With regard to your trip to Greece, I wish to make the following points, which no doubt will be totally disregarded:
1. Make sure before you start that your passport is in order + that you have the required visas for yourself and documents for your car. It is important to carry full insurance.
2. Drive carefully. In Europe they are far, far tougher on motorists than they are here. If you get involved in an accident, you may easily and up in gaol. It would be quite beyond my power to extract you if, for instance, you get locked up in Yugoslavia.
3. On no account get involved in any form of political argument. The Greeks love politics and arguments and Greece is now a Police State.
4. Have nothing to do with drugs unless you are particularly keen to pass the next seven years in prison.
5. Try not to look like some filthy student who has renounced personal hygiene completely. The unwashed with long hair are looked upon with great hostility in certain European countries and it would be silly to be stopped at a frontier because you like wearing your hair like a 1923 typist.
6. If you do get into trouble, Interpol will soon find out you have a police record and that could be awkward.
7. Take plenty of money. You need not spend it all.
8. Take a small medicine box and plenty of bromo. You are one of nature’s diarrhoea sufferers.
9. Make sure all your headlights are adapted to the rules of the country you are in.
10. If in trouble, contact the British Consul.
11. Some of the drink in Greece is very powerful indeed and can give you the most appalling headache.
12. Be v. careful to whom you give a lift. Stick to girls, they are safer and usually more amusing.
13. Do not carry a flick knife or any nonsense of that sort.
14. Take a shady hat; the temperature in Greece will be over 100°F and sunstroke is rather unpleasant and distressing.
15. Enjoy yourself + don’t do anything too stupid. I trust you + P.B. together not quite as far as I could kick a thirty-ton concrete block.
RM
Time for my summer holiday. This is a final fling before rather an impetuous decision to join the Coldstream Guards as a squaddie in October. Due to a conviction for possession of marijuana I am not able to join as a potential officer. As the Colonel in Chief remarks to me in an interview, ‘If you were merely an alcoholic we wouldn’t give a damn.’
7 October
My Dearest Charles,
I am very clumsy at having little talks with my own family so I will try, no doubt inadequately, to say a few things before you leave to join the Coldstream. Firstly, I wish you every possible good fortune and happiness. I was never a particularly good soldier but I was a very happy one. It would be untrue to say, though, that I was happy straightaway; I was not. I had anxious, even unhappy days before I settled in. I have no doubt that in the next few weeks moments, perhaps days, will occur when you will curse your decision to join; you will feel tired, frustrated, angry and totally fed up. I certainly went through that phase during my first term at Sandhurst and I wondered if I was ever going to make the grade; I did, but it was a near thing once or twice. You have two assets; firstly, in a stoical sort of way you have plenty of courage; secondly, you have a sense of the ridiculous, a sense without which the Army is hardly the ideal profession for civilised individuals. I think you get on with people, too. Also you are good with your hands whereas I was, and am, inconceivably inept. Your fellow recruits will probably be working-class boys from the north. Most of them will have never left home before and you will in many ways be tougher and more worldly-wise than they are. Also you are – or at least ought to be – rather better educated. So you will have certain advantages. From the start play by the rules even if you think the rules are silly; show yourself above all reliable and a trier; don’t, above all, try any smart tricks or chance your arm in any way; you will come off second best. Just try your hardest even at truly ghastly things like PT which I myself hated above all. Be very clean at all times; Army doctors have a nasty little trick of making inspections and examining every inch, literally, of your anatomy and if they find anything not 100 per cent clean they send in an adverse report. Keep your money locked up; don’t lend any and watch your kit. I don’t think you will have any serious troubles but if you think there is anything seriously wrong – bullying or petty dishonesty by older soldiers or NCOs – let me know at once. That sort of thing is rare, very rare in the Coldstream, but it is not absolutely impossible. When you get allowed out of barracks, watch your step very carefully and don’t do anything silly. If anything, be a bit of a prig to start with!
That is really about all, and quite enough too. Remember I am here in the background to help all I can if anything goes wrong. Don’t hesitate to ring me up or write. I will always do what I can. That is what fathers are for.
Your affectionate father,
RM
10 October
Dearest Nidnod and dearest Jane,
I am writing you a joint letter about your son/brother (cross out the description that is inapplicable). If I seem a bit off beam, it is because I have a nasty go of salmon trout and am as stuffed with drugs as a sucking pig is of sage and onions – though through a different aperture. On Wednesday I tried to help Charlie get ready for Pirbright and gave him an inadequate parting gift of forty cigarettes, some nail scissors and a box of band-aid. In the evening the Bomers came to dinner and Sarah gave Charles a present and a big kiss. The dinner was daintily served by Mr Gracious Living (me) and the chicken cooked with mushrooms and the unexpended portion of yesterday’s vin rouge was delicious. Charlie was in excellent form after three champagne cocktails and gave us some hilarious and slightly hair-raising stories of his experiences and misad ventures with Boris and Co. He really is a cheeky monkey! Thursday was a perfect autumn day and we set off from Pirbright at 10.30 a.m. leaving Jenny holding back the tears as if Charlie was off to Vietnam. Charlie drove the Rover and we went through Blackdown where my old father joined the Army – in 1914 at the mature age of thirty-five. At Pirbright we stopped 100 yards from the entrance and Charlie, tense, pale and utterly stoical – shades of Wellesley House – entered the guardroom, case in hand. I waved farewell and drove on to Brookwood to get some petrol. I then drove back and going through Pirbright I saw a lone figure, suitcase in hand, walking with that well-known rolling gait across a gigantic and otherwise empty barrack square. I felt it was perhaps symbolic of a gentle, indolent and rather impulsive boy entering a rather tough, demanding world of men. It reminded me of the famous final shot in one of Charlie Chaplin’s long films – was it ‘The Kid’? I couldn’t help thinking of so many episodes from Charlie’s boyhood – the happier ones for the most part like picnics at the Robbers Cave, family holidays, opening presents at Hartletts on Christmas day and so forth. It is the greatest possible error at my time of life, when the brain is beginning to soften, to lapse into drooling sentimentality, a lapse caused in this case by the over-protectiveness felt by parents towards their children. At all events, once in the mood I could not get out of it. On my way to Ascot I dropped in at the Wallis’s house and left a wedding present for Nona. Then on through Camberley where I pictured Jane and Charles at the station waiting for my father’s train; on up the hideous High Street with memories of you and I doing hectic last-minute shopping for the children’s stockings. I drove through the RMAS grounds where forty-two years previously, on a similar autumn day, I had arrived bewildered and far from happy. It was here you bowled to a coloured gentleman in the nets, where we took Turpin for walks, and where I marched you up a steep hill to expedite the arrival of Louise. I suddenly remembered my old instructor Captain Hancock who painted insipid watercolours. He asked me to tea at his bungalow, ‘Kashmir Lodge’, and showed me his painting of the trees round the lake at Sandhurst in October. It bore the title ‘Leaf by golden leaf crumbles the gorgeous year’; poorish art and indifferent poetry, but the fact that I recollect it after forty-two years confers on Captain Hancock, dead these many years, a form of immortality. Then on through Yateley, past old dear Barclay House and up Mill Lane where we had family walks with Jane rather ‘bolo’, Charles in a pushchair and scarlet hat and Turpin sniffing for unattractive objects in the ditches. I seemed to see a shade of the late Mr Townroe striding briskly along with his walking stick and nosy-parker expression. Up past the Gunns’ house and then to W. H. Smiths where an owlish lady with unfortunate dentures once conducted the lending library. At this point nostalgia had turned to nausea so I entered a pub next door to where the Wellington Hotel once stood and ordered a stiff drink which broke the spell and gave me violent hiccups. Charlie starts off at £14 a week of which he can draw £5, the rest being saved on his behalf. His address is C. R. H. Mortimer, Coldstream Guards, Guards Depot, Pirbright, Surrey. I shall make no effort to see him just yet as I want him to settle down. If he can get a day off, he can take a train from Brookwood to Basingstoke and be met there. All being well, he will be home for Christmas.
xx R
These two letters really sum what a tremendous man my dad was. Who could ask for more than this from a father?
Budds Farm
14 October
Dear Charles,
I have just had a call from Tony S. so will tear up and disregard your letter. Give the Army a chance. You simply must not think of quitting after five days. You say the life is unpleasing to you and will do you no good; I assure you that to bail out after a few days would damage your reputation among all who know you beyond repair, and would do you far more harm than a recruits’ training course! I implore you to grit your teeth and stick it. If, after twelve weeks, you are still convinced that you are totally unsuited to the Army, then that is a different matter. But to concede defeat now is unthinkable.
Yours,
D
Life in the Brigade of Guards doesn’t get off to a great start and after a few days of basic training it is already getting too much.
Budds Farm
15 October
Dear Charles,
I have had a really, nice encouraging letter about you from Andrew Napier; your Company Commander apparently thinks well of you, too. I’m sure you will justify the opinion of all, including myself and all your family, who have great faith in your determination and ability.
Jane sends her love, also Tony S.
RM
I am shamed into staying! On parade for the first time the Company Sergeant Major shouts over to me (to my absolute horror), ‘You over there lad! Come over ’ere!’ In my best attempt at marching I shamble over pathetically, sometimes even managing to swing both arms at the same time. The CSM addresses the entire parade ground of several hundred recruits: ‘I’ve been at Pirbright now for twenty-five years and there is only one thing that makes my life worthwhile and that is getting a right little cripple like Mortimer ’ere and after twenty-four weeks turning ’im into an ’alf bleeding cripple!’
Budds Farm
24 October
My Dear Charlie,
Thank you so much for your letter. At least you seem to have retained your sense of humour, a quality that will help you to survive singularly disenchanting situations. I expect life is fairly tough and gritty but then it’s meant to be. A soft soldier is rather less use to the community and to himself than a wet paper bag. We often think of you here and everyone has faith in your ability to see things through. Louise and Jenny send their love; when I told Mr Randall about your friend with ringworm and scurf he laughed so much that he let out an extremely loud fart and was slightly embarrassed. I have many enquiries about you from the Carnarvon Arms where a large coloured postcard from Nidnod decorates the bar. I really think Nidnod had shown immense pluck and resilience but there may be late reactions. I am consulting the Regional Crime Prevention Officer to see if I can tighten up security here when Nidnod is on her own. What a dirty rat Tony S. is to sneak about the Rover! I had some drinks with a man with one eye and I was driving Mrs Wright home when I backed into an iron post. Very annoying and don’t tell Nidnod! I have been using her car and people I give a lift to keep on asking me what the sign ‘Nidsky Nodsky’ means on the dashboard. I say that your mother is a female freemason and it is a secret code sign. The other day I bought some sausages in Kingsclere, leaving the keys in the dashboard. Returning in heavy rain two minutes later I found the car had locked itself (the other doors I had locked at the station and had left locked). I could not get in and was desperate. I eventually did so but will not tell you how or you will tell Nidnod. I have been puzzled how to turn on the lights and open the bonnet but am gradually learning. Joanna Greenwell is in here; her brother has a straggly beard, does not wash, stays in bed till lunchtime except on the days he works as a male charwoman. His parents are not entirely satisfied with his way of life but he says he is ‘doing his thing’ whatever that means; it sounds faintly rude. I saw Cringer in Newbury; he jumped into my arms and licked me rather too effusively. It is Mr P.’s fiftieth birthday on Monday and I am sending a fairly lewd card. I go to dinner there in the evening. No news from Jane who is less organised than ever and wastes her time making totally hideous handbags.
I must do some work. Keep your courage up and try and see the comic side. We are all on your side.
R
Clearly everyone else has a great deal more faith in me seeing things through than I do. My mother has just been badly beaten up in a robbery in Kenya and is showing considerably more resilience than I am. Generally speaking the women in my family are much tougher than the men.
Budds Farm
1 November
Dear Charles,
I hope all goes reasonably well with you and that you are keeping out of trouble. Is there any chance of you getting permission to come home next weekend and see your mother? I know it would give her great pleasure to see you. Also you could help me with the drive to Gatwick to meet her. I hope to get the Rover back soon; I suppose I had second place in the queue after Tony’s father! I had dinner with Jane last week and met her friend Colin something, a lounging sort of fellow with unkempt hair like a yak’s tail. Very trendy no doubt, but give me Paul Torday any day. However, that’s not my business. I had drinks with the Greenwells in their flat. They lent me a large Jaguar plus chauffeur to take me to Gibson Square but after forty-five minutes I had only got to Hyde Park Corner owing to the traffic and bailed out. I have many enquiries for you here and say as far as I know you are still breathing and not doing detention. I trust I am right.
Yours ever,
D
I have soon learnt that the best way to survive is to trade what you are good at with someone who can cover areas in which you are lacking. I service the platoon sergeant’s old Jaguar and in return my kit gets buffed up.
Budds Farm
13 November
Dear Charlie,
I hope you are still keeping your head above water. We all think of you a lot and admire you for the way you are tackling a life that is at present tough and demanding. Nidnod is very nervous still and got into a really alarming flap when a police car drew up at 8.30 p.m. last night and made enquiries about, of all really dreary things, a missing bicycle at Tadley. This very dim affair involved someone called Mortimer living at Burghclere and I eventually convinced two exceptionally thick members of the Hampshire Constabulary that I was not the Mortimer concerned, nor were you. Nidnod got very aggressive and thought they were burglars dressed as police, and made me check with Basingstoke Police Station. All in all I had a restless evening. Nidnod talks of buying a revolver, in which case I think she is certain to pot a member of her own family before long. However, don’t tease her too much as she is obviously suffering from quite acute shock reaction. The builder is here today and found the floor in the loo by your room quite rotten. In a matter of days someone would have appeared feet first in the kitchen perched on the loo seat. Also the supports in the cellar are rotten and the entire house may collapse. Bankruptcy will stare me bleakly in the face after all the repairs are done. Mrs Lewis, whose daughter you know, cooled on Tuesday. I did not feel obliged to attend the funeral. Dr Britz’s small son died the following day, aged two. I have just received another cheque in respect of the play and it is just about keeping me going at present. I hope it will at any rate run till Christmas. Uncle Ken has given his horse concussion. I shan’t go to lunch again there in a hurry. The house is cold and there is SFA in the alcohol line.
RM
I suspect that if I were to remain a squaddie, I would be perfectly content. I make quite a few friends at Pirbright and on the whole life is very entertaining: ‘As for you Recruit Mortimer you’re marching like a donkey with an ’ard on!’
Budds Farm
21 November
Dear Charlie,
Thank you so much for your cheerful and informative letter. I hope your squad will not totally disintegrate in the course of the next few weeks. I wish you luck in your PT test; I got the lowest possible marks for PT at Sandhurst and thank God never had to do any again afterwards. I think it is a smelly and undignified pastime. We had a man from the Hampshire Crime Prevention Squad round yesterday. His face was concealed under gigantic mutton-chop whiskers. I think he wants to install an electronic early-warning device here at a cost of about £5,000. What a hope! Your mother and Louise are hunting today and so of course there is a great flap and general commotion on; I intend to keep well clear. Prince Charles flew to a neighbouring airfield on Thursday and made himself very agreeable. Not so his equerry, Soames, who was reported to me as incompetent, ill-mannered, uncouth and very badly turned out with filthy boots. The Secretary of the Cottesmore Hunt, whom I met with Aunt Pips, was killed out hunting last week, his horse rolling him very flat indeed. Jane is coming down tomorrow accompanied by Gale but not, I am happy to say, by her bobbed-haired boyfriend whose name continues to elude me. Ian has been here trying to mend a radiator; he has failed to do so possibly because Nidnod never stopped talking and did not permit him to get on with the job.
Yours ever,
D
After my physical training test, the sergeant reads out the names of everyone in our platoon and their respective grades but to my surprise I’m not amongst them. He gives a theatrical pause and then continues, ‘As for you Recruit Mortimer you are merely interesting as a statistic.’