I am afraid I am gone on Eastwood. This may surprise you but it is not imagination I assure you. The point is that I think you are too, at any rate you were at the end of last half. I am not jealous of you. But you though you aren't jealous are apt to be what I might call 'proprietary'. In the case of Maud & Caroedeg you were quite right but what I want you to do is not regard me as another Caroe whatever points of resemblance there may be. Don't suspect me of any ill intentions either. If I had not written to you, about 3 weeks into next half you would notice how things stood, your proprietary instincts would have been aroused & having a lot of influence over Eastwood you would probably have put him against me somehow, perhaps even warned him off me. Please dontdeg do this I implore you. Of course I dontdeg ask you to resign your share in him only dontdeg say spiteful things.
[X, 60, pp. 79-80]
Connolly's copy in the Orwell Archive concludes: 'Rather a revelation . . . Anyhow Eastwood has noticed it and is full of suspicion as he hates Blair.'
1.Christopher Eastwood (1905-1983) became a senior civil servant. See Remembering Orwell, 16-18, for his reminiscences of Orwell at Eton.
2.Einar Athelstan Caroe (1903-1988) became a grain merchant and broker, associated with Liverpool. According to Connolly's notes, he was unpopular at Eton.
3.Baron Redcliffe-Maud (1906-1982) became a particularly distinguished civil servant, and he later became High Commissioner, then Ambassador, to South Africa, 1959-63; Master of University College, Oxford, 1963-76.
A letter from Jacintha Buddicom*
This letter seeks to comfort a relative. It looks back on the writer's own history and, in particular, her relationship in her youth with Eric Blair long before he became George Orwell. Its full background is explained in the Postscript by Dione Venables to Jacintha Buddicom's Eric & Us, 2006. I have omitted one or two personal names not relevant to Orwell. I am deeply grateful to Dione Venables and Jacintha's relatives for permission to publish this letter and to Mrs Venables for providing background notes and the two photographs reproduced in the plates.
4 May 1972
'Dragons'
John Street
Bognor Regis
I have just finished reading your sad letter and hasten to answer it. I cannot believe that the same miserable tragedy has struck twice in the same family but I CAN give you my total understanding and sympathy which might help a little. Strangely, your letter comes at a time when my mind and concentration are centred on similar events that took place in my life also some time ago.
After the publication last year of The World of George Orwell for which I wrote the opening essay, I am now writing a short monograph of my own on the subject (they edited out most of the important bits) in the hope of ridding myself of a lifetime of ghosts and regrets at turning away the only man who ever really appealed on all levels.
Your experience has many similarities, but the difference is that you briefly carried Xxxxx's child and then refused his proposal. The loss of the first was your decision (I did not have the option and the result has been the cross I have had to bear ever since). But your integrity and courage in refusing the proposal of such a high profile figure makes me feel very proud [a few words omitted]. Such a union in 1958 would certainly have ended in tears, especially as he died so young. How I wish I had been ready for betrothal when Eric asked me to marry him on his return from Burma. He had ruined what had been such a close and fulfilling relationship since childhood by trying to take us the whole way before I was anywhere near ready for that. It took me literally years to realise that we are all imperfect creatures but that Eric was less imperfect than anyone else I ever met. When the time came and I was ready for the next step it was with the wrong man and the result haunts me to this day.
You were absolutely right to reject marriage with a man who you know will be constantly unfaithful because that is the way he is made. What credit that decision did you, even though you are still plagued by it. Memories of the joys and fun that Eric and I shared, knowing each others' minds so totally ensured that I would never marry unless that 'oneness' could be found again.
You are still an extremely beautiful woman, even if you feel that this has been your downfall. The men in your life have not wanted your very great intelligence and so it has caused you to drift from relationship to relationship, looking for something you never find. A tragedy which you simply must take control of, or life will begin to depend on the bottle rather than the fascination of other lives and situations. At least you have not had the public shame of being destroyed in a classic book as Eric did to me. Julia in Nineteen Eighty-Four is clearly Jacintha, of that I feel certain. He describes her with thick dark hair, being very active, hating politics - and their meeting place was a dell full of bluebells. We always wandered off to our special place when we were at Ticklerton which was full of bluebells. They die so quickly if you pick them so we never did but lay amongst them and adored their heavy pungent scent. That very bluebell dell is described in his book and is part of the central story but in the end he absolutely destroys me, like a man in hob nailed boots stamping on a spider. It hurt my mother so much when she read that book that we always thought it brought on her final heart attack a few days later. Be glad that you have not been torn limb from limb in public.
Gather yourself together, my Dear. Our family is well blessed with looks and brains and you have both in liberal quantities. You are an extremely elegant communicator so enjoy what you have instead of looking at the past. [sentence omitted] You have the finest of minds which outstrips your physical attributes. Make both work for you. Look ahead. What is past is gone. It is the only way I manage to keep my reason. . . . . .
What the writer and recipient of this letter had in common was that both had conceived children outside marriage, at that time a matter of shame. The recipient terminated her pregnancy; the writer, Jacintha, gave birth to the child she was carrying but it was adopted by her uncle and aunt, Dr and Mrs Noel Hawley-Burke. A street photographer caught the moment when Jacintha, her uncle and her aunt left the solicitor's office after she had signed over her six-month-old baby to them. The contrast in the body language, even in such a poor quality photograph, perfectly captures her pain and their joy.
Dione Venables, in her Postscript to Jacintha Buddicom's Eric & Us, gives a graphic account of the occasion that led to Jacintha's break with Orwell before he went to Burma. He had 'attempted to take things further and make SERIOUS love to Jacintha. He had held her down (by that time he was 6' 4'' and she was still under 5') and though she struggled, yelling at him to STOP, he had torn her skirt and badly bruised a shoulder and her left hip'. The assault went no further and Orwell stayed with the family for the rest of the holiday but he and Jacintha kept apart (p. 182). It will be recalled that in A Clergyman's Daughter Orwell was required by Gollancz's libel lawyer to tone down the first line of p. 41 and Orwell responded to the lawyer's concerns by saying he had 'altered the statement that Mr Warburton "tried to rape Dorothy".'
As Dione Venables goes on to explain, on Orwell's return from Burma, he 'lost no time in contacting the Buddicoms and was invited to join Prosper and Guiny [ Jacintha's brother and sister] at Ticklerton. There was no Jacintha - and the family were evasive and embarrassed on the subject so that Eric must have assumed that, even after all this time, she was still angry with him and would never forgive his momentary fall from grace. The tragedy is that in fact, Jacintha had just, in May 1927, given birth to her daughter Michal Madeleine. . . . The father escaped abroad as soon as her condition was discovered' (p. 183). Michal emigrated to Canada. She had six children and was killed in a car crash in 1997. As Jacintha's sister, Guinever, later observed, Orwell 'might well have welcomed the little girl as his own child' (p. 186).
Because Jacintha was not at Ticklerton on his return, Orwell persuaded Prosper to give him her London telephone number. He rang begging her to meet him, but in vain. He tried again a fortnight later, but she still could not face meeting him. He was de
sperate to patch up the past; she was distressed over the imminent adoption of her baby yet still felt unable to tell Orwell of Michal's existence. Orwell had gone so far as to bring her an engagement ring from Burma. They never again met. Jacintha did not know that Eric was Orwell until 8 February 1949 when her Aunt Lilian wrote from Ticklerton to tell her. She asked his publisher for his address and wrote to him at Cranham Sanatorium. He immediately replied with two letters on 14 and 15 February 1949. He hoped she would visit him but she felt she could not. So, there was a kind of reconciliation but, alas no meeting. So much was lost for both of them. Although Jacintha might not be Orwell's only inspiration, it is clear that many of his female characters as well as Julia in Nineteen Eighty-Four owed much to Jacintha.1
1.A forthcoming study by William Hunt, Orwell's Demon: The Lonely Rebellion of Eric Blair, explores in much greater detail than is possible here the links between Orwell and many of those he knew and the places where they met. (The title draws on 'Why I Write', XVIII, 3007, p. 320.)
To Max Plowman*
1 November 1930
3 Queen St
Southwold, Suffolk
Dear Mr Plowman,
Thank you very much for the copy of the Adelphi, which I found an interesting one. I see that Mr Murry* says in his article, 'Because orthodox Christianity is exceedingly elaborate, it presents a greater appearance of unity than (childish superstition)'. I know this is so, but the why is beyond me. It is clear that the thicker the fairy tales are piled, the more easily one can swallow them, but this seems so paradoxical that I have never been able to understand the reason for it. I don't think Roger Clarke in his article on Sex & Sin gets to [the] very bottom of the question. He says rightly that the 'spiritual love' stuff fixes the desires on something unattainable, & that this leads to trouble. The point he doesn't bring out is that the 'sinful lust' stuff also fixes it on something unattainable, & that attempts to realise the impossible physical desire are even more destructive than attempts on the spiritual side. Of course it is important to teach boys that women like Esther Summerson1 don't exist, but it is just as important, & far harder, to teach them that women like the Vie Parisienne illustrations2 don't exist. Perhaps the writer had not the space to bring this out thoroughly. You will, I know, forgive my troubling you with my reflections, as I was interested by the questions raised.
Thanks very much for the books. I find the novel3 well enough, the Cayenne book4 interesting, though it is almost certainly exaggerated. The book on Bodley is more solid stuff, but I don't know that it is the kind of thing you would care to use much space on. What I suggest is doing about 1000 words altogether on the three, either in one article or separately as you prefer. I think they are worth mentioning, but not worth more than 1000 words between them. Would this do? If so, I can let you have the review in about 10 days. If you don't think it worthwhile, I will send the books back.
I enclose the other article, reduced to 3,500 words.5 Thank you for giving my M.Sdeg to Mr Murry. I hope he understands that there is no hurry & I don't want to be a nuisance to him.
Yours sincerely
Eric A. Blair
[X, 100, pp. 189-90; handwritten]
1.The docile heroine and pseudo part-author of Bleak House by Charles Dickens (1882-3).
2.Highly glamorised pictures of showgirls.
3.In the April 1931 issue, Orwell reviewed Hunger and Love by Lionel Britton and Albert Grope by F O. Mann (X, 105, pp. 203-5). Neither may be referred to here, though Britton's book is a possibility.
4.Reviewed December 1930 (X, 101, pp. 190-1).
5.From its length and timing, this is probably 'The Spike,' April 1931 (X, 104, pp. 197-203).
To Dennis Collings*
16 August 1931
At 1B Oakwood Road
Golders Green NW1
Dear Dennis,
I said I would write to you. I haven't anything of great interest to report yet about the Lower Classes, & am really writing to tell you about a ghost I saw in Walberswick cemetery. I want to get it on paper before I forget the details. See plan below.
Above is W'wick church as well as I can remember it. At about 5.20 pm on 27.7.31 I was sitting at the spot marked *, looking out in the direction of the dotted arrow. I happened to glance over my shoulder, & saw a figure pass along the line of the other arrow, disappearing behind the masonry & presumably emerging into the churchyard. I wasn't looking directly at it & so couldn't make out more than that it was a man's figure, small & stooping, & dressed in lightish brown; I should have said a workman. I had the impression that it glanced towards me in passing, but I made out nothing of the features. At the moment of its passing I thought nothing, but a few seconds later it struck me that the figure had made no noise, & I followed it out into the churchyard. There was no one in the churchyard, & no one within possible distance along the road--this was about 20 seconds after I had seen it; & in any case there were only 2 people in the road, & neither at all resembled the figure. I looked into the church. The only people there were the vicar, dressed in black, & a workman who, as far as I remember, had been sawing the whole time. In any case he was too tall for the figure. The figure had therefore vanished. Presumably an hallucination.
I have been up in town since the beginning of the month. I have made arrangements to go hop-picking, but we shan't start till the beginning of September. Meanwhile I've been busy working. I met recently one of the editors of a new paper2 that is to start coming out in October, & I hope I shall be able to get some work from them--not enough to live on, of course, but enough to help. I've been making just a few enquiries among the tramps. Of the three friends I had before, one is believed to have been run over & killed, one has taken to drink & vanished, one is doing time in Wandsworth. I met a man today who was, till 6 weeks ago, a goldsmith. Then he poisoned his right forefinger, & had to have part of the top joint removed; that means he will be on the road for life. It is appalling what small accidents can ruin a man who works with his hands. Talking of hands, they say hop-picking disables your hands for weeks after--however, I'll describe that to you when I've done it.
Have you ever looked into the window of one of those Bible Society shops? I did today & saw huge notices 'The cheapest Roman Catholic Bible 5/6d. The cheapest Protestant Bible 1/-', 'The Douay deg version not stocked here' etc. etc. Long may they fight, I say; so long as that spirit is in the land we are safe from the R.C.'s--this shop, by the way, was just outside St Paul's. If you are ever near St Paul's & feel in a gloomy mood, go in & have a look at the statue of the first Protestant bishop of India, which will give you a good laugh. Will write again when I have news. I am sending this to S'wold.
Yours
Eric A Blair
[X, 109, pp. 211-212; handwritten]
1.In 1930-31 Orwell lived with his parents in Southwold but made forays tramping and writing what would become Down and Out in Paris and London. When he visited London he would stay with Francis and Mabel Sinclair Fierz in Golders Green. Mrs Fierz reviewed for The Adelphi and her husband was a Dickens enthusiast. It was Mrs Fierz who was instrumental in getting Down and Out published and having Orwell taken on by Leonard Moore as his literary agent. She died in 1990 aged 100.
2.Modern Youth. Orwell submitted two stories but the publication evidently went bankrupt and the printers seized Orwell's stories with the journals assets. They have not been identified.
To Leonard Moore*
26 April 1932
The Hawthorns [School]
Station Rd
Hayes, Middlesex
Dear Mr Moore,
Thank you for your letter. The history of the ms. 'Days in London and Paris' is this. About a year and a half ago I completed a book of this description, but shorter (about 35000 words), and after taking advice I sent it to Jonathan Cape. Cape's said they would like to publish it but it was too short and fragmentary (it was done in diary form), and that they might be disposed to take it if I made it longer. I then put in some things I had left out,
making the ms. you have, and sent it back to Capes,deg who again rejected it. That was last September. Meanwhile a friend who was editor of a magazine had seen the first ms., and he said that it was worth publishing and spoke about it to T. S. Eliot, who is a reader to Faber and Faber. Eliot said the same as Cape's-- i.e. that the book was interesting but much too short. I left the ms. you have with Mrs Sinclair Fierz and asked her to throw it away, as I did not think it a good piece of work, but I suppose she sent it to you instead. I should of course be very pleased if you could sell it, and it is very kind of you to take the trouble of trying. No publishers have seen it except Faber's and Cape's. If by any chance you do get it accepted, will you please see that it is published pseudonymously, as I am not proud of it. I have filled up the form you sent, but I have put in a clause that I only want an agent for dealings with publishers. The reason is this. I am now very busy teaching in a school, and I am afraid that for some months I shan't be able to get on with any work except occasional reviews or articles and I get the commissions for these myself. But there is a novel 1 that I began some months ago and shall go on with next holidays, and I dare say it will be finished within a year: I will send it to you then. If you could get me any French or Spanish books to translate into English I would willingly pay you whatever commission you think right, for I like that kind of work. There is also a long poem describing a day in London which I am doing, and it may be finished before the end of this term. I will send you that too if you like, but I should not think there is any money for anybody in that kind of thing. As to those stories 2 you have I should shy them away, as they are not really worth bothering with.
Yours truly
Eric A Blair
P.S. I tried to get Chatto & Windus to give me some of Zola's novels to translate, but they wouldn't. I should think somebody might be willing to translate Zola--he has been done, but atrociously badly.3 Or what about Huysmans? I can't believe Sainte Lydwine de Schiedam has been translated into English. I also tried to get Faber's to translate a novel called A la Belle de Nuit, by Jacques Roberti. It is very good but apallinglydeg indecent, & they refused it on that ground. I should think somebody might take it on--do you know anybody who isn't afraid of that kind of thing? (The book isn't pornographic, only rather sordid.) I could get hold of the copy I had & send it if necessary. I could also translate olddeg French, at least anything since 1400 A.D.