V

The first five months of 1916 were a time of relatively good health for Teixeira; and our correspondence contains little more than an invitation, which he acknowledged in departmental language.

I wrote:

Tuesday, Jan. 4th, 1916.Though long I’ve wished to bid you come and dine,Your way of life stood ever in the way;For you, I gather, go to bed at nineAnd rise at five (or five-fifteen) next day.Yet Tuesday brings my chance. At half-past eightI go to guard my king; but, ere I go,With meat and wine I purpose to inflateMy sagging stomach for an hour or so.Then will you join me? Seven o’clock, I think:The Mausoleum Club is fairly near:Whate’er your heart desire of food and drink,And any kind of clothes you choose to wear.S. McK.

Tuesday, Jan. 4th, 1916.

Though long I’ve wished to bid you come and dine,Your way of life stood ever in the way;For you, I gather, go to bed at nineAnd rise at five (or five-fifteen) next day.Yet Tuesday brings my chance. At half-past eightI go to guard my king; but, ere I go,With meat and wine I purpose to inflateMy sagging stomach for an hour or so.Then will you join me? Seven o’clock, I think:The Mausoleum Club is fairly near:Whate’er your heart desire of food and drink,And any kind of clothes you choose to wear.

Though long I’ve wished to bid you come and dine,Your way of life stood ever in the way;For you, I gather, go to bed at nineAnd rise at five (or five-fifteen) next day.

Though long I’ve wished to bid you come and dine,

Your way of life stood ever in the way;

For you, I gather, go to bed at nine

And rise at five (or five-fifteen) next day.

Yet Tuesday brings my chance. At half-past eightI go to guard my king; but, ere I go,With meat and wine I purpose to inflateMy sagging stomach for an hour or so.

Yet Tuesday brings my chance. At half-past eight

I go to guard my king; but, ere I go,

With meat and wine I purpose to inflate

My sagging stomach for an hour or so.

Then will you join me? Seven o’clock, I think:The Mausoleum Club is fairly near:Whate’er your heart desire of food and drink,And any kind of clothes you choose to wear.

Then will you join me? Seven o’clock, I think:

The Mausoleum Club is fairly near:

Whate’er your heart desire of food and drink,

And any kind of clothes you choose to wear.

S. McK.

We should be glad,replies Teixeira, if this application could come up again in say a fortnight’s time.A. T.Trade Clearing House.

We should be glad,replies Teixeira, if this application could come up again in say a fortnight’s time.

A. T.Trade Clearing House.

When next I was summoned for duty as a special constable, the application was submitted again; and Teixeira dined with me at the Reform Club. Later in the year, though he had been warned by William Campbell, the greatest friend of his middle years, that a man who laughed so much would never be admitted to membership, I was allowed to propose him as a candidate; and from the day of his election he became one of the most popular figures both in the card-room and in the south-east corner of the big smoking-room, where his most intimate associates gathered.

His hours of work, to which the first stanza refers, have already been mentioned; his methods call for a word or two of description. The library in Cheltenham Terrace looked out over the Duke of York’s School and was lined with book-cases wherever windows,fire-place or door permitted. The furniture consisted of a sofa, which was used for hat-boxes and more books; a writing-table, which was used for anything but writing; a revolving book-case, filled with works of reference; and the editorial chair from the office ofThe Candid Friend. Seating himself in dressing-gown and slippers, between the fire-place and the revolving book-case, Teixeira dug himself into position: a despatch-box under his feet raised his knees to an angle at which he could balance a dictionary upon them, with its edge resting on a miniature bureau; on the dictionary rested a blotting-pad; and every book that he needed was in reach either of his hand or an elongated pair of “lazy-tongs”; scissors, string, sealing-wax, india-rubber and knives were ingeniously and menacingly suspended from nails in the revolving book-case; on the top stood cigarettes, matches, a paste-pot and a vast copper ash-tub; and the colour of his violet carpet was chosen to conceal the occasional splashings of a violet-ink pen. With a telephone on one side to put him in touch with the outside world and with a bell on the other to secure his morning coffee,Teixeira could work without moving until evicted by force.

In the beginning of June, he was ordered to Malvern.

No news,he writes on the 10th, except that I have arrived and had some tea....There are hawthorns at Malvern and rhododendrons of -dra but also the most bloodthirsty hills. And there was an officer in the train who told me that the feeling in Franst was most “optimistic”.The proprietress of this hotel pronounces my name Teisheira. This must be looked into.

No news,he writes on the 10th, except that I have arrived and had some tea....

There are hawthorns at Malvern and rhododendrons of -dra but also the most bloodthirsty hills. And there was an officer in the train who told me that the feeling in Franst was most “optimistic”.

The proprietress of this hotel pronounces my name Teisheira. This must be looked into.

I s’pose I’m enjoying myself,he writes next day. I feel very restless.[My cook], I forgot to tell you, was mounting guard over the dispatch-box like a very sentinel, with hands duly folded: a most proper spectacle. I nearly died, but not entirely, hunting for my porter up and down the length of the longest train you ever saw (I am sure this must be correct, in view of the fact that you never did see this particular train)....This hotel is not so uncomfortable: I slept eight hours; I have a writing-table in my room; my bath was too hot to get into; these are signs of human comfort, are not they? Nor is thefood nasty. Fortunately, there is not much of it. I ordered me a bottle of Berncastler Doctor. They brought me Liebfraumilch. I waved it away, saying that hock was acid and gave me gout. Then, persuaded to be a Christian, I sent one running after it before the doctor was opened and drank two glasses; and it was delicious; and I have no gout.Why I sit boring you with this dull stuff I do not know: it is certainly not worth including in the Life and Letters.

I s’pose I’m enjoying myself,he writes next day. I feel very restless.

[My cook], I forgot to tell you, was mounting guard over the dispatch-box like a very sentinel, with hands duly folded: a most proper spectacle. I nearly died, but not entirely, hunting for my porter up and down the length of the longest train you ever saw (I am sure this must be correct, in view of the fact that you never did see this particular train)....

This hotel is not so uncomfortable: I slept eight hours; I have a writing-table in my room; my bath was too hot to get into; these are signs of human comfort, are not they? Nor is thefood nasty. Fortunately, there is not much of it. I ordered me a bottle of Berncastler Doctor. They brought me Liebfraumilch. I waved it away, saying that hock was acid and gave me gout. Then, persuaded to be a Christian, I sent one running after it before the doctor was opened and drank two glasses; and it was delicious; and I have no gout.

Why I sit boring you with this dull stuff I do not know: it is certainly not worth including in the Life and Letters.

Two days of solitude set him athirst for companionship.

Good-morning, fair sir,he writes on 12.6.16. I hope this finds you as it leaves me at present, a little improved in health. But I would not wish my worst enemy the weariness from which I am suffering.... Picture me buying useless things so that I may exchange a word with a shopman; for no one talks to me here. Also the weather is bitterly cold.

And next day:

I have ... talked at length to a highly intelligent Dane, with a massy pair of calves that do credit to his pastoral country. But he has returned to town this morning.They play very low at the club, fortunately, for I lost 13/-, which would have been £10, had I been playing R.A.C. points. Also they make me too late to dress for dinner, which doesn’t matter: nothing matters in this world.For the rest, I have reason to think that I shall begin to cheer up from to-morrow and to remain cheerful until Saturday. That is “speech-day”—I presume at Malvern College—when I expect to see an awful invasion of horribobble papas and mammas.Bless you.

I have ... talked at length to a highly intelligent Dane, with a massy pair of calves that do credit to his pastoral country. But he has returned to town this morning.

They play very low at the club, fortunately, for I lost 13/-, which would have been £10, had I been playing R.A.C. points. Also they make me too late to dress for dinner, which doesn’t matter: nothing matters in this world.

For the rest, I have reason to think that I shall begin to cheer up from to-morrow and to remain cheerful until Saturday. That is “speech-day”—I presume at Malvern College—when I expect to see an awful invasion of horribobble papas and mammas.

Bless you.

The hoped-for cheerfulness has not yet arrived,he laments on 14.6.16. I live in one of the most tragic of worlds. But ... I have had more conversation. The place of the Dane with the fatted calves ... has been taken by a parson, a passon, a parsoon, an elderly parsoon with the complete manner of the late Mr. Penley inThe Private Secretary: he would like to give every German a good, hard slap, I am sure. He is a much-travelled man; and his ignorance of every place which he has visited is thoroughly entertaining....I am becoming popular at the club: they took 12/- out of me yesterday. I must set my teeth and get it back though.

I am becoming popular at the club: they took 12/- out of me yesterday. I must set my teeth and get it back though.

The influx of odious parents,he writes on 18.6.16, with their loathy, freckled criminals of offspring has flustered the waiters and is spoiling all my meals. What I do now is to change for dinner after all and come in exactly an hour late for meals. They have some way of keeping the food—such as it is—piping hot; and so I do not suffer unduly for avoiding the sight of some, at least, of the carroty-headed boys and their thick-ankled sisters....Ah well! I can begin to count the days until I am back among you; and a glad day that will be for me! Nobody in the world, I think, hates either rest or enjoyment so much as I do.Good-bye. I am going for a walk. I tell you frankly, I am going for a walk. I tell you this frankly....

Ah well! I can begin to count the days until I am back among you; and a glad day that will be for me! Nobody in the world, I think, hates either rest or enjoyment so much as I do.

Good-bye. I am going for a walk. I tell you frankly, I am going for a walk. I tell you this frankly....

On Teixeira’s return to the department, our correspondence was suspended until I went to Cornwall for a week’s leave in August. When I wrote in praise of my surroundings, he replied with a warning:

You are probably too young ever to have heard of ... a play-actress ... who brought a breach of promise action ... and earned the then record damages of £10,000. She took a cottagesomewhere the other day and brought her mother to live in it. The mother said, “This is just the sort of place I like; I shall be happy here,” then fell down the stairs and was dead in half an hour....... Remember me to the Atlantic....

... Remember me to the Atlantic....

The next letter contained a story from Ireland:

Sligo, 18 August 1916.... Here, in this most distressful country, we are about to experience again the blessings of coercion, administered by Duke, K.C., and Carson, high priest of the cult. In Sligo, the other day, two ladies treating each other in a public-house, the barman intervened at the tenth drink, saying:“Stop it now; ye can’t have any more; troth, I won’t sarve ye again. Don’t ye know it’s Martial Law that’s on the people?”Whereupon one of them enquired of the other:“For the love of God, Mrs. Murphy, what’s he talking about at all? Who’s Martial Law?”To which her friend repliedsotto voce:“Whist, don’t be showing your ignorance, ma’am! Don’t ye know he’s a brother of Bonar Law’s?”...

Sligo, 18 August 1916.

... Here, in this most distressful country, we are about to experience again the blessings of coercion, administered by Duke, K.C., and Carson, high priest of the cult. In Sligo, the other day, two ladies treating each other in a public-house, the barman intervened at the tenth drink, saying:

“Stop it now; ye can’t have any more; troth, I won’t sarve ye again. Don’t ye know it’s Martial Law that’s on the people?”

Whereupon one of them enquired of the other:

“For the love of God, Mrs. Murphy, what’s he talking about at all? Who’s Martial Law?”

To which her friend repliedsotto voce:

“Whist, don’t be showing your ignorance, ma’am! Don’t ye know he’s a brother of Bonar Law’s?”...

As official papers accompanied every letter, a trace of departmental style is occasionally visible in private notes:

War Trade Intelligence Department, 23 August, 1916.“Harry Edwin” ate a grouse last night and drank many glasses of port. You can imagine the sort of grumpycommensalthat he is to-day.A. T.“Harry Edwin.”To see.23.8.16.Seen and approved.H. E. P.... Don’t overbathe,he adds as a postscript. Why be so reckless? You remind me of the London city “clurks” who arrive in Switzerland one evening, run straight up the Matterhorn the next morning. I believe that two per cent of them do not drop dead.

War Trade Intelligence Department, 23 August, 1916.

“Harry Edwin” ate a grouse last night and drank many glasses of port. You can imagine the sort of grumpycommensalthat he is to-day.

A. T.

“Harry Edwin.”To see.23.8.16.

Seen and approved.H. E. P.

... Don’t overbathe,he adds as a postscript. Why be so reckless? You remind me of the London city “clurks” who arrive in Switzerland one evening, run straight up the Matterhorn the next morning. I believe that two per cent of them do not drop dead.

The Sehr Hochwohlgeboren und Verdammter Graf Zeppelin,he writes on 25.18.16, did some damage last night at Greenwich, Blackwall (a power-station) etc. For the rest, no news. I am picking up not wholly unconsidered trifles at the Wellington and benefiting your UncleReggiepro rata.[Bridge winnings at this time were thriftily exchanged for War Savings Certificates.]This morning I (pro)-rated the girl ... at the post-office for not “pushing” those certificates. I said that, whenever any one asked for a penny stamp, she should ask:“May we not supply you with one of these?”It went very well with the audience.

“May we not supply you with one of these?”

It went very well with the audience.

This morning,he writes later, I have bought my thirteenth fifteen-and-sixpennyworth of Uncle Reggie. Mindful of my injunction to “push” the goods, the post-office girl ... urged me to buy a £19.7. affair which would be good for £25 in five years’ time. Alas! Still, there are hopes.

In his preface toThe Admirable Bashville, Bernard Shaw explains his reason for throwing it into blank verse: “I had but a week to write it in. Blank verse is so childishly easy and expedious (hence, by the way, Shakespeare’s copious output), that by adopting it I was enabled to do within the week what would have cost me a month in prose.” Pressure of work sometimes drove Teixeira to a similar expedient in rimed verse:

Letter just received,he writes in haste on 26.8.16. to acknowledge the account of a bathing mishap:With great relief at noon I foundThat S. McKenna was not drowned.Many thanks for the pendant to these lovelyverses.P.S. I note—and we all note—he adds—that you never express the wish to see us all again. How different from my Malvern letters! Ah, what a terrible thing is sincerity!

Letter just received,he writes in haste on 26.8.16. to acknowledge the account of a bathing mishap:

With great relief at noon I foundThat S. McKenna was not drowned.

With great relief at noon I found

That S. McKenna was not drowned.

Many thanks for the pendant to these lovelyverses.

P.S. I note—and we all note—he adds—that you never express the wish to see us all again. How different from my Malvern letters! Ah, what a terrible thing is sincerity!

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