5, Brunswick Gardens

London W8

Friday, January 7^th 1972

Dearest Dunbarton,

I am rather surprised that I haven't had any word from you since Denden's letter of December 9^th, tho' I had a 15 cent letter from Marcie in Washington yesterday, posted November 30^th, and even before one from Norah Macintyre, yet another from California from the Danks came six weeks ago. I see Norah's was posted November 19^th and surely that's too long even by sea. She enclosed a clipping saying that Michael Sullivan had been appointed Slade professor of fine art for 1973-74 at Oxford University.

I could write a book on our Christmas, but I fear I am too lazy. Such ups and downs we had, and open fights, and I just don't know what the future is going to be. I thought to myself that I'd always arrange to be away - but now I hear Hugo saying he won't go next year unless things are different. I think I already told you that the Dearlove cottage was without plumbing and it was ridiculous to think I'd not have the Graubarts for breakfast. Poor things - I was sorry for Ellen, with the plaster so damp she said they couldn't put the head of their bed against the wall and pillows slipped on the floor all night and they didn't sleep (too, Tania seems to cry a lot in the night at the best of times). As the Christmas Eve supper party as well as the big Christmas dinner was held in that new room, it was extremely noisy and her children didn't go to sleep. Michael arrived with a bad tummy, and had to cross over to my house in the dark, twice a night. Ellen crept to the dark bottom of the garden. There wasn't even a sink without water - and no crockery or anything except a stove. It was absurd to think they could stay over there - likewise it was cold.

One of the awful things was the matter of the doors, one leading into Joan's kitchen, the other outside and into my front door. You were as likely as not to find them bolted, as there wasn't any catch from the outside, or inside for that matter, and Joan would bolt it to keep the cold from her kitchen (the two doors are side by side). I trailed food back and forth - the idea was to see that the babies played in the new room, so we'd better eat there as well. Never again. Joan sat up with her family of six - having said she'd do Xmas lunch, she took her six into her own dining room and they ate what they needed and there wasn't anything like enough (sausages) for us - and Hugo raging because it was her suggestion that it be a joint meal.

The Christmas dinner was fun - Ivor opened five bottles of champagne, and Lee gave us six bottles of nice red wine (for twelve not bad) but I was just told to cook the turkey, Hugo and me, just told like that. I had already cooked my turkey and given it to Joan and Ivor on the Thursday night when she phoned from London and said she wouldn't feel like buying any food and could I give them supper. I said I had nothing but kippers. Ivor liked them, she didn't, she said, but she'd try to find something on the way down. Before they arrived I thought well my turkey had to be cooked as I was putting it aside to have cold - so I put it on and had a very fine meal for them. I'd already boiled a tongue, and roasted a small roast because Lee had said it would be nice to have a slightly nice Christmas Eve meal when we were trimming the tree and all. Well, Joan just announced that we would after all have a joint meal for Christmas Eve, smoked salmon, followed by minced beef, prepared and given by Miranda and Richard. Of course I didn't mention all the plans I'd made to have our own party. But my return party - to all - not expecting to have contributed any work to the Xmas one except for mince pies and the sauce, to be held the night after Christmas was what really started the ill feeling.

Hugo's neighbour rang to say they had been broken into again poor things, at 5:00pm, and Lee offered to drive them to London to have a look as poor Jennifer was in tears. So Joan took it upon herself to get Miranda to cook their supper, and not one of the six even had the graciousness to say they'd come to me even if the meal was a bit delayed, nor did anyone come near me to say they were sorry. In the event the three got back from London at 8:30 - just about the time we always eat - to find them sitting down to their supper. She (Jennifer) exploded with rage saying didn't they know I had spent the whole day preparing a meal for them, &c. Just a bit before that I had gone over to take some common cream in their basement(of course their frig.) and flung this one remark at them, "I hope you realize how insulted I am that not one of you is coming to my party", and went out, hearing Joan say, "Oh Mollie". Ivor then came over to my house and said he didn't know anything about all this, and I'm afraid I let loose on how awful I thought his wife was, why should she make up the minds of the others, &c &c, and told the story of Hugo's saying "I don't see why you can't put up with Joan. Ivor's done it for thirty years!" Ellen and Michael were there, and in the end I apologized for speaking to him like that about his wife in front of others. Anyway he seemed rather confused and conciliatory and brought over a bottle of champagne to heal the breach. I don't know when I've been so seething mad. Ellen,  she would enjoy the meal. I forget just what Ellen told me about the conversation, but she said she gathered Barbara couldn't go against the situation.

Later that week

I suppose she was trying to make up, but I had the boys with me when Jennifer went up to town for the night to see the doctor, and Joan worried me to death, never leaving me alone. She was alone too. But what I meant to say was when Jennifer was back and the three of us were having a meal, Joan got mad at something and stormed out, making some reference to how I harped on the subject of the cottage and her having taken a "few inches" from me. I had laughingly said to her that if she was filling the cottage all the time with all the friends she kept talking about, it seemed that Jennifer wouldn't be in it much, which were the grounds on which she had sold me the idea of having the cottage, and how nice it would be for me. Jennifer had told me she was mad because her mother had invited a young couple to use the place at Easter, a time when Jennifer would certainly want it. Oh me. I wonder what will happen.

I seem to have written that story after all. You will be sorry for me. I haven't thought much about it yet. So much to do writing notes to those who wrote me and I didn't send a card, and that sort of thing. I only returned from the cottage on the 5th - and went to a concert at the small festival hall - Bach's Mass in B - with Hugo and Jennifer. My first concert for many a year, and lovely it was. But to the beginning. The day I got back, up comes Mrs Kuwait to say she is sorry to tell me, but she is returning to Kuwait , and her husband is moving to a hostel or something! I said "You know you owe me a year's rent", but she kept saying "We are giving you a month's notice." I haven't spoken to her since (she gave me a present of a pretty sad prayer rug) and am getting Lee to write on official paper that they must pay for any weeks when the flat is empty, &c &c. I was a bit dubious, always. You know how he didn't read the lease. It's most maddening in some ways, but in other ways I am glad. Such a waste of a pretty flat, and such smells. When I walked in after my fortnight's absence I was appalled. I wonder how much work I shall be involved in. I am so scared I will use it for an excuse to put off and put off the dinners I ought to give.

Yesterday John gave me a restaurant lunch - the first for many a month, and I did "saleing". Quite successful - a 10 trouser suit with a full length coat, reduced from £25, and a pure wool jacket type sweater and skirt for £6. Today is the day after. I looked at a flat for Lee this afternoon. He would like it. A large room, with a kitchenette at one end (two single beds seem to fold out of a cupboard). The only other room other than a bathroom was partly a verandah you might say, white tiled floor and glass across the south side. 0utside that was a roof garden. Fifty-six steps up. Not very far from the Bulmers. But £10,500. Isn't it appalling. One-room flats on the busiest of streets are £9,500.

The new road is going to be a big help. That's why Lee was able to take them to London and back. He takes about an hour. It opened the day after I'd gone down, so I only was able to use it on the return journey. It is very empty - just like that new road to you, Claudia, and beautiful country with scarcely a house in sight the entire way. I came from Newbury, where Pinkie's chairs had been taken the night before by a man who left me many samples to choose from. I am appalled at what it is costing to have the seats fixed, and the chair done. £12 each for the work - just what I paid for the two chairs - plus the material which is minimum at £2 a yard. At least he takes them and returns them, and there is no alternative to buying more at a sale and having them go in a few years. They are very pretty without their heavy covers, but elegant enough for a town house. I am going to stop and listen to Any Questions. Builders again tomorrow! He is coming to me personally, to make up the damage done when the doors were taken down. This will really be final, except for the painting, which I must do myself I think.

Hugo lost his TV again (a special insurance policy) and a new leather coat with fur on the bottom just bought for Jennifer. Basement tenants lost two radios and a camera. They had spent a lot on locks &c, but it seems nothing but being fully barred will do.

A happy New Year and very much love, Marijane