What I want

Wednesday, February 22nd., Fulham Park Gardens, London.

Eden Phillpotts

On Friday I went down to Torquay to spend the weekend with Eden Phillpotts.

I found him settled in a decently large house (with several rooms about 20 feet square), with a charming wife and two children, with whom he must play every evening in the nursery from 6 to 7, inventing new games etc. Mrs. P. is a rather attractive woman, if a little older than me, and it was a pleasure to be entertained by her whilst Eden was upstairs. We were quickly on friendly terms and she was particularly interested in my life in Paris. Once or twice she have me a 'knowing' look when I referred (obliquely) to the pleasures to be had there.

On Saturday Eden and I went for a walk in the February mist. Very mild down here. Both he and his brother ask nothing better than to potter about garden and greenhouse, diagnosing the case of every plant, noting minute changes, and discussing methods of treatment. For two days a rumour that a camellia was growing in the hedge of a certain garden in a certain street excited them until they proved to themselves satisfactorily that the rumour was wrong and the camellia only a rhododendron.

Today Tillotsons offered me £60 for the serial rights of "For Love and Life". I have asked them for £80, but £60 was the price I had myself thought of.

I left Phillpotts full of desire to live in the country in a large house with plenty of servants, as he does, not working too hard, but working how and when one likes, at good rates. And an attractive wife would be good as well! It can only be done by means of fiction. Perhaps the sale of this my first serial may be considered as a step in the desired direction.

Now I am packing to go away again, somewhere warm and sunny. I feel the need for some rest and recuperation.

Sleep and snow

Monday, November 30th., Rue de Calais, Paris.

Yesterday I wrote a 4,000 word tale, "The Railway Station", for Tillotsons complete, and had finished it before 7 p.m. Moreover I slept perfectly after it, from 12 to 8.15 without a break, which is extraordinary for me. This story and "Saturday to Monday" will bring me in 18 guineas, due by the end of December.

Tillotson’s Fiction Bureau was created in the 1870’s when the Bolton Evening News owner W F Tillotson wrote letters to authors inviting them to syndicate their stories in newspapers. This meant that the authors were paid for their stories by Tillotsons who then sold them on to other newspapers including those published in America. Many of the replies to these letters are held in Bolton Museum and The Bolton News Library holds copies of these. Numerous famous authors wrote for the bureau, including, Thomas Hardy, Wilkie Collins, H G Wells, Arthur Conan Doyle, E Nesbit, George Bernard Shaw and Arnold Bennett.

The weather is worse and worse. After raining all day it began to snow in the evening. I dined well and came in after dinner for an hour, meaning to go later to a music-hall. But once inside I could not persuade myself to go out again.

This morning when I woke up it was still snowing, the roofs all white and the streets all water.

This last few days I have begun to make my luncheons about half their usual size - two poached eggs, a roll, and a cup of chocolate; with excellent results.

Additionally for November 30th., see 'Sailing for home' -
http://earnoldbennett.blogspot.co.uk/2012/11/sailing-for-home.html

We spent the whole evening in talking "shop", Edgar Selwyn being the quietest. Boat rolled, always. In the middle of the night she rolled so much that she overthrew my red clock. Also fiddles on the tables, last night at dinner. Quite unnecessary, but it is probably a dodge to convince passengers that they are good sailors. No fiddles on at breakfast this morning, when they were necessary and crockery was rattling and crashing about all over the place.