January 22nd 1961
My Dear Cuz,
Sorry, I shall begin again, but I do not want to waste another sheet of Basildon Bond air mail paper as it is rather on the dear side. Your southern way of talking and writing does, however, rather get into one’s head. One almost wants to rush up to the attic and find one of Grandmamma’s crinolines and run up something with a set of curtains for a quadrille. I have made do with polka dots.
Dearest Cousin Lulubelle,
Thank you for your most welcome epistolary effort from Washington D.C. quite close to America. I am so pleased the flight went well. B.O.A.C., being British, is exceptionally reliable. I imagine these new Boeing 707s will mark the beginning of the end of transatlantic travel by Cunard liners.
A terrible shame really, but then as you know I do love an old Queen or two.
Good to hear that our nephew Sebastian, is well and having a gay old time with his acting school chums. Funnily enough I had a letter from him last week, saying that he hopes to be in a new Tennessee Williams’ play at the end of the year, The Night of the Iguana, by another southern gentleman called Tennessee Williams. Apparently, it is set in 1940 in “a rather rustic and very Bohemian hotel, the Sosta Verde which, as its name suggests, sits on a jungle covered hilltop overlooking the ‘caleta’ or ‘morning beach’ of Puerto Barrio in Mexico. The theme is “how to live beyond despair and still live on.” It sounds a bit gloomy to me. I am afraid, in Britain we tend not to go in for such introspection, we simply put on a pot of soup on the stove, a batch of scones in the oven and have a quick chorus of “Tickety-Boo”! How else would we have got through the last Unpleasantness; wallowing in despair? I think not!
The Willard Hotel sounds like my cup of tea. Jasper will indeed be fascinated to know that Allan Pinkerton, of detective fame, smuggled Abraham Lincoln into the hotel. I believe that your Mr Pinkerton is related to the family who grow rhubarb just outside Paisley. I do like a bit of rhubarb and ginger jam or a nice crumble with subtle orange favouring. Mrs Travers favours a rhubarb pill says it keeps her “regular.” That reminds me, do you think Mrs Lincoln got a refund on those tickets?
I feel a little envious of you being at the centre of things, but I could not leave ‘Chez Nous’ to Jasper’s tender mercies at sale time. It sounds to me, however, as if the secret service would benefit from a little advice from moi. The S.O.E. went in for more subtlety. Dark glasses in January are ridiculous; and bulges everywhere suggest a change of tailor is in order. Although Lady Pentland-Firth says it warms her heart. Sometimes, one gets the feeling that men are just playing at things.
Frankly my dear, I think women make the best spies and security type people. We are so inconspicuous.
Women spies manage to go about things in a relaxed way, looking as if they do not know a micro dot from a sequin. However, they are in fact as ready to pounce as a Black Widow spider. Also, like vipers they usually travel in pairs and you never quite know where one is at any given time. Perhaps one of my lecture-ettes might be timely when I get across the pond.
Like most things event security can be accomplished on a postcard not 83sheets of paper. I hope we do not fall prey to this kind of managerialism in Britain. Where would we be if James Watt had been forced to put his plans down on paper instead of watching a kettle boil? Still on a horse and cart, I imagine.
I am so pleased my advice to Mrs Kennedy has been taken on board. From the little I have seen on television, she did indeed look simply marvellous. I am delighted to have been of service. Of course, I would be delighted to assist with the refurbishment of the White House. I have already telephoned the stationers to order a rather nice note – book in which to jot down some ideas. She seems like a lady open to new designs and with a good eye. Mind you I have a feeling she needs to use the other eye to follow that husband of hers. I know about the bad back, but mark my words, Cousin, if they can breathe, they are able to get up to no good.
As well as the sale at the shop, we are up to our “oxters” in Seville oranges and marmalade making. Mrs Travers is, as I type, beating eggs and flour for a marmalade pudding with whisky custard for suppa ce soir. It is a surprise, for Jasper. Mind you the bigger surprise will be if he gets home from curling at Crossmyloof Ice Rink in one piece. That is, I have to say, one of your daftest suggestions! I fear the combination of Jasper, a sheet of ice and a large stone is a fatal mix. For goodness sake, Lulubelle, he even has trouble getting ice cubes out of the fridge.
Sometimes I feel men are just for combing. We are ruled by men and just look at the state of the economy. The motor car industry is in trouble and consumable durables are no better.
I have had to reduce the price of chandeliers at ‘Chez Nous’ considerably. There is talk of reducing the deposit required for buying things on “the never-never”, or H.P. (higher purchase, not the sauce) as they call it, as well as the extension of repayments from two to three years. This, to my way of looking at it, only encourages the working class to over-extend themselves. Why, even normally prudent Mrs Travers, is considering A “Baby Buko Boiler” to assist with her smalls. These, by the way, are not that small.
There is talk of income tax rises, however, this subdues demand. Mr Selwyn Lloyd, our Chancellor, is considering increasing purchase tax, but Jasper says this penalises the working class. It certainly would not help our business. There may be some reductions in welfare spending in the budget. Both Jasper and Mr Gaitskell say this is a backward step, but Mrs Macaulay says we are just encouraging larger families for those who cannot afford them by dangling the carrot of free milk in front of them. Certainly, coming on top of free spectacles and false teeth, we are probably making a rod for our own backs. Mrs Macaulay says that in the past most Scots were happy enough “gumming away” at a bowl of porridge, now they look upon butcher meat as a right. I think that is going too far, but I understand the sentiment.
More importantly, there is a growing backlash here against the stiletto heel. Indeed, The Glasgow Herald has taken the stand that the wearing of such heels is a fashion choice which has disgraced women. As I am sure you know the term comes from the Latin stylus being a thin pointed dagger or writing instrument developed by the Romans. It is now a favoured item in the wardrobes of Glaswegian ladies which they wear to coffee bars with backcombed hair. The Herald has enlisted the support of hospital authorities, liner captains, aircraft makers, librarians and others “with beautiful flooring.” To bring home the point they highlight a town in Alabama, where a law has been passed, forbidding women to wear stiletto heels in the streets. Can this be true cousin?
They also illustrate their standpoint with a number of examples such as seeing a woman outside Queen Street Station “pick up a grating with her heel.” Now I have seen Jasper trying to find the stop cock beneath a grating outside the shop, and I find this story a little unlikely. While I personally do not care for such heels daily, I am not averse to such a heel for special occasions and have recently purchased a rather splendid pair of red shoes. I believe it is a woman’s right to choose what she wears and not for men to decide. There have always been ridiculous and outrageous fashions and there always will be. I think the most telling and self-indicting comment comes from Mr Harry Campbell, a Dundee linoleum manufacture, who said “a woman’s weight transmitted through stiletto heels is something like that of a fully grown elephant.” Now that is a disgraceful comment. Could this be the same man who said, “that women are now so busy using labour saving devices they never get anything done.”
Well, I really must see if I can get this to the Post Office before tea. Mrs Travers and I are going to clean the silver while we listen to a radio play, Mrs McKinstry Meddles: a story of village life as seen through the eyes of a know all and busy body of the community. I know it sounds far-fetched but it will amuse Mrs T. If Jasper gets home in one piece, we are having early suppa and then a film at the Cosmo – Une Vie, the story of a marriage between a woman from an aristocratic background and a cynical man. It will be like looking in the mirror!
Look forward to hearing all the details of the inauguration in due course.
With fondest love
Cousin Muriel xx
P.S.
Bamboo is back in fashion. I am thinking of a window display with Singapore orchids and an oriental theme.
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