condition. All for a bet. So he made good in the Navy. I stayed with our naval attaché whilst in St Petersburg; such a nice chap, but he became a Communist. He came to see me years afterwards at the admiralty in a very down and out condition. He took me to a smart party in Russia, where all the diplomatic world were congregated. When they heard that his young guest was British, they all started talking English, which is the politest thing I ever remember in my long and wicked life. Talking about ambassadors I see that the British envoy in Jerusalem recently attended a banquet given by the Israeli foreign minister, and found to his horror that he and his wife had been allotted lowly places, well away from the top table. Quite rightly he withdrew in dudgeon, at this insult to his country, though the major domo, or whatever you call it tried to get him to change his mind by hanging on to the tails of his coat. Now that we are on to diplomacy, do you know the difference between a diplomat and a lady? Old Foch told me this one at Spa, where we

were attending a Conference to meet the Germans after World War I.

"If a diplomat says yes, he means perhaps; if he says perhaps, he means no; if he says no, he is no diplomat. If a lady says no, she means perhaps; if she says perhaps, she means yes; if she says yes, she is no lady. Tell D.P. that one, and tell her that I like ladies better than diplomats."

I saw the French triumphal march down the Champs Elysées in 1919; and how they cheered, Pétain and the other heroes. It is a greater world. Vive Pétain. 20 years later, look what his reputation was in his own country. I expect he thought long, long thoughts.

I have just been drivelling on; tell me if these reminiscences bore you, and they shall not be read.

Best wishes to you and D.P.

Yours,
Barry Domvile

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EZRA POUND ESQ.

ST ELIZABETH'S HOSPITAL

WASHINGTON, D.C.

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

Second fold here

Sender's name and address:

LONDON, S.W.15

To open cut here

19 December 1955

Dear Mr Pound,

Thankyou for your two letters; this Christmas season is so busy this year that I hardly know whether I am coming or going. So you must excuse any nonsense I write. I did not hear from Ingrid about Marvin, so I suppose she was too busy to visit an ancient monument at Roehampton. I cannot trace J.F.Rock in any reference book, or Encyclopaedia. The only one I can find is Col. Cyril RockE, whom I expect you knew in Italy. Del Valle sends me Task Force; very good too. Stratemeyer letter bonne. The last book I saw about Winnie's pa and ma-Lord and Lady Randolph Churchill came from U.S.A. It described him as quite dotty-dementia praecox or G.P.I., or what have you. He bleated like a kid. I cannot remember the name of the book, as I like to think of Winnie et al as little as possible. The Wolff man also finds me out; I knew a Wolff-Drummond, and a Drummond-Wolff, but just a plain lupus I cannot place. Pierre Wolff, a French dramatist? If you know his initials I will put my bloodhounds on his trail; the great thing nowadays is to be able to keep the wolf from the door! Of course I knew Asquith and Balfour slightly, in the course of my dooties. A.J.B. was good enough to consult me on naval matters by giving me his speeches to criticise; he knew that I would say what I thought, and not what I thought he wanted me to say! Asquith used to preside at meetings very well; quite in charge of the proceedings. If things shewed signs of getting interesting, he would say 'Reserved for the Cabinet,' and so I missed the fun. He used to tell off Winnie good and proper. Of course he had the legal mind and A.J. the philosophic mind; head-in-air! He was quick, though. I remember dining at our Embassy at Washington on Christmas night; the ambassador Sir Auckland Geddes, a nice man, made an appropriate speech, and then gave a naval toast-"Sweethearts and Wives." A.J. said-"What do I do?"-and made us all laugh, because he had neither sweetheart nor wife officially! The greatest snub I ever saw given was also given amusingly by a gentleman called Kaiser William of Germany. He came to Malta in the Hohenzollern, and dined with the Governor at Government House. The Governor was a simple soldier, not well acquainted with the protocol, so he asked one of his A.D.C's, who thought he knew everything, what he should do when dinner was announced. The A.D.C. told him that he should step out in front of der Kaiser, and bow him into the dining-room, going backwards in front of His Imperial Majesty, until he reached his dinner-pail. This the Governor did in his innocence of heart, forgetting that he was Her Majesty's representative, and therefore not a major domo. The next day the Kaiser came to luncheon with my papa, who was the naval Commander-in-Chief, at Admiralty House, and I was amongst those present. When luncheon was announced, the Kaiser jumped out in front of everyone, and bowed in backwards before them. Shouts of laughter greeted this performance, and the Kaiser must have known that it would be duly reported to the poor unhappy Governor. The Kaiser also visited one of H.M. Ships, and went down to the wardroom, where nobody had the courage to offer Him a drink. He said nothing, but went back to the Yacht, and made a signal as an Admiral of the Fleet, ordering this ship to drink His health always on His birthday, because He had not been offered a drink on board. He loved little tricks like that. He took a fancy to two of my sisters, both flappers, and always sent them little bits of jewellery on their birthdays.

By and large, He was a good chap, and I was sorry at his sad days after the Great War, to end war, or rather to start a series of wars until the real Kaisers of this world were given full recognition, and tribute by the Goyim We had another curious incident at that time. A Sussex gentleman called Borrer got the captain of one of H.M.Ships to take him out to Malta, by saying he was Prince Francis of Teck. He got away with it, and was received by all the vulgar herd as Royalty. However he got tight one night at the Opera and visited the Governor. They actually telegraphed home to the Prince to ask him where he was! The captain of the man-o-war had a painful interview as a result with my papa, and got a proper dressing-down for his folly and snobbery. My mother met him on the way out, and wished him a Happy Christmas! Poor Mutt!

All the Best Season's wishes to D.P. and you. (Give her a kiss under the mistletoe from, Your humble servant,

→ First fold here

Ezra Pound Esq

St Elizabeth's Hospital

Washington, D.C.

United States of America.

→ Second fold here →

Sender's name and address: Sir Barry Domvile
Robin's Tree
Roehampton Vale
LONDON, S.W.15

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Robin's Tree
Roehampton Vale
London, S.W.15

24 January 1956

Dear Mr Pound,

Many thanks for your letter; Beauchamp and his Pill; very funny; do not forget that the famous advertisement said 'WORTH A GUINEA A BOX.' But as we do not know how many pills went to a box, we are unable to give an accurate value to Dolly; about twopence! Her address:- Mrs Beauchamp, Domvile, Haldon, North Road, Hythe, Kent.

I am not quite sure what you mean by 'doing a Hammond' with a ms; nor what you mean by unfamiliarity with my metrical product. Do you refer to Robert Browning's 'O to be in England?' I can always send you a copy if you have not got one. If, however, you mean my own poetic metre, I have none. I am just a simple seaman, who likes his verses to rhyme, be easily understood, and have a touch of pathos. For example:-

"There was a young lady who went to a closet; And put in a penny by way of deposit When she got there, she passed nothing but air; That was not much of a pennyworth, was it?"

There was that poor girl, drawing upon the weekly pay packet for a purpose which she considered urgent, only to find that her journey was unnecessary. Could she have avoided it? Could she have made an experiment, involving slight risk, which would have told her that the call was false ?

You see what I mean, don't you? Just simple lines, involving a tragedy, which the lady will probably remember all her life, or deduct the sum from her income-tax, and make the Chancellor of the Exchequer bear the cost.

I would like a few copies of Stratemeyer letter, if no trouble to you. But do not put yourself out in any way, or D.P. either. Please tell her how much I admire her mother for not permitting Dolly; Dorothy is a pretty name; I do not mind Dot; but Dolly,... Anyway it is better than having eighteen bees buzzing round her, like I have! 'A rose by any other name would smell as sweet' -we have the poet's authority for that, but not with B's buzzing... Our Eden is paying your country a visit shortly, and I expect he will take the opportunity of letting 'The Voice That Breathed O'er Eden' give him a few more Baruchian blasts; or perhaps he will get it all from Ike. He is paying rather a bad Press over here just now; can't do anything right. Hard luck, when he has done his best to interpret 'His Master's Voice' correctly. In fact all our politicians seem to have the wind up; their talking-house at Westminster reopens today after the Noel holiday, so doubtless we shall have some fierce oratory.

I heard from Swabey at Christmas, but have not seen him since his return to the fatherland, and do not know why he returned from the land of Opportunity to the barer pastures of patria mia. His new cure of Souls is not very far from his old haunts. I like the clean, 'of those eastern counties, and they breed a nice friendly type of countryman. The smiling faces are few and far between round the metropolis; worry is the general expression on the suburbs; the daily-breader's life is tedious today, if he drives up in a car. The congestion on our roads going into London has to be seen to be believed. What use can a business man be after this tiring journey? And then the home one still in prospect. A few days like that and I should not be worth as much as Beecham's pill. I take a lot of exercise, but all on my flat feet through woods and fields. I use my little car for race-meetings, and for

Robin's Tree

Roehampton Vale

London, S.W.15

7 April 1956

Dear Mrs Pound,

This is just a line to enquire about your husband, as I have not heard from him for a long time, and I am rather anxious. I do not like to write to him and ask after his health in the circumstances, so I thought I would bother you. There was also the possibility that my letter were being stopped by the Authorities.

I had hoped for some time that there was a chance of his release, as I find his name mentioned in so many periodicals which reach me from various parts of the world. This country is bad enough, but I do not think it would be possible to shut anybody up for so many years, without a fuss being made about it. They only got away with I8B because it was wartime.

If I could help, you know how glad I should be to do so, but I feel that I should be doing more harm than good.

I shall hope to hear from you that he is all right, and getting my letters as usual. I sympathise with you so much in your cruel circumstances.

MRS EZRA POUND

3514 BROTHERS PLACE

WASHINGTON, D.C.

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

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Robin's Tree

Sender's name and address:

Roehampton Vale

LONDON, S.W.

First fold here

To open cut here

16 April 1956

Dear Mr Pound,

Your welcome letter just received, and I hasten to reply.
Spring is in the air, but I no longer write love-letters. I always felt so
sorry for the young man who wrote to his beloved, and asked her to send him
something she had kissed, so she sent her athletic husband! Nasty mean cat.
Yes, I knew Rennell Rodd well; he often used to stay with my mother-in-law at
Sheffield Park. A charming man; a diplomat of the old school, no longer in exis-
tence; nowadays they have a business card up their sleeves. R.R.'s wife was not
so nice; a bit of a TAR TAR. R.R. told me this curious story; when he was
ambassador at Rome, he attended church one Sunday morning at Naples on board
my father's flagship Bulwark. He says that my father lent him his own prayer
-book, and that against the words (which were underlined) "Give Peace In Our
Time, O Lord," the words NO!NO! were printed in red ink. He thought my pa must
have been a bloodthirsty man! I think one of his daughters still mucks about
with politics: Mrs Emmett. I forget R.R.'s successor at Rome, though I must have
known him. I was in Medworth Lambton's ship about 1905-6, and was the LAST
MAN to look down Vesuvius, before he blew his top. I have never been so fright-
ened in my life; he was letting out the most fearful belly noises, and lava
was pouring down the sides. I remember we returned to Naples after the erup-
tion, and lived in pitch darkness in Naples Bay. We walked on hot lava just
between Bosco Reale and Bosco Trecase. Ottaiano was the worst hit. So you
see I am a Wop adept. I never want to live on the slopes of a volcano.
Please give D.P. my kindest regards, and thank her for her postscript to
your letter. The ladies every time. One of them rendered me a noble service
when I was a very small midshipman in 1894 at Gibraltar. Christmas Day was
the occasion; I and a pal had been wandering about the Neutral ground in the
afternoon, and had forgotten all about the time, so that when we got back to
the gate into the fortress, it was SHUT. In those days you could no more get
in after dark, without a pass, than a fallen angel could get into Heaven.
Quite impossible; no water traffic either. We thought of our missing Christmas
dinner with terrible grief; poor little outcasts. There was a regiment stat-
tioned on the lines, and we repaired there, and told our tale of woe. The kind
clonel said that there was no possible chance of getting us a permit into
the Rock, but that he and his wife were dining there, and would smuggle us in.
In those days the ladies wore ample skirts, bless their hearts, so I lay on the
floor of the horse cab, hidden under this ample lady's ample skirts, and ate
my Christmas dinner on board after all. Like charity, those skirts covered a
multitude of sins; on this occasion-a midshipman! So I say-bless them all.
Even those who earn their living in the same place. Can I say more ?
I suppose that nowadays you cannot get into the Neutral ground at all, but I
have no experience. If our politicians go on much longer as they are going,
there will be few places an Englishman will be welcome at all, not even if he
puts on a lady's skirts! If you had asked me forty years ago whether we
should be in the situation we are today, I should have laughed you to scorn.
It is almost unbelievable, even today. And yet one of our leading lights
said only two days ago that the British Empire was not breaking up, but
growing up! How these political gents kid themselves; all through history
the slogan has been used to keep the people quiet, and make them think they

Robson's Tree
Roehampton Vale
S.W.15

15 May 1956

Dear Mr Pound,

That was a capital idea of Mr Crommelin's for sending a
force to the Gaza strip to keep the peace; I suggest their motto should be
'No advance without security,' and their marching tune 'A little bit off to
the top.'

I had no idea Edmondson was so old;84; quite an old filbert. I must make some enquiries about 'I Testify.' I have already been making enquiries about your repeated question as to who succeeded Rennell Rodd in Italy. ANSWER. For two years, Sir George Buchanan; I knew the latter; first met him in St Petersburg in 1912; he was there during the revolution. Don't know what happened to him; seem to remember a daughter called Meriel, who lived near us at Sheffield Park. Something wrong about her; I forget what; either she went to bed before going to church, or she or her husband had previous con-nections in the matrimonial line. J'Oublie. Buchanan was succeeded at Rome by Sir Ronald Graham, and I think he must be the one to whom you refer. I cannot remember him, but think he was a bit of a diplomatic flop. I must have met him, but cannot remember. Let me know if you want any more snoop-ing done in diplomacy. I'm the boy for the job. I expect you know John Hay's old crack about these lads: - "There are three species of creatures who when they seem coming are going, when they seem going they come: diplomats, women and crabs."

All the same, I prefer the old-fashioned diplomat with good manners, to the modern examples we have just been entertaining as State guests from Russia. I did not like the idea of our little queen taking tea with the Hangman of the Ukraine, who seems to have been a truculent individual. I went to a party given at an Embassy in St Petersburg, during my 1912 visit. I entered a noisy room, as a shy naval commander; everybody was talking in different languages, but when the word got round that I was British, they all switched to English. I thought that very polite. I cannot see that happening today. I went out as King's Messenger, and travelled in the utmost comfort; Solomon in all his glory had nothing on me.

It is sad to an old fossil like me to think of those days, when the English counted for something in the world. Now anybody can push us around, whether in Egypt, Cyprus, Malaya, or what have you. That it is nobody's fault except our own, does not make it any more palatable. Our political infants have lost their touch too. This stupid affair about a frogman called Crabb should never have got to such a dangerous pitch, with better handling at the start. The French are in the worst stew of the lot; the Moslems have had just about enough of them. And I remember going to Beyrout after World War I, and meeting Weygand, who had done a really good job in Syria and Lebanon. He passed through Malta a few weeks later, as he had been chucked out by a change of government at home.

Best wishes to D.P.

Yours ever,

16 June 1956

Roosevelt's Tree
Roehampton Vale
S.W.15

Dear Mr Pound,

Thank you for your last letter, in regard to Edmondson. I

think the Britons stock his book. I never go to London nowadays; I managed to get to Derby and Oaks, and saw the melancholy procession of French horses winning both races, with not a British one anywhere near. I think myself our food is at fault, and that foreign gees get better oats. Before that I was in the wars; felt unwell; doctors frightened. Visited at night by lady heart specialist (not what you think)- found my heart O.K. Taken up to London, cast into a nursing home; more specialists; more movies of my inside; one machine collapsed directly it saw my interior, so the worst was feared, until a more courageous machine could be found. Result-sound in wind and limb; classified AI at Lloyd's; not a blot on my escutcheon; but a very expensive way of finding this out. No wonder doctors get so rich. Harlot St-I mean Harley St-is one long avenue of medical sorcerers who will cure you of anything from housemaid's knee to appendicitis-at a price. However I must not be ungrateful; the nurses were great fun, and have asked me to go back, as I was such a bright star in their mouldy lives. Now I am back on the race track, staking my modest bets, and enjoying life. The world gets no better, but that is not your fault or mine. Our politicians grow more stupid with every passing hour. One of them has just discovered that the British Empire is not breaking up, but growing up! Any cliché is good enough to console these dunderheads.

You have your own political problems with the illness of Ike. I do hope he will stand down; only a man in the best of health could stand the racket of President today. Look at Roosevelt's last election. He was half-dead at the time. That led to Truman, now touring Europe.

We are having a miserable spell of weather; a few weeks ago, everybody was grumbling at the lack of rain. Now they have had it; cold as well. My word, it was cold at Epsom; I did not know whether my name was Angus or Agnes, as we used to say in the Navy. Now the girls will be worrying what to wear at Ascot next week; as I do not go to the Royal Enclosure any more, the problem does not worry me. It looks rather like rubber boots, if I go at all.

I thought the Stalin debunkation was the greatest bit of cheek I have seen in the course of a long, and misspent lifetime. Must have put your Roosevelt fans into a bit of a quandary. I hope the rest of them-Bulge and Krush and Co-will not be allowed to get away with it. They were all in it up to the neck, and to try and shew that Uncle Joe was the only villain in the piece, and that were innocent lambs, is just about red-hot. Our silly Labourites will swallow anything, but this took them some timeto digest. The Middle East is still the trouble spot; one does not know what is going to happen there.

Our Archbishop of Canterbury gave a garden-party for the Jews a few days ago, to celebrate the tercentenary of their occupation of England. He is a Freemason, of course. The Press were full of pictures of his greeting to the Chief Rabbit-I mean Rabbi. We are indeed a curious race. My invitation to this party must have gone astray; at any rate it never reached me.

Robin's Tree
Rochegondy Vale
London, S.W.15

25 July 1956.

Dear Mr Pound,

Iapologise for having been rather slow in answering your last letter, but I have been on holiday in Suffolk. The English countryside has lost none of its charm. Once you get away from the cities and the traffic congestion, and find yourself in the peace and quiet of rural Britain, it is like passing into another world. Smiling faces and welcomes replace worried looks and surly answers. It is a real joy to see them happy and content. I had a mild flirtation with the vicar's wife, of which I am sure D.P. would have approved. The vicar was a hearty soul, and quite happy too, in his cure of souls. The main trouble with our clergy is lack of funds; miserably underpaid. I managed to get over to Newmarket to see a few horses run most satisfactorily, and not, as you suggest, reclining on the fairway. I was enabled to come away for my long run home with a little cash to the good. A millionairess horse-owner, Miss Rachel Parsons, had just been brutally murdered by her ex-stablehand. He said she owed him a fortnight's holiday pay, but that hardly seems reason to bash her over the head with a crowbar. I used to know her well; she was always eccentric, but very clever. Her father invented the Parsons steam turbine. From enquiries amongst racing folk, I found out that she had got very odd indeed in her old age; almost remarkable example of money bringing no happiness, poor soul. The groom probably found he could not pay his hire-purchase instalments. That is a system introduced from your land, which has brought a lot of misery and crime into this little island. A lot of the transactions are sheer snobbery, just to keep up with the neighbours, but it is a most demoralising practice. There again, I found that country people were reluctant to own things they could not pay for at the time.

It begins to look as if the financial crisis in this country is not far off; all the politicians are beginning to flap around, and talk the usual nonsense one can expect from democratic politicians, who are unwilling to offend their clients by restrictive practices, and let matters drift on until they become dangerous. Both our countries have just presented the Russians with a great opportunity in Egypt, because we have been using the new Jewish weapon-finance, to try and school unwilling nations into the way they should go. It may be attractive in theory to some people, but will never work in practice, thank God. We are now going downhill fast, and the more the pace increases, the madder we get. We could have taught the Gadarene swine a lesson. I must see what I can do to get in touch with Stephanie of Burbank, on whom you report so favourably. You are quite right about Oliver Cromwell; he was a rascal with a pious front, the worst kind of all. I had never realised that the blind poet was his booster; I must look that up. I have no friends in Lisbon, and lack Portugese S.A. We are still in the dark over Crabb the frogman, and it has never been announced whether he is alive or dead. A disgraceful incident, from anybody's point of view.

I despair of finding a diplomat, whether in or out of his cups, to admit that the late unlamented F.D.R. was a thorough-paced scoundrel. They are too much hidebound by their own profession. They do not dare to think for

themselves, and hate the idea of adverse criticism. It is only vulgar, common, Irishmen like your humble correspondent, who venture to make the rude remark about HEROES. Did you see the curious statemen attributed to the one and only Barney Baruch, when he was worshipping at the Roosevelt -an shrine in Grosvenor Square recently. One of those rude Pressmen asked him when a similar memorial to the great man could be expected in his own country. B.B. replied that there was one already. When asked, where, he replied-"In Our Hearts." I have always wanted to find out how he got hoisted up in Grosvenor Square so quickly; who gave the order ? Have no dope on Willie Wiseman; only a bad recollection, as of one of our evil councillors.

AEROGRAM

EZRA POUND ESQ

ST ELIZABETH'S HOSPITAL

WASHINGTON,D.C.

U. S. A.

Sender's name and address:

Robin's Tree

Roehampton Vale

LONDON, S.W.15

← any card of I

F.S.O.

Robin's Tree
Roehampton Vale

LONDON, S.W.15

16 August 1956

Dear Mr Pound,

Thankyou for your letter :yes, we have a few vicars' wives in stock, but they have no time for politics, and do not get beyond house economics, because the poor dears are so poor as a rule. Still, I daresay I could find you one on the hire-purchase system, if D.P. would approve of the idea! When I saw pictures in the Press of the Archbishop of Canterbury receiving the Chief Rabbi at Lambeth Palace, and thanking him for all his people's help during the last 300 years, since O. Cromwell as ked them to come back, I thought what a good idea it would be if he made a take-over bid for Lambeth, in accordance with the spirit of this Masonic age; that would have enabled Cantuar to give his poor clergy, who cannot go on strike, a little more pocket-money. However the Archbish. has gone on holiday himself during this time of national crisis, when London is filled with political gents from all over the world, and most of them anxious to stop Tony the Summit (peeteboard Punk to you) from playing with the matches, and setting the whole world alight. They start their talkstoday, and I do not expect they will discuss the real cause of the whole trouble-a little land called Israel. The Press are annoyed because they are excluded from the fun; thank goodness for that; they have been offensive enough already. Eden has gone from one folly to another, and does not know whether he is coming or going, at the present moment. I hope GOING, and going for good. I have never had any use for him since he first simpered his way into politics some thirty odd years ago.

I liked those extracts from that financial bombshell, which you enclosed. Chesterton does not know much about money, I fancy. I must think it over, and get a vicar's wife to help me. I am also making a note of P. Goullart. I don't quite like the way you seem to assume that I am only a copy-poet; modelling myself on Browning. Forsooth! I will now give you a chance to read an original pome I wrote the other day, to obleege a lady friend of mine, who married a Pole called Richard Fritz, and had just provided the world with her second young Fritz. She asked ME to make a verse to celebrate:-

"My dear Mrs Fritz, I've cudgelled my wits,
For an ode on this advent so happy;
So set down the pot, close to Angela's cot,
(Whilst Richard attends with the nappie.)
And list to the words of a nautical bird
Who has dreed his ane weird on the bed-tick;
And stick to your task, no breathing-space ask,
Until you've accomplished the hat-trick."

AND THEY DID.

Now with their three children they have gone to try the wide open spaces of South Africa; possibly they will have more little olive-branches, but never again such a lovely poem, to inspire them to further efforts. So hot so much of your Browning, and a little more of your Irish bard. You know- The Harp that hung in Tara's Halls, etc.

Poor old Rachel, murdered because she would not ante-up a fortnight's pay, to a dismissed groom. It was not her gees who filled my pocket at Newmarket, because her animals did little good, as she insisted on feeding them herself at odd moments, and interfering with their digestive tracks. Poor Rachel; all

28 August 1956

Dear Mr Pound, Thank you for your letter, postmarked Washington Aug. 17th. As requested in aforesaid document, I am instructing Britons to send copies of Cabin Boy and Nameless War on my behalf to E. Hemingway, and to inscribe them inside from or rather 'By Request of an Anonymous Friend.' I hope they will do him good.

My complaint against Ramsay's book, which I expressed to him, was that he did not lay enough emphasis on the Freemasons, a question he had studied in great detail. He admitted the fact, but said that he did not wish to antagonise many good Creepers, who put down the troubles to International Jewry. In other words, he was playing politics, instead of using the devastating truth. However I am glad you appreciated his work. He was a dear good friend of mine, with more guts than the whole of Eden's outfit put together. D.P., to whom I send my respectful salutations, asks if there were any suspicious circumstances in connection with the deaths of Grenfell and Ramsay. In the case of Grenfell, I was deeply suspicious, when I had a letter from his widow telling me that his death was quite sudden, that he had always been so well, and that she could not account for it in any way. However a little later on, I met a girl who told me that he had suffered for a long time from heart trouble, but had not told his wife as he did not want to alarm her. That information was probably correct. In regard to Jock Ramsay I know of no suspicious circumstances. He was shot through the heart in World War I, and the after-effects had a lot to do with his long illness, through which he was nurses devotedly by his girl-friend; unfortunately he had parted from his wife, who lives in Ireland. Both wife and girl-friend are great friends of mine, and come down here to see me. Two good women. That is all the information I can give Little Dolly Daydreams, Pride of Idaho (songs of my youth).

I hope in a few days time to jump into my little flivver, shake the dust of London off my best suit, and drive north to see the Leger at Doncaster, and then on to stay with a sister. It is only round London that you feel the unpleasant tension in the air; the country, thank God, is still the country, and you meet the decent English people, untroubled by foreign affairs, and only worried if the hens do not lay, or the pigs make love, and such other matters as make up the farmer's life. This negro invasion, under theauspices of UNESCO proceeds, and you see them everywhere. I expect there will be many girls who suffer the fate of Miss Starkey, which is all part of the great plan. In case you have not heard of Starkey:-

"There was a young lady called Starkey;

Who had an affair with a darkie;

As result of her sins, there were triplets, not twins,

One black, and one white, and one khaki."

I saw a revolting picture in the Press of old mama Roosevelt, who certainly looks like a mulatto. I must find out about that statue, and write an imperishable verse about it, which will make the other old poets look like old rags. Bard of Avon, my foot! He will have to take a back seat before Domvile's Dithyrambs. Robert Browning-forget him; wait till you hear Barry's blank verse.

6 November 1956

Dear Mr Pound, It is a long while since I heard of you. I hope the world is not treating you too badly. I always think of the optimist who answered everybody's inquiries with: "Well; it might have been worse." One day he was buttonholed by an old friend in Pall Mall, who said: -"Did you hear of the terrible happenings last night? Robinson got home and found his wife in bed with his friend Cleaver, so he shot them both dead." "Well, well," said the optimist, "It might have been worse, it might have been worse." "How do you mean, it might have been worse?, said his friend, "How could it possibly have been worse?" Well, said the optimist, "If he had come home the night before unexpectedly, he'd have found me." Of course the moral of this little tale is that we never feel things really deeply, until they are brought home to us in a personal way by pain, discomfort, or other means. We can look resignedly at the agonies of others, provided they do not affect ourselves. Like the walrus and the carpenter and the oysters. Of course you will not tell D.P. of these shocking moral soliloquies on my part; I should not like to affect adversely the confidence which I am sure she feels in this humble cabin-boy.

I feel strongly about the Poles and Hungarians, but more with a feeling of shame at the way they have been let down by the Westerners, than by their shame at the way they have been let down by the Westerners, than by their world-wide rabble rousers, who stir people up to revolt, and then leave them to suffer the consequences. I mention no names, but have no doubt that you can fill in the gaps.

I gave myself a pleasant holiday in the summer by going north to see a sister in her home near Durham, and stopping on the way to see the St Leger on Doncaster Town moor, and unpatriotically backing the French winner.

I found a little old hotel at Ollerton where I spent a night on the way up. It was called The Hop-Pole, and was so comfortable that I stayed there on my way home. I saw the New Rich up at Durham-the miners. They drive to the pit-head in large cars, race greyhounds, and do as little work as possible to enable them to pay for these luxuries. I also met a Bishop - the new bish of Durham at luncheon, and made a faux pas. I was telling the company about my sister's gardener, who was a great character, and said "He used to be a bishop-I mean a butcher." I suppose that the mistake came from my lack of knowledge of the business of butchery, and therefore the obsession on meeting one. I do not know whether he was a good bishop; we talked more of the cost of living in this world than of the price of salvation. I hope he has forgiven me. You will remember that my last friend in Suffolk was a parson's wife, so I cannot help feeling that I must have 'Something' that attracts the Church. It cannot be my face; not mine the face that launched a thousand ships owned by dear Helen of Troy; mine would be more likely to stop, a train than to launch anything; still, there it is. THERE MUST BE SOMETHING.

Now I am settling down for the winter, as far as the politicians will allow me or anybody else to settle down. What a mess they have made of the world. If Hell is paved with good intentions, it must have had plenty of new tiles lately, of which our own pasteboard punk Antony is the pick.

1st February 1957

Dear Mr Pound,

Many thanks for your letter of the 15th Jan. I am telling Leslie Greene about your suggestion of a nicht wi' Burns-Bonnie Leslie. She is a good girl; lots of courage; rather bossy, but that helps in Parliament. Speaks well. I do not suppose she has much hope of getting up to the Gas Chamber in Westminster, as she lacks the organisation of the older Parties, who are full of gas and guile, but if she can make a serious impression on their complacency, she will have accomplished something. I never reached the hustings, although I was asked to stand for Greenwich. Further correspondence shewed that I lacked the will to become a party hack, driven into the voting pen like an animal to the slaughter pen. So I was released. Just as well, because I should have found it difficult to record my vote from my seat in Brixton Prison. An Independent is the only thing I could have been, and perhaps I am rather too independent even for that. I am sure I should not have found myself in the same lobby as our present infliction-Macmillan. He is a Fabian, a P.E.P. (Political and Economic Planning) man under Israel Moses Sieff, and altogether just as dusty an internationalist as Tony the Summit, who is now giving a good imitation of a martyr on the way to southern climes. And we are left to pay the piper, who is not even playing the bagpipes, but only a Jew's harp. What a queer world it is. And now you have got Ibn Saud, who was well-received by your President, and rudely by the Jewish Mayor of New York. He was running true to form, but the Arabs do not understand this sort of hospitality, and they have long memories in the desert, and plenty of time and space to think.

I went once to luncheon with the Beni Sukhr, a desert tribe. No food preparation was made until after my arrival. Then the sheep was killed, and the bread baked, whilst we waited three or four hours drinking sweet tea. You can commit any crime whilst you are the guest of these tribes, without being punished; whilst Arab food is in your inside you are safe. After that, you might reach a sticky end, but it would be your own fault. Even the Mayor of New York would have been as safe as the statue of Liberty, if he did not stay too long. I was told particularly not to admire anything, as they would have said 'It is yours.' Rather awkward to have returned to my ship with a couple of racing camels. I dare say you have done all this, but I only mention these things now, to show how different are the ideas of hospitality between Arab and Jew. And that means a lot to the settlement of the thorny problem created by Israel, the unwanted intruder, who would never have got there, had we not broken our promises. Do you remember Lawrence of Arabia? He was a queer fish; not very impressive to meet, but he refused all honours when his Arab friends were betrayed. I met him at one of the many Peace Conferences I had the good or bad fortune to attend; an awful waste of time, but an eye-opener as far as political chicanery was concerned. I was there when Lloyd-George and Venizelos persuaded the Peacemakers to send the Greeks into Asia Minor; then a little later I was at Smyrna watching these same Greeks running so fast before the Turks through the town, that I fully believe they would have jumped into the sea, if they had not reached the ships waiting at Tichnor to take them back to Greece.

Good Friday 1957.

Dear Mr Pound,

Dear Mr Pound, Very glad to get your letter of the 9th; it has had a very infantile postage mark put upon it, since it left you. Something to do with forest fires, and a gent called 'Smokey.' I presume that these devices are necessary, in order to get people to look at them at all; it does not say much for the adult intelligence of the day. Now for your questions. Like you, I thought that Hailsham might be an improvement on the common or garden democratic politician, but I fear it is not so. He has brains, and ambition. He wanted to renounce the title he inherited from his papa (the first viscount, and the one you remember), so that he could continue to sit in the lower Chamber of Zion at Westminster. This was not allowed, so he had to wait for some time, before he could grab an office. I am afraid that there is little to choose between these politicians today; none of them would hold office unless they were indoctrinated by the real string-pullers behind the scenes. He is very impulsive, as I remember when he was my junior Counsel in a lawsuit, in which I found myself reluctantly involved. A will case; you know "Where there's a will, there's a lawsuit." A nurse was giving evidence about the deceased's habits during his last days, and she had a gifted imagination. Suddenly I heard a voice behind me shout 'O!YOU BITCH.' The Judge heard it too, and I looked round and saw that it was friend Quintin Hogg (as he was known then), who had uttered these rude words. The Judge said nothing; I rather expected he would reprove him. Perhaps he was thinking of father. Perhaps the present viscount has controlled his tongue since then, but I believe he is still very impulsive; if only he would impel himself in a decent direction! Then he might be worth following. It is a very surprising thing to find that a Jew is Lord Mayor of Dublin, one of the few really Catholic countries left. That is what Briscoe is. I am afraid that my native land will go the way of all the other lands, which get exploited. Still it is a marvellous sight to see the population attending Mass in an Irish town on a Sunday. The horizon is black with them. And in the West, where I spent a Sabbath recently, I found that Sir Roger Casement was a great hero in Tralee.

The weather is so lovely, that I have almost given up politics, in favour of more pleasant pursuits. I hope to race at Kempton tomorrow. I do not like the plebs on holiday-chew; lick; suck; litter; another happy day. But I manage to concentrate on the four-legged animals, and forget the bipeds.

Thankyou for telling me about Gouillent's book, The Forgotten Kingdom, which I must try and get hold of. I am afraid that a lot of my literature today consists of Who Dun Its. More restful than contemporary versions of history. I have not read one of Churchill's, because I should not know how much to believe, and it would only be a waste of time. And the same applies to all other authors, who want you to believe their versions of history, and who give the facts an affectionate squeeze in the right direction. For example, a distinguished soldier has just allowed his war diaries to be published, in which he is most unkind about Churchill. But I soon saw that it was the old tale of a man with a grievance, using this way of ventilating it. After the First World War, there was a soldier I much admired-an Irishman-who was both witty and clever. After his death, his friends allowed his diaries to

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17 Ap

B.D.

I forget how far I had gone in effort to evangelize you / and to CONcentrate attention on basic issues/ but if you want to be KIND to Bonnie "eslie . despite her taste for low company /

I did mention Rand/ selling idea of double X of Mihaelovitch ( I think ).

Note Sen. Douglas has heard of Denton. Illiteracy of our senate is declining . or @ least been bumped.

NOTE giv the lady the enc/ now nearly 20 years old. The bastards are being just as dumb re/ Gesell NOW . as re/ Joyce and other literary blokes 40 yearsago /

but have damn well had to TAKE what I told 'em.

Gesellites too damn dumb to see connection of G8s one bright idea with Jeff/ to Crawford ( AS PER ENC. )

This is the text bk/ I used to wash head of a dozen senators etc. in 1939.

Of course having soared into ylyrik heights in youth , the idea that Bevione wd/ listen to me etc.

enters slowly the suet-filled noggins of brit/ and yank.

Young Von der Goltz ( exact degree of relationship not ascertained) in yester/ evidently feeding the purr/light but employed with the old wheeze about " these things so big taHHH that no one man can be responsible ..

ergo accept, set still, and let her drift.

so hap/ the first echo I had heard of THAT old record fer some time/
he tho't current brain-wash more effective than earlier varieties.

Place Voltaire, rechristened : Place Leopold Blum .

La GGFLOIRE de la douce fwawnce !!!!!

Ike 's bro Edgar reported tryin to save family honour/ whence paraphrase not for release too too delicate an audience.

Edgar on Milton

Here's to Ike the slippery slider

H Who rose to such heights on a glider,

A jet run by gas

That comes out of his q

He cannot be called a provider.

benedictions.

16 May 1957.

Dear Mr Pound,

Many thanks for last letter, with the charming verse about
a slippery slider called Ike. I gave Leslie and Chesterton the dope; the
young lady was over here a few days ago, I think she wanted to be certain
that I was going to take her to the Derby this year, more than to consult
me politically. She is going back for another weekend with Randolph
Churchill, so I gave her some good fatherly advice. We are all most inter-
ested in a Hush-hush meeting of the Top Notchers which took place off
the coast of Georgia, in an Island called St Simon, in February last. That
must be somewhere, not far from your hideout. Anyway a little broadsheet
called Closer-Up got hold of the names of those attending, which included
some of our political rascals; about fifteen gents were too coy to give
their names, but I think I could guess. Our most important sage was a
gent called Lord Kilmuir, Lord Chancellor of England, one of those mixed
characters with one leg in the Highlands of Scotland and the other in
Tel-A-Viv. We think the principal subject of discussion was the revision
of the U. N. Charter, which should have taken place in 1955, but the time
was not favourable. Unfortunately, the agenda was not made available to
journalists, as it must have been of much interest. Astor, the editor of
the OBSERVER, one of our Sunday papers, was also there. This island is one
close to Jekyl I., where the hocus-pocus about the Federal Reserve was
concocted. I hope Eustace Mullins is on the track of this new bit of
skulduggery. The revision of the Charter is bound to include a surrender
of sovereignty; hardly the thing for a Lord Chancellor to get mixed up
with, one would have thought, but in these crazy days, anything may happen.
I have given Chesterton all the information which I had collected, and he
is going to publish it in CANDOUR.

Two days ago I became a FELLOW. I am not quite sure what a Fellow does,
but I was unanimously selected as a FELLOW by the Council of the Ancient
Monuments Society for the preservation of our old buildings, in these
days of desecration. I replied that I was in the Ancient Monument class
myself, but I did not think they would want to preserve me; still, I felt
I must accept the honour conferred upon me by the Council, and become a
Fellow. Do you think I ought to go all 'arty', and wear a cape and a huge
beard? Give me some advice please, as this is my first essay into the
artistic world, and, although I am well on in my sixteenth lustrum, I feel
as coy and bashful as any debutante, making her first bow to Royalty.

I should like to be a Good Fellow, and not a Bad Fellow. Ask D. P. for
some advice for this poor old codger, caught up in the stream of the Art
world, and feeling very much out of place.

I told my dentist about it this morning, and he was much tickled, and said
that speaking from his dental angle, I was a thoroughly worthy ancient
monument.

Last week I attended a real old fashioned Irish wedding; a young cousin of mine marrying a real beaut, who was attended by fourteen followers, dressed in the racing colours of her husband's mother, pale blue and white. It was a pretty affair, and I felt rather like Coleridge's Ancient Mariner, attending a similar occasion. What a different world these young

24 June 1957.

Dear Mr Pound,

Many thanks for your letter of the 9th June. I apologise for not answering your query in regard to the proposed publication of the fruity bits extracted from the letters which I have written to you; please do so; I shall be only too honoured. I presume that your editor will omit any remarks which might be considered libellous. I should not like to find myself back in Brixton, although I am sure the company which I should keep there would be more select than that available in the outside world. With this one exception, please collect the pearls of wisdom which have poured from my typing ribbon during the last few years, and feed them to the ignorant polloi, in the hopes that they will give them some badly needed commonsense. What more encouragement could be wanted than the knowledge that D.P. approves the project? All power to her illustrious elbow. May the sun shine as brightly upon her as it has been doing upon us during the last few weeks. At the present moment much needed rain is falling upon the just and the unjust alike, without favour or choice. That is a nice thought; but I should like the unjust to get wetter than the rest.

The reason why I am tardy in replying to your letter is that I have been taking a short holiday in Suffolk, one of the most charming counties in this old island. After driving just over a hundred miles, I found myself away from the mixed bag of humanity, which constitutes the population of the metropolis; sad-faced, anxious looking people, who travel in and out of London daily to earn their daily bread, if they cannot pinch it from somebody else. Down on Suffolk I found the same kindly individuals in my little village in Dennington, whom I remember in the days gone by. Always a cheery wave of the hand or word of greeting that makes life so much pleasanter, and the hard work of the countryside done in a spirit of happiness, that it did me good to see. No grudging labour here; no asking for more money, if they do five minutes extra work. It did me good to see that there are still people in the world who realise that it is meant to be a happy place, and not a grumbler's Paradise.

I do not remember whether I told you that I had been made a Fellow of the Society for the Preservation of Ancient Monuments, including, I presume, my humble self. Suffolk is full of Ancient Monuments, and must have been densely populated in the dim past, as the smallest village has a church big enough to hold a congregation many times larger than it could hope to attract today. So I had a look at some of the old buildings, thought worthy of national care. Framlingham Castle and Saxtead Heath windmill were close to me. The former simply reeks of history, and is well worth a visit. I also visited Norwich, where there used to be a ghetto, but it has disappeared in these enlightened days, when Jews can win the Derby, as they did this year. I took my girl-friend Leslie Greene to the Derby again this year, and we each won two prizes at the fair, and I backed the winner of the big race. Leslie is one of Chesterton's assistants, who stood for parliament not long ago at Lewisham, and did very well. In my vanity, I think that I do her good as I stop her from getting too big for her boots. Still she has great

12 September 1957.

Dear Mr Pound,

Thankyou for your letter of the 31st ULT. Poor little Ingrid, with the gilt worn off the Davies gingerbread. Alas; in these moving times, too many young people shew a distaste for their partners, after the first fine careless rapture, advocated by Browning's thrush, has failed to repeat itself. I have made a note of the address, and will try and attempt the poor lady to take a bite chez moi.

I am only just back from the North, where I drove my little car to Durham, after York races, to stay with a sister, and spend my 79th birthday. The cook put only seven candles on it, and I accused her of assuming that

I was in my second childhood. She indignantly denied this, but said that 79 candles would not sit comfortably together, so she had compromised with the first digit. It is a great age, but the heart is still young, and I am back at the old stand, full of pep.

I came across the curious use of a word in Co. Durham. If you ask anyone, who has a sick member of the family-"Is your husband better?" she replies "No; he's not better, but he is improving." Apparently better means well. Then another meaning of the same word; a man said "Oh; she's better." and he meant that she was better class in society. These local idioms persist. Durham itself is a really lovely old city, and relic of better days. The traffic problem is well-nigh impossible, and they have tried to solve it by long one-way convoys, alternating up and down. I daresay you have been there.

The outer world is again working itself up into a state of high tension, about the Middle East. Your country arm the Arabs and worry the Jews, and arm the Jews and worry the Arabs. We do not know what we are doing, which may be just as well. So why not 'Rock 'n Roll? Downhill to the darkness of oblivion passes one more Empire, whilst our rulers shout that we are on the up-and-up. Poor misguided fools, who have put their trust in false gods, I had a most unexpected letter from one of the Nuremberg victims-Admiral Doenitz. I had written something for a New York publicist called Thompson, and this drew the response from this fine old seaman. I am afraid that my reply to him was inadequate, but I was touched at his letter, which could only have been written by a gentleman, in the true sense of the word. Up the Irish. They won the St Leger yesterday, duly backed by your humble servant.

Now I have to go and collect a relation from the torturer's grip-I refer to the dental chamber. Give D.P. my kindest regards, and with all good wishes to yourself,

28 October 1957.

Dear Mr Meacham,

Thankyou for your letter in regard to Ezra Pound. I have been in correspondence with him for several years, but have never met him. I have been approached by people in this country in regard to trying to get him out of this impasse, but I said that any movement should come from his own countrymen, as the interference of foreigners would probably do more harm than good, as Governments are touchy. Now that I hear from you, I am prepared to do anything to help, that is considered practicable. I do not know upon what grounds E.P. is kept in durance vile of unlimited length. I had been told that he was considered unfit to stand trial, but I have no idea what the charges would be. If your Government is not prepared to withdraw these charges, obviously the first step must be to challenge their right to keep him incarcerated, without allowing him to be examined by a body of non-partisan experts, regarding his mental condition. The whole thing is so fishy, that I have always imagined that the Govt. feared a public trial would disclose facts, unpleasant to themselves; pure guess work, but I have some knowledge of the dirty work going on in high places, having been a victim myself, under regulations admitting no redress.

The alternative policy is to put pressure upon the Govt to withdraw the charges. Here I am completely in the dark; I have always guessed that E.P. knew too much about the Money Methods of those in control of the national destiny, and that the charges were faked to give them an excuse to silence him. Please give both E.P. and D.P. my warmest regards, and tell them that if they can think up any way in which I can do my little best to assist, they can count on my cordial co-operation. Knowing so little of the details

of the whole sorry affair, I hesitate to suggest any definite course, until I know more. If, as you think, the Govt would drop the charges, if asked, then M.P. would have to make some quid pro quo for this gracious action! But you say he would not go to Italy; would he accept any conditions of silence upon specified topics? I believe this course was adopted with Tyler Kent, another gentleman with inconvenient knowledge.

Hoping you will understand my position, and assuring you of my best wishes,

BY AIR MAIL
PAR AVION
AIR LETTER
AEROCAMME

8
28.10.
1957

HARRY M. MEACHAM

P.O.BOX 1376

RICHMOND

VIRGINIA

U. S. A.

Sender's name and address: St. Barry Domvile

Robin's Tree

Roehampton Vale

LONDON, S.W.15

AN AIR LETTER SHOULD NOT CONTAIN ANY
ENCLOSURE; IF IT DOES, IT WILL BE SURCHARGED
FOR SENT BY ORDINARY MAIL.

← same side of

2 December 1957.

Dear Mr Pound,

It was a real pleasure to get your letter dated 27th ult., as I had had no news from you for a long time. I was only too pleased to write to Meacham, and only wait to hear from him whether there is anything I can do.

I am afraid that the trouble in the world today is the old, old, tale of 'bread and circuses.' The people of this country have never known such a pleasant life before; every Tom, Dick and Harry has a nice motor car, which takes him and his wife (or somebody else's wife) to the seaside at weekends, where he gorges himself with food, and then drives back. Why should he worry about whether we pay rent on our purchasing power? Forget it. Start the car again, and get out into the traffic queue, and see life. Only when people suffer personally do they begin to sit up and take notice. Take away his car, keep his fat stomach a bit emptier, and he may begin to ask what's the matter, and even to investigate. As long as people generally are having a 'good time' they will not move a finger to put obvious wrongs right. The people of this land have lost their independent spirit, since becoming a unit or units in Democracy; they are content to be driven around like cattle from pasture to pasture by their masters, provided the grazing is good. Until things get worse, and they will get worse, there can be no improvement.

For patriotic individuals like you and me, it is painful to watch this process going on; if I was young, doubtless I should be doing something about it. But I was getting old, before I even began to understand the road upon which we were travelling, and a darned nasty road it is.

I do go and see J.F.C. Fuller occasionally, but his is a more academic mind than mine; he is a great scholar, whereas I am just an ignorant so-and-so. You say he is writing of Alexander of Macedon; I liked Harold Lamb's book on that enterprising gent; written about twelve years ago, and printed in your country. Nice easy stuff for my simple mind, by a gent who knew what he was writing about, I felt. I shall have to enquire about C.D.Bowen's Lion and Throne.

Have you heard from Ingrid lately? I wrote to her as you requested, but have had no reply. She was a sweet girl, and worthy of a happier life, than the one you described. The young things of today regard marriage as just a temporary affair, which can be stopped at any time that you lose your taste for your partner, or find a better joint. It shocks me greatly, but then I am only a museum piece.

Give D.P. my love—repeat—love—what a lucky man you are to have such a wife even though she does not know how many B's go after my name! Bless her.

My daughter-in-law in Canada is a dear girl, but she put me in a very awkward position the other day, when she asked me to purchase 'panties' for her birthday present. Lord luv us! what do I know about panties? On the same page of her letter, she cast reflections upon the love life of her poor old respectable father-in-law. So when I blushingly shewed the letter to my girl-friends at the local store, I regret to say they giggled. Drat them. And now I am preparing to go to a wedding at Windsor Castle; curious that I

Robin's Tree
Roehampton Vale

S.W.I5

28 April 1958.

Dear Mrs Pound,

Hurrah; I was delighted to read the good news, although it
was rather shabbily treated, as is only to be expected when dealing with
a bunch of rascals. I hope you will have a happy time in Italy; far from
the madding crowd. Mind you give me your address. I have not heard from
your husband for some time, and I did not like to write, in case I upset
any arrangements. However there it is, and you have both paid a heavy
penalty for honesty and integrity of outlook.

I shall be interested to hear what finally tipped the balance, in favour
of vacating St Bessie's hostelry.

First fold here

MRS EZRA POUND

3514, BROTHERS PLACE

WASHINGTON.S.E.

DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA

U S A

Sender's name and address:

Robin's Tree

Roehampton Vale

LONDON

S.W.I5

69510342

Robin's Tree

Roehampton Vale

22 May 1958.

LONDON.S.W.15

Dear Mr Pound,

I was delighted to get your cheerful letter, and the kind
messages from old friends, by whom you were surrounded. All in good spirits
Bourbon or Scotch? Please thank D.P. and the others for their good wishes.
I read in the Press that you are taking a voyage in the Christopher Columbus
to Italy, and I hope that when you get there you will give us a really
wonderful book on the Money Question, and a few remarks about the gentlemen
who kept you in St Elizabeth's, for such a long time. The dirty dogs.
And sometime you must come to England, where you will find many friends and
admirers. I hope to be 80 in September, and should much like to meet you
before I hand in my knife and fork.

Anyway, here is the best of good wishes for your future happiness and good
health. You have suffered in a good cause, and that is always a comfort.

Love to D.P.

Yours ever,

Robin's Tree

Koehampton Vale

S.W.15

4th July 1958.

Dear Mr Pound,

Many thanks for sending me that magnificent volume of your work, which I shall treasure. I was surprised, and flattered to find my humble verse in the Appendix. At last I am among the poets; in my 80th year, I find myself surrounded by Euterpe's best scholars. Of course, some jealous versifiers would call me a mere copy-cat; let them have their spiteful turn. I do not suppose that Bill Shakespeare would have consulted me before writing his sonnets, but you will remember that he said, "All my best is dressing old words new," and that is what I did in adapting Browning to modern life. Neither do I imagine that Jack Keats would have turned to me to correct his Ode To A Night Commode (Or was it a Grecian urn?) Anyway, I can hope to get a nod of recognition from some of the poetic tycoons in the Great Beyond, after appearing in your work of fame.

Thankyou.

Kindest regards to D.P., and do not forget to let me know your new address.

Your humble poetaster,

A few noted for B.D.

probably useless and idle retrospect.

Glad to have B.D.'s note on WHEN he first thought of war, helps tell the young how LITTLE one then did think of same/ they, the young being continually bothered by prospect, conscription and other nuisances.

First I heard was VERY excited briton, probably naval, at rare luncheon in Gurzon St. to which t'm/ B.D's anonymous crspd was admitted for reasons not clear, and where he ceased to be welcome shortly after from reasons not connected with H.M's govt. ( i.e. failure to believe that Mr Wilde's (osc) habits contributed to amelioration of his poesy. Theory of sd/ possibly naval person was that German t'EMH fleet wd/ be in two parts, one issuing from Kiel( I suppose) and getting chased, HUHHH back to harbor, w/II/ while tother half wd/ issue from god-kowz where and get chased, thus ex and box until brit fleet ran out of coal? &thus inacapabl Not having been naval expert at age of 23, yr/ crspd/ was unable ** to judge technical validity of manoeuvre. BUT he had never seen two nicely tailored gents/ get into such a lather. The Briton forver bloke appirmed invulnerability of Island fastness, and sd/ he wd ARM the people. Mariner made quite rude remark on arming cab-drivers. this must have been in autumn of 1908, or very early in 1909.

AND probably name no gt/ impression on inexperienced foreigner save as vignette of native moeurs.

***Now to Grenfell R.N. The smear of Talleyrand lasted till at least 1890. T/ set up Wop monarchy, Swiss neutrality, and Belgium. the latter with neutrality guaranteed. Cant remember which hun, may have been Bulow thought violation of Belgium gave perfidious Albion " right" or excuse to get into 1914 slaughter.

This is not to contradict Gr/ or to suppose that Lard G/ or anybody of that sort wd/ hv/ given a damn for strict legality.

Queen Margherita ( wop) sd/ " Dummheit, nicht Bosheit".

Ballin sd/ IF he had known he wd/ have packed Hamburg with grain.

As to whether Ballin was pulling Bulow's leg, or( alternatively) that the inner gang was so close that EVEN Ballin wasn't in on the wangle ... let us keep mind open. Bulow believed Ballin, or I am no judge of candid writing. The Bulow does NOT bother about "acceptances" and other non-naval and military items.

Vague recollection that papers mentioned to prevent Belgian neutrality at the time( 1914); an out for hun invasion yr/ friend Grey ?? There was certainly an air of hysteria in London for 6 weeks or even 3 motnhs before August. NOT a rational of/ deduction from anything in particular simply matter of atmospherics, hyperaesthesia or whatso.

p. 19, Grenfell plain nuts re/ 2nd/ w.w. The God Face did resist pressure in w.w. No. 1.

p. 21. P.G.Konody: Djecgo-Zlovaaks, Tdere aRRe gno Djegko-Zlovaaks, it iss like talking of the Kento-Welsch. 1918 or '19.

Incidentally if the Admiral LIKES reading, has he seen Corti's two very entertaining volumes on The Rise of the House of and Reign of the House of ( yu guessedit ) Rothschild ? Corti claiming kinship with one of Meyer Amschel's collaborators or hirelings, and the only Corti known to me, being of remote messopotamian origin.

p.30. Gr/ gets going nicely.

** parenthesis / do we say Talleyrand saved France, by guaranteed Belgian neutrality ? Depends on how far one accepts thesis that Brit/ guarantee functioned in 1914, I seem to remember some use of it for propaganda purposes. may have been eye-wash ?

p. 35/ " everybody" ( in Eng ? in Europe ? ) neglects

2. Leopoldine reforms in Tuscany, mid XVIIIth cent/ and the relative chronology of American and frog revolutions / Lafayette runnin round to Tom Jefferson's lodgings for advice on HOW to revolute. And J.Adams noting that the frogs wd/ make a mess of it.

p.47. gentle and charming memoir of Chlodwig Hohenlohe, forget by
who, possibly Curtius (the" other" Curtius).

Bismarck: " NO more wars for Germany after 1870. "

p. 71 does seem to squish idea that Britain was interested
in a promise re/ Belgium made 80 years before( or whatever the
date was )

idea of ANYthing inter-national seems alien to Gren's
sensibility. ( However I suppose he tried first for British
imprint ).
Didn't Bulow see and say that war wd/ end the
three dynasties ? Some hun certainly did, if not Bulow, Chlodwig.

Plarr( last sprig of the old Strasbourg senatorial
families) went there shortly before 1914 , certainly not later
than 1912 , and sais that locally ALL idea of reunion with france
had died out , mildly wistful tone. Hohenlohe's nice manners
responsible, may we say ?

p. 74 AND the idiocy after" twice" frog flop / idiocy
of not basing Eng/ policy on Italy instead of france.

86/ ever meet a galant Brit/ Col/ named Rocke/ ? very loathe
to believe or learn ANYthing re/ economics in 1937 / but conceded
there might be something in 'em , after 1939.

108/ policy / Geo, Tinkham, after over 20 years in U.S.
Congress . said in 1939 : " War is his HIE. only OUT. " meaning
that the sowbellled ape had got U.S. into such a mess that only
by getting a war started ed/ he keep his pro-pinko party in power .
Of course FDR had excuse of ignorance, I mean MORE ignorance than
YOUR chief swine , who had after all been meeting educated men from
infancy. " My son is determined to be P.M, and god help England if
he gets it. " . Webbe old Jenny's observation wd/ make a good
by line for his tomb stone. Glad to see the now familiar paragraph
from Maclean quoted on 104 . been using it for several months , i.e.
since bulgarian's consort brought it here( it . i.e. the Maclean
book. )

Given my 25 years in Italy / subsequent to having been there off and
on ever since 1898 / phrase " Fascist counterpart to Nazism"
seems to indicate superficial knowledge of Italy.

Hv/ yu seen Peck's " Dernier Rapport " ?

as to politicians reading any REAL economics ? NUTS.
infantilism of yapping re/ gov't/ spending and paying NO attention
whatsodambloodyever to question of monetary issue...

am waiting for some brit/ or yank author to get PRINTED and at same
time mention the corporate state, or show ANY familiarity or even
vague awareness of what went on in Italy from 1922 to 39.

several earlier points in these notes are answered by G/ as
he proceeds , but p. 174 / a point which you might even transmit
to Grenfell. Having been UNDER this bombing , and confirmed by
at least one elderly Italian painter , who had got into the Alpini
in " the other war", despite chest measurement being under
standard . The unarmed bloke being bombed is filled with nothing
but disgust and utter contempt for the raider. Whether this
is residue of sporting spirit ? or whatso. CONtempt is most
certainly one reaction.

177/ emphatically a reason why study of history shd/ be rammed into
the schools. ( along with the gk/ and lat/ classics, that is the

3 parts which have caused the battle to get ill greek and lat/ OUT of curricula. ( as per the well known, but insufficiently studied program. )

Even Adolf who acutely says they put out hoakum knowing the more goddam idiotic it is, the more time the cattle will waste trying to make sense out of it. Adolf goes nuts on " program for future" / forgetting Bismarck's horse sense.

I suppose Grenfell has seen Hesse's " Das Spiel um Deutschland". How much Irish blood has he ?

Up to p/221 dont show gt/ interest in economic background of war / local control of local purchasing power / problem of issue/ BUT possibly he wanted to get the book printed.

220/ as to compatibility franco-allemand / old Genvieve had worked back of hun lines , 4 teeth knocked out by rifle butt / said was her own fault , been told to move and hadn't. Result : Le Bavarois , il est sale, Mais le Prussien , LE PRUSSIEN , c'est un chic homme.

Dinklage a little grieved at French ABC primer for kids. illustrating

B ; BAVarois, illustration : bebe sur bayonette.

english

Schmidt, having talked to prisoners : " Recent chaps , damn pity

we have to fight 'em. This despite the filth from Brain Rust, Bracken end co/ to which he probably hadn't listened, but which cert/ co/ NOT have raised Britain in esteem of alien and dispassionate listener.

221/2 he does seem to neglect certain factors / or THE unmentionable without getting 18B/d factor , but even without that -- almost certain to get a man NOT printed/ the simple population figures of France under Louis the Nhuissance , and now / in proportion to the Krauts ... wonder if ANY one print them , or prints them in France or TO France. I forget 'em. But believe there were considerably MORE frogs than Krauts under Louis xiv. ( no tables of reference available at this moment in this Establishment. )

Gren/ never mentions wops ( some of whom can NOT stand frogs). Huns, at least the few I hv/ met , do NOT appreciate frog importation of dark skinned brothers. Though D/ said the black prisoners were charming with children/ HHHHHHHHH black charge at night reminded him of gleam of boar tusks on his first boar hunt.

And ( I probably repeat) infantile politicos, dispute re/ gov't, spending and pay NO attention to problem of issue of money, fuss over drainage system, no attention to water supply.

3rd/ " force" ? or axis ?

230 / NO. There is or was a place called Italy. God knows, what is left of it, and hell f y Winston.

Does Grenfell still read ? p/ 234 / C.H.D said THAT , 30 years ago.

retired Commissioner for Agra . 1914 :" Rissia is an ally that STICKS in my THROAT."

Of course the filthiest product of England was something I hadn't seen before 1938 or '9. The " oaw , yew'll come in an' 'elp us.". no question of either sense or justice entering into the whine. whether that little squirt was in yr/ estimable secret service , I do not know. One ex-member of same told me in '38 that England was full of russian spies , engaged in industrial espionage.

239 Picabia's summary , 1920 : Europe exhausted by the conquest of Alsace-Lorraine.

245/ aye , aye, Sorr. but Stalin played all around yr/ Barclay Gammon. As far as I can see, Adolf wd/ have gone on and on eastward

and exhausted himself.

4 / snobism/ neither the wopstocracy nor the brit " gent" cd/ stand idea of son of blacksmith , and house painter being human.

amateur impression that air power is useful vs/ navy ( or at least surface craft) BUT that may apply only to navy in which uncertain loyalty has entered . ?? Anyhow G. is talking of land bombing.

Fuller(JFC) somewhere re/ bayont (? charge) obsolete . Ian Monro: in last analysis it is man on the spot with a bayonet. ? tommy-gun. both these phrases fairly irrelevant. I mean my quote of 'em.

Santayana interested in Brooks Adams : centralization when offensive is stronger than defensive means.

251 . May be G/ wd/ advocate reading Mencius in prep/ schools ? this sentence is interrogative.

Of course dying with the juggylaves is a bright one. I don't recall that Winston's having much play in the local press here. in aromatic pain.

266/ returning to question of honour/ after the unspeakable Freud has seeped thru the univers/ etc. these goddam kikatrists and their dupes are not AGAINST honour, the simply have never heard of it, and are totally bewildered by any mention of same.

ex post facto laws / the anathema of all jurisprudence since ever. plus laws containing words undefined in any legal lexicon.