Astonished

Monday, March 2nd., R.M.S. Anselm, at sea.

I can positively say that we are at sea. I cannot say where at sea we are. Somewhere in or near the Irish Sea it seems. The coastline to starboard may be Wales! Expecting to be in the Mersey on Wednesday.

All sorts of problems before we left. Originally it was to have been a February 24th. departure but owing to quarantine delays in Brazil it was changed to the 28th. Then reports came that she had made up time, but they proved unfounded as she was again delayed by gales and 'bad coal' and hadn't reached Lisbon on the 27th. Eventually we left Oporto at 8.32 a.m. yesterday.

Just as I was sending off a Marconi to advise people back home of the situation, to my great astonishment, I received a Marconi. My first ever. I thought it might be that there had been an earthquake at Thorpe, or an armed rising in Burslem! But it was a message offering me £530 a week and expenses to go to Russia to interview Lenin and report generally on the beauties and defects of Soviet Government. I wirelessed back that I would go if the American newspaper syndicate making the offer would send with me a courier who knew Russia and who could attend to all formalities and despatching of cables etc. I am equivocal about going. A unique experience, but a month of my valuable time and the likelihood of discomfort.

This holiday in Portugal with Swinnerton has been excellent. He was quite right to say that I needed to get away from domestic anxieties. I have only had one indisposition which kept me in bed for nearly a full day. We have been out most nights, music mainly, and I have done ten watercolours. Swinnerton particularly liked one I did of the lighthouse south of Cape Raso.
 

It is a great change from the Portuguese coast to the Welsh coast. Yesterday wandering on deck with no overcoat in blazing sun. Today, sun but two overcoats. Well, "San Ferry Ann" as my Uncle Fred used to say.

Women!

Tuesday, February 20th., Hotel d'Italie, Mont Estoril.

Grande Hotel d'Italie

I am still in Portugal with Swinnerton. What a relief it is to get away from all the problems at home. I didn't realise just how much they were getting me down until I got away from them. When I say problems, I mean of course the central problem - my wife Marguerite. She was quite beside herself with anger when I announced my intention to get away, even though she had suggested herself that I do so. The problem was that I was following Swinnerton's advice, not hers. The thing is that I still love her, but find her to be increasingly difficult to live with. No doubt she finds me difficult as well. I am! But she knew that when we married; it's not as if she were some inexperienced girl.

This journey has given me back my taste for travel. I would like to travel more, even with Marguerite if she were not so unpredictable during arrivals and departures from main terminuses. What bothers me about travelling is having two unused establishments. It does bother me, no use denying it. It makes life too complicated and it is too expensive. If we didn't have to maintain our establishments it would be as cheap to travel as to stay at home. By my calculations, Comarques, including interest on its capital value, costs us at least £1200 a year, that is £50 a week if we only live in it for 6 months. Sometimes it feels like the proverbial albatross around my neck. I am certain that I would be more content with a simpler style of life, but Marguerite would never understand my motivation.

The climate here is lovely. One can go out in the evening without a coat. One can have a bath with the window wide open. To bathe in a warm room is a great luxury for me as I am the sort of man who likes to let the water drain away before getting out of the bath. I am trying to paint to take my mind off working but the two watercolours I have done so far are quite awful. But, as Swinnerton keeps telling me, it is the process which is important not the end result. The hotel is packed with people for the carnival. But the English are not very carnival-minded. A fancy-dress ball is planned but I doubt it will be a success.

Funny incident with a Scottish lady, a Mrs Bartholomew. Her husband is a celebrated geographer. I understand that it was he who 'named' Antarctica. She has very narrow ideas. She began talkng about "The Pretty Lady" which it appears has shocked all Scotland terribly. It quickly became apparent that she had not in fact read the book or even seen a copy personally. But she knew that it was shocking. I simply slanged this dignified dame. I told her that English hypocrisy was bad enough, but that Scotch hypocrisy was far worse, and that the illegitimate birth rate in Scotland was much higher than in England. I told her that all she and her friends said about "The Pretty Lady" was not only disgraceful, but puerile. Swinnerton was anxious. A significant victory for AB!

In Inefficienza

Thursday, February 11th., Leixoes, Portugal.

With Swinnerton in Portugal. He is an excellent travelling companion. He tells me, rather guardedly, that the whole trip was 'cooked-up' between him and Knoblock. They have become aware of the growing tension between myself and Marguerite, and Knoblock apparently was of the sincere conviction that if I was not 'got away' for a complete rest I would break down. He may be right. I certainly begin to feel more myself. But of course it will still be there to go back to.

Oporto

Anyway we arrived from Havre yesterday and are off to Lisbon tomorrow. Swinnerton, myself and a Brazilian gent motored into Oporto yesterday afternoon. It is about 6 miles up the River Douro, but big ships can't get up the Douro, or even into it at all. So this port has been built just north of the mouth. Oporto is a great place, on about 40 hills, with towers on top thereof. The principal street is certainly steeper than the Sytch in Burslem. The life of a car here must be about as long as a horse at the Front - the roads are simply appalling, even in fine dry weather as now. I never thought such roads existed, at least near a big city.

It takes two men to do one man's work in Portugal. Thus we had two chauffeurs, the second's duty being solely to wind up when necessary. We had a Fiat - very noisy.

The name of Oporto should be Inefficienza. Still it is very amusing. We had a perfectly smooth passage through the Bay of Biscay, with bright moonlit nights etc. Very pleasant. Today we loaded up a lot of steerage passengers and about a million barrels of wine. The monetary system here is continuously funny. Three of us had a magnificent lunch at a great restaurant called the Crystal Palace. It cost fiftenn thousand three hundred reis. Still, after paying for it I had money left as the equivalent in English is about £1.1.10. We saw rings in jewellers shops marked at three million reis. The Portuguese Dollar has fallen dramatically relative to the Pound, which is very advantageous to us but makes the Portuguese very cross.

Telegrams are terribly expensive. I had to send one of only twenty six words and it cost me nearly as much as the meal! It was interesting to see over what the wireless operators call their Marconi House. They explained the wireless system to me at great length but I am embarrassed to say I understood nothing. Still one of them had a copy of "The Roll Call" and asked me to sign it, so he was pleased. He wanted to know if George Cannon survived the war. I was evasive.