including letters written to his wife Marion and some other correspondence
Letters to Marion
3 January, 1941
Dearest Mog,
I had your letter this morning. Very glad to hear that you are all right. You will, I expect, have already heard from me since last Sunday. Enclosed cutting* gives a fairly good idea of the damage, I should think. I have not seen it myself. I am in the midst of a big reaction against such things, and I long to make something completely lovely.
* Click Here to see the enclosed cutting from the News Chronicle, Friday, Jan 3, 1941
I have for some days been working on a drawing which pretty well sums up the horror and I simply hate it, and have nearly torn it up many times. Yet something holds me to it and I go on taking it a little further each time. I have got the stove alight but it is very cold. Everything is frozen – even the watercolour water has got bits of ice that rattle against the brush as I dip into it.
I did very well with presents but no ready money. The most hard-up Christmas I have had. I will be down to see you for certain this month and should be able to give you the exact date when I write again next week.
I did hear from Harry and he sent me some cigars. I wrote him a couple of days ago. It was lucky they were all able to come and see you. I am so glad Julian is getting on well. He will be alright, don’t worry.
About a change, I quite agree, anything but the army. My idea of Hell. All hells are man-made anyway, and that is possibly the worst.
I am sending 30 shillings as I am very hard up again but I will send the other 10 shillings early next week. I should have it then. I have bought myself a bicycle, very cheap, ten bob, promise you I won’t ride it after dark, but there is very little traffic on the roads during the day and when it gets better weather it will save me money in fares.
Will write again early next week. Lots of love to you both and I am looking forward to seeing you both in a very few weeks now,
Clifford
PS I have enjoyed reading the Rowlandson book. The girl on the tightrope is easily the best reproduction, but the one of the girl playing the piano and sending her man to sleep is about as good.
5 January, 1941
Dearest Mog,
I will be in Dorchester on the 23rd, about the usual time, but will verify that later and let you know.
I sold two watercolours this morning – only one guinea each I will make up the ten shillings I owe you when I write with the rest of the money on Friday or Saturday. The rest I will get my ticket with; this being a problem these days. It is the very devil to hook in any money. All the prices of food in our canteen are going up tomorrow. They are high enough already but there seems nothing we can do about it.
This has been a fairly quiet week although we heard hundreds of raiders going over last night. They must have knocked hell out of somewhere, but they dropped nothing near us. Rather terrifying, the complete selfishness one finds in oneself nowadays.
After many false starts I managed to make one drawing last week, also to finish the one I told you about. I hate it but have decided to let it stand because it really has got something.
All arrangements for the show at Rugby are going well. I do hope there is not some horrible bust up in March to ruin the whole thing. I have at last heard from America that they want me to send all the panels of the ballet. I am going to see about sending some but not all. I am too fond of them, also need them to complete my large picture – and one I gave you so that has to stay with us too. Fortunate. However, I can probably send four or five, but I hate the risk. Suppose the ship was sunk. There, more utter selfishness, but I can’t help it – and don’t intend to try.
You still have not told me if your leg is better, and it still worries me. Let me know next time you write.
Looking forward so much to seeing you. It won’t be long now.
Love to you and Julian,
Clifford
Journal Entry
January 9, 1941
Many of us down with influenza. Felt rotten last night. Had a long sleep, fortunately a raidless night, and I think I have beaten it. Pains in back almost gone.
Filthy weather. All water pipes frozen at the studio. Heating is unobtainable, other than gas which is practically useless when it’s as cold as it is now.
Rereading Richard Aldington‘s Death of a Hero. A fine book. It makes me realize in what comfort I am living compared with those unfortunate soldiers in France during the last war.
Going through the last entry and have reached a conclusion. War is normality. In other words it has always existed only now its effects are more widespread owing to the mechanical-industrial age. What a hope.
Letter to Marion
10 January, 1941
Dearest Mog,
Thanks for all your letters. Sorry I have not written sooner but I have had flu or very nearly. Half the depot is away with it, no wonder considering the conditions there, however, I aa slightly better today and think I have got it beaten. It’s partly wrong food, I am sure of that, for all last winter I did not have a single cold and conditions were harder in many ways than they are now. Of course, like most schools, this place is an elaborately constructed draught trap, with outside lavatories.
I can only make up half of what I owe you this week. I am terribly sorry but will do the remainder next week. As usual I am being kept waiting myself. The old vicious circle.
I will be with you on the 23rd. Have not been up to verify the time yet but I will next week. I expect it is still the same.
So glad Julian’s water system seems to be working so well. One of your letters was almost saturated in it! We will have to talk about the cards when I see you. Did I tell you I have now read the book you sent me? It is very well done and I enjoyed it. I have reread “Death of a Hero”. Really magnificent, and am now reading his “All Men are Enemies”. I have borrowed this from Addington’s ex-valet with the censored passages – about twenty typewritten pages. All D H Lawrence tried to do and did not succeed with.
Nothing much has happened lately although last night was reasonably bad. Anyway, the whole business bores me completely at the moment.
Yesterday I went to get some panels from the packing case full I had left in Maddox Street. It made me so happy to see them again. I felt as if someone I had known quite well had done them and that they were reasonably good. And I wondered if that someone was really myself and if I could ever do such things again. I walked part of the way home through Hyde Park and I was amazed and delighted to realize that I could see at least eight subtle values in the sunny winter sky. I say this because for some time now I have not been able to see things like I could. The point of view seemed to be just dull. The sky just sky, the buildings simply buildings and nothing more. So maybe I’ll get back to it again one day.
There is a burst pipe in the kitchen, repaired yesterday, and a small waterfall in the passage. No harm to us.
Write soon. You still do not say if your leg is better.
Love to you both,
Clifford
Journal Entry
January 13, 1941
Thoroughly ill last night. High temperature, pains everywhere. Could hardly keep my feet. Had to get myself sent to Putney, by car, where I now am feeling warm, slightly better and very determined not to go back this time until I am really well – although half the depot is out of action from this wretched ‘flu.
A reply from Ala Story last week. Evasive. Apparently expects all expenses paid. Not worth it. News from Rugby, who had asked me to have a one-man show there in the Spring, also most unsatisfactory. Their final offer very poor compared with the original suggestion. Have refused. Reynolds’ original suggestion: two lectures paid, the travelling expenses paid, Packing and carriage of pictures both ways paid. His Committee’s present offer: no lectures, no travelling expenses, carriage and packing up to three pounds. No thank you! Looks as if Reynolds was too optimistic and the Committee would not back him up.
Letter to Marion
14 January, 1941
Tuesday evening
Dearest,
This is not a reply to any letter of yours, for I have not been to the studio since Saturday. I have really been quite ill with the worst chill or flu I have ever had. I stuck it as long as I could, but on Sunday night I was sent back here by car, well wrapped up, and with a terrific temperature. It was either that or the depot sick room, a straw mattress on the floor and a smelly Elsan* in one corner, and half a dozen or so men even worse than myself.
* Elsan, i.e. a type of portable camping toilet
These two days have done me a lot of good and I feel a great deal better and I have not got to go back until Thursday – not even then if I should still feel bad. I am sure I will be quite all right and I don’t believe I have had flu at all, only a really serious chill and I did so want a real rest. One can’t go on for months on end sleeping in ones clothes, and broken sleep at that, without getting found out. This business really started more than a week ago when they nearly set alight to us and we were all out in the bitter cold, rushed out from a hot stuffy building in the middle of the night with no time to grab an overcoat. I had been fighting it ever since. It’s really better to allow oneself to flop out as soon as one feels bad and get it over.
All this, I fear, will mess up my leave. So many men are away ill, at least half them, that I expect I will have to wait perhaps until next month for things to straighten themselves out again. But I will come as soon as ever it is possible because I want to see you so much. The birthday cake will keep.
I have, for the past two weeks, been shockingly depressed; got out of it once or twice, but it has held me most of the time. However, I can now see that the reason was chiefly because I was not feeling well for today I am taking a more cheerful view of things, I am even thinking about doing some more painting. Leger had a really good show of drawings which opened last week. I have five there, including one you may remember of yourself with your arms raised, fastening a flower in your hair. I think it looks very SERENE and lovely.
I have seen the catalogue of the show of Theatre & Ballet that went to Australia. A very gorgeous affair, about 12 inches by ten with a coloured cover and well printed. My two clowns reproduced very well Everyone from Degas onwards represented. I am trying to get one. Possibly one was sent to me from Sydney and the boat was sunk. Or maybe one wasn’t sent. Since the war there has been a sad falling off in good manners, as in everything else.
How bored I am with this war! I have lived through my indignation, even my sorrow, to find only boredom. Bored with the hopeless, wicked stupidity of it. I could not write again like I did in the first book of my diary. I think my sensibilities have become dulled. Only something very beautiful can move me, shapes, colours, music, poetry. Perhaps the fool who can wholeheartedly take sides in this affair are lucky, at least they achieve a certain happiness. You can if you are able to really hate people. As for myself I would as soon save a German’s life as an Englishman’s. Both are entirely in the wrong. Victims of wrong teaching and bad government; of cynical exploitation. Deprived, almost as soon as they learn to talk of the right to think, deprived by the state, by so-called education, or by the Church; that is in such countries where that colossal failure is still allowed to use its evil influence. No, I can’t take sides. Of course, life would be hell if Germany won. But who made the Germany we are now fighting? Ourselves. And will life for the masses be so very gay when Germany has been beaten? As, technically, she doubtless will be. Because when we have beaten Germany we must, if we wish to avoid another war, alter or do away with the economic systems that made this one possible. Seems silly, doesn’t it? We learn by our mistakes. Do we? Individuals do, and only some of them. That’s our, as individuals, only hope. And when this is done with, I only want to paint like myself and for myself. When I dare to think about the peace it all seems very difficult. The old problem of making a living without giving oneself up to one or the other recognized forms of artistic prostitution. Yet I still have faith that if what I want to say is worth saying, somehow, I will get the opportunity to say it. It’s going to be bloody difficult though.
I have not got a lot of faith in the brave new world.
“After the war Britain will not tolerate in her midst the tragic spectacle of abject poverty and unemployment” – and so on. Mr Arthur Greenwood, News Chronicle 14.01.41.
And Mr Ernest Bevin – “I sincerely trust that this year will bring us victory, the opportunity to begin the great work of reconstruction, and the building of a peace of such a character that we shall be able to feel that future generations will never have to face a holocaust such as this.” Vague, very vague.
Much the same things were said last time and there is a terrible lack of anything constructive in these statements. They sound merely bombastic. I sincerely hope I am completely wrong.
And now let’s change the subject. The future may be far easier or far worse than we think. Anyway it isn’t here yet, so why worry?
After seven pages all more or less about myself and my stupidly getting ill, how are you? And how is Julian? I hope it is not so cold for you or that at least you are managing to keep warm somehow. Write soon and let me know how you are, and please do not worry about me. I give you my word I am lots better, as good as well. I will come and see you as soon as they will let me, and I am terribly sorry this wretched epidemic has messed things up for us.
Mother is very well and has enjoyed making me do as I was told for a couple of days.
Lots of love to you both,
Clifford
Later – Tuesday night
And as if to reproach me for my remarks about Messrs Greenwood and Bevin I have just come across the enclosed* noble statements from Mr Attlee himself.
*The enclosed (newspaper cutting?) is missing, being no longer in the envelop with the letter. Editor
Well I can’t find much fault with them. He does seem to have the right ideas. We must wait and see. It sounds just lovely. Tell me another fairy tale.
Wednesday Morning
Lots better this morning. Thought I would let you know before I sent this letter. Needless to say, I have been sleeping in the flat since Sunday and not in the shelter. Of course, there was a bit of a scene. Fear is a personal matter and other people should not be afraid for you. She cannot, or at least finds it difficult to understand, that I have as great a faith in my safety in one place as another. That there is no shelter at the depot and when I am there and able to sleep, I fall off to the sound of guns and usually awake to hear them still firing. However, I got my way and hence my recovery. A mattress on a concrete floor, even in a dry cellar, is not my idea of proper treatment for the state I was in three days ago. Far better to be comfortable and take the risk. As it happened, I was lucky again. Since Sunday it has been quiet. I am going to the studio to get my letters this afternoon. Will write again on Friday when I send the money.
All my love,
Clifford
Journal Entry
January 15, 1941
Putney. Still here, and although far better my headache persists. It has been snowing nearly all day.
Reread Conrad’s Under Western Eyes. Terrific. I was too young to understand the greatness of it when I first read it in my twenties.
Three days stuck in one room! And yet the time has gone quickly. What an eternity one day at the depot can be!
How I long to get back to work again. Real work, my own work. I wrote to Marion a long letter yesterday, which I have not posted yet. I told her how bored I was. That I had passed through my early feelings of indignation, horror and pity, to find only boredom and stupidity.
Reconsidering this I still think it’s substantially true. Yet there are exciting moments. The night continues to fascinate me, and riding on top of a bus through the darkened streets lit up now and again by the flashes of guns still remains thrilling.
But then with me everything I write is true, emotionally true, at the time I write it.
Letters to Marion
16 January, 1941
Thursday
Dearest Mog,
I am back here again. Today, I got your two letters this morning as I went to the studio for them before coming on here. I feel a lot better but still in need of rest, heaps of it. The most difficult thing to get these days.
You are wrong about the 23rd being a Sunday, it will be today week, next Thursday. I asked about my leave this morning and I will be able to take it as arranged. So I will be in Dorchester next Thursday and I will tell you the time when I write again at the end of this week. I will be going to get my ticket after pay, tomorrow.
I am very worried to hear that things are getting so difficult with you, but I understand the whole position only too well. If the farm project comes off the cottage idea should solve the problem; if mot make up your mind and go to Cecily, although I think the cottage would work out best. I do think, very decidedly, that fifteen shillings a week, even furnished, is too much to pay. I should hardly think that Peter and Pearl would want to make a big profit out of you being there. I should say ten shillings would be much fairer. I hope you will be able to get the warcase money*, after the long interval, however, we will do our best to get it through. Persistence is the only way to deal with officialdom. It’s the system not the people administering it that one has to fight. I have proved that more than once. We will be able to have a good talk about it next week.
*Clifford appears to have written “warcase money” here, but warcase was not a term in official use. It might be a reference to some sort of separation payment available to the families of ARP members who were having to live apart due to the war. Editor
I had a thoroughly unsatisfactory reply from Rugby, the committee trying to cheapskate. I wrote saying I would not go on with the idea and that has brought them round. A letter this morning agreeing to me terms. Also, a good mention in The Times of the Leger show. I was pleased with it, particularly as Marriot retired some months before Christmas.
Otherwise no news. I a have been out of action completely for nearly a week.
Mother was very pleased with your letter and says she will reply to it soon. She is quite well, I am glad to say. Also heard from Stanley that his offer had been turned down. I am phoning him this afternoon.
I will send the books off to Winifred for you as soon as I can get round to it.
Will be writing again on Sunday.
All my love to you and Julian,
Clifford
19 January, 1941
Sunday
Dearest Mog,
Thanks for your letter with your cheque.
I am feeling fairly well but still rather lacking in energy. I should be all; right in a couple more days.
I have got a portrait to paint when I come back, 18″x 14″, only five pounds, but a very interesting head and may lead to others.
All my love to you and a kiss for Julian. Looking forward to seeing you on Thursday, usual place, 3.56.
All my love once more,
Clifford
Journal Entry
January 21, 1941
National Gallery to see Lillian Browse. Showed her my recent drawings. Said she really thought a lot of them and kept a number to show to Sir Kenneth Clark.
Lunch together in the canteen at the gallery. I had not seen so much good food, beautifully served, for months. Four kinds of salad, perfect spaghetti, and actually meringues and cream – lots of lovely whipped cream – synthetic no doubt, but good all the same. I felt civilized again and thoroughly enjoyed it all. The civil servants certainly do themselves proud. Our canteen food is, for me, almost uneatable. But then, naturally, I am fussy.
Saw a number of very lovely Conders in the Gallery – oils – extremely personal. Also, was shown a couple of recent John drawings. Good, but they are only weak imitations of himself. One is of three nudes, in red chalk, bathing, and one of a baptism by the side of a river with a large crowd looking on.
Letters to Marion
25 January, 1941
Chelsea – Saturday
Dearest,
I got back on Friday about 8.30; it was damned cold and the bus got stuck on a hill and so was late.
Last night was not good but one could hardly expect anything else this weather, however, here are the very small *results. Better next time I hope but I did find time to do a nice drawing for myself.
*This sentence suggests Clifford sent some little sketches to Marion with this letter. If he did these are no longer with the letter, and neither is the card from Chateil he mentions below. However, a press cutting from The Sketch about the Chelsea stretcher party putting on a Christmas play was found in the envelope with the letter. Editor
The Tigers and Sylphides are both in the RA so that is fine so far, now let’s hope we can sell one. Saw Bill last night, his Christmas I understand was somewhat overshadowed by Fred.
I have not had any luck yet with the batteries but I will keep on trying and will see if I can find some in Hammersmith this afternoon. Ted will most likely know where to get them. He is usually good at such things. Michael’s address is 73 Finborough Road, SW10. I hope the weather breaks soon. I must admit it is on the chilly side at present.
This card came from Chateil. Keep it because I think it is very sweet. Someday I hope we will all go there and I expect she would not mind looking after Julian now and again, which would be useful when we wanted to go out.
I will tell you all about the exhibition when I write again. The varnishing day is on Monday. I do wish you could see it but never mind I am determined to have lots more there in times to come.
I did enjoy being with you and I was very happy to see that you looked just like my beautiful Mog once more and that Julian is so attractive – because I really think he is.
Write soon. All my love to you both,
Clifford
P.S. Just got the batteries. Hope they are the right ones. I think I will be able to get more from the same place when you want them.
28 January, 1941
Dearest Mog,
Got back safely. No News. Here is a note from P J. I am sorry, I opened it in a bad light. Also, a letter from Devereux. Pathetic. Thought you might like to read it. Will you send it back sometime?
Latest news. Rosslyn, sculptor died last week. Mrs Rosslyn married *Dr Bunt White last Friday.
*Possibly this Dr Bunt White. Editor
I feel so much better for having seen you again and I did not want to come back here.
Lots of love top you and Julian. I have really fallen for him.
Will write again end of the week. Love to Pearl.
Clifford
Devereux’s letter
No. 992852 Sgt (A.C.) Devereux B,
R.A. Clerks’ School,
No. 1, Gummer Lane,
Woolwich, S.E.18.
Dear Mr Hall,
You know, I’ve often wondered how you’re getting on, and Mrs Hall and the baby. But I’ve not ventured to write, thinking that you might not reply almost at once and your letter being, so far as I’m concerned, for ever lost. My movements have been very unsteady; I’ve hopped about from place to place and many letters have never caught up with me. But now I’m slightly more settled.
How are you getting on?
It will be an exceedingly great pleasure to me to have done with the war and to get back to some painting, I sketch a lot – people’s heads most of the time – and I’m never hard up for sitters. People praise my work and I pass on the praise to you.
Since the army grabbed me, I’ve been to Gosport, to Woolwich once before, and to Ireland twice. Ireland is full of lovely scenery. I’ve grown sick of tramping about with a heavy kit-bag on my shoulder and am happy to be settled for a time.
At the present moment I’m recovering from bad bruising. A bomb caused the side of a house to fall upon me. I was excavated out of the debris and spent a week in hospital. It was horrible. Now I’m merry. How glad I shall be when the war’s over!
If I can, I’ll come to see you but my off-time is in bits and pieces none of which is really long enough to cross London.
Please pass on my best wishes to Mrs Hall and the baby.
Good luck,
B Devereux
Letter to Marion
31 January, 1941
My dearest Mog,
I hope you got my last letter. I am looking forward to hearing from you and hope your cold is quite better now. I feel very well although the weather is particularly lousy.I am starting the portrait on Sunday. I have several things that should come to something – at least one of them.
I sent the two books to Winifred, not the one with the torn back, and I hope they are the ones she wanted. Anyway they are the only ones I could find. The light is wretched. I have taken down all the blackout and it is still bad.
I hope Julian is well.
I was so sorry to leave you both but all I can do now is look forward to seeing you again.
All my love,
Clifford