Going strong

Thursday, January 21st., Comarques, Thorpe-le-Soken.

My brother Septimus is working in Sheffield and seems to have become convinced that the city is critical to the war effort. I don't know why. I told him that, whilst its productivity is clearly very important, so is the output of ten other cities in this country. Coventry for example. Last week I was in Glasgow (another of the ten) with Richmond, managing partner of Weir's, one of the largest munition firms on the Clyde. I suppose he thinks they are critical as well, but didn't say so. In fact he seemed quite cheerful and said that the labour situation had never been so good since the war began.

The weather in London has been quite awful. Roll on Spring! When we came out of the theatre last Wednesday there was three inches of slush on the streets and snow driving in every direction. No taxis of course. And the women all had satin shoes on, of course. I had the snow shoes that Uncle John Bennett gave to my father in 1880, and they were just the job. Shows that you should never throw things away. I paddled Marguerite back to the flat. I think she enjoyed it. We had been to see "Sleeping Partners" with Seymour Hicks in it. It is funny, and improper, and he is simply great. We met afterwards and I liked him, against all expectation. He is lunching with me and Lucas next Wednesday.

M. was interested to hear about Uncle John. I told her, embellishing as I went along, that he was the eldest son of a pottery-painter. The Potteries being too small for him he went to London, to a cottage in Lambeth. He exhibited one of his pottery-paintings in the parlour window and Sir Henry Doulton, strolling that way, saw it and engaged him for his Lambeth works. Then, Doulton's being too small for him, he migrated to America where he succeeded and made money. He had a powerful, stimulating, and unconventional individuality. Full of more or less original ideas, he talked like an artist, and was one. But lack of education vitiated his modes of thought, and his taste was deplorable.

I am in the last week of "The Pretty Lady". The publishers have seen the first half and are deeply struck by it. Though I say it myself, it is good and original work. I have written seven or eight thousand words in the last three days and am exhausted, but content. But I am sticking to my half-day a week devoted to art. Specifically I am finishing the eight full-page colour illustrations for Atkins's new book about the Thames Barge. I think he intends to call it "A Floating Home" or something like that. The publishers say that having my name on the cover will considerably boost the sales.

At full blast

Tuesday, January 15th., Yacht Club, London.

We came to London this morning, dog, Richard, cook, Marguerite and me. Lunch at the Webbs. Serious and intense as usual. I'm not sure I have ever seen Beatrice smile. Then I hurried back to the Reform Club to join after lunch 'The Writers' Group' - Paish, Gardiner, Massingham, Spender, Wallas, Murray, Dickinson, Hobhouse and Hartley Withers. A peace campaign is afoot ie. peace with the German people. Naive. Spender as usual had the most information to give, and it seemed very well-founded. Of course I can't fault the sentiment that the war must be brought to an end as soon as may be, but we writers have very little contribution to make however highly we value ourselves.

After dinner to "Sleeping Partners" at St. Martin's.It still seems so terribly strange to me that here we are, dressing for dinner, going out to the theatre, laughing at a light-hearted comedy, and in the meantime young men are crouching in trenches, perhaps dying. Are people like me going to the theatre in Berlin? I suppose they must be. The play is adapted from Sacha Guitry. Slow at first but very adroit and amusing indeed as it progressed. Seymour Hicks had all the jam, and was marvellously good. We all really enjoyed it. I met Lucas in the entr'acte and he took me round to meet Hicks whom I instantly liked and decided to ask for lunch. When we came out of the theatre there was 3 inches of slush on the streets, and snow driving in every direction. No taxis of course. Women, equally of course, in satin shoes. I had the snow shoes that Uncle John Bennett gave to my father in 1880 - that is planning for you!

I picked up a copy of "The Diary of a Nobody" the other day and have started to read it. I doubt that I will get much further as the humour appears to be eluding me. I can see that it is satirical in intent but Pooter's misfortunes have already become tedious to me and I am barely half way through the book. The fault may be in me. I know people who swear that they find it extremely funny. Could it be that I am, or have been, the object of the satire? 

I am now on the last week of "The Pretty Lady", and really in full blast. I have written seven or eight thousand words in three days. Exhausted. But the publishers have seen the first half of the novel and are deeply struck by it. In fact they call it 'tremendous'. That is usually a bad sign but this publisher is a writer himself so may know what he is talking about.

Full blast

Friday, January 25th., Comarques, Thorpe-le-Soken.

I am now on the last week of "The Pretty Lady", and really in full blast. The publishers have seen the first half of it and are deeply struck by it. In fact they call it 'tremendous'. It is usually a bad sign when publishers are knocked flat by a novel, but this publisher is a writer himself, so it may be all right. 

It strikes me that this war is rather like an operatic performance ill-rehearsed. It ought by rights to come to a dead stop through some horrible blunder, or ill-will. But it never does. Except in one of my novels, I doubt if any operatic performance ever did come to a stop through stage inefficiency.

The weather in London was marvellously awful last week. Olive (Ledward that was), Marguerite and Captain Mason went with me to see "Sleeping Partners" with Seymour Hicks in it on Tuesday last. I have never cared for Hicks, but the play was most funny and improper and he was simply great in it. I had to go round to make his acquaintance. I thought I could never stand that man, but I liked him and he is lunching with me next week. 
Additionally for Seymour Hicks see 'A little dissipation', January 9th. -
http://earnoldbennett.blogspot.co.uk/2014/01/a-little-dissipation.html

In "Sleeping Partners", an early talkie, a philandering wife plays around with her lover while her equally philandering husband plays with his. When she and her lover decide to get physically involved, he takes her to his flat. Unfortunately, he accidentally gives her sleeping powder and she is forced to spend the night. Suddenly her husband appears to get some advice from the fellow. He has no idea that his wife is there. Romantic mayhem ensues until the married couple has a blissful reconciliation. Originally a successful play, the film was written, directed and starred in by Seymour Hicks.

http://www.fandango.com/sleepingpartners_v110594/plotsummary

When we came out of the theatre there was 3 inches of slush on the streets and snow driving in every direction. No taxis of course. Women, equally of course, in satin shoes. I, sensibly, had my snow shoes on and paddled Marguerite back to the flat. 


I have now finished touching-up the last of the eight full-page colour illustrations that I have done for Johnny Atkins's book on the Thames Barge. It will be priced at 10s. 6d. on account of my drawings. At present I give half a day a week to art.

Additionally for January 25th., see 'Winter holiday' -
http://earnoldbennett.blogspot.co.uk/2013/01/tuesday-january-25th.html

Today the first full, empty day of the holiday. We met Aldous and Maria Huxley, who had been ski-ing. I stood about till I could risk the cold no longer, and then went for a walk, breaking often into a run. By this time (4p.pm.) all the tracks around here were in shadow. The Aldous Huxleys came for dinner and stayed till 11.55.