A Hampshire Diary (2)
February 1989
In my late twenties I worked for two years (1987-89) as a research and editorial assistant to the historian Jeremy Wilson, then grappling with the last stages of his great authorised biography of T. E. Lawrence. Lately, for reasons I do not wholly understand, I have found my mind circling back repeatedly to this interlude, which now seems to mark the end of youth: after almost 40 years, the episode has the oddness and intensity of a dream.
This may owe something to the work, which was all-absorbing if sometimes a grim slog; but other factors certainly came into it. Throughout this time I lived a strangely cut-off, almost monastic existence in the depths of rural Hampshire: lodging at an old cottage in the feudal village of Breamore, with its Jacobean mansion and tiny Saxon church; and walking the two or three miles daily to work at Woodgreen, an even smaller place on the edge of the New Forest. As I knew no one and had no transport, long walks on the downs or into the forest became my chief form of solace.
I also kept a detailed diary, some at least of which seems worth sharing. Here — over six or seven posts — are a series of entries from the last months of the project, when the struggle to complete the book became most intense and fraught. (Many private matters have been omitted, and the identity of private persons has generally been disguised.)
Friday 3 February
Breamore/Salisbury/Yeovil
Rather dopey all day. Back to the start of the Preface, as Jeremy now determined to put all the stuff about the release of the official archive right at the front; I felt this disrupted the flow but he was adamant – saying this is what the punters will care about most and so into a mild rant about the failings of British industry, thinking it is above bending to popular demand etc. I suppose he is right?
A lift down to Breamore from German Katya, who asked me some quite blunt questions about my social life – I was forced to admit I didn’t have one. Managed to get the 7 o’clock bus and hence the 7.40 from Salisbury . . .
Met by Dad and home feeling pretty wacked – but pleasant chat over food and wine. They went to Weymouth last weekend and walked about eight miles on the coast path; have also acquired a copy of the Alice B. Toklas Cookbook, bringing back memories of L’Aigle and the signed first edition in the holiday let there – if only we’d had the nous or nerve to steal it!
Sunday 5
Yeovil/Salisbury/Breamore
A marvellous bright morning and afternoon, with the garden looking suddenly as if there might be such a thing as spring – pansies and primulas making a splash and sheathes of yellow croci by the pond . . . Quiet browsing of books, and then a big roast: lamb, leeks, potatoes, and Burgundy . . . Caught the 5.09 from the Junction and it was still perfectly light – but the train taken the long way round so not in Salisbury till 6.30. This meant a breathless sprint to catch the last bus, plus bags; desperately, I cut through St Anne’s Gate, just as the bus was coming, and managed to hold it up at the zebra crossing while signalling for the driver to let me on. Which he did. Rather thrilled at this triumph but knackered by the time I reached Breamore. Sam [landlady] there with three of the daughters. Cooked some dodgy fish and early to bed.
Wednesday 8
Breamore/Woodgreen
Slept heavily: trudged heavily in. J. just leaving as I arrived – to London, to talk to the Italian journalist Gaia Servadio. Me back on the opening to Ch.17: the long expository section arguing that Lawrence must have told Feisal about Sykes-Picot as early as Jan 1917, and likewise set out the Akaba plan, at least in its bare bones . . . Rather beyond my mental capacity today, but I slogged on.
At lunch, I walked up to the purlieu at Hale: it was very mild and sunny with hazel catkins loosening in the hedges, ash keys twinkling overhead. I just stood for a while, enjoying the birdsong, sun on my body, and long soft views across the heath.
Ash Wednesday – but my life feels Lenten enough already, I’d say.
Strolled home in the chilly clear night, with a skinny moon and stars sharp in the sky.
Thursday 9
Very mild morning again. J and I girded up our loins and launched into Ch. 17, rewriting the beginning quite radically . . . We then went through the French documents until lunch. J. talked a bit about his interview with Gaia S., saying he nearly got me a job, editing the English translation of her novel! He has been asked to write a piece on TEL for a new book on 20th-century political thought.
More stiff work on 17 after lunch – J. determined to do it his way and at times quite stubborn . . .
Strolled home in the chilly clear night, with a skinny moon and stars sharp in the sky. Determined to get to Bath or Bristol this weekend, whatever the weather. Started The Pre-Raphaelite Tragedy by Wm Gaunt.
Friday 10
Again mild. Slow progress on Ch. 17 – not helped by the fact we keep changing our ideas . . . Some good-natured argument and a fair bit of rewriting. But things otherwise rather tense: the crisis over money and deadlines seems to be deepening. At some point J. disappeared into the house, not to reemerge.
Trudged home in the dark feeling exhausted and rather miserable – a growing sense of foreboding about the whole project.
Saturday 11
Breamore/Salisbury/Bath
Bus to Salisbury and Bath train after 10. A cool and mostly cloudy day but still a fine journey up the Wylye valley to Warminster etc and then the even lovelier valley of the Avon from Bradford, arriving at Bath Spa 11.20. I don’t think I’ve been here since I was a boy, on school trips to the Roman Baths and Pump Rooms (where we all mimed puking after sampling the hideous waters). Walked along the river to the Parade Gardens, and then the famous view of Pulteney Bridge with its spectacular V-shaped weir. From here a short walk to the Abbey, the main reason for coming I suppose: it is immensely grand in scale, a bit like a Somerset village church pumped up with a foot pump – the nave ceiling very high, with ornate fan vaulting, and the myriad windows flooding the place with light, even on a dull day like this. Quite distressingly, the plaza round the Abbey was crawling with drunks and derelicts – something I was shocked to see here, after becoming pretty inured to it in London. Lunch at the café (c. £3) then wandered through elegant Regency streets to tick off the obvious landmarks like the Circus and the Royal Crescent. Finished by browsing around book and music shops and picking up the new Dylan and the Dead tape (£5.49). Back in Salisbury by 5.30 and still light.
I must have spent £25 today, mostly on food and transport. That has to be too much.
Sunday 12
Breamore/Salisbury
Still in tourist mood, so took the bus up to Salisbury late morning and had a stroll around the city centre, using the Pitkin guide I picked up yesterday. First the Cathedral Close, with the Bishop’s Palace (Cathedral School), College of Matrons, Malmsbury House etc. — not to forget Arundell’s, Ted Heath’s little place. Then through the old streets around the Market Square and once again St Thomas’s, with that extraordinary terrifying Doom painting over the chancel arch. Lunch at the usual café and finally back to the cathedral for evensong, which got through to me today. Buses and food = another £7.50.
Back in Breamore, played the Dylan tape over and over not feeling quite sure what to make of it. Contrary to what most critics have said, the Dead seem to be on fine form here – it’s just BD who’s hopeless, constantly muffing his words or singing them as if they no longer mean a thing. Still, there’s a fine spooky groove on ‘Slow Train’ and ‘Serve Somebody’, making these songs a bit scary, as they should be. And ‘Queen Jane’ has a ragged sort of glory.
Friday 17
Breamore/Woodgreen/Salisbury/Yeovil
Up early. Worked on with J. revising the Wadi Ais material – and especially the long flashback to events at Wejh. Feel that we have improved this a lot, so worth the struggle . . . J. seemed mightily relieved and perhaps even appreciative of my help: his next task the Portrait Gallery lecture tomorrow. He made several phone calls trying to get a Telegraph journalist, O’Brien, into the seminar . . .
Left around 6 so no difficulty getting the 7.40 from Salisbury. On the train I found myself sitting opposite Dugald Sandeman, the Tory candidate for Yeovil, and a colleague – they were both denouncing the ‘poll tax’ (due to come in next year) and its chief architect, Nicholas Ridley, who DS described as ‘a dreadful, dreadful man’. I don’t suppose they will repeat any of this in public! Home before 9 for food, wine, and dozy chat in front of the TV.
But then the phone rang – a guy from the Express: was it true that he had sold his house, to fund his Lawrence research, and was now living and working in a cowshed?
Monday 20
Breamore/Woodgreen
A day of almost surrealistic absurdity – like something in a comic novel. Arrived to find J. in a good mood – he seemed happy with his talk and the interview he’d given to the Telegraph man, O’Brien. But then the phone rang – a guy from the Express: was it true that he had sold his house, to fund his Lawrence research, and was now living and working in a cowshed? No, it was not. Then why did the Telegraph have a story saying it was so? He had no idea. Was there no truth in it at all? Sorry, none.
And then in brisk succession the Daily Mail, the Today programme, and a bunch of local radio stations – all asking the same questions and similarly disappointed with the banal truth.
On thinking about it, J. could only guess that O’Brien had confected the story from two things he mentioned: 1/ that he had sold a house in Lymington to move into the much larger house owned by his aging father, who needs a bit of care; and 2/ that he was currently using a barn conversion for his office. There is a grain of truth in the story, in that funds from the house sale have helped to finance J’s research – but it elides the fact that everyone concerned is living quite comfortably, and that the ‘cow shed’ is air-conditioned and stuffed with the latest computer technology.
More phone calls through the day . . .
J. himself irritated but also quite amused – and shrewd enough to parlay it into publicity for the book; a young chap from local radio came at lunch and then the Mail reporter for a couple of hours in the afternoon.
Tuesday 21
A bright fine morning, so the walk in quite exhilarating, if cold. Found J. compiling a catalogue of his Lawrence rarities, with a view to selling some at least to collectors. All rather quiet after yesterday’s madness, although there was one call from the local paper . . . I started work on the notes for chapters 17/18 – a slow business. Walked through the Inclosure at lunch, to the Godshill road: cloudless overhead but v. squishy underfoot, making the paths impassable in places. A sense of spring breathing gently down our necks . . .
Friday 24
Breamore/Woodgreen/Salisbury/Yeovil
Heavy rain again, but thankfully J. rang, offering a lift. Rather grimly, we went back to the start of the tricky Ch. 17 and managed to clean up some of the mess, improving the flow a great deal I think. And so on all day, with the winds troubling the woods and rain blowing in great sheets across the common; snow now forecast, so very glad I’ll be spending the weekend in Yeovil . . .
Saturday 25
Yeovil
Hardly light all day, with furious winds and drenching rain. M and D repapering the hall and downstairs loo, while I just read, did laundry &c. Snow began to fall with the dusk, lying in small drifts on the darkening garden. White fish in a mushroom sauce . . .
Sunday 26
Yeovil/Salisbury/ Breamore
Sunshine! But still bitterly cold. Walked to the top of Vagg in a freezing wind, mostly for the view: Ham Hill still under snow and the Mendips shining icily from afar. Pork tenderloin at lunch and then just dozed until it was time to go. Had to stand all the way to Salisbury as two carriages not in use, then a dash through the Cathedral Close to catch the last bus. Home by 7. No sign of Sam, but fussed over mightily by Sacha the cat, who wouldn’t leave me alone – he eventually settled to sleep under my bed.
Tuesday 28
Breamore/Woodgreen
Today J and I revised the Wadi Ais chapter from beginning to end, trying to beef up the military incidents a bit, to offset all the talk. For some reason the last short paragraph proved recalcitrant, taking half the afternoon. Apart from that, not very much happened. At one point J. rang Robin Gibson at the NPG, about the recent news stories – R. said he had shepherded an all-party group of MPs around the Lawrence exhibition last week, and they were full of concern for ‘that poor fellow living in a cow shed’ . . . Walked home at 6, in the last of the light.
The first part of this diary can be read here.
(More to come . . . )