TRANSCRIPT:
Sunday evening June 20th 1915
My beloved what’s all this. I hear tonight from Sylvia, a letter written on Friday, saying you think I may have changed my mind. How can you? Why should you? She says you have not had any letter (you ought to because I’ve written every day without fail) which confirms your fears. But darling one surely in that case the last letter you got, written Monday & Tuesday, was almost filled, certainly the later part of it, with what exactly I proposed doing, writing to father etc, about marrying you. My dearest how very little faith you have in me, you do think me a weather cock dont you. I’m going to try & send you a telegram tomorrow to reassure you. But I am wretched (great interruption as all lights have suddenly to be put out owing to the supposed approach of Zeppelins. I am bored by these scares, one never sees a thing, I shant go & stand for hours in the street on the chance). But as I was saying I am wretched that you should have been made unhappy, darling I know you think I’m behaving very selfishly about staying here, but you must remember that when you were here I did say to you that I didnt think I should come home on the 24th and you then a[c]quiesced.
I cant quite remember what I said to you in my letter written Tuesday evening, I hope it has reassured you, I dont think any of my letters have been very bloody this week, because, as a matter of fact, far from feeling inclined to change my mind, I’ve been particularly fond of you. Then why the devil dont you come home is what you say. Oh I can hear so well everyone† of your excellent arguments, and I daresay you think that when I say I am miserable at your unhappiness that its not very convincing as it only rests with me to end it. The only excuse that I can give which bears investigation is that I am shirking something unpleasant, & I can only ask you to dismiss that explanation, without any proof, as quite ridiculous. I want to marry you, I long for you often, & yet I do want to stay here rather, that must strike you as inconsistent and inconsiderate.
I’ve not heard from you to-day, I’m still quite in the dark as to what “move” your telegram referred to, whether to England or Hazebrouck. Hazebrouck I’ve quite given up.
I shall finish this now, and perhaps add a little tomorrow if I get a letter in the morning, but I daresay you didnt write Friday at all.
Your loving
Venetia
Monday morning.
Your letter has just come, you still talk of coming Wednesday, tho’ you dont say by what boat, I suppose the usual 6 o’clock one, I cant, of course, prevent you coming, & indeed I shall be glad to see you, but I do not want to come home on Thursday. I can easily arrange to get the evening off till 9.30 and we’ll dine together and if you go back Thursday I can have the morning with you. You see it isnt a question of arguments in that matter you have it all you own way, but of inclination, which of us is going to get what he wants? its a horrible situation, because if I stay I shall feel I’ve been abominably selfish, &, I hope, if you make me come home, you’ll have some remorse! Will you? I’ll compromise & come home the first week in August, only 7 weeks ahead, not twice as much again as we’ve had. Perhaps you dont think that a very magnanimous compromise.
I cant tell you what we’ve been doing because if I say there is nothing to do you naturally resent that I should want to stay here if its not fun, & if I say I’m having the time of my life you mind it even more. What am I to do?
Truly we arent now very busy and will get I suppose less & less so for another week or 10 days then perhaps something might happen.
Anthony came to see me yesterday, arrived about 4 and we went out again to Hardelot, went for a long walk and had dinner out on the sands, a delicious meal of apricots, pate de fois gras, champagne and cakes. I told him you were in a rare rage at the Hazebrouck suggestion, which he thought quite natural. Its very hot, I’m spending a morning lying under a bank, there is an aeroplane above which is making a horrible noise.
Let me know if you come by the early boat, but I cant meet it, of if I did it would mean I shouldnt be able to see you for the rest of the day. Your best plan will be to lunch at leisure and come out to us about 4.30, we’ll have a delicious afternoon and a beano in Boulogne, but if you are only coming to take me home you better wait a little! Darling dont be angry with me. I swear I’ll come home on the 6th of August, a real binding oath which I never gave you before.
Much love
V
If you think Paris a bad plan, too frivolous I mean, lets go to Fontainebleau or some delicious foresty shady place?
—————
Written at the British Hospital, Wimereux, in pencil.
read less
