Transcript:

3 Chalcot Square

London N.W.1

November 7, 1960

 

Dear Dr. Beuscher,

I’m enclosing a picture of our Frieda, together with her pet Bear, whom she likes to hug, pummel and sing to. She is the most exciting thing that’s happened to us—very bouncy, healthy, full of chuckles and a lovely responsive sense of humor. She has conversations with us—going variously Brrr or Dadada or simply opening her mouth and singing Ahhh when we sing to her. Both Ted and I are converted to little girls and have names for at least a couple more, in addition to our list of boy’s names. I’ve found myself surprisingly fascinated by Singer sewing machines—one of those formerly unnoticed objects—and by sniffing out one or two in the homes of friends, have made Frieda a nightgown and a smashing bright blue linen dress bordered with those handsome continental embroidered tapes and have material and ideas for a whole wardrobe. It’s almost impossible to get handsome solid-color clothes for little girls, or good patterned clothes, unless you buy expensive imported things   —all the year-old gift dresses waiting in Frieda’s drawer are white nylon or orlon or such with candy-pink or baby-blue smocking. Ted’s promised me money for a 2nd-hand Singer from his radio play so I hope to be sewing in earnest by Christmas. I love the chance to do original dresses for very low prices & look forward to dressing Frieda’s dolls & extending my range.

I’ve sent along to you by snailpace sea-post, a copy of my book of poems THE COLOSSUS—many of which, especially the father ones, I wrote while seeing you that year we lived in Boston. I’m very pleased with the way they produced it, and hope someday it may come out in America, although the firms my publisher has sent it to have proved adamant so far. I haven’t written much at all this last year—mainly a few light things for the New Yorker & Harper’s & two poems I’m reading over the BBC, but I now feel to be emerging from my cowlike six months of amaze over Frieda and able to abstract myself enough to write half a day. I ‘m still nursing her, which pleases me very much: it’s been one of the happiest experiences of my life. I didn’t know what I was missing, really, in not having children, & now only look forward to buying a house big enough to hold as many as we want, with enough rooms so I can shout to Ted in his study from the nursery or kitchen and he be far off and in such peace he can’t hear. He now valiantly works in our windowless hall which is womblike and utterly without distraction, and gets an immense amount done, which makes me happy—he likes the comfort of working at home, being slipped cups of tea and so on. This week he is going to Leeds to be on John Betjemann’s program–a literary luncheon stressing northern writers. I hope he gets his face on the screen! To Ted’s mother, appearing on television with that bestselling nonpoet Betjemann would be the height of Ted’s career. Oh, I’ll also stick in a copy of a clipping that I’m proud of, taken at a Faber party—Ted where he should be. TS Eliot is quite fond of him & we had a wonderful dinner at his place last spring, which I may have mentioned to you. I honestly felt in the presence of a holy being. (The bit in the article about the baby is a quote from me, by the way.)

Ted & I are very tentatively thinking of going to Corsica this spring to spend his travel grant, if I don’t get an interesting enough part-time job beforehand & if the baby is in good health.

Do you have any practical advice about travel or living abroad with a one-year-old? Most of my friends groan when I suggest it & say babies are into everything & very difficult & transitional at that stage. We could, of course, wait half a year, but ideally would like to go this spring, partly because we need to draw the money & partly because it’s such a nice time of year. My doctor says “don’t trust Italian doctors” and promises to fit me up with a medical kit. I am most moved and admiring of the medical treatment Frieda & I have been getting for free over here and particularly in favor of socialized medicine for old people—the doctors I’ve been to are also very much in favor of it. It’s ideal for Ted & I not to have a looming bill for each baby we want—I ‘m sure we’ll have more here than we would have in America!

Both of us are enjoying London a great deal; we’ve winter-season tickets to the zoo and go at least once a week. Frieda and the owls eye each other in amaze; I do think she outstares them. Ted’s just done a story set mainly in the zoo which we hope to sell in America. I wangled a press pass from Stephen Spender the other night to the last day of the Lady Chatterley trials at the Old Bailey. I was delighted to be there, only sorry I’d missed the days of famous witnesses—stayed from about 10:30 to 3, when the surprising verdict of “not guilty” came from the unpromising prosperous middleclass looking jury after a very biased, sneering summing up by the judge who tried to influence the jury against the “egghead” witnesses. The court (the famous Number One) was small and jammed. I had lunch in a lovely little dark Fleet Street pub with a girl reporter and an American free-lance journalist, listened to the cases of arson, rape, etc. sandwiched in before the jury returned, and enjoyed my day-out immensely. Ted is an angel about my excursions, feeds Frieda lunch and so on. The main thing we miss is going out together as much as we used to. We do have babysitters, but not as often as we’d like. However, we’re together so much that it’s probably a good thing for us to explore London separately.

I’ve been taking lessons in conversational Italian two nights a week at the Berlitz school here in preparation for our trip and hope to really develop my reading knowledge of Italian, French and German, while practising speaking in trips to the continent. I’ve always wanted to be able to read these languages and now have a good chance, living so near to the countries in question.

You’ll be getting a copy of Ted’s MEET MY FOLKS! sometime this spring—it should be out around Frieda’s first birthday, and probably one or more of your boys will be of an age to be amused by it. Do tell me about your fifth—boy or girl, name and so on. Does your housekeeper, by the way, do all the things like laundry, dishes, cooking and so on? Looking ahead into the far future when we may have managed a house, I would probably want someone at least to take over for 4-5 hours in the morning do chores & mind babies. I find I don’t need a full day—only the first half and a quiet evening—to feel I am leading my own mental & creative life. Then I am absolutely unfazed by domesticalia.

Best love to you,

sylvia