On Christmas Eve, 1931, Wainwright, aged twenty-four, got married to Ruth Holden, aged twenty-one, his first ever girlfriend. She was a mill girl who lived locally and attended the same church as AW: Furthergate Congregational. Both her parents had died and she lived with her sister Dora in Artillery Street, Blackburn. After their marriage, AW moved in with Ruth and her sister and lived there for two or three months, before they acquired their own house.
On the wedding certificate, AW’s job was given as clerk in the Borough Treasurer’s Office. He was still studying, mainly by correspondence, to become a qualified municipal accountant. He had passed the intermediate part of his exams, though it was another two years, after several attempts, before he passed his final exams.
Eric Walter Maudsley – sometimes addressed as Walt or Walter but later more usually as Eric – was born in 1910 and had worked with AW in the Treasurer’s office in Blackburn as a fellow trainee accountant. AW and Maudsley, along with two other office friends (Jim Sharples and Harry Driver) had spent the Whitsuntide holidays of 1931 in the Lake District. AW had planned the holiday meticulously, promising them that in one week they would see every lake, every mountain, every valley. AW had been over ambitious and they never covered as much as he had hoped. But they had a good time, chaps together from the office, out on the fells. In 1932, Maudsley had moved from the Blackburn office to Carlisle.
The Love Nest,
Artillery St.
Blackburn.
Dear Walt,
What poignant (pron. ‘pwannant’) memories did my old familiar writing on the label bestir? None, probably. Remember that poignant moment at Watendlath when we parted company? – that poignant night at Rosthwaite when we sunk so low as to use the utensil ’neath our bed?
Annexed please find text-books as requested. I have not yet re-commenced the stud.
Well, sonny. I have been thinking a lot about the Lakes of late – Striding Edge, that view of Gable from Kirk Fell, the solitude of Burnmoor Farm, Dale Head, Ill Bell, and a host of other memories give me little rest, and I shall shortly be in the throes of another Gigantic Walking Tour Programme for Whitsun, 1932, but my companion this time will be the wife. Poignant memories!
Let me know sometime how you are getting along.
Alf
AW never did go on that trip to the Lakes with his wife Ruth – in fact there is no record of him ever going on any sort of walk with her. Just over a year later, something clearly was beginning to go wrong with the marriage – judging by his next letter, paragraph numbered 5 and headed Married Life – which he left totally blank.
The other news in this March 1933 letter (having been prompted to write it by Bob Alker, another office colleague) included the birth of AW’s son, Peter, and the fact that, along with others in his office, he had failed the latest part of his exams.
The letter contains the latest news and gossip from the Blackburn office. Paragraph 9, ‘re Cut Shop’, could possibly refer to Betty Ditchfield, assistant secretary to the Borough Treasurer, after whom AW, along with most of the other young men in the office, lusted, but without any success or even encouragement.
AW and Ruth and their baby Peter moved into a two-bedroom semi-detached house at 90 Shadsworth Road, Blackburn, in 1934, a more desirable residence, befitting a newly qualified municipal accountant. During the next six years, he went off on lots of walks – locally with groups from the office, to Yorkshire, the Pennines, Scotland and the Lakes.
In 1939, along with some of his office friends, he founded the Blackburn Rovers Supporters’ Club. Ruth took no part in the club, nor in the walks, and it could be that one of the attractions of these two activities was getting out of the house, escaping from Ruth and whatever was going wrong in their marriage. Maudsley meanwhile had moved in 1939 from Carlisle to a post in Hertford, where he stayed until 1942 when he was called up for the army and sent to Burma. AW had not been called up. His job was looked upon as vital to the war effort and his call up papers had for the moment been deferred. In late 1940, or perhaps early 1941, for the letter is not dated, he wrote to Maudsley in Hertford, describing a trip to the Lakes he had done with his son Peter, now aged eight. The reference to ‘Methods of Blocking the Female Form’ might possibly be about some nude magazine he had sent Maudsley – or just some joke. The letter is on Blackburn Rovers Supporters’ Club headed notepaper – showing that AW was Treasurer and Acting Secretary. Perhaps a bit of boasting, showing Maudsley the good times he and the rest of the chaps were still having in Blackburn.
Blackburn
19th March 1933
Dear Walt
Mr Acker told me that you have told him that you would like to hear from me, so I have pleasure in submitting the following information which may be of interest.
1 re Students Society
I have been appointed convener for this area, and am pleased to note your appointment to your local committee
2 re Rev Townson, of Great Harwood
He’s left
3 re I.M.T.A. Exams, Jan 1933
RESULTS
COMPTON |
INTER. |
FAILED |
PANTER |
PART 1. |
FAILED |
WAINWRIGHT |
” |
FAILED |
ALKER |
PART 2. |
FAILED |
SELLERS |
” |
FAILED |
WOLSTENCROFT |
” |
FAILED |
What’s the B.C.A. motto?
4 re Film Service
Now a highly efficient machine. Files remain in the hands of Mr Haworth, who has now less time for municipal accountancy. Mr Sye now rings ‘too long’ before he decides which pictures to visit. If you have visited the Karlisle Kinemas recently, I should be pleased to have reports on what you have seen (on the screen, not the back row).
5 re Married Life
6 re Parenthood
On the 15th Feb 1933, at Parkside Maternity Home, Queens Road, to Mr & Mrs. A Wainwright (nee Ruth Holden) a son – vide ‘Northern Daily Telegraph’
7 re Furthergate Branch, Yorkshire Penny Bank
Little activity. Present pen-nib has been in use over 3 years.
8 Furthergate Church
Now an exceedingly prominent member. Pleased to hear of your call to office in the service.
9 re Cut Shop
Frequent visits continue to be made by the top desk junior. Demands for ‘new thrills’ are made daily, but are seldom satisfied.
10 re Lake District
Spent a glorious week in June last. Sharples is now preparing plans for a ‘sleeping bag’ holiday, ie. Taking sleeping bag (weight 1 lb) and blanket and sleeping out. Entertainment? Please let me have details of any excursions you may have made.
11 re Ault Lang Syne
You are forgotten at Blackburn, just as I told you. You are never mentioned – nobody cares a hang what is happening to you. Remember our talks on this subject?
12 re Making Water
Do you recall that night in bed at Rosthwaite when you wanted to use the po chamber, but modestly forbade? And your immortal words: ‘Well I might as well – it’s what it’s there for’ ha, ha!
AW
BLACKBURN ROVERS SUPPORTERS’ CLUB
Chairman: F.P. HASLAM, Esq. |
President: W.H. DUCKWORTH, Esq. |
Hon Secretary: J.L. CROOK, Esq. (With H.M. Forces) |
Vice Chairman: N. McLEOD, Esq. |
Hon. Treasurer & Acting Secretary: A. Wainwright, Esq.,
90 Shadsworth Road,
Blackburn
Wednesday night.
Dear Walter,
I have just received your urgent letter of the 11th.
Your briefly-mentioned plans for your holiday fill me with envy. I am just back from a week at Keswick, where I have been fulfilling the pleasant and long-awaited task of introducing my infant son to the Loveliness of Lakeland. Keswick is crowded at present with a well-to-do set who have made it their home for the duration (how your Socialistic soul will writhe at the sight of them!) and there are a great many London evacuees. The food problem is rather acute, and we had to manage as best we could with bed and breakfast, which is all that most places will provide. But around Keswick there are the same hills, the everlasting hills, always changing and yet never-changing. On these hills you will meet just a few happy youths and maidens. The ridges we tramped in days of yore are still there as wild and lonely as ever, and you will find that their appeal is as insistent as ever before. So I envy you, for I fear I shall not be in their company again this year.
Your time is almost too short to expect a reply from Wasdale before the 21st, and I think that at this time of the year, with the school holidays finished, you could almost risk going over to Wasdale on the chance of getting accommodation. However, the address of the Place Perfect is Mrs M.E. Ullock, Wasdale Head Hall, Gosforth, Cumberland. The Hall, now a farm, is on the shore of the lake, just below the Burnmoor track (where we once flogged weary feet on a day notable for W.E.M.’s reticence to pee in a pot), two miles from the inn. Failing this, there is Mrs Wilson at Burnthwaite Farm, which is not quite the place it was, a cottage at Row Head, by the inn, and of course the inn itself. As a last resort, you could spend a night in the church. I should be very interested to know how you fare.
As a foretaste of things to come I enclose a card I bought in Keswick, intending to send it to you, but due to the constant attentions of my offspring it so happened that I had no time for card – and letter – writing.
I presume you received the weighty tome on Methods of Blocking the Female Form; again I intended to follow this with a letter, but didn’t. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions, and alas, I am well on my way there. Damn those snails: I can’t forget them. I shall be very pleased to see you on your way to the Lakes; if you are staying overnight in Blackburn, or for a day or two, we might be able to have an hour or two together, or maybe half a day.
We are winning the war.
Yours sincerely
AW
Again he writes on the Supporters’ Club notepaper a very cheerful letter, about all the new people he is meeting. Once the war began, lots of men in the office did go off, and their places were often taken by women – younger, rather attractive single women, which was a moral booster for those left behind, doing vital work.
‘Pennine Campaign’ was an illustrated journal he had written during and after his two-week solo walk across the Pennines two years previously in 1938 – his first attempt at a walking book. He even produced a pretend report of it, as if written by a publisher’s reader, and a booklet announcing its publication. It is not known if he sent it to any real publishers, but it was a serious attempt at a book and he let many of his friends read it, wanting their opinion and suggestions about getting it published. But now the war was on, with paper and other restrictions, there was even less chance of any publisher taking it.
BLACKBURN ROVERS SUPPORTERS’ CLUB
Chairman: F.P. HASLAM, Esq. |
President: W.H. DUCKWORTH, Esq. |
Hon Secretary: J.L. CROOK, Esq. (With H.M. Forces) |
Vice Chairman: N. McLEOD, Esq. |
Hon. Treasurer & Acting Secretary: A. Wainwright, Esq.,
90 Shadsworth Road,
Blackburn
Feb. 2nd 1941
Dear Walt,
It is the Sabbath day. This morning I climbed the hill to Belthorn to worship in the little chapel there, and returned feeling well rewarded: the trudge through the snow was really invigorating, the service was good, but best of all were the magnificent views from the top of the hill. The panorama ranged from Darwen Moors to Pendle, and there was a glimpse of snowclad hills far beyond in the north. High in the blue sky glinted a silvery cluster of barrage balloons over Clayton – a recent innovation this. It was a brilliant morning, and for the first time this year there was warmth in the sun.
I thought of holidays. I thought of winding tracks midst purple heather, of streams tumbling down the mountain-side, of the wind high up on the ridge, of the summit cairn. I thought of beer and strange beds. Son, I fretted for the hills.
I feel that my days of solitary wandering are drawing to a close. I find myself in demand by others who would fain share the blissful secrets I have found in lonely places, and, frankly, I feel the prospect of tutoring them quite pleasing to contemplate. I shall never lose the urge to be off on my lonesome, but there is much to be said, too, for good company.
So I have been making half-promises these past few weeks. I have requests for walking-tours from my son, from a man of 36 and from a boy of 16, whilst a new addition to our staff, a blonde of 27, is making the most alarming hints. The man of 36 will have to wait for another year, and the blonde of 27 will have to wait for ever. She has, however, a passionate regard the Lake District akin to my own, and, although she has been with us only a fortnight, we get along extremely well. Her home is called ‘Blencathra’; she is married, not happily I suspect. As for the boy of 16, he is the son of a woman with whom I am at present on most intimate terms, and the happiest and jolliest lad I’ve ever come across. He’d enjoy himself immensely, and so would I, and I certainly intend to arrange a week with him during the summer. He’ll have the time of his life.
At present I seem to have more friends than I’ve ever had. Until a couple of years ago, I had none. I used to call Lawrence Wolst and Jim Sharples my friends, and still do, of course, but I never sought their company after office hours. I knew nothing of the pleasures of entertaining companions. That’s all changed now. The most profitable evening I ever spent was the night when the Supporters’ Club was formed. I was elected to office, and put my whole heart into making it a success. I’ve been rewarded a thousand times. The committee meetings became a joy to my starved soul: there I found bright talk and laughter and beer, and it suited. I made friends, easy-going friends but the best in the world. Better still, with their help I rid myself of an accursed complex: it became easier to meet other people, and to be friendly with them, too. I have become a favourite with the ladies! And I like them a lot. Nowadays I never need to spend a night moping and sighing: the trouble is to resist all the invitations I get for a night out.
Which all fits in with one of your pet theories, doesn’t it? How are all your romances faring? You’re growing to be an old buggar now, you know; it’s high time you were making a move. Don’t be too careful in your choice; whoever you select, you’ll be disappointed, but safe, at least, from the succession of disappointments that have marked your erratic career so far.
I am looking forward to meeting you at the Green Man, Ashbourne, at Easter. I don’t know yet what holidays will be granted, but assume we shall have a decent weekend. I have arranged to travel south with Irene Wyatt, en route to visit her solider husband, and to pick her up on the return journey.
Please let me have ‘Pennine Campaign’ at an early date. Every day the afore-mentioned blonde comes round to my desk and pushes her soft breasts into me and whispers ‘Have you got it back yet?’. I am anxious that she should have it, even though that may mean that she will no longer push her soft breasts into me, which same operation, by the way, I could endure until Judgment Day.
With best wishes.
AlfW
Not content with the Supporters’ Club, AW then helped to begin the Pendle Club – named after Pendle Hill, a local beauty spot near Blackburn. Many of his office friends joined in, along with their wives, but there is no sign of Ruth in all this jollity.
Over the next six months, he continues to have good times with his clubs. He makes several Lakeland visits, spends time walking with Maudsley in Derbyshire and gets a pay rise at work.
BLACKBURN ROVERS SUPPORTERS’ CLUB
Chairman: F.P. HASLAM, Esq. |
President: W.H. DUCKWORTH, Esq. |
Hon Secretary: J.L. CROOK, Esq. (With H.M. Forces) |
Vice Chairman: N. McLEOD, Esq. |
Hon. Treasurer & Acting Secretary: A. Wainwright, Esq.,
90 Shadsworth Road,
Blackburn
21st February 1941
Dear Walt,
Forgive my neglect to reply promptly to your welcome letter, but this has been my first evening at home for some time. Not that I’ve been particularly busy at work, no it isn’t that; it’s this blessed circle of friends I mentioned before who seem to have set their hearts on establishing me as a social lion, and whose blandishments and entreaties I find hard to refuse, the one unfortunate aspect being that I come crawling home in the small hours, somewhat shamefacedly and in no condition to perform my normal functions as a husband and sadly conscious that I am an erring father.
Tonight I have an opportunity to reflect, for the first time in weeks, on the progress I have made in certain spheres, and my meditations are certainly sobering. I am spending pounds as easily as I used to spend shillings; I am carrying on affairs with half-a-dozen women, all of whom are ready to lie down with me when I give the word; I am consorting with fellows whose incomes run into thousands; I am shifting shandies at an alarming rate, and even whisky has passed my lips of late. What am I to do? I cannot withdraw from these new commitments, I am being carried along willy-nilly, with no hope of escape: I am heading for ruination. I recite to myself at frequent intervals ‘C’est la guerre’ and this soothes my conscience a little.
I am being persistently urged by the girls in the office to form a rambling club, and this appeals to me hugely, for it is an idea I have secretly nursed in my skinny bosom for many years only to postpone it after a review of the meager female company available.
But now things are different: the office is crammed with plump juicy specimens who are itching for excitement. So I am contemplating forming THE PENDLE CLUB, an association for cultured young men and women interested in walking. The blonde I told you about is as keen as mustard. Perhaps you better send me that Manual of Sexual Methods; I’d like to read it, in case the Pendle Club has a wet day, and I fancy the blonde would take to Method 34 like a duck to water. Send it, will you, please?
I felt flattered at your references to the success my book is having in Hertford, but tell my readers to be bloody handy, will you? – I want it back quick.
I’ll see you at the Green Man on Easter Saturday, and if you want to bring 2 women it’s okay by me. Don’t think I’ve gone altogether depraved – I’ve started smoking a pipe which is an infallible indication of inherent decency. N’est pas?
AlfW
The Pendle Club
Chairman: L Wolstenholme, Esq. |
Vice Chairman: A. Wainwright, Esq. |
Hon Treasurer: R. Alker, Esq. |
Hon Secretary: Mrs Dorothy Coleman |
Blencathra, West Leigh Road, Blackburn
Sunday,
Dear Eric,
At last I have a letter from you! Every day these past months has dawned with a promise of news from Hertford – and closed with bitter disappointment. No word! I was forgotten, forsaken, I told myself. My heart grew cold and hard towards you.
Then, last week, came a note in familiar writing, and out of the very winter of discontent was born new hope; as I read, the winding tracks amongst the heather seemed to be very near again. Holidays again! How I yearn for a few days release from the bondage!
I have yet no official news of the Easter vacation, and base the following remarks on the assumption that I must return on the Sunday evening. I shall travel south on Friday morning and arrive Derby in the early afternoon and be in Ashbourne at teatime. So please book a room for me at the Green Man, and we will spend the evening visiting the flicks and consuming mineral waters.
You will observe with your customary shrewdness that the Pendle Club has come into being, but alas, far from being a rambling club, it is already developing into an association of Mature Men and Young Ladies Who Have No Dread Of Pregnancy. The idea was originally good and completely moral, but so far the primitive urge to sit in a dark cinema and play with the genital organs of a member of the opposite sex has been paramount in our thoughts, and there has been very little walking done. Hence our practice to date has been to clear off to a strange town (Clitheroe, usually), have tea, and then do a bit of groping on the back row of the local picturedome.
Your Manual of Sexual Methods has not yet arrived, in spite of your assurances; I am anxious to discover whether certain of my own devices have been publicly recognized; if not, I shall be able to affix an allonge for the benefit of subsequent readers.
What I’m much more concerned about is the fate of my Pennine Campaign. WHERE THE HELL IS IT? There are several people here panting to read it; must I forever put them off with feeble excuses? Get it back TODAY and send it on to me TONIGHT. The Hon. Secretary of the Pendle Club has promised that I can so-and-so her when I produce it, but not before, and I should like to get this done on Thursday night before joining you the day after, as it appears from your letter that I must be continent during the weekend.
So you’ll book the Green Man for Friday and get there yourself for teatime if possible. BRING PLENTY OF CIGARETTES; they are unobtainable in Blackburn. I’ll bring some matches.
AW
90 Shadsworth Road
Blackburn
9th April 1941
Dear Eric,
Your latest letter has caused a quiver of apprehension – it appears we shall have difficulty in getting beds, never mind bedmates.
I shall proceed to Ashbourne as early as possible on Friday, and shall be standing on the pavement outside the Green Man, clothed in rags at one of the following times
2 p.m. |
exactly |
4 p.m. |
do |
6 p.m. |
do |
8 p.m. |
do |
If possible, I shall be there when the clock strikes two. If I am, and you are not, I shall walk away and return at four. And so on, at two hour intervals until you appear. Do you the same.
I should most urgently counsel you to get an extra gallon of petrol and bring the car into Ashbourne with you, so that if accommodation is unobtainable, we could as a last resort push the car into a woodland glade and sleep in it.
Should we both arrive early we could of course be away from Ashbourne and stuck well into Dovedale by nightfall.
I shall return home on Sunday evening. You’ll have had enough of my coarse humour by then. Bring a camera and plenty of cigarettes.
‘Manual of Sexual Knowledge’ has arrived safely, thanks. Have you dispatched ‘Pennine Campaign’?
See you Friday, son.
I’m looking forward to it.
Alf
90 Shadsworth Road
Blackburn
17th April 1941.
Dear Eric,
I last saw you, a lonely disgruntled figure, on the Black Rocks at Cromford, and this is what happened to me afterwards: I went down the hill into Cromford and proceeded at a good pace northwards to Matlock, arriving there at 2.15 to discover to my chagrin that there was no train till 5.36. Matlock’s shops were all closed, and the whole place was enveloped in a familiar Sabbath atmosphere, so I retraced my steps to Matlock Bath, where, by comparison, there was lots of life and plenty of opportunities to spend money. I had a 3s 3d tea, and, after passing the shop several times, finally expended a shilling on the current ‘Sun Bathing Review’, this purchase being effected without a blush. A disappointing book, though – no hairs on. Arrived at Manchester at 7 to find there was no train till 9.40, so went across to the bus station and returned by bus, getting home at 9.30. The later stages of the journey were made miserable by an acute shortage of smoking material. I had conserved the five cigs as far as possible, but the last one turned into ashes in Manchester, and as I had already scraped out the corners of my pouch, I was left completely destitute all the evening, and was not able to satisfy the craving until Monday noon.
And now I am back to the familiar life, women fore and aft and right and left, and find myself besieged with invitations. Absence, it seems, had made their joint and several hearts grow even fonder. Dorothy is treasuring her letter, ‘the loveliest I ever received’ she says. Doris thought hers was ‘beautiful’ and has returned it for me to preserve for her out of her hubby’s reach. Both wanted me to take them for a walk last night (after much indecision, I chose Doris). If ever they meet and swop confidences I shall have to flee the town: could you then find me a job? Anyway, I have made them both wonderfully happy: what does it matter that I have sacrificed honour? I told them about your disturbed first night and confided that I must have been dreaming about them, and this pleased them greatly. Are these white lies? I think they are.
What of you? The gloom of Wirksworth was biting deep into your soul when I departed from you: the holiday was a disappointment to you, n’est ce pas? The time at our disposal was too short for a proper expedition to be planned, and the weather was lousy, but I thoroughly enjoyed it: I found your blasé sophistication and naïve innocence stimulating.
Yet I sensed that you are not a happy man, or only superficially so. There’s something missing in your life, Maudsley lad, and it will still be missing when your salary runs into four figures. I told you what it was and I tell you again: go and find a little hole to put your old man in. Remember the snails, and go and do likewise.
I have just written to Wasdale Head for accommodation for Whitsun for Doris and myself and her husband and son. Later in the year Dorothy and I are going hiking in the Lakes; this might develop into an organized holiday of the Pendle Club, and if so, there will be a sincere invitation for you to come: imagine us all strewn in couples along Langstrath after the fashion of the Dovedale snails!
I should be interested to know how you fared on the return journey, and if and when and how the black mood passed, and I should be positively delighted to receive ‘Pennine Campaign’ by return of post. Blessed if I can get that book of yours back from Billy Ashton yet; I think he must be making a copy of it!
90 Shadsworth road
Blackburn
28th April 1941
URGENT
Dear Eric,
Doris has had a breakdown in health, and is going to the seaside on Thursday to rest for a few days.
It is my earnest desire that she should have ‘Pennine Campaign’ to read during this Period.
The matter is particularly urgent. Will you please recover the book and send it on immediately? If you will I will return it afterwards.
AW
URGENT
90 Shadsworth
Blackburn
4th July 1941
Dear Eric,
Glad to hear from you again, sonny, and to note from your letter evidence of a return to better humour after your harrowing experience at Wirksworth.
Yes ‘Pennine Campaign’ came back quite safely, thank you, but I believe you have somewhere two other publications of the Shad Press, viz
1. ‘Alpine Adventure’, 1939
2. ‘British Lakeland Climbing Expedition 1940’, complete with graphs etc.
I still peep furtively at times at your Manual of Sex, and can say definitely that the Posterior Seated Position has nothing to commend it. I’ll let you have the book back shortly.
I was at Keswick for Whitsuntide: couldn’t get a bed so went up Skiddaw and watched the sun rise from the top: a wonderful experience. Food was scarce, breakfast being the only meal obtainable and there was a queue a mile long outside the chip shop.
In these circumstances I felt myself quite unable to recommend an organized expedition, for I hear that every place in the Lakes is the same and hundreds are sleeping under the hedges at night. So this summer it’s every man for himself. Next year the war will be over and things will be back to normal, and then the Pendle Club will venture forth en masse.
I am, however, going to Keswick for the week July 26 to August 2nd, having booked a bed, but as I shall be taking my infant son, activity will be restricted and I don’t think you’d like to join us even if you could get a room and food.
Possibly I shall go north again in September – if so, I’ll let you know. Best wishes to you and the snails.
AW
90 Shadsworth road
Blackburn
5th September 1941.
Dear Eric.
I received my Baddeley and map safely, thank you, but was considerably surprised, almost alarmed, to get them so early. You must have dispatched them on the Saturday, yet I thought your stay was to extend until the following Tuesday, and you are not usually so prompt in returning other people’s possessions. Did anything go wrong? Did vile weather send you scampering off back home, prematurely, away from a storm-wracked Wasdale? Surely not! Armed and fortified with Dunn’s Supreme Headgear the weather would have no terrors for you. What else then could have happened? Was not one of the horde of females rapeable? Nor Hazel? Or perhaps you found after all that the solitude had no longer any appeal and hankered for the bright lights and jolly company of the drink-loving mob in Hertford. Fie on you!
I am most anxious to have the details of your holiday. Did you have a squint at Broad Stand, go up Lord’s Rake? How did you like Wasdale Head Hall?
If you returned before the Tuesday you would not receive the letter I posted to you at the week-end, although possibly Mrs Ullock has sent it on. In that letter I asked if you would kindly forward me a big consignment of Three Nuns Baccy when conditions were favourable. Will you, please, when they are?
My love to Longland. I shall never forget the noble manner in which he brought the Sherpas safely down to the North Col.
Dearest Eric, or Little by Little;
Many thanks for the card received this morning; as it does not depict a human being adhering impossibly to a rocky bastion I confidently await a second one.
The weather here has verged on the putrid all week, with high winds and rain; often I have thought of you tirelessly pacing the hills, pondering deeply on your New Order, shielded from the downpour by Dunn’s Latest and Greatest Creation. I cannot join you, alas, despite the added incentive of a horde of blockable women. Go to it, son. I recommend Method 7b. I have today celebrated an increase of salary by sending 2–14-0 to the publishers of Smythe’s PEAKS AND VALLEYS, A CAMERA IN THE HILLS, MY ALPINE ALBUM and THE MOUNTAIN SCENE for a copy of each: these are magnificent books and I advise you to follow suit.
Well, how is the gradient on Brown Tongue; any easier than of yore? What of the merciless scree in Hollow Stones? Had a look at Broad Stand yet? Got lost on Lord’s Rake? Oh boy, the mere mention of the names tears my heart out. How I would like to be there!
Remember me to Mrs Ullock, please. Last time I was there she was seriously considering an assault on Scafell; has she tackled it yet? I’ll bet she hasn’t.
Good hunting during the few hours that remain to you.
AW
AFTERTHOUGHT: when returning Baddeley will you please send also a consignment of 3 nuns, if possible?
On 8 October 1941 AW had some big news to tell Maudsley. In September, Bob Alker, one of his colleagues in the office, had spotted an advertisement for a job. It was the last day for application, but AW decided to apply all the same. He got a good reference from Blackburn’s Borough Treasurer R.G. Pye, who mentioned an accountancy prize that AW had won, albeit ten years previously. In October, AW heard that his application had been successful.
8th October 1941
My dear Eric,
Yes, it’s true. The old stick-in-the-mud has bestirred himself, renounced fame and fortune, and committed himself and his family to a way of life which must now always lack the pleasures that a little surplus money can bring. Such action, to your ambitious mind, must seem abhorrent, crazy. Once upon a time you might have been inclined to approve. In those happy days of youth, when nothing seemed better to you that to be amongst the hills with a carefree crowd, before the bewitching dream of monetary gain got you in its foul clutch, I fancy you would have understood. Now, of course, you won’t. your spirit has grown flabby: never again shall I hear your inspiring cry ‘En Avant!’ resounding amongst the crags. Your aim in life, and mine, lie along very different paths.
It’s the simple life for me henceforth, to be lived in the surroundings I should choose more than any other.
I cannot believe I have made a wrong choice.
Here’s 7/4 for the baccy; thanks very much.
Will write more fully later.
AlfW