Plenty of material

Saturday, March 10th., Cadogan Square, London.

George Doran came to lunch, and after lunch, in my study, he began talking about the idea he had given me last year for a novel based on the tragic life of Ernest Hodder-Williams. I said I liked it but couldn't handle it yet, as I was more attracted by a scheme for a realistic novel about a big luxury hotel. I have had this scheme in mind for years now and it is a ghost I must lay before I am much older. All the material is in my head. I shall probably begin it as soon as I have finished my play. Doran was disappointed but accepted the inevitability of my decision.

An interesting novel by a young Irish (Northern) writer has come into my hands. Nick Laird. I think we will be hearing more from him. The book's title is "Modern Gods". Essentially the story concerns two sisters, one of whom is an academic anthropologist but has rather 'lost her way' professionally and emotionally, and the other has married a man who turns out to have an unfortunate past. Very unfortunate - he has killed several people in a sectarian act and served a sentence. The first sister, Elizabeth, has, and takes, the opportunity to go off to New Guinea to investigate and report on a new cult that has arisen there. The second, Alison, has to cope with being bound to a man she feels she no longer recognises. Tribalism is at the centre of the narrative. Also the chronic hypocrisy of religion and professedly religious people. Also elements of a daughter's relationship with her mother, misunderstandings and betrayals. Laird is good at dialogue which is very authentic to my ear, and he handles the juxtaposition of the parallel stories well. Good also at creating a sense of menace which unsettles the reader. The ending is poor. In fact it seems to just stop as if the author had run out of time. I also felt that there was so much material that Laird had failed to write the much longer and more interesting book that was available to him. Definitely a writer to watch out for.

I was at a big dinner at the Savoy last evening, given to Capt. George Nicholls ('Quex' of the Evening News). He insisted that I sit next to him, for moral support, which I thought a great compliment. Birkenhead was in the chair and made a most brilliant and impudent speech. Champagne was bad and so I have a slight headache today. But I have spent time with Virginia and have taught her to negotiate the stairs with only minimal help. Dorothy will be surprised when she returns.

Xmas cheer

Thursday, December 24th., Chiltern Court, London.

 

Another Christmas is upon us, our first here where I am settling nicely. The flat is a great success and I am sleeping better, much better, here than at 75. Regrettably Dorothy is not. She is far from well and needs a change much more than I do. On the second morning here she was awakened by a steam drill (which vanished after a few days of road repairs) and she hasn't got over this for some reason. She has been, and still is, working too hard and acting (in "The Man from Blankley's") has gotten on her nerves through troubles in the theatre. We go to France for a change on Monday next which should do us all good.

Toys, and other presents, for Virginia are thick on the ground. She seems to accept them as a matter of course. I doubt if the little heathen has the least idea that tomorrow is the day on which the alleged Virgin was brought to bed of the Redeemer of us all. And if she had the idea I doubt she would care; so I have had some influence on her!

I try to give as few presents as I can get away with; family only, but that offers a sufficiently large field. Miss Nerney says that this year she is giving between forty and fifty presents. Well, what I say is: "Let her!". The whole business of present-giving is getting out of hand in my opinion. It is a triumph of capitalism. Speaking of which, Sir George Paish who writes on economic matters opines that the depression will be at an end by 1932. He is usually very gloomy but of late has become much less pessimistic. Fortunately we are pretty well isolated from the worst effects, so long as I can keep on working that is.

My Xmas cheer has been improved by the discovery that electricity here costs 3/4 d. per unit as against 6 d. in Cadogan Square. I doubt whether lighting and heating here will cost more than £25 a year, against about £180 at 75, despite the fact that Dorothy adores electricity and has a fearful down on steam heating. Further, the hot water is always very hot. I think she is congenitally incapable of thrift.

I saw the sun (red) here yesterday morning, walked out and in ten minutes was in a thickish fog. But it has been nothing like as bad here as at Hyde Park Corner and other places further off.

Moral dilemmas

Saturday, May 1st., Cadogan Square, London.

Started on the correction of the second part of "Lord Raingo". Two hours or so of this and then I went up by bus to Welbeck Street to see Dorothy. The miners' strike was on, and the posters said that the Trades Union Council had ordered a general strike in sympathy starting at midnight on Monday. Great gloom especially as I had been sure of, and had prophesied, a settlement of the coal trouble. I am going to have to clarify my thoughts now that the whole industrial 'problem' is coming to a head. Which side am I on? The words I put into Edwin Clayhanger's mouth come back to me: "... workmen on strike are always in the right; at bottom I mean. You've only got to look at them in a crowd together. They don't starve themselves for fun." And I didn't write that for fun. It was what I thought then. Do I still?

This business of being a father is taking some getting used to. Whenever I meet people my first thought is: "Do they know?" And then I am wary as to how they will react. I must be coming across rather strangely in consequence, but they probably attribute it to my being a first-time father at the age of 59. If only Marguerite had been willing to divorce we could have regularised the whole business and I would behave naturally. The fact is I am a conventional person at bottom. I don't like the idea of having a bastard daughter.

New life

Tuesday, April 13th., Cadogan Square, London.

My daughter, Virginia, was born today at 7.50 a.m.
I went up to Welbeck Street at 9.30 and saw the child at 10 a.m., when she was two hours old. She weighed 8lb. 1 oz. and had a big head.
I have written to Richard to say that all is excellent.
The maternity home is at 27 Welbeck Street and we drove back there on Sunday after dining at the Hanover Restaurant. I heard Dorothy's views about the psychology of nurses, and learnt a few things about the atmosphere of a maternity home. The doctor also threw some light on the mentality of nurses. he said: "Of course you must see the humour of nurses." The nurses were admittedly very nice young women, the night nurse particularly.

The London Welbeck Hospital was established over 90 years ago as a maternity hospital. The hospital’s reputation and facilities were of such a high standard that it became known as one of the best maternity hospitals in the country, and as a result of this many famous people were born here.

Yesterday, at 9 a.m. I received news that Dorothy had slept four and three quarter hours.
I cleared up correspondence, and arrived at Welbeck Street at 11.50. Took Dorothy out for a short walk.
At one o'clock I went to lunch given by International Magazine Company to Ray Long. At 3.15 I left the Ritz and went straight up to Welbeck Street. I left just after 12.30 and drove home.
I met Siegfried Sassoon at the Reform.
I was most dramatically struck when I saw the bassinette or cradle full of clothes lying all ready outside Dorothy's door.
I shall shortly be 59 years old, so today's event is profound indeed.