Interesting times

Tuesday, January 5th., Cadogan Square, London.

A time of change it seems. I am full of life and anticipation, though also working too hard, by which I mean trying to do too many things. My 'shopkeeper' novel is going well, and I have hopes that it will do something to restore my reputation amongst the literati.

Only three weeks since I moved to this rather noble thing in houses, but already I feel settled and content. I liked Comarques but it was inconvenient, as well as being expensive. This too will be expensive, but a little less so. Really I am glad to be back in London where I am most at home and where the potential for bachelor excitement is considerable.

I went to the first night of "Polly" at the Kingsway, and I ought not to have gone as it gave me a set-back, being out at night. It is the most prodigious success, but as a show it is not equal to "The Beggars's Opera". My niece is threatening to visit and is desirous to see it. She is rather an attractive young woman so I shall not mind. Speaking of attractive young women, I have met a certain Dorothy Cheston who seems much interested in me. She is an actress, blonde, good figure, lively intelligence if a little lightweight, young enough to be my daughter. I feel my blood rising as I write! I shall invite her to accompany me to a private dance to be given by Richmond Temple at the Savoy. That will certainly impress her and who knows where things will then proceed.

At the Savoy

Saturday, February 2nd., Cadogan Square, London.

Rupert Carte

Yesterday, lunch at the Savoy with Reeves Smith, Rupert Carte, Thornewill and Temple. They showed me over the hotel, by arrangement, as I have an idea of writing a novel with a great hotel at its centre. They know I will give it a fictitious name but I expect they believe good publicity will arise as its provenance becomes known. And of course I will formally acknowledge their assistance. They told me that the Savoy took in receipts a total of a million a year, about £3,000 a day.

Complex systems for tips which differ for waiters, chambermaids, valets, porters etc. Arcane. But not to be interfered with - hotel people are very conservative it appears.
Kitchen - Head Chef under thirty. Worked his way up. Wore a natty little cravat without collar. Stores. Fish in tanks. The man who calls out orders as they come down is called the aboyeur. I didn't see a great deal of special interest in the kitchens, except the patent washer-up.
Power station - Artesian wells. geared turbines. Power for carpet sweepers, pumping etc. The power station reminded me of the stoke hold of the Lusitania which I saw before the war when I went to the United States. Run by oil now. ventilated by vast draughts of cold air through trumpet-like things. Water heaters for both.
Graph Office (Capt. Jack) - graphs for various receipts. In summer receipts for rooms go up, and retaurant receipts go down. Londoners away in summer. Hence there are two publics; the travelling and the home publics - very distinct.
Audit Department - every bill separately checked, but afterwards. Every query on them has to be cleared up.
Printing Office -  all menus, cards, programmes and large bills. In their spare time they do the hotel's commercial printing, such as order forms.
Repairs Department - I didn't see this. But they plan all their big carpets there. However I saw through a window in the side-street the room where 10 to 12 women repair the hotel linen every day.
Laundry - Clapham. I didn't see it. An American expert said it was undoubtedly the finest equipped laundry in the world.
Bedrooms and suites - 6 guineas a day for double-bed and sitting room, bath etc. 9 guineas for two bedrooms and sitting room. It pleases visitors best that the rooms should be, if anything, too warm when shown. Thornewill had given orders previous night that one suite should not be let, so that I might see it at my ease.

A very instructive visit. Reinforces my view that a great hotel is a sort of organism and that it could, if dealt with properly, become almost a character in a novel. Much food for thought in this. I will allow the idea to 'ferment' in my mind, and one day it will burst forth.

 

Malicious mischief-making

Sunday, November 24th., Cadogan Square, London.

I seem to have upset Richmond Temple, publicity agent for the Savoy group of hotels and an acquaintance of mine. Or rather his friends have upset him by suggesting that Morfey, a character in "Mr Prohack", is a caricature of him. I understand that Temple has not seen the play himself but is, as it were, upset at one remove. Morfey is described in my notes for the play as 'nervous, mincing, intelligent; very much groomed, eyeglass, gardenia and all'. I did not have Temple in mind when I wrote those notes but I must admit to myself that his reaction is just what I might have expected from Morfey, were he not a fictional character, in similar circumstances.

The character of Morfey is taken from my book "Mr Prohack". I admit that his profession would not have been what it is in the play if I had not heard of that profession from Temple himself; he happens to be the chief exponent of it, as far as I know. Still, as the profession exists it surely cannot be barred from imaginative literature. In my opinion no offence whatever can be found in the play. Morfey is even a more sympathetic person in the play than in the book. He comes out on top every time, and gives a lesson in manners to the Prohacks every time. He is beautifully played by Frederick Cooper.

This is a clear example of malicious mischief-making. I suspect that ass Swaffer who writes in the Express to be behind it. I am very cross with the mischief-makers and would cheerfully break their heads whoever they are. That said, I think Temple is being oversensitive and rather 'precious'. It is the sort of reaction that gives homosexuals a bad name.
 

Yesterday I went by bus to Trafalgar Square, to the National Gallery, to get ideas. And I got them. I spent some time looking at Turner's "Rain, Steam, Speed - the Great Western Railway" which had not previously struck me as deserving its reputation. The more I looked the better it seemed to get. After a while I had the strangest sensation of the train coming out of the painting towards me. Tremendous effect. Shows the necessity of taking time to appreciate works of art. All too easy, particularly in a place like the National Gallery, to glance at a painting and move on.

Going ahead

Monday, March 14th., Cadogan Square, London.

Lunch with Richmond Temple in a private room at the Savoy. Temple is a director and in charge of publicity for the hotel. I had asked him to the Reform, but he suggested the Savoy because we would be quieter. I wanted to get from him a few general ideas about hotel management here and on the continent, so that I could decide whether it would be practicable, artistically or otherwise, for me to write a 'big' novel with a hotel organism, or two hotel organisms, and probably a hotel manager as the hero. It is a project I have had in mind for some time and I feel I must do it soon, or never.

Temple has imagination and he abounds in ideas. A very cultivated man he has a wide circle of friends, some of whom are known to me. I wonder if he is a homosexual? He may be. Not that it matters. He told me that two or three years ago he 'gave' a car to Siegfried Sassoon to help him to "get more fresh air", which he did. What he didn't say, but which I knew from elsewhere (Wells, I think), was that Sassoon was depressed at the time having been 'chucked' by an American he was having an affair with. Temple is also friendly with Osbert Sitwell and has had something to do with the Savoy Orpheans. He told me lots more interesting things. I make no mention here of them. They are in my head only, and the impression they left is the only important thing to me.

In ninety minutes or less he gave me all the ideas I wanted, and I practically decided to write the book. In truth I had already decided to go ahead, but wanted somebody to tell me it was a good idea. Temple certainly did that. I think he will be disappointed if I don't get it done. A good meeting, but on balance I would rather we had not met in private. I didn't feel entirely comfortable.