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TomorrowFaber, Geoffrey;c4 we (G. and I) drive up to London, I believe via Tewkesbury, which should be a pretty drive. I go to Lingfield for the night, andWoolfs, thevisited on TSE's 1933 return;b2 the following night to Rodmell, and probably back to Lingfield for the weekend. I have been very happy here. YesterdayFabers, theTSE's 1933 holiday with;b2 wetravels, trips and plansTSE's 1933 Faber summer holiday;b1described;a6 went over to tea, about 30 miles away, at the cottage of a Professor Stapledon who is conducting some interesting experiments in improving the grass on the hills for sheep grazing, and took us over his experiment station. MostWalestopography;a2 lovely wild mountainous country, mostly quite bare, but with rich wooded valleys in between, especially the beautiful valley of the Ystwyth with gorges and cascades. It is Borrow’s ‘Wild Wales’ country, and I should think nearly as wild as it was a hundred years ago. AlongWalesreminds TSE of California;a3 theAmericaCalifornia;d3Wales's resemblance to;a9 precipitous mountain roads I thought of our drives in California and wished that they might be repeated here. The bare hills after a season of drought looked as brown as yours, but the country has a positive and very ancient character to it, as if haunted by ghosts of the early Britons who have left the traces of their earthworks, which California lacks altogether. ItWalescompared to England;a4 is also, as I said, extremely un-English. The people are more peasants, but independent seeming – there is but little county society, and little of the English squirearchy; smile as you pass and shout a greeting in their strange language.
I have read and worked but very little. The weather has been hot; besides bathing in the pool there are excursions to the beach, and in the hills there are little torrents to dip into; so I have got used to removing my clothes at any moment and find living in a half naked state very soothing. Sunday another tennis party at a Major Harford’s, Monday the whole afternoon sunning on the beach. There are dozens of wasps buzzing about me as I write, and the gardener has passed the window with a basket of tomatoes.
FromPage-Barbour Lectures, The (afterwards After Strange Gods)rewritten for publication;a6 the 20th I shall be hard at work again on my other set of lectures for the spring. ThenBrowne, Elliott Martinproduction of The Rock;a2meets TSE over possible collaboration;a1 I shall see Martin Browne, andForty-Five Churches Fund, Theapproaches TSE with theatrical commission;a1 I am very much tempted to write that play for the Forty-five Churches Fund that I told you of. Not that I have a single idea for it; but I have always wanted a chance to do some dramatic work, and somehow if I got into that it would seem to me a new bond between us. AndFaber, Annpromised play for puppet theatre;a2 IFabers, therequest TSE to write play;b4 have promised to write a play for Ann to produce with her puppet theatre. (They are very elementary puppets, with no moveable joints, and they are all designed for Russian fairy tale figures, which makes the task more difficult.[)]
I have decided to send this to Scripps. Last year you assembled on the 19th, so I suppose that is the best address from now on; butAmericaCalifornia;d3TSE dreads its effect on EH;a8 I confess it makes my heart sink to have to write to you there: I so much prefer to think of you safely with the Perkins’s, and I shall never be happy or easy about you so long as you are in that dreadful California, and I hate most of the things you have to do, as well as the awful isolation of it. I am sure that you will find again a few congenial girls who will appreciate all that you are so generously ready to give; but I know how heartsick one can be in the company of the very young. As this is my first letter of the autumn season I send with it a very special tender and passionate solicitude – and it is very often very hard for me to stop at that and not go on to a largely selfish fury and rage.
IFabers, thetoo absorbed in their children;b5 don’t want to appear unappreciative of great kindness and of having been happy when I say that I wish these good folk were not quite so absorbed in their children. IWoolfs, therefreshingly childless;b3 shall be re-adjusted, I hope, by the company of the Woolfs.
4.E. MartinBrowne, Elliott Martin Browne (1900–80), English director and producer, was to direct the first production of Murder in the Cathedral: see Biographical Register.
AnnFaber, Ann Faber (1922–78) was born and registered in Hampshire: her mother would teasingly refer to her as a ‘Hampshire hog’. She was a boarder at Downe House School, Berkshire, and read history at Somerville College, Oxford (where she became engaged to Alan Watt, who was to be killed at El Alamein). After Oxford, she spent time with the Wrens in Liverpool. Following her military service Ann was employed as secretary by the classical scholar Gilbert Murray in Oxford. She then moved to London where she worked for the family firm in editorial and publicity, as well as writing and publishing a novel of her own, The Imago. However, in Aug. 1952 she suffered a life-changing accident when she crashed her motorcycle, which resulted in the loss of the use of her left arm. (In the mid-1960s she was still doing a little freelance work for Faber, reading manuscripts for Charles Monteith and – in 1967 – arranging a lunch party at her home for the science fiction writers James Blish and Brian Aldiss and their wives.) In Apr. 1958 she married John Corlett, who had two children – Anthony and Brione – from his first marriage, which had ended in divorce. Ann and John did not have children of their own. In the early to mid-1960s Ann and John spent some weeks or months of most years in the West Indies. John had launched and Ann helped with a business called Inter-Continental Air Guides: their firm sold advertising space to hotels and other tourist destinations for inclusion in guidebooks which Ann compiled. In 1966 Ann and John moved from their flat in Highgate to Wiltshire. In the late 1960s or early 1970s John contracted polio while on a work trip to Hong Kong. He became a paraplegic and for the remainder of Ann’s life she was his primary carer, with financial assistance from her mother. During all the years that she had her own property, whether in London or in Wiltshire, Ann’s great love was her garden. Ann died of cancer in March 1978. John survived her by two or three years.
11.GeoffreyFaber, Geoffrey Faber (1889–1961), publisher and poet: see Biographical Register.