8. THE SECOND WORLD WAR 1939-1945
When war broke out on 3 September 1939, Michael and Florence decided to take the plunge and get married. They were married two days later by special licence at St Stephens, Rochester Row, chosen mainly because it was technically Michael’s parish church and the only one at which the marriage could be performed quickly. There were only a couple of witnesses at the ceremony. Florence invited her father, who was staying out of London, but he declined as he had already arranged to play tennis that day. They appear not to have told the Lamberts until after the deed was done and the Lambert parents continued to boycott Florence until Sophia was born almost four years later, although Michael’s siblings maintained relations.
As an accountant, Michael was exempt from call-up for war service. He continued to go to places outside London, especially Manchester and Liverpool, to audit the accounts of various large companies. While in London, once the bombing started, he spent two or three evenings a week out on the streets as a special constable, helping to deal with the aftermath of bombing raids.
Because she spoke fluent German and Italian, Florence got a job with MI 5 interrogating the “enemy aliens” (German and Italian nationals living in Britain) who had been interned at the beginning of the war. She was based first in Wormwood Scrubs prison (which was being used as an internment camp), and then for a few months in the Isle of Man, to which the internees had been moved.
Shortly after their marriage, the couple used a legacy of £1,000 that Florence had received from her paternal uncle Frank Macaskie to buy a house (a small Victorian workman’s cottage) at 25 Kensington Place, then still largely a working class area. In the meantime, they stayed at 27 Kensington Square with Florence’s parents.
Letter 8.1. Florence Lambert at 27 Kensington Square, London W.8, to Michael Lambert at Brooklands Hotel, Sale, 20 November 1939.
Darling, This letter has missed the last post so it won’t go until tomorrow and I fear you won’t get it until the next day. Perhaps you will forgive me for being thus dilatory in writing a dutiful letter with all proper speed to my absent husband when I tell you that the burden of his little yellow waistcoat has occupied all my time today and, although unfinished (you are monstrous long and wide), beginning to take on a very posh aspect. After you had left, I waited until eleven o’clock, but there was no answer from that mysterious job, so I went out in the sun and did a few things like stopping the papers, etc. It was a lovely morning and probably the country looked well as you passed through it in the train. I walked down Church Street with a swing and I don’t mind confessing my pleasure in my new outfit is still such that I watch myself going by in the shop windows. Tomorrow the builder Bowden is coming to the house in Kensington Place with me. As he is also a surveyor and a sanitary engineer, he will be able to give me all the information I want and an estimate. It would be fun if we could get the house reasonably cheaply and I am looking forward to the estimate with mingled feelings of pleasure and apprehension, lest it should be much too high. … Michael was staying at Sale near Manchester in order to audit the accounts of one of his most important clients, the pharmaceutical company E. Griffiths Hughes, manufacturers inter alia of the well-known Kruschen health salts, alleged to alleviate “Gout, Rheumatism, Lumbago, Eczema, Constipation, Liver and Kidney Disorders.” ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.2. Florence Lambert at 27 Kensington Square, London W.8, to Michael Lambert at Brooklands Hotel, Sale, 21 November 1939.
Dearest, Alas, I did not get your postcard until after I had rung up Grace. It was only just after 10, but I got your Mama and Grace was asleep and naturally could not be disturbed. I was just about to ring off and say there was no message, when your mother said she could not hear a word as the line was bad and would I wait while she went to another, so of course I could not ring off then without being rather rude. However, I just said it was about your suit and that you would like the identification disc removed before it went to the cleaners. We were very polite and distant and I did not say who I was, as I thought it would be less awkward. She asked where you were and when you would be back and then, after I had told her, rang off rather quickly, having promised to leave the identification disc on the mantelpiece in your room. I am sorry about this, darling, but I never thought they would be up so early or Grace asleep so late, as she wasn’t even there yesterday at that time. Today Bowden came and looked at the house with me and is going to give me an estimate. He says the bathroom project is possible, but it cannot be a bigger bath than 5’ 6” because you wouldn’t be able to get upstairs without bending double, or alternatively you won’t be able to stand up in the bath, and how could you wash your middle?? Actually, if it were not beyond us, the best thing to do would be to build out on top of the room at the back as the man next door has done, using the window on the first landing as a door. We can see what the present idea costs and, if that is not excessive, we could see about building out. Bowden said that the front of the house did not really need doing and a good wash would make it look fine. He will paint the railing, front door and window sashes pale green or blue, to be decided by both of us later. I want to have the stairs (woodwork) pickled if the wood is O.K. as it would look very nice against the cream walls, and a light-coloured stair carpet would also look good with it. There is such a lot to tell you about it, darling, that I can’t possibly put it all here. I think the owner is quite anxious to get rid of it and, in view of his age, I think we should make an offer of £1,000, which he might well accept. The drains, roof and electric wiring system are all O.K., which is a great thing. … Now, my sweet, I must go to the dressmaker, but I will write again tomorrow. Take care of yourself, darling, and come back soon. All my love, Florence. There is a pea-souper [fog] here. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.3. Michael Lambert at Brooklands Hotel, Manchester, to Florence Lambert, C/o Mrs Tuohy¹ at Longbury, Uckfield, Sussex, 22 November 1939
Dearest Heart, A letter arrived this morning announcing your departure to Uckfield. Unfortunately, you did not announce whether it was in Surrey or Sussex. I shall address this to Sussex, as that is where I believe Uckfield to be situate. If it is not, I shall apologise profusely, but you should know that English geography is not one of my strongest subjects. Another billet-doux arrived, from Deloittes that my salary had been put up by £25 to £315. In the circumstances that is satisfactory, as it is about double the average annual increment in the office. In two years I have gone up £65, whereas the normal is £30. While making an emphatic protest that £315 is very little, we cannot continue to complain too loudly. One consolation is that 3 guineas – the rate I am charged out at – is low compared to the work I have to do, which means that I do not have to work too hard. The weather is dry but very cold. Bed is rather cheerless too. It is hard to understand the modern tendency of married couples to sleep in separate beds. One piece of good fortune is that the moon is up and the streets are not too dark, more especially as the Manchester trams are not particularly blacked out. I find a torch is not really necessary. Last night we saw The Lion has Wings [a propaganda film about the RAF, starring Ralph Richardson]. Having expected something pretty bad, I quite enjoyed it. The method adopted for fighting air raids was very interesting, as the interior of the Fighter Control was reconstructed. The whereabouts, of course, are a close secret, though for some reason I know where it is. Like so many secrets, it is fairly well-known. Mind you have a good rest at Uckfield and enjoy the country air. I shall expect my absence to have added many pounds to your contours. All my love, Mickie.
¹ Florence was staying with her mother’s first cousin Gerald Tuohy (a GP) and his wife Dodo. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.4. Michael Lambert at the Brooklands Hotel, Sale, Cheshire, to Florence Lambert at Longbury, Uckfield, Sussex, 24 November 1939
… I am sorry you got Mother on the phone and even more sorry she should have been so distant. I get a little fed up at times with the attitude of my worthy parents. Seeing what line of conduct they decided on, we could do nothing else than we did and, as far as I am concerned, I did as little as possible to compromise them in any way. If ever it was convenient and, from what they said, it was likely to be convenient, they could have disowned us whenever they liked, more especially as far as politics were concerned. That aspect they have given no consideration to. Instead of being so upset at our marrying in secret, they should have seen that they, at any rate, could not come to our wedding, and if you are the girl they think, they are relieved of all responsibility. Someday, perhaps, they will see how unjust they have been. … ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.5. Michael Lambert at the Brooklands Hotel, Sale, Cheshire, to Florence Lambert at Longbury, Uckfield, Sussex, 26 November 1939
Darling heart, I am beginning to regret introducing you to the practice of writing on stamped postcards, as I have not had a letter for days. Of course, you have not the opportunity I have of writing during office hours. Up here, I generally work pretty hard, and dealing with my correspondence is quite a pleasurable interlude. However, this weekend I seem to have had an immense amount of correspondence, mostly on office matters. This is the seventh letter today. In fact, it is quite a godsend, as it fills in the morning. My colleague up here has gone to Liverpool for the weekend to visit an aunt; this afternoon I am visiting the secretary of Kruschen, so that I have some time to fill in. Last night I ran into one of Deloitte’s semi-permanent staff. They do not have too bad a time, as they spend 10 months up here, all expenses paid. If they are unmarried, their salaries have only to cover some two months’ residence in London and such incidentals as beer and cigarettes. Against that, they are apt to get stuck without much experience or much opportunity of getting on. The lad I ran into yesterday, although probably only getting about £300 a year, in effect really got about £700. In fact, he runs a car quite easily. Still, I do not envy him really. Friday night we went to Cochrane’s new show “Lights Up”, which has just opened here. Other than being a good way of killing the evening, I cannot say I enjoyed it much. It was so slow, especially the first half. It just dragged along. I don’t think Evelyn Laye any great shakes. There were no really good tunes and, such as there were, were massacred by the singers. I cannot see the show having much of a run in London, unless it is made much more snappy. In New York it would not run even for a week. Thursday night we saw Wuthering Heights, which was so boring that I only managed to sit through it by dreaming of you. Still, there is little else one can do here, except drinking. It will be a most agreeable change to be able to sit in front of the fire and gaze at your fair countenance. This job used to be quite luxurious. Our expenses allowance is quite high, about a guinea a day and first class travel. But in the good old pre-War days, the works car took us about everywhere. Now that petrol’s rationed, we have to walk. No doubt this is good for the health, but it is sometimes perilous. Local feeling being as strong as it is, there is no through means of transport, except some rare long distance buses. I may say Manchester and Salford are just as much one town as Westminster and Kensington. In fact Salford is in one place only a hundred yards from Manchester’s main shopping street. Of course it is the other side of that broad and crystal river of Irwell. Though a large part of Manchester’s business is done in Salford, it would be an insult to the independent existence of the two boroughs if there were a through train or bus route. That is why we have to walk. Our path from Manchester to the Kruschen works lies through Salford’s slums, which really are slums. Part of the area has been scheduled for clearance and the inhabitants removed; consequently, it looks pretty drab. One evening, on returning to Manchester, we were surprised to find the pavement, along which we had passed that morning, blocked by one of the slum houses falling down. Now we have to choose between being in the middle of the road and the pavement, between run over by a car and being crushed by a tumbling house. The builders’ report on the house in Kensington Place will be interesting. I am amazed at the prices asked for those houses. £1,250 I would have thought quite ridiculous, even in peacetime. In war-time I would have thought £900 quite a fair price. As Mr Annis has been in it for some years, it cannot have cost him anything like that. If we get it, I should be inclined to do the very minimum to make it comfortable until the war is over. Probably we will get it done much cheaper a few months after the war is over. However, we will have to see how little can be done at once. Also, if we do it after the war, we could do much more for the same money. However, we will go into all that after I get back. Now, darling, look after yourself well and have a good rest, so that you will be able to bear my witticisms next week. I expect to be back Friday night. All my love, dearest love, Mickie.
Letter 8.6. Florence Lambert at Longbury, Uckfield, Sussex to Michael Lambert at the Brooklands Hotel, Sale, Cheshire, 26 November 1939
Darling, I’m feeling a bit of a pig only having written to you skimpy postcards the last 2 days. The excuse is that we went out for two drives and the rest of the time I was earning 10/- with the knitting [Florence was an excellent knitter]. It was nice getting your letters, my sweet, but I was sorry you should have been upset by my contact with your Mother. In time, no doubt, your parents will pull themselves together. I sometimes think we have been too tactful and considerate of their feelings, to the extent of cutting away all their grievances from under them, so they had to manufacture some more. It must after all have been very disappointing for them after all they had promised themselves, that we got married so quietly and unostentatiously….. Here the wind is howling and tearing the last shrivelled leavers from the trees, bending a clump of evergreens opposite so that they look like a rough sea. Otherwise, it is quiet and comfortable, but I have rather the feeling of living suspended in the calm above the storm. The war seems a thousand miles away. My cousin [Gerald Tuohy] was saying how unfair it is that we should sit here with all we want while Poles are devastated and slaughtered. It makes one very afraid that our day of awfulness is yet to come….. Now, my sweet, I must go and knit again. I am still rather depressed about the war. It looks like lasting longer than it did at first. Oh darling, I know we are luckier than many, but if only it would stop and let us live our lives a little undisturbed. Keep warm, dearest, and don’t work too hard. All my love, darling, Florence. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.7. Michael Lambert at the Brooklands Hotel, Sale, Cheshire to Florence Lambert at Longbury, Uckfield, Surrey, 11 pm, 29 November 1939
…A letter came today from Mother. She has not mentioned the fact you rang up. The more I think about their attitude, the more unreasonable it seems. Probably we have taken their feelings too much into consideration. Still, I have a perfectly clear conscience. Naturally, it is very painful that they should be so completely unreasonable. In fact I regard it as an insult to my intelligence that they thought they could affect my judgement without their trying to get to know you. After all, no one’s judgement is trustworthy if formed on the views of a notorious gossip, the more so when the gossip herself is out of date. However, I won’t bore you with the matter any longer….
All my love, Mickie ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There are few letters from the period of the Blitz between September 1940 and May 1941 when sustained German bombing killed some 20,000 civilians and damaged or destroyed over a million houses in London, as both Florence and Michael were in London together most of the time. During part of 1940 and 1941, for reasons that are not entirely clear (perhaps because work was being done on the house they had bought at 25 Kensington Place, or perhaps because it was had no good place to shelter from the bombs), Michael and Florence lodged at 27 Kensington Square (Florence’s parents having moved temporarily to Esher during the Blitz) and then at 25 Phillimore Gardens near Holland Park, the house of friends, Barbara and Christopher Norris. In a letter to his mother, Michael said: “luckily the friends we are staying with consist of a man and his wife (friends of the Douglas-Hamiltons) and three servants and a well-reinforced basement. Being a smallish household, feeding is not too difficult. In fact, it is all rather luxurious.” Although Michael describes the household as smallish, they were not the only lodgers taken in by the Norrises at this time. The household kept hens in the garden for eggs (a lot of people kept animals for food in London during the war; and there was a flock of sheep in Kensington Gardens).
While London bore the brunt of the bombing, on 14 November 1940 the Germans attacked Coventry with 515 bombers, wreaking major damage. In that one night, three quarters of the factories in the city were destroyed, as were the medieval cathedral and 4,000 homes.
Letter 8.8. Michael Lambert at the Grand Hotel, Manchester, to Florence Lambert at 25 Phillimore Gardens, W.8., 4 December 1940
Dearest Heart, Manchester is quite a haven of repose; I only hope it is not a fool’s paradise. There has been no siren since we came up. Today I was paying a visit to the cook in the works canteen, seeing about my food, and I found there an R.A.F. man – a bomb-aimer who had had sixteen trips to the Continent. He was saying he always preferred aiming at a works or something important than at a house, except once in Cologne. There he felt quite merciless and the city was systematically bombed as a reprisal for Coventry. It seems to have been a very heavy raid. He also said he belonged to a heavy bombing squadron and was being sent East, which is new, as heavy bombers had not been sent out before. It was queer hearing him talking about loosing bombs at people – it was all so matter-of-fact. Tonight I was taken to see Mortal Storm, a film about the Nazis [made in Hollywood, it starred James Stewart as a German in Germany who refused to join the Nazis and fell in love with a non-Aryan]. It was a powerful and harrowing drama, which I washed down with a pint of beer. The beer was even more moving than the film.
All my love, dearest heart, Mickie. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.9. Michael Lambert at the Grand Hotel, Manchester, to Florence Lambert at 25 Phillimore Gardens, W.8, 11 December 1940
Dearest Heart, From the papers, you seem to have had rather a bad night on Sunday. I hope it was not too frightening and nothing came your way. I shall look forward to hearing what has been damaged. It is scarcely credible how little the Midlands have been hit. There is a very big industrial area just outside Manchester with a large power-station. Only two small factories have been hit. Sheffield, as far as I can gather, is practically untouched. Even at Liverpool, the damage, I am told, is not extensive. Salford, where I work, which is quite a big industrial district, has received three bombs, which hit the Town Hall, some cottages and a sugar warehouse. Tomorrow I hope to get a letter written after Sunday’s raid. It is rather unpleasant having you in London when the post is so slow. I always post my letter first thing in the morning so that you can know I have negotiated the night safely. With luck we ought to be back in time for dinner Friday, that is if the train is not hours late. The trains average about two hours late to London. All my love, Mickie. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.10. Michael Lambert at the Grand Hotel, Manchester, to Florence Lambert at 25 Phillimore Gardens, W.8, 11 December 1940
Dearest Heart, Your letter this morning was most welcome. Though I had got over my anxiety about Sunday night, it was nice to hear all was well. We are having a raid tonight. I have heard two planes and some gunfire. As I have only just finished dinner (9.35 p.m.) where it is too noisy to hear the siren, I do not know whether we are still having a raid. The warning caught me at seven o’clock still at the works. I went down to discover the shelter and then returned to work. However, at half past seven a plane came over, so I returned to the hotel and had dinner. I missed not having my high tea. … I seem to have been quarrelling with everybody today. Our joint auditors have sent round a junior who is most bumptious and a conscientious objector. I have been sitting on him quite hard and now everyone just ignores him. Tonight, the hotel decided I did not exist, but a measure of vehement scorn cured them of this solecism. It was rather a pity, for while I did not exist I could not be charged for anything. Manchester people are inclined to be slow. All my love, Mickie. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In the spring of 1941, Florence was posted to the Isle of Man for a few months to work at an M.I.5 internment camp at Fort Erin. Most of the German detainees were Jewish intellectuals with no love for Hitler, and she told her family that at Port Erin there was a world-class lecture or recital every night (the Amadeus Quartet got together there). She said that the Italians were mostly waiters or prostitutes who had never even heard of Mussolini. Of all those she questioned, there was only one – an Italian seaman – about whom she had the slightest doubts. In May 1941, Michael contrived to find an auditing job in the Isle of Man that allowed him briefly to join her.
Letter 8.11. Michael Lambert at 25 Phillimore Gardens W.8. to Florence Lambert at Rushern Internment Camp, Port Erin, Isle of Man, 17 April 1941
Darling Heart, We are having quite a blitz tonight. The alert started promptly on blackout and about half about hour later it began. Since then – and it is now nearly one o’clock – planes have been over continuously. I thought it was dying down a few minutes ago, but it has started again now. A gun has also appeared in the old place and is making an infernal din. Several fires were started, but they seem to be mostly out now. We are fire-spotting from two to six. As the raid was so heavy, I thought I would stay up in case it came to an end soon after midnight. Barbara¹ and Joan [unidentified] are in the basement. … Did I tell you that the Frenchman [a member of de Gaulle’s Free French Forces] arrives tomorrow? He is going to sleep opposite us. I am told he is of very good class, so perhaps he will be bearable. Dawn has broken and I managed to get a little sleep despite the fire-watching. However, I suppose I must not tell you more about last night than that there were planes over, though you would not believe what I did while fire-spotting. Well, darling, I am off to work, as it is late. The hens escaped through some rude fellow throwing a brick on their run. But Bessie [unidentified] and I caught them again. … Being now the only person in this house who has not gone to work, I must away. When I return, the Frenchman will be here. I only hope he is not a fug-lover and won’t find this house too draughty and want all the windows closed. All my love, Mickie
¹ Barbara Norris was the wife of Christopher Norris (1907-1987), an art historian. The house at 25 Phillimore Gardens belonged to her mother. Her husband Christopher had joined Air Force Intelligence and was often away in Egypt. She and Christopher divorced after the War and she remarried Clive Pascall, an architect, with whom she had two sons. Christopher also remarried and had two daughters. The Lamberts kept up with both families. Florence was godmother to one of Barbara’s sons and one of Christopher’s daughters; and Barbara was Sophia’s godmother. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.12. Michael Lambert at 25 Phillimore Gardens, W.8, to Florence Lambert at Rushern Internment Camp, Port Erin, Isle of Man, 19 April 1941
Darling, I have some news that promises to be quite good. Our I.o.M. job wants someone to go to Douglas [capital of the Isle of Man]. … I have arranged that, if anyone goes, it shall be me. … The job will take about three weeks. It would be very pleasant if it comes off. Barbara is very angry with the troops billeted up the road. They banged loudly on the door at 1.30 a.m. this morning because a light was showing and generally made a great noise. Apparently it was the Free French in Basil’s room¹. I was asleep and did not hear it. It amused me rather, as last night we had a great argument as to whether civilians were subject to the military. Barbara said that Christopher had said that the militaries had in practice ways of making civilians do what they wanted. Naturally, I maintained that a civilian could only be compelled to do what the law permitted the authorities to compel. Actually, it arose because I said that the person who captured the airman who landed in Kensington could keep anything he took from him. It seems that in fact Barbara is much less willing to submit to the military than I am. …
¹ Basil Gray, a museum curator who rose to become a most distinguished Keeper of Oriental Antiquities in the British Museum, was another of Barbara’s lodgers; he subsequently became Sophia’s godfather. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.13. Michael Lambert, C/o the Secretary, E. Griffiths Hughes Ltd., Salford, Lancs to Florence Lambert, Commandant’s Staff, Port Erin, Isle of Man, 11 May 1941
Darling Heart, You must be feeling very deserted, never getting any letters. I suppose no letter got through Liverpool once the raids started. I would have thought the letters would have gone via Fleetwood if the boat goes from there. I shall be crossing over [to the Isle of Man] on Saturday. The people up here have got themselves into such a mess that we are terribly behindhand. There should, however, be no doubt about my getting away Saturday. In fact we just have to finish by then. The queer thing about the post is that your letters have been arriving regularly, getting shorter and more depressed each time. I find it a little dispiriting writing letters knowing that a half will never arrive. The weather here is real Manchester – a bit of rain yesterday suddenly turned to fog; it was pretty much of a pea-souper for a while. This morning is, however, quite pleasant. We may go off to Southport or somewhere like that. Weekends in Manchester itself are quite deadly: everything and everywhere closes down, leaving only the hotels open for meals. Of course London spoils one. Here, if one has half an hour to spare, there is just nowhere to go for a walk. It is extraordinary how there is literally nowhere in Manchester where one can get a few minutes’ fresh air. In London, it is quite amusing walking about the streets, but here the noise of traffic on cobbles and the dust and the grime make it most unpleasant. Yesterday, we went to get some tea in a restaurant that used to stay open till half past nine, but since the blitz last December it closes at six – and black-out is at ten-thirty. This restaurant is right in the amusement centre too! All the cheaper eating places are the same. What a place! And to think it prides itself on being up to date. As you can see, I am getting fed up. Actually, it is mainly E.G.H.’s fault. I told the Secretary that the way the accounts were presented to us would have done no credit to the tobacconist at the corner. But for a two-million-pound company to prepare them as carelessly was a disgrace. In fact several bits of the accounts we have just given back to the company to be redone properly. That is what wastes so much time. … ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A tribunal was set up to decide whether to release individual internees. Florence’s father Nick Macaskie was appointed one of its members. In the summer of 1941, the tribunal held its sessions in the Isle of Man.
Letter 8.14. Nick Macaskie at the Fort Anne Hotel, Douglas, Isle of Man, to Florence Lambert at 25 Phillimore Gardens, W.8, 26 August 1941
My dearest Florence, It was sweet of you to remember my birthday. My birthdays are becoming such ugly old things that they would be better forgot, but for you to rescue mine from the oblivion it deserves almost makes it pleasing in my eyes. Anyway, I love the thought that prompted you to remember it. The name of a well-known book-seller on a parcel always thrills me as much as though it bore the name of a famous jeweller. I am sure I open it with at least the same eagerness. A thousand thanks to you, my sweet. I have read some of the lectures; they are most interesting. I do not quite follow the writer of the ‘Nap’ letters when he tells ‘Hitler’ that America has taken England’s place as ‘Hitler’s’ real enemy and that America is the real menace, to ‘Hitler’s’ thinking as England was to ‘Nap’s’ in the days of Pitt. England fought then and now, which is more than can be said of America, and England was in the foreground of every coalition that was ever raised against ‘Nap’, just as she is today. I am entering on my 4th week. It looks as though I shall have to be here for at least three more weeks. I like the work, but I find my garrulous elderly colleague Mrs Beer rather trying, probably because I sit opposite her for every meal as well as sit with her [in court] until after 6 p.m. every day. Having got far beyond the age of child-bearing and romance herself, I fancy she suspects me of being a Don Juan who may rush out and rape the first likely wench who comes along. She certainly accused me of flirting with the serving wenches. You know how unfounded these charges are in my case, certainly at the advanced age of 60! Miss Margery Fry¹ came and sat with us to deal with the Communists. I found her most stimulating and intelligent. She was one time Principal of Somerville College and a Governor of the B.B.C. I am sorry to say that I did not find the M.I. 5 reports very helpful about their people. They were too general and vague in their charges and lacked any corroborative detail to show the material on which the allegations were founded. I know of course that these reports vary with the person who makes them. I could give you the names of two or three of your people who are rather colourless in their reports. Some of course are good. But in view of the importance of the Communist cases, I took the opportunity to get our secretary to write to one of your people suggesting which form I thought your reports should take. When you realise that your reports cannot in the nature of things be supported by oral testimony, you will appreciate how important it is, if they are to be accepted at their face value, that they should indicate the evidence in support of the statements made and the source of such evidence. I dined Major Armitage and Major d’Egville a few nights ago. The former, who seemed very efficient, spoke very highly of your work over here. Miss T. [perhaps Florence’s successor] is I gather not very experienced. I naturally burst with pride at what I heard about yourself. This is a lovely island and I have seen quite a lot of it, visiting various internment camps. But the work is mostly dull and the hours are long because I suppose I ask too many questions. However, I am determined to return in two or three weeks. Jimmy and your mother arrive tomorrow for a fortnight. I hope they will not be bored, as I shall only be able to see them Saturday and Sunday. Farewell, my dearest dear, Your loving father Nick Macaskie.
¹ Margery Fry (1874-1958) was a well-known prison reformer and one of the first women to become a magistrate. Secretary of the Penal Reform League and its successor the Howard League for Penal Reform 1918-1926 (later Vice-Chairman and Chairman). Principal of Somerville 1926-1930. During the Second World War she served on a government committee on non-enemy interned aliens, as well as continuing her campaigning on penal issues. Brother of the artist Roger Fry. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.15. Michael Lambert at 25 Phillimore Gardens, London to Barbara Lambert at Coffins, Spreyton, Devon, probably autumn 1941
Dearest Mother, We are still safe and life is getting much better ordered. The West End is I believe rather a mess, but nowadays one hardly ever goes about London except on business. Getting home at night is difficult as it is so easy to get caught in a hail of shrapnel. I am getting rather good at hopping from shelter to shelter. In the streets, the stuff from our own guns is much more dangerous than the bombs. A bomb must have landed quite near here last night as a bomb woke me up. People seem to be bearing up pretty well. One or two particularly in this neighbourhood are being got down. Mr Kettle’s typist has had a dreadful time and, except for the lack of sleep, is quite unmoved. The dislocation of work is still bad. Luckily I worked very hard all the summer and got pretty well up-to-date, so that now I have not got a great deal to do. I must now be off to breakfast. All my love, Mickie. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.16. Michael Lambert at 25 Phillimore Gardens, London to his mother Barbara Lambert at Coffins, Spreyton, Devon, probably autumn 1941
Dearest Mother, I have today quite a lot to tell you. Yesterday, Saturday morning, having nothing much to do, I went to have a look at Millbank. I found it had been somewhat in the wars. The top of the gable of No. 24 has been knocked off, and what I think was an oil bomb fell in front of Nos. 29 and 30 and penetrated to the cellar. A bomb had blown in the back windows of No. 35 [Michael’s parents’ house]. I found no one who could give me any details, but from the way the glass was blown, I think a small bomb must have burst in Mowlem’s yard. At least the library windows were blown in across the room, pieces of glass going as far as the door. Glass is generally blown in only by near bombs; the damage is so slight, however, that it cannot have been a big bomb. The actual damage is as follows. The whole of the front of the house is intact, including all the front rooms except the dining room. Here, part of the plaster has fallen on the table and also broken the arm and seat of one of the mahogany chairs – the armchair at the window end of the table. The back rooms have only suffered broken windows. To take each room separately, the pantry has a broken window and a bit of plaster down. The larder and back door are intact. The bathroom has lost half of one window, the glass on the floor being intact. The library has lost the glass of the two back windows. The lavatory has lost one pane in the door and the top half of the window; the lower window frame was blown in but is intact. The hall window glass is broken. The reception hall has two window panes just cracked and part of the window frame blown in (when I say the frame of a window is blown in, I mean the frame has been moved about an inch out of position, just enough to break the slats holding it in position). The drawing room back window is broken. Margaret’s room’s windows are broken but the bathroom is intact. Daddy’s dressing room has lost its window and one of the pictures over the trouser press. I think the hot water bottle must have leaked in the suitcase, as it was standing in a pool of water. Grace’s windows are gone. The bathroom window frames have been blown in slightly and the glass powder box broken. My room’s windows are broken. The windows in the back maid’s room are broken, but all the other rooms at the top are intact. The skylight is gone. No crockery or glassware is broken as far as I could see in a hasty look round. [Rest of letter missing.] -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
German bombing was mainly concentrated on London, so in the provinces people were much less blasé about air raids. On the night that this letter was written, Churchill made one of his periodic broadcasts to the nation, on the entry of Japan into the war (the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbour in Hawaii had taken place the day before).
Letter 8.17. Michael Lambert C/o E. Griffiths Hughes, Manchester, to Florence Lambert at 27 Kensington Square, London W.8, 8 December 1941.
Darling heart, We had a bit of a warning tonight, for about twenty minutes. The management [of the hotel] went haywire as usual, careering round in steel helmets and with long torches. It was most annoying as I was settling down for my nightcap. The P.M.’s speech also occurred at an awkward moment, just as we were going to dinner. We had to wait until he had finished before we could get served, which made the speech seem very long. It struck me that the last ten minutes could well have been omitted. But doubtless you will say I am always criticising him. I am glad you enjoyed your play. Tonight we saw a very funny film with James Stewart called The Golden Hour. It is really terrible the time one wastes here passing away the time. But these hotels really have nowhere to sit and read a book. In this place, there is only one quiet room, with three armchairs! Do you wonder I prefer being at home. All my love, Mickie. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.18. Michael Lambert C/o E. Griffiths Hughes, Manchester, to Florence Lambert at 27 Kensington Square, London W.8, 9 December 1941.
Darling heart, Doubts are arising in my mind about this hotel. I just saw a young naval officer going upstairs with a beauteous girl. Of course they may be man and wife, but one never knows, does one? My young junior, however, is enjoying himself hugely; tonight, when I was complaining how full the place has become, he replied that at least it was full of life. He was also bewailing the fact that we were returning to London so soon. I don’t feel like that one little bit. Still, it is nice that he is enjoying himself, as he is a good lad. The poor Americans seem to have been caught napping. One cannot help feeling a certain gratification that they have been subject to a sudden attack; they were always so superior about such things happening only in Europe. I am afraid we are going to have some nasty knocks before the Japs are overcome. But equally, the war may have been brought appreciably nearer its close, particularly if Japan can be overcome and the Russians can bring their Siberian troops against Germany. I loved the Japanese report that Oahu [the island in Hawaii on which Pearl Harbour is situated] had been bombed by American planes on manoeuvre. Not even the Germans said that about Warsaw. It surely is a queer world. All my love, Mickie. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.19. Krikor Ghazaros, Villa Babo, Sidi-Bishr, Ramleh, Egypt, addressed to “Miss Florence Macaskie”, 9 November 1942
Dear Miss Macaskie, “It has been announced from Berlin that the French fleet has left Toulon”, most probably on a very sad errand. This news has brought back to me an expedition in the hills beyond that town, accompanied by a girl with beautiful long hair, and her friend Janet Cree [unidentified]. I looked up my untidy collection of snaps and found one taken by a Captain Cameron on the morning of that same day, on the beach; among them one which I had entitled “Florence”. Every detail of that expedition I seem to remember clearly. The gendarmes who looked surprised at the three lunatics who wanted to make their evening in the country, the bone-shaker of a bus, an old fountain in the village where provisions were taken aboard, the peaceful solitude at the edge of the quarry: “Cette obscure clarté qui tombe des étoiles”. Then the tramp back; the last tender “home”, a very tired lass with drooping head: and so to bed. Can you by any chance recall a skinny youth – who, once at school having failed to learn his Julius Caesar, was referred to as a “blithering idiot” by his form master? In this world of ours, people meet, enjoy each other’s company for a while, then they go their respective ways, along paths which seldom meet again. A small proportion of those one meets remain in one’s memory in bold relief; generally those for whom one has felt a strong liking or a bitter dislike. Sometimes one wonders what the other person’s destiny has been. It is partly this curiosity that has tempted me to write to you; I hope I am forgiven. It is not much good wishing you a happy Christmas as this should take a long time to get to you, but I may wish you all the best for the New Year. Hoping that this will find you, I remain sincerely yours, Krikor Ghazaros. P.S. Messrs Lewis’s of Gower Street have been asked to send you one of: Helen Wadell’s Beasts and Saints; Robert Groves’ The English Ballad; Lady Fortescue’s Trampled Lilies. Please accept it, shall we say as a tribute to the fine example London set the world about this time last year.
The writer of this letter (who has an Armenian name) has not been identified. The letter has only Florence’s name on the envelope and must have been delivered by hand. The French fleet was still in the harbour in Toulon on 27 November when the Germans occupied the city, whereupon the French crews scuttled their ships. So the Berlin announcement may have been Nazi misinformation in preparation for the German occupation of Vichy France, which began shortly after this letter was written. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.20. Michael Lambert at E. Griffiths Hughes, Salford, to Florence Lambert in London, 2 December 1942
… Everyone here seems to take a considerable interest in the Beveridge Report [the 1942 Beveridge Report had set out the blue-print for the “welfare state” introduced by the Labour Government after the War – national insurance, health service, etc.]. I have been listening to an animated discussion over lunch about its merits and faults. It was quite interesting hearing the ordinary employers’ view. Manchester is still a stronghold of Liberalism, and many features of the report are not what the old-fashioned liberal likes. However, the E.G.H. works seem to have gone all soviet. There is a works council, and a social club, and the fire-watching is run by the workers themselves. The management don’t seem too keen about it, though the staff, as far as I can gather, are more contented. Still, it is difficult for an outsider to judge, even one as gossipy as me. Of course, it is quite outside my province as auditor, however soviet they become. All my love, Mickie. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.21. Michael Lambert at The Grange, Welsh Frankton near Oswestry, to Florence Lambert in London, 5 December 1942
Darling, As you will see from my address, I am spending the weekend with George and Patsy. The Grange is a small early Victorian house built on the usual plan with two bow windows either side of the front door. The interior decoration is completely late Victorian with all the usual appurtenances. One I like particularly is a small armchair made of ox-horns instead of wood. Patsy has been re-reading Cold Comfort Farm, to prepare for a Starkadder sort of existence. There is quite a big garden and George’s batman was a gardener in civil life. I had a funny journey from Manchester to Chester as the carriage had three Welshmen who had come to Manchester for some conference. They were all Baptists. Whenever any name cropped up in the conversation, one of them would say “Is his name Jones? Is he a Welshman? Is he a Baptist? He will be a loss to the pulpit. … ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Michael’s brother George served in the Army during the war and was quickly promoted to Lt-Colonel. At the time of this letter, his wife Patsy was pregnant with Georgie, their son, and was planning to go with the baby to stay with the Lamberts in Spreyton, to be out of the way of the bombs – hence the reference to Stella Gibbons’ novel about the Starkadders and their primitive farm.
Letter 8.22. Michael Lambert, C/o E. Griffiths Hughes Ltd., Adelphi, Salford, Lancs, to Florence Lambert in London, 7 December 1942
I got back from Oswestry this morning. … George seems to have landed a really good job. It is very funny, as he is absolute king in his O.C.T.U. [Officer Cadet Training Unit]. All the officers have to stand to attention when they talk to him, majors and all. It is a bit of responsibility for him: he is the youngest lieut-col in the camp. Saturday afternoon we watched a rugger match in the pouring rain between a team from George’s O.C.T.U. and another from the heavy A.A. [Anti-Aircraft] gunners. Happily George’s lot won three-nil and were they pleased! Apparently they had previously been very much looked down upon. There was a regular binge on Saturday night, but since no-one very important had come with the opposing team, the colonel did not attend. Instead, he and his party (lady and brother) honoured the company by taking tea with them, and a glass or two of beer after – excellent beer it was too, better than we get in Manchester. All my love, Mickie -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.23. Michael Lambert at the Grand Hotel, Manchester to Florence Lambert in London, 9 May 1943
Dearest heart, I am sorry you regret that I no longer compose passionate passages about the everyday things around me. Things are not what they were; what was once properly in its place is now open and public. E.G.H., for example, although a manufacturing chemists, used to be a clean spot, tainted only by a slight smell of peppermint. But now they are doing some new experiments, entailing several large tubs of mare’s urine which grace the yard and by now have become quite rich. With a favouring wind, the whole building is pervaded with richness. My feelings on this are undoubtedly passionate, but hardly the passion you mean. These experiments are part of a completely new field the company has entered, a new form of therapeutics involving hormones and such like, savouring slightly of the rejuvenation of spent and exhausted desire. I find it all rather unpleasant, but I luckily am able to keep well away from that side of the business. Selling simple salts at inflated prices may be unsocial and immoral, but at least it is not unpleasant. It may excite wrath but not nausea. The new developments are of German origin and to me have the slightly unwholesome German preoccupation with the restoration of faded faculties…. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sophia was born on 15 May 1943 at the Middlesex Hospital in London, and shortly after the birth it was thought wise to send Florence and Sophia out of London to avoid the bombing. They went first to stay briefly with Jane Macaskie’s first cousin Gerald Tuohy and his wife Dodo in Sussex, and then down to Devon to stay with Michael’s parents (healing the rift between Florence and her parents-in-law). Florence and Sophia remained in Devon for most of the rest of the war. Also staying in the house in Spreyton were Pat, the wife of Michael’s brother George (who was away in the Army) with her infant son Georgie, and Michael’s unmarried sister Grace. Both the Lambert parents were by then pretty set in somewhat eccentric ways and neither Florence nor Pat were happy there, although they tried to put a good face on things. While Florence was away from London, Michael quite often stayed with his sister Margaret and her partner Enid Marx at their flat in St John’s Wood. The many letters from Michael that survive from this period give a good picture of London under attack in 1944, first from the so-called V1 flying bombs and then from the V2 rockets.
As a Catholic, Florence was bound to bring up her children in the Catholic religion. However, at the time of Sophia’s birth, she was out of sympathy with the Catholic Church, and she and Michael decided to baptise Sophia in the Church of England, which was Michael’s church. This deeply distressed Florence’s mother, who believed that by not baptising her as a Catholic Florence was endangering Sophia’s spiritual welfare.
Letter 8.24. Jane Macaskie at 27 Kensington Square, London W.8, to Florence Lambert at Longbury, Uckfield, Sussex, 1 July 1943
… As to what you tell me of Sophia’s baptism … I feel it is only right that I should once more point out to you your duty in this matter, and the fact that I do it in writing may impress itself more deeply on your mind. God has given you the care of Sophia’s soul as well as her body, and some day he will ask you to account for it. How can you say that you did your best, or even did anything at all, in making her a member of a church of whose teaching you know nothing? Nor would you be likely to believe it even if you could fathom what it is from the muddled and contradictory voices in which it speaks to its bewildered flock. It seems to me a strange reaction to send your children to a board school because you fail to pass the school certificate. Nor is it justifiable to leave a helpless young soul to find its way in the fog and gloom, surrounded by horrible dangers, when you know where the clearest light is shining. All this [sic] to justify your own slackness and disloyalty in the eyes of your children. They will have little to thank you for, and I only pray you may be spared their bitter reproaches … This involves another soul, pure and helpless and entirely at your mercy, and you simply haven’t the right, when it craves bread, to give it a stone. You know very well that true religion is not a thing to be taken up at school or later, if you have an aptitude for it, like mathematics. You know as well as I do that it is a seed that cannot be planted too soon, nor tended too long, with every spiritual help. And you propose to let your children pick up some muddle of doctrine, ethics and politics and utility morals which do not cost much to acquire but at least are made to suit everyone. They don’t always wear very well, it is true, but should they wear off, you hardly even become conspicuous with so many moral nudists around. Think well and seriously what you are doing – with every day that passes it is harder to undo. What Daddy and I think and say and feel matters very little. Nor do we care that it should. It is a matter between you and Almighty God whom you are bound to love and obey. How can you teach your children to love him when you don’t propose to teach them to know him as he really is. Our Lord said two things which you would do well to recall from time to time. “He who denies me before man, him I will deny before my father in heaven”; and “it is better to have a millstone tied around your neck and to be cast into the uttermost depths than to scandalise one of my little ones”. I dare say you will resent and destroy this letter. I would prefer that you kept it. What it has cost me to write, you will never know. Mommy. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.25. Florence Lambert at Longbury. Uckfield, Sussex to Jane Macaskie at 27 Kensington Square, London W.8, 6 July 1943
Dear Mommy, What shall I say? I did not resent your letter and I shall not destroy it because I don’t believe I’m that much of a moral coward, whatever you may think. But it hurts me that you should put my attitude down to slackness. Though I can never hope to explain it to you, it goes far deeper than that and I have thought the whole thing over many, many times during the years since I ceased to believe that the Catholic Church was the right one for me. For a long time I was rudderless and sceptical of all organised religion and it made me very unhappy sometimes, because you know there is great comfort in the rigidity and exclusive views of the Roman form of Christianity, if you can believe in it. But I rebelled against just these two things in it long ago, and I cannot believe that Our Lord believed only one Church to be saved or intended any one to be insincere. Also I believe that there is little hope for this now terrible world while there is such rivalry and exclusiveness about the Christian Churches. All men are different and the form of our belief is so largely a matter of temperament. I find the latitude and self-discipline of the Church of England suits me better than the dictatorial methods of the Church of Rome. But it is all a question of individual belief, so you see it is no good sneering at Protestants in a superior way. Please try to see that my beliefs are just as strong to me as yours are to you, and I should never attempt to try and persuade you that you were wrong. That is how I feel at the moment, and it would not be right for me to pretend otherwise because I am fond of you and hate to hurt you. I hope you will understand if I try and explain the position about Sophia. If I were a Catholic, I would bring Sophia up to be one too and Michael would have no objection; and the same applies if ever I became one again. But we both feel that it would not be fair on her to try and bring her up in a faith neither of us believe in. She would be bound to discover my aversion to it and the effect of this on a young mind might turn her into an atheist, or at least shatter her faith to a very great extent. You must see that. Just put yourself in the same position. Your sneers about moral nudism do not help much and even you must admit that there are many good men and women outside the Church of Rome and many bad ones inside it – and vice versa. Try not to judge me too harshly and don’t be unhappy about me, because I pray often and ask God to help me live a good life and get nearer to him. Please try and understand and believe that I am not slack or frivolous, but sincerely trying to act rightly according to my lights, and please pray for me that I may be a good mother to Sophia and bring her up to love God. Please don’t write to me about this again, and don’t let’s discuss it because it does no good and only hurts. And don’t think I am wicked. You know how good Michael is. … We don’t believe that our life will be anything much except hard work with the world in its present state, but we believe that it is right to bring children into it to fulfil God’s will and help other people, even if it means not having what is called a good time. …
One cannot help having some sympathy for Florence, caught between the strong anti-Protestantism of her mother and Michael’s equally strong if less passionately expressed anti-Catholicism. Jane Macaskie seems in the end to have accepted the situation and relations between her and Florence continued to be cordial. Caelia was also baptised in the Church of England. By the time that Flavia was born, Florence had returned to the Catholic Church and Flavia was brought up a Catholic, and all three were educated in Catholic convents. None of the three daughters ended up as a believer. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.30. Florence Lambert at Coffins, Spreyton, Devon, to Nick Macaskie in London, 18 August 1943.
Dearest Papa, This is to wish you a very happy birthday. I have forgotten how old you are, but you are still the youngest and nicest father I know. Also, the days when one could pop round the corner to the Epicerie and get you a ripe and juicy canteloupe are gone, and such are the restrictions and difficulties in posting things that I can’t even send you any fruits of the earth. But perhaps you will overlook this if I say that you have all my most affectionate good wishes. I am so glad your party at Gray’s Inn was such a success, and what fun it must have been. It is undoubtedly much better to enjoy one’s own parties. I envy Jimmie being there. However, I expect he looked very nice and it must have been great fun for him. I am longing to hear what you thought of Winston. It is very pleasant here, especially as Michael has come and Sophia continues to bulge in all directions. She is very good and laughs now. Tell Mommy I will write to her soon and give my love to the family. Lots of love, Florence. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.31. Michael Lambert at 57 Apsley House, St John’s Wood, to Florence Lambert in Devon, 1 April 1944
Darling, I enclose £5 as promised and I hope you will try and make it last as long as you can. Our finances are in a pretty desperate state. Much against my will, I was this morning persuaded in spending five guineas on Savings Certificates and now very much regret it. I find we have £20 in the bank and £25 of outstanding bills of which £17 will have to be paid pretty soon. I do not quite see how we are to manage it. I think we ought to have Ellen [their cleaner] only once a week, as I find that I have to spend 20/- or 25/- a week more than when you were here. Ellen takes 14/- and my rations and laundry and the milk make another 10/-. Visits to you take over £1 each, so that my expenses are pretty well up. It seems rather extravagant spending 14/- a week on Ellen. I don’t know what you think about it. I wish you would give me some idea how much you are likely to require this month so that I can do a little budgeting. Jane’s wedding seems to have been greatly enjoyed by everyone [Florence’s sister Jane had just married David Barran¹]. Several people expressed surprise to me that you should have become so competent a wife and mother, and also how well and how much fatter you looked. I replied that, while I might agree with the first part, you would stoutly deny the second. Whereupon they all agreed with one accord on your great misfortune in always looking well and flourishing when you were really in the poorest health. … ¹ David (later Sir David) Barran (1912-2002)was at the time of his marriage a young executive with Shell. He subsequently rose through the ranks to become chairman of Shell in 1967, and was the highest paid executive in the UK at the time. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.32. Michael Lambert at 25 Kensington Place, London W.8, to Florence Lambert in Devon, 21 May 1944
Darling, Today being Sunday, I had hoped to write you a long letter but I got delayed at the Square after lunch helping your father on a case he is doing dealing with the liability of auditors for negligence. Your aunt Suzanne¹ was at lunch and your cousin Aubrey. … Laurence Housman³ also looked in and asked Jane how long she had been engaged. On her answering a month, he suggested that this might be considered rather too short a time to determine upon a life sentence, adding that of course it was very sensible if one did not rule out the possibility of dissolution. He then asked Jane if she had taken that possibility into account in view of the rapidity with which she had shown in the plunge [she had known David Barran only a few weeks before marrying him]. Jane was more embarrassed than I have ever seen her before.
¹ Suzanne Macaskie was the wife of Nick Macaskie’s brother Sandys Macaskie. See the Macaskie family tree in the Annex. ² Aubrey Wallis was a cousin of the Tuohys serving in the RAF. ³ Laurence Housman (1865-1959). Prolific playwright, writer and illustrator. He was the younger brother of the poet A.E. Housman. Of probably homosexual tendencies, he liked handsome men and had been attracted to Nick Macaskie. He subsequently became a friend of the whole Macaskie family and regularly visited their house at 27 Kensington Square. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
On 6 June (D-Day), Allied Forces had landed in Normandy and established a presence there. They landed at Arromanches, where the Macaskie family had regularly spent their summer holidays before the war. At the beginning of the war, the War Office had asked anybody with knowledge of the continental coastline to write in with full descriptions. Florence had sent in a detailed description of Arromanches, and she often wondered whether it was because of this that it had been chosen for the invasion. Just before the landings in France, the Allies had taken Rome, having fought their way up through southern Italy.
Letter 8.33. Michael Lambert at 25 Kensington Place, London to Florence Lambert in Devon, 11 June 1944
…You are no doubt immersed in the deepest gloom over the invasion. It is an anxious time, but I feel very hopeful. I was so frightened we would not get on, and we seem to have got ashore far more easily than anyone could have expected. It is a great relief we were not pushed off as soon as we landed. I have a feeling the German resistance will not be very tough, once we have got enough equipment ashore. After all, the sudden collapse in Italy is not like the old German army. I have no doubt that, as in Italy, there will be a stiff battle at first. If only the weather remains good, in a month or so we may see the Germans cracking. It cannot have improved the morale of any army to have suffered a major defeat in Italy and to have allowed us to land, more or less unopposed, all within a month and just at the time the Russians are preparing to start their new offensive. It seems odd the Germans should have put Rommel against Montgomery, seeing that the latter has twice inflicted shattering defeats on him, outwitting him both times. Perhaps Rommel is the only politically reliable general available. I share your apprehensions about Florence. I think Umbria may escape much damage, but I am so afraid Kesselring may try to make a line from Pisa, through Florence to Rimini. One can only hope his army is so shattered that he has to go the whole way to the Po. I have been feeding myself too well over the weekend, and may be reduced to Kruschen. Yesterday for lunch I grilled a pork chop, mashed some potatoes and boiled some cabbage. Last night I made a Risotto out of the remains of the mutton I brought from Spreyton and the cabbage water, followed by jam tarts (my own making). The only trouble was that there was too much of everything. I had to repeat the meal at lunch yesterday just to get it finished. This morning I gave the shed its spring clean, and it is looking tidier than I have ever seen it before. I have just been looking up the times Rome has been captured. Seldom has any of the times it has been taken had so little effect on the world at large. It seems so unfair that [General] Alexander’s so brilliant victory should have been so rapidly eclipsed by the invasion of France. Most of the captures of Rome are famous and many had a profound effect on history. Coriolanus seems to have been the first to attempt it, but desisted at his mother’s request, about which Shakespeare wrote a play. Then in 387 the Gauls took it, a story immortalised by Livy, how Brennus, the Gaulish chief, was bought off and threw his sword into the scale, exclaiming “Woe to be conquered” [as part of a deal to end the siege, the Romans undertook to pay the Gauls one thousand pounds of gold, and Brennus threw in his sword when the Romans complained that the Gauls were using heavier than standard weights to weigh the gold]. Hannibal came up to Rome in 216 after Cannae, but did not try to besiege it. That was until this month the only attempt to take Rome from the South. After that, there were six centuries of safety until Alaric captured it in A.D. 410. The Christians were blamed for it, and in reply St Augustine wrote De Civitate Dei. In 452, Attila was persuaded not to take the city, partly by money and partly through the persuasion of Gregory the Great. In 453 the Vandals sacked it, and it became a rather unimportant city under the Goths. Belisarius and Narses both captured it from Justinian in 537 and 553. A new age had come when it was next captured, by the Emperor Henry IV in 1084 and yet another age by 1527 when Charles V took it and the Pope. Owing to the Pope being in the hands of Charles V, he had to refuse Henry VIII a divorce and so the reformation came to England. In that siege, the victorious army was composed of Italians, Spaniards and Germans; and of these the Germans were the most merciful! The French took it next in 1798; the Pope recovered it the next year, but in 1800 lost it to Napoleon. The next great event was when Mr Gladstone proposed to his wife in the Colosseum. In 1849 the French took it, but this time for the Pope who was resisting the liberal elements among the Romans themselves; but in 1870 he lost it to Garibaldi and the Risorgimento. Now an army following Hannibal’s footsteps has for the second time approached from the south and this time taken it. It is a queer tale. All my love, Mickie. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Although it was clear by this time that Germany was not winning the war, Hitler placed great faith in the V1 and V2 rockets, his two new ‘wonder-weapons’, to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. In fact, neither was that effective. The V1 flying bombs (nicknamed buzz-bombs or bumble-bombs) were tiny pilotless planes launched from coastal ramps towards London, filled with just enough fuel to get to their destination; when they were out of fuel, their engines cut out and they fell to the ground and exploded. Initially, they had quite a bad effect on morale in London; but many ran out of fuel prematurely; they were easy to shoot down; and, as Michael’s letters show, people soon got used to them. The V2 rockets were much less easy to stop, but could carry only a small payload, so did relatively little damage (more slave labour died making the V2s than people were killed from being hit by them).
Letter 8.34. Michael Lambert in London to Florence Lambert in Devon, 16 June 1944
Darling, The Germans have started their great secret weapon. At irregular intervals, pilotless planes have been coming over. This has completely foxed the authorities, who did not know when to sound the all-clear. We had a continuous alert from eleven last night until eleven this morning, except for a ten-minute interval at half past nine. Now we are having ten-minute alerts about every half-hour as one of these things comes over. One went over our house last night, quite low. It rushed across the sky showing a little light, which I am told goes out before the thing explodes. … I believe they do quite a lot of damage, but it is in no way comparable to last February’s raids. All parts of London and Kent seem to have had them over, from which it would appear that they are despatched from the Calais coast or thereabouts. I am glad you and Sophia are away, as people do not know what to do about children. For the most part it is quiet, but from time to time, after intervals of twenty minutes to an hour, there is a burst of gunfire for a few seconds. Love Mickie -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.35. Michael Lambert at 25 Kensington Place, London to Florence Lambert in Devon, 18 June 1944
…These self-propelled bombs are giving our gunners fine practice, though I suppose to the expert they are mere child’s play. For one thing, they are always visible; by day one can see the thing itself and by night there is the glow of its exhaust. It also keeps a straight course and naturally comes from the same direction. This is a great comfort: one need only wait until the gunfire starts and then, seeing where the gunfire is, one can tell the path of the bomb and so judge whether it is going to come dangerously near. The Kent side of London must be very unpleasant, as they get them all, both their own and the ones going further afield. I believe there has been a fair amount of damages and rather severe casualties, not of course anything like the raids earlier this year. The things have, however, been all over the place, right out to the North, and West and East, in what were considered safe areas. Friday morning we had a succession of alerts and all-clears, but they seem to have kept off Friday afternoon. Friday night we had an all-night alert and Saturday morning nothing. However, the evening brought the usual succession of alerts and all-clears, followed by the all-night alert soon after blackout. The all-clear went soon after six this morning, since when we have had a further instalment of alerts and all-clears. I am not quite sure what it is at this moment. There has been no gunfire for about an hour, which is about the usual interval between bursts. The worst part is the sporadic gunfire at night. When one comes at all near, the Hyde Park guns open up and keep waking me. I am sleeping in the basement as it is quieter and there is less danger from spent rockets. It is a good thing Sophia is away as she would be constantly woken by the guns. I don’t think you would fancy being alone in the house by day when one hears the things droning away. It is surprising how far away they can be heard. They sound rather like a small car in bottom gear…. Now the gunfire has started again, and stopped again after a minute or two, not very near. Miss Morris [a dressmaker who lived in the house next door] and I always run out when the gunfire starts. I like to know where the thing is making for. Actually, I have only heard two go over the immediate neighbourhood…. As Enid is doing her civil defence duty tonight, I am going to Apsley House to keep Margaret company. On the way I shall look at Millbank [to see if there was any damage] as Margaret has just phoned that some of them things have fallen in Westminster. I noticed one or two apparently ending their careers in that direction, but I thought further away. All my love, Mickie -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.36. Michael Lambert in London to Florence Lambert in Devon, 23 June 1944
Darling, Owing to the haphazard way your requests are scattered around your letters, I have started marking them with a thick blue pencil for quick reference. I will work through them as time permits. Your Mother has collected two bonnets of Sophia’s and wants to know if you would like them sent on. She is going to have another go at the tailor. Perhaps you ought to write to her about him, as it is difficult for me to bully her as you do. These bumble-bombs are a bit nerve-wracking. They seem to upset everybody. I am not quite sure why it is, as the number that come over is not very large. For one thing, you know the contraption is going to go off somewhere. Then one can hear them a very long way off, perhaps ten miles away, and the report as they go off even further. That means that from our house on can hear pretty well every one that comes into the London area. In south-east London, the people hear not only the ones destined for London but a very large number falling short. Naturally, if you hear one of them, it is very difficult not to cock an ear to make out where it is going. If perhaps half a dozen an hour are going over, the drone followed by the report each time wakes you up sufficiently to prevent you going to sleep properly. Of course, once one is asleep, the noise is not enough to wake one up, but generally the siren has done that. I took no chances yesterday. I went to bed as soon as I got back from the office and had eight hours’ undisturbed slumber. The warning went soon after two and woke me up. Hence I am writing to you in the very small hours of the morning, but feeling very much refreshed. I have heard about half a dozen, but none was less than about five miles away so far as I could estimate. During the day very few are sent over; I suppose most of them are brought down. The Germans have a nasty habit of loosing off a whole lot about eight in the morning. One man who comes from South London told me six came down around his house during breakfast. It is difficult to know how close to his house that meant, as a report three miles off sounds as though it were two furlongs off. The other day during lunch, a bomb grazed the top off Bullingham Mansions [in Pitt Street near Kensington Church Street] and hit the corner of Winchester Court [opposite the Carmelite Church on Kensington Church Street]. The office of Mr Young’s mentor Mr Pavons [both unidentified] was demolished. His son and his secretary were killed, though he and the office boy survived. Two people were killed in Winchester Court, which is not surprising, as the explosion cannot have been more than twenty feet away. Bullingham Mansions lost all its windows and our poor chemist Lawson was completely blown in, though no-one was killed. The total number killed was I believe five, with an enormous number of cuts from broken glass. Barkers [department store in High Street Kensington] lost their ground-floor windows. It is very odd that, in Bullingham Mansions right opposite the explosion, pictures are still hanging on the walls. A strong building seems to stand up to it very well except for the part actually hit. Though these are big bombs, they do not seem to me to be as effective as the old land mines. Though the casualties can be heavy if the thing falls in a crowd, as has happened once or twice, the damage to property seems to be to a large extent superficial. You must not judge by the deaths on the front page of the Times, as they were mainly due to one incident…. To give you an idea of how many do come, when the alert went shortly after two, I heard six explosions in half an hour, though I only saw one bomb; then I heard two during the next two hours and then another five in about half an hour. The last lot were so far away that I did not hear the bombs. I should be surprised if any I have heard tonight was under five miles from here. The parcel with the gooseberries did indeed arrive; I returned the box with your things and I look forward with pleasure to the one you have just sent off [those living in the country regularly sent boxes of home-grown produce to friends and relations living in the towns]. All my love, Mickie. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.37. Michael Lambert in London to Floremce Lambert in Devon, 25 June 1944
Darling, I had dinner last night with Barbara [Norris], who is up to her ears in Poles. Her boss was there, and their behaviour is rather like the traditional Russian behaviour, as you may imagine, both talking wildly at once. He calls her Bibi! It appears that he is the [Polish] military attaché to the Norwegian Government [in exile in London] and has been appointed a delegate to the Peace Conference [probably the Moscow Conference in October 1944 which discussed the future of Poland]. Neither he nor Barbara knows the first thing about Peace Conferences or Disarmament, but are now setting about swotting it up. I should not imagine that they will be over-successful, since they did not seem to me to be setting about it the right way. Still, I recommended them Temperley’s History of the Peace Conference in six volumes, but I doubt if they will get further than the dust-cover, if as far. Barbara’s boss gave me a shot of anti-Soviet propaganda (no wonder the Russians suspect them), but in general his interests seemed to be in other directions. For example, when Barbara was saying how naïve and harmless the Norwegians are in foreign affairs, her boss interrupted with ‘All except so-and-so, he is very dangerous on sex’! The canteen seems to be the best part of their set-up. Ellen [their cleaner] did not turn up yesterday. I rang up Mr Hurter this morning to ask if she was all right, and he told me she had been so upset by the bumble bombs that he had to send her away. She kept on jumping into the cupboard, and poor Mr Hurter could get no sleep. These bombs are undoubtedly splendid demoralisers. London is almost deserted. This afternoon I went to see if Millbank was safe and took a bus to Victoria and a tram to Millbank, then walked to Westminster and another bus up Regent Street and Oxford Street. The last two were almost empty; Notting Hill Gate was as crowded as ever. On my perambulation, I saw four lots of damage, none of them very impressive, from which you can gather that quite a bit of London is still standing. Will you let me have a string bag for my shopping. All my love, Mickie -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The only family casualty in the blitz was Diana, the very popular wife of Florence’s first cousin Brian Gallagher (see note to Letter 4.1), who was serving in the Army overseas. Her death was particularly tragic for Brian, as not long before their only child had died in infancy.
8.35. Michael Lambert at 57 Apsley House, London N.W.8, to Florence Lambert in Devon, 2 July 1944
Darling, I hope my not writing for a couple of days has not caused you anxiety, but yesterday I was kept very busy trying to confirm some sad news. Diana was killed on Friday at about half past twelve in Tottenham Court Road when the bus she was in was hit. We are just waiting for someone who knew her intimately to do the final identification, but there is little doubt that it is she. I do not think that she was killed outright but, as she was wounded in the head, she is unlikely to have known anything. Poor Brian, it is a terrible misfortune for him. Diana must have just left the Hospital [where she was working as a nurse] and gone shopping, as there is some dress material with her clothes. The last time I saw her, she was in Church Street the day the bomb fell there, and she was telling me how for some reason she had gone down Vicarage Gate [a parallel road] instead of Church Street and so had been shielded by the flats when the thing came down. Your poor mother has been landed with everything, as Mrs Dorrington [Diana’s mother] is too weak to arrange the funeral. With luck Diana’s brother can be got hold of. We had a very difficult time locating Mrs Dorrington as Diana had just taken her to the country. After a lot of telephoning, we did it at last. The window-cleaner came yesterday and, having ascertained that Ellen was away, suggested his wife might look after me. Perhaps it may be a good idea when I return to Kensington Place. I must be off now or I shall miss the post again. All my love, Mickie. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.36. Michael Lambert at 57 Apsley House, London N.W.8, to Florence Lambert in Devon, 10 July 1944
…I am feeling a little less depressed today. Diana’s death was a shock and I was worn out Saturday, finding where she was and notifying her relations and everything. Her brother came up yesterday and identified her. I did not know her well enough to take the responsibility. Her brother has got five days’ compassionate leave and should be able to relieve your Mother of a lot of the work. The police were extremely helpful in tracing her [Diana’s] whereabouts, and also her mother’s, which we did not know. The Royal Free Hospital were the first to get on her track, when she did not turn up on Saturday, and they found that there was a casualty by the name of Gallagher on the records of Tottenham Road Police Station, supposed to be at University College Hospital. Your father then went to the U.C.H. and was told that there was no casualty of that name there. The Kensington Police then searched the casualty lists and could not find her name. We did not know where we were then, except that Diana was missing. As a last resort I went to Tottenham Road Police Station to enquire where they had got their information and was referred to U.C. Hospital. There, the porter found that there was an unidentified casualty. I was quite satisfied that this was Diana, but just in case I had made a mistake, I preferred a second opinion. All this made me thoroughly depressed. John Barkers, having put back their plate glass windows after the Church Street bomb, had them blown out again yesterday. Shops should not be allowed to put back their windows just now as flying glass causes most of the casualties, and in a place like Kensington High Street there is practically no protection. I am always very chary of going along it. All my love, Mickie. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.37. Michael Lambert in London to Florence Lambert in Devon, 12 July 1944
Darling, You should not rise to George’s apparent dyed-in-the-wool Toryism. As a good Lambert, he believes in testing everybody’s views by championing the other side and I can well imagine the warmth you put into the defence of your favourite thesis. After your experience of your Papa in similar circumstances, I am surprised you still get taken in. We appear to have about eight pounds of sugar which I will send down as soon as I can [probably needed for making jam]. Unhappily, I have not the idle hours you imagine and, when I go out with the police, not even an idle minute. I did pack up some on Saturday with various odds and ends, but then found the parcel too heavy for the post. Before I had had time to redo it, I was side-tracked into tracing Diana and her mother. I don’t think you really would have liked me to put your sugar first…. The war-news is much better than ever I dared hope. The Russians have gone half-way to East Prussia in ten days and now are somewhat less than the distance from London to Exeter from the frontier. The news of Siena is good too [French troops had taken Siena from the Germans on 3 July], and from Normandy too better than I had expected. Diana is being buried in the cemetery at Gunnersbury where her child is buried. She is to be in the Anglican part and the child is in the R.C. part, which seems rather silly. Perhaps I am merely being sentimental, and I doubt if High Heaven knows the love of nicely-calculated less or more. All my love, Mickie. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.38. Michael Lambert at 57 Apsley House, St John’s Wood, to Florence Lambert in Devon, 14 July 1944
Darling, Just a note that we are still safe and well. The flying bombs have eased off quite a bit and come now mostly by day, when the casualties are likely to be heavier. There is regularly a warning about nine in the morning, presumably to catch people going to work. Reverting to the Jews, here is one curious thing. Mrs M. has a Hungarian Jewish secretary, Ignotus¹, who is very obviously a Jew. He had his blood tested the other day for giving blood transfusions, and it was found to belong to a group that is very rare outside Hungary and Finland. What do you make of that? His features were Jewish, but his blood Hungarian! All my love, Mickie. ¹ Paul Ignotus (1901-1978) returned to Hungary after the war, was imprisoned by the Communists and came back to Britain in 1956. He became a distinguished writer on his experiences under communism and on Hungarian-Jewish problems. Margaret Lambert worked during the war at the BBC on the broadcasts to occupied Eastern Europe. Quite a few Jewish refugees from those parts worked with her. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Margaret’s partner, Enid Marx¹, was given commissions during the war to design “utility” textiles, i.e. fabrics with a very small pattern so that pieces could be matched together with a minimum of waste.
Letter 8.39. Michael Lambert at 57 Apsley House, St John’s Wood, to Florence Lambert in Devon, 18 July 1944
… Margaret’s flat in Apsley House is in a constant state of draught as Enid will have the windows open against the flying bombs. Luckily, it being summer, it is not too uncomfortable, and I believe it does stop one’s windows being broken by a distant bomb. Enid is very pleased as the Board of Trade are paying her a retaining fee of £100 for six months to design covers for utility furniture. The young man she deals with … visited her the other night and we could not get rid of him. He said that the flying bombs are very dangerous to launch as a good many crash after being released, and the Germans consequently use [captured] Russian soldiers to send them off. He had also spent some years in Sicily, where there used to be quite a sizeable English and American Colony. He once had a Sicilian maid who would not get on her knees to polish the floor but did it by tying rags on her feet. She told him that, as she had Spanish blood, she could not kneel down; yet she was illiterate. One thing I had not realised was that after the last war the Americans used to start the Grand Tour from Sicily in the early spring; proceed to Rome for Easter; to Florence for the fashion-show; to Paris for more fashions; to London for the court; and at last to Scotland for the 15th [probably a mistake for the 12th of August, the opening of the grouse-shooting season]. From there they went home. They usually took a Sicilian chauffeur the whole way through Europe and that is the reason why those Sicilians who do drive a car, drive so well. All my love, Mickie
¹ Enid Marx (1902-1998) was a distinguished artist and designer. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.40. Michael Lambert in London to Florence Lambert in Devon, 19 July 1944
On George’s departure from London, the flying bombs have started again [family legend had it that whenever Michael’s brother George was in London, the bombs stopped]. One fell on Kensington Palace Mansions and broke some of the windows of 27 Kensington Square. … Your father was constrained to get under the bed and your mother even was roused from sleep. They are all now sleeping downstairs, after much protesting. Despite her diatribes at Barkers for replacing their glass, your mother is going to have the glass put back at once. I suggested that, as it was only single panes and not whole windows that were missing, it would be more sensible to have translucent material for the time being…. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
On 20 July 1944, a group of German officers, led by Count Claus von Stauffenberg, made an unsuccessful attempt to assassinate Hitler.
Letter 8.41. Michael Lambert in London to Florence Lambert in Devon, 21 July 1944 …You no doubt are plunged in gloom over Hitler’s quarrel with the Generals. The Generals are very good at war, but I don’t think much of them as assassins. I suppose the young man merely chucked a hand-grenade. Like Margaret’s story of the partisans who wanted to blow up Mussolini’s train but could not get themselves to spare a good alarm-clock for the purpose. The one they did use lost a quarter of an hour. It is just as well the Generals have not revolted earlier, as they might then have been able to conduct the defence of Germany on sound lines. I wish our press would not blow hot and cold over the Norman campaign. One day we are breaking through to very easy country and the next, having got there, we are told it is very difficult country… ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.42. Michael Lambert at 57 Apsley House in St John’s Wood, to Florence Lambert in Devon, 30 July 1944
… A bomb fell in [Kensington] High Street last Friday midday. It fell half on the ABC [a popular eating place] and half on the pavement just beyond the passage leading to Our Lady of Victories. The casualties were rather severe as there were several tea-shops just then all full of lunchers. Troy Court lost its windows in the front but Stafford Court lost about a dozen panes only [both on Kensington High Street]. There is no doubt that small panes of glass are safer than large, and leaded lights may bulge but have to be very near the bomb to be blown in and even then generally go out in one piece. Even in Troy court, most of the window frames are left. Nevern Square, which was hit a week ago, is very impressive, as every window-frame was blown in. But these windows were the plate-glass two-pane Victorian kind. There is no doubt that Kensington is one of the worst hit districts north of the river. The police are so short with all the unprotected property lying around that they have had to borrow from all the neighbouring stations. Ten of the bombs have landed in our sub-division and an eleventh about fifty yards out of it. Dusk seems to be the Germans’ favourite time for despatching them. Practically every night the siren goes just after black-out. Last night I heard four go off in the next half-hour, though only two were near enough for me to hear them approaching, and one of the two was so far away that I just heard the engine before the explosion. It is a great blessing working at Ickenham as we are pretty well free of interruptions. In the City, some days half a dozen bombs may be near enough each day to make people take cover. The spotters, however, don’t take chances and are inclined to give a warning whenever they hear a bomb. Yet in many cases the bomb never gets within five miles of the place and may go off twenty miles away. There is no doubt they are well designed to slow up things. However, it is all very erratic. Some days there will be continuous alerts and all-clears, perhaps twenty in a day. Then there will be two or three days with hardly any day-time alerts. Yesterday, the first alert was after lunch and I did hear a bomb, somewhere south of the river, I should think; there were two alerts during the rest of the afternoon but nothing came within earshot. Barbara rang up yesterday. She is still engaged on preparations for peace. She told me she has to read up all about the last Peace Treaty [i.e. following World War I] and the Disarmament clauses. I don’t think she properly appreciates her task, as it would take two years of close study. She now wants to join Chatham House; I cannot see that that is going to help her that very much. Now I must be off, as I am having lunch at the Square. All my love, Mickie. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.43. Michael Lambert in London to Florence Lambert in Devon, 1 August 1944 (postcard)
Margaret and Enid got up all right yesterday, but as no one had let me know, I had arranged to go out with the police. I had a great time sending buses all round the back streets of Earls Court Road, as the demolition people suddenly produced an enormous crane which blocked the whole road outside Troy Court. The L.P.T.B. [London Passenger Transport Board] were very angry at seeing all their busses threading their way between air-raid shelters. However, after examining all possible routes, they decided mine was best. There is nothing so good as arranging traffic diversions. … -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.44. Jane Macaskie at 27 Kensington Square to Florence Lambert in Devon, 4 August 1944
… The flying bombs are a frightful bore. At night, fortunately, they cause very light casualties, but it is a different story when they hit a crowded street in daytime. In any case, the amount of glass they break over a tremendous area is unbelievable. Earls Court has had terrible days – three in a week, so close together – one in Nevern Square, one in Philbeach Gardens and one in Earls Court Square. You have no idea how frightful the area has become. It had already suffered considerably in former bombings and has been going down hill in any case these last thirty years. It has certainly reached the bottom of the hill this time. I hope it will be entirely rebuilt some day. I found the garden door of the Red House¹ [where they used to live near Earls Court] was open, so I went in. The garden is a rubble heap – the sundial blown away except the base of the pillar, and the wall next to Pembroke Hall gone. The house looks all right from the outside, all the windows intact. But inside, the wall between the windows is just rough bricks, not a vestige of plaster or panelling or paint or anything. I looked up and found I was looking into the drawing-room through the floor and wall of your bedroom. Otherwise, the house wasn’t too bad and very clean. Our runaway tenants evidently spent money doing it up. But it made one so sad to see it like that – it seemed as if so many happy years of my life had been brutally obliterated. It used to be such a gay, pretty, full house when we lived there, and I can’t help feeling that a whole era, and a very pleasant decent one has gone and nobody means to restore it. The simple, cultured, hardworking people who lived in all these roads and did so much more for their size than any other class to make England what it is are being ground to powder to cement the homes of the so-called workers. … It may be 50 years before this class can rise again. I think nouveaux riches will come and take Mayfair and Belgravia and the stately homes of England and will mellow quickly, as they do in these surroundings, and clever people like you may just keep your heads above water with a perpetual struggle. But the world of my youth has gone, never to return. I may be wrong, of course, and this may be just the result of seeing all these ghosts. As you know, I am not a visitor of bomb craters, but I went to see if I could salvage anything for Jeanne². …
¹ Where Florence’s parents had lived before moving to 27 Kensington Square. The Macaskies had a long lease of the Red House. When they moved, they sublet the Red House to some people who decamped without paying their rent.
²Jeanne was a woman of unknown parentage who lived with the nuns at the Convent in Kensington Square. She had been left as a foundling on the steps of the convent chapel in about 1900 and taken in and informally adopted by the nuns. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Michael’s school and university friend Lord David Douglas-Hamilton (see letter 3.3) had joined the Royal Air Force at the time of the Munich crisis and became a squadron-leader. He was killed in a flying accident on 2 August 1944, crashing in southern England after returning from a reconnaissance mission over France. In 1938 he had married Prunella Stack, daughter of the founder (and herself later the leader) of the Women’s League for Health and Beauty (which promoted physical fitness). He was buried near Ferne, the Duke of Hamilton’s house on the Dorset-Wiltshire border. Although his and Michael’s lives had diverged, Michael remained attached to him. One of his sons became an astro-physicist; the other a zoologist.
Letter 8.45. Michael Lambert at 57 Apsley House, St John’s Wood, London, to Florence Lambert, 4 August 1944
Darling, Isn’t it sad about David Hamilton? It makes the past seem so irretrievably gone. There is now only Keith Thomson [unidentified] of my friends from Summerfields days. Even he was not so often with me as David, first at Summer Fields, then Harrow and then at Oxford. Practically every Sunday at Oxford David and I used to go driving all round the countryside. Now that he is gone, it all seems very distant. So much of my life has been associated with him, from the very first days at Summer Fields when he used to moon around by himself. He was connected with so much that I remember. Even today, the war in Britanny keeps bringing up the names of places I remember from a holiday there, which had begun with a visit to Germany with David and Malcolm [David’s brother] and their tutor Ronnie Brown. David always had such a disregard of danger that I thought he could scarcely survive this war. … Apsley House is very full of Lamberts, but we seem to fit in quite easily. Poor old Grace was woken up by a bomb and was a long time getting to sleep again, though I found last night quieter than usual. Perhaps that is the result of acclimatisation. All my love, Mickie. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Germans, who had occupied Florence the previous year, were being gradually pushed into retreat in Italy. When they left Florence, they blew up all the bridges over the Arno (except the Ponte Vecchio which Hitler personally ordered should be saved) to make it diffucult for Allied Troops to cross the river.
Letter 8.46. Michael Lambert in London to Florence Lambert in Devon, 8 August 1944
Darling, It is a tragedy about Florence. I was terribly frightened the Germans would hold the Pisa-Florence-Rimini line. I am, however, hopeful that none of the bridges is irreparably damaged. If only one span, or better still a portion of a span, is destroyed, a bridge can be reconstructed without much difficulty. It is not like a piece of sculpture which can only be done once and for all, and by only one man. No doubt the Ponte alle Grazie has been well measured and photographed. After all, a bridge is a pretty tough affair and a single mine damages only a small portion. Of course, if the Germans blow up the piers, it will be quite another matter. Let us hope that the destruction is not too great. I might add by way of correction that Cromwell would no more have destroyed the bridges of Florence than you. To give him his due, he caused more fine buildings to be built than any other ruler of England, excepting only Henry VI and George IV. The town of Marlborough is no ugly duckling of a scheme he sponsored, any more than the works of his two protégés, Milton and Bunyan, are poor literature. You should at least give praise where praise is due. The Puritans may have preferred religion to art, but when the two did not conflict, I do not know that their taste was any better or any worse than that of the Royalists. The more educated like Sir Thomas Fairfax naturally had better taste than the rough country squires like Cromwell. But it is all too common a fallacy to confuse religious Puritanism with that misnomer artistic Puritanism. Nor am I aware that ten years of Puritan government had a debasing effect on English taste. If it did, it is curious that the fifty years after Cromwell’s death revealed an extremely high level of taste, and taste is not a thing created in a day. Possibly Puritanism may have affected English taste in that it eschewed Baroque – and a very good thing too. You may prefer Vanbrugh to Wren, Hawksmoor and Gibb, but I don’t. Taste after Cromwell was certainly higher and more urbane than before. You should not accuse Cromwell of something that did not happen. All my love, Mickie ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
On 4 September, the British Second Army liberated Brussels after a rapid advance through Belgium and the retreat of the Germans. This generated tremendous optimism in Britain, although the subsequent advance into Holland proved much more difficult than expected.
Letter 8.47. Michael Lambert at 57 Apsley House, St John’s Wood, London to Florence Lambert in Devon, 5 September 1944
Darling, The war news is very good, isn’t it? It is very gratifying that our troops entered Brussels. Do you remember the far-off days when we had to evacuate the city and our troops were cheered by the Belgians? There was an account of the scene there yesterday in the Standard this evening. The Belgians are much nicer than the French. In the middle of the rejoicing, everyone was quiet as the radio played the Last Post; one cannot imagine the French doing that. Apparently, as background to the noise, the crowd just kept saying ‘thank you, thank you.’ It was probably the only English most of them knew or needed to know. According to the papers, we covered the last seventy miles to Brussels in seven hours – a fantastic advance, much quicker than anything the Americans have done – and have covered 280 miles in a week; that is 40 miles a day. … The flying-bombs last night did not, despite the wireless, come over London. As far as I know, London did not have an alert. Either Luton or Hitchin had a number over in a very few minutes, which looks as though the Germans were sending off all they had on hand from somewhere in Holland. I can well imagine they want to be rid of the things when they hear our troops are at hand. It would not be much fun to be caught sending one off. … -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.48. Michael Lambert at 57 Apsley House, St John’s Wood, London to Florence Lambert in Devon, 9 September 1944
… Last night Mrs M. [Michael’s sister Margie who worked for the BBC Overseas Service] had someone in who wanted to talk business. Enid, Grace and I, in order to leave them alone, went to a news film. There was a film of German prisoners being paraded through Moscow. They were a bedraggled, dirty crowd. I suppose the cameramen made them look as un-Herrenvolk-like as possible. At the end of the procession there came a lot of water-carts to wash down the streets. There was also a rather gruesome picture of the Parisians fighting the Germans, not that there appears to have been much fighting. … --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Germans began using V2 rockets (known in London as “flying bombs”) on 8 September 1944. A total of 1358 were to fall on London in the next few months.
Letter 8.49. Michael Lambert at 57 Apsley House, St John’s Wood, London to Florence Lambert in Devon, 11 September 1944
Darling Heart, What a change to get a cheerful letter from you about the war, and that too at a time when our military operations are about to be slowed up. It looks as though our troops, if ever they got into Holland, were pushed out again. It is a pity we could not get to the Rhine. Still, it is no use regretting; so long and swift an advance had to halt somewhere, if only for lack of supplies. But now I fear it will be some weeks before we are across the Rhine. The most hopeful factor is that every possible route into Germany is threatened and I do not see how the Germans, after their enormous losses in France, can defend them all. … Now I must tell you about last Friday’s Big Bang. I was out with the police near Addison Bridge. Suddenly there were two terrific explosions. At first I thought it was a backfire, then I thought an ammunition dump must have blown up. In a few minutes, a great column of smoke arose over Hammersmith way. Everyone came running into the streets, thinking it was V2, 3 or 4, or perhaps all at once. However, it turned out to be in Staverley Road, Chiswick, where a large crater appeared in the middle of the road. What caused the explosion is still a mystery, probably an old bomb or a leaky gas main. The noise was the oddest thing. At Chiswick, people did not think it was much of a bang, yet it seems to have been heard over most of London. The people in Waterloo Station were given a nasty shock, so a railway man told me. Here in St John’s Wood, Enid thought it must be the Primrose Hill guns opening up. Luckily, there does not appear to have been any fatal casualties. … Church Street has just been opened to traffic both ways. The demolition people have made the damage very impressive. You will notice a big change – a much bigger change than if you had seen it when the bomb had just fallen. Mother’s antipathy to the French and sympathy for the Germans must be causing you exquisite agony. I have not an awful lot of sympathy for the French. From this morning’s papers, they are already having a political crisis. As for those Bulgarians, owing to their sharp dealing, they have now let the Russians into the Balkans. I really think there is only one safe attitude for English people, and that is to assume that the niggers begin at Calais [Michael’s habit of teasing Florence by pretending provokingly blimpish attitudes continued throughout their married life]. All my love, Mickie -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.50. Michael Lambert in London to Florence Lambert in Devon, 13 September 1944
…Some side-lights on the blitz. There is a dog in Edge Street which howls beautifully with the siren. The little boys in the streets are playing at flying-bombs with paper-darts. Your father woke up your mother the other night as she was snoring so loudly that he could not hear the bombs. Enid was looking forward to George’s return to London as the raiding always seems to ease off when he is in London, and it has. All my love, Mickie ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.51. Michael Lambert in London to Florence Lambert in Devon, (?)14 September 1944
Darling heart, I must wish you many happy returns of the day, though doubtless you will regard the event with unrelieved gloom. It is, however, improbable that you will experience any sudden change from adolescence to haggery as you have so often tried to make me believe. On my thirtieth birthday, I did not feel more than one day older than I had on the previous day. Any gloom you may feel on that account can be partly assuaged by the prospect of this being your sixth and last war-time birthday. Now that it has been generally agreed that V2 has been tried on us, everyone here has settled down in the most remarkable way, after several days of the most remarkable rumours. Yesterday was all rumours and gossip; today the subject is not mentioned. After all, it is not much good mentioning it, as there is very little to be done about it. It arrives unheralded and unheard. Mrs M. had a rather tragic prisoner to interview today. His mother was in prison for listening to the BBC. He suddenly said he felt so much freer in our prison camp than ever he had in Austria. The Germans don’t seem to do much for their prisoners over here. There is no official Red Cross service and their families occasionally send them bits of sausage and suchlike. Their only literature is what we supply them with. As far as Mrs M. can make out, it consists of Guilty Men [a book attacking those British politicians who supported Appeasement], Tory MP and Your MP [by a Conservative M.P. with German sympathies, Norman Hulbert, writing pseudonymously as “Gracchus”]. The prisoners complain that they don’t know enough of the political background to appreciate them. … It is a pity that Mother is so overwrought. I seem to be the only member of the family who does not have to bear her attacks; but then I take some trouble to forestall them. Enid says it is much worse for her as she is reminded of the deepest inglory of not being a Lambert. However, M. and E. are planning to spend a few days at Spreyton next Thursday and I hope to get down the following day. That should create a diversion. With any luck, October should see the end of the Germans and you can all come back. I would certainly prefer Sophia to stay out of London as long as the Nazis can have pots at us. I should feel it terribly if we brought her back and then something happened to her, and so for that matter would Mother. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Letter 8.52. Michael Lambert in London to Florence Lambert in Devon, 11 October 1944
Darling heart, On the question of your return from London, I don’t see we can decide anything just yet. No doubt the High Command will make every effort to get right into Germany this month, and they should succeed. The situation is a bit gloomy at the moment, but you remember your famous words of 27th July last, when the battle of Normandy was beginning and how you envisaged a stalemate until the spring. It is true that the season is far advanced, but against that the Germans have lost a million men since your last period of gloom. Let us then see what the situation is towards the end of the month. London is infinitely more tolerable now than it was a month ago. But I do not think you would like it here with Sophia. The flying-bombs are now just an odd two a week or so. There is a warning most nights and one usually hears a bomb when there is a warning. The business of bringing Sophia down would be far more nerve-wracking now. The raids are quite different from what they were last spring. For one thing, there is no gunfire and no way of telling how severe the attack is likely to be. In fact the alert is no more than a warning to keep one’s ears open for the sound of a bomb. The real warning is the buzz of the bomb itself which, in a favourable wind, one can hear for some minutes. If Sophia was upstairs when a bomb came within earshot, I think you would find it rather a strain, even though the bomb was never less than five miles off. By the time one has heard it, it would be too late to bring her down. Also, as your Mother said last night, if the windows of our house were broken, it would be intolerable for Sophia. I do not imagine you need wait for a two month lull before returning to London, as the war will have been over for two months by then. My advice is very strongly to keep Sophia out of London. Every day I hear people worrying whether or not to bring their children upstairs. The situation is different from what it was when there were a few nights with raids and then a lull. The alerts are generally so short now, but practically every night. Suppose Sophia was in London now, would you put her upstairs? There was a ten days’ lull before last Thursday. On Thursday and Friday there were short alerts before nine o’clock and both nights I heard a bomb. On Saturday there was an alert in the middle of the night for about half an hour, but I did not hear anything. On Sunday and Monday, there were alerts in the middle of the night and I heard a bomb both nights. Tonight Wednesday, there has been a ten-minute alert but no bomb. What would you do? It is gratifying that you urine has a specific gravity of 1,026, good stuff…. All my love, Mickie -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.53. Jane Macaskie at 27 Kensington Square, to Florence Lambert in Devon, 19 October 1944
… I really think the London front is dying down now. It is true we have an alert every night, but it never lasts long and it is ages since we have heard a far-off bang. When Norway, Holland and Denmark are free, I don’t think they will launch much more at us, and that may be very soon. … I have got horrid rheumatism in my shoulders – started when I slept downstairs [to avoid the bombs] in July and August, and took a new lease of life with the cold spell we had with only half a window next to my bed. We have abandoned the sitting-room till I can get the glass put back there, and are in the drawing-room, which is far warmer. … I am having a lot of bother with the windows. Barkers actually promised to put them back and started the work when they discovered they must not go on till I had got a special licence because the repairs came to more than £10 in the last year. This after three months filling in forms and corresponding with the War Damage people. This licence I am now trying to get, and I think it is an infamous regulation that people must not spend more than £10 in the vital repairs to their houses in a year which included five months of heavy bombardment and incendiary raids, of which the London houses were the main target, without all this outrageous delay. I wish Michael’s papa would draw attention to it. … I am longing to see Sophia and hope for every reason that the war may soon end. All my love to you both, Mommy. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.54. Michael Lambert at 57 Apsley House, St John’s Wood, London, to Florence Lambert in Devon, 1 November 1944
… The flying bombs have more or less stopped. There was an alert this morning, it is true, but it was the first for some days. However, the rockets are becoming very much more frequent. Just as I wrote that we are free of them by day, we had some in the day time. Yesterday, two came down almost together in the morning and another in the afternoon. There is invariably one at dusk; this evening (it is now 6.20), there have already been two. On past form, we should be free now for a few hours. There were, however, none during daylight today. I am afraid they will upset Mother if she comes up from Spreyton. Not that they are yet very numerous, up to half a dozen a day, but they make an almighty noise. You will probably have noticed from my letters that the number coming over is creeping up. You can assure the Spreyton optimists that London is not yet through with bombardment and that the present may only be a lull compared with what is to come. Of course, it is a matter of temperament whether one prefers rockets or flying bombs. The one does not announce its arrival until it goes up; the other announces itself in no uncertain terms if it is within ten miles. I prefer the flying bombs because their effects, though more widespread, are more superficial and a few floors of a stout building is sufficient protection. The rockets must have enormous penetrative powers. … ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In November 1944, Michael returned briefly to the Isle of Man to do an audit.
Letter 8.55. Michael Lambert at 24 Athol Street, Douglas, Isle of Man to Florence Lambert in Devon, 13 November 1944.
… The Castle Mona [hotel in Douglas] is as full as ever, both with refugees and with service people. The owners must be making a fortune out of it, and there is no E.P.T. [Excess Profits Tax, designed to capture the extra profits made by businesses out of wartime shortages] in the Island. I heard one story which is typical of the Manx. When the boarding-houses were taken over, the Imperial Government signed a standard form of agreement with each boarding-house keeper. Among the terms was that the Government would hire the furniture with the option of buying it at 1939 prices. The boarding-house keeper association was too mean to have a lawyer vet the agreement, with the result that no-one appreciated the implications of this particular clause. Naturally, when the furniture prices went shooting up, the Government exercised its option. Immediately there was an awful howl, because the people had only got 1939 prices for their furniture when current prices were very much higher, and it was thought the Government was going to take the furniture out of the Island. Eventually, a deputation went to the Home Office and the Manx Government had to buy the furniture back for £70,000. Now they are trying to sort out the mess. Otherwise the Manx seem to be doing very well and grasping all they can lay hands on. An officer in the hotel told me that whenever the Army ask for tenders for anything, they never get more than one. The Island is rather a melancholy place for me, and I keep coming across things that remind me of our visit in 1941. … If it was summer, I would stay at Colby, amongst the fuchsias and wild irises. It seems a very long time ago when we used to walk down the Colby river to the sea. At this time of year, Colby Glen is too damp and sodden to be attractive. I am told Port Erin is open again, the camp having been pushed back into one corner. Some of the men’s camps, including Hutchinson [the old internment camp where Florence had worked earlier in the war], are being refurbished for the prisoners of war. All my love, Mickie -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Letter 8.56. Michael Lambert at 24 Athol Street, Douglas, Isle of Man to Florence Lambert in Devon, 23 November 1944.
… The small town life of the Island is rather attractive. I was thinking of the man who used to be senior partner in the firm of solicitors I deal with here. In London he would be nothing. But here he is Chancellor and Vicar-General of the Diocese and Stipendiary Magistrate for the Island and on his way to becoming a Deemster [judge]. In these small places a man can take much more part in life. I often wonder whether the high civilisation that London offers is worth the fundamentally unsocial existence it entails. One has a few friends and one goes to and from work, but that is all. One may make a lot of money or may not. Of course the Island is a bit too isolated and parochial and I suppose one does not appreciate the pleasures of London, not having been without them. Nor would I ever want to exchange London for the North of England. I have been unable to buy you a comb or washing flannel. The Island is no longer the isle of plenty you knew. Its population has been increased by some forty per cent over normal during the last three years and things are shorter here than in England. Meat and eggs and fats are more plentiful; but most other things are the contrary. This is to be expected when one considers the very large number of service people in the place. You would not recognise Ronaldsway [the main airport]. Instead of just an aerodrome, it is a large naval establishment of a mass of huts with a greatly enlarged aerodrome in the middle. The first consignment of prisoners [of war] arrived tonight and have been put in Hutchinson. I am told they are not a very impressive lot. Wharfe Mill [unidentified] is apparently being used as a prison camp under not very attractive conditions. The campaign in Normandy, contrary to your prognostications, yielded far fewer casualties and vastly more prisoners than was anticipated. Consequently, there are plenty of empty hospital beds but very few internment camps. The Americans and Canadians have already refused to take any more, and those old mills are being pressed into service again. The ones in the Island must be lucky. I must now to the post. All my love, Mickie ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Letter 8.57. Michael Lambert at 25 Kensington Place, London, to Florence Lambert at Coffins, Spreyton, Devon, 26 November 1944
Darling heart, I have just returned from church, as I noticed that the Bishop of London was preaching. As he is in the running for Canterbury, I thought I would like to see what he looked like. I am sorry I never heard Dr Temple [the Archbishop of Canterbury who had just died], for whom I had a great admiration. It is today what is known in the C. of E. as ‘stir up’ Sunday from the collect of the day [“stir up, we beseech thee, oh lord, the wills of they faithful people”], that is the Sunday before Advent. The bishop preached a good sermon. He has a pleasant way of waving his lawn sleeves. The church, however, was very cold, having lost one or two windows. Some pigeons appeared in a hole in the roof, which reminded me of St Francis. … As a result of all the shakes the house has had, the plate rack has fallen down, breaking one or two plates, but luckily no cups. The kitchen looked really quite a mess. I have sent off your sweet ration for this month. I gather Grace did get the previous lot, as she wrote and thanked M. and E. for them. They wrote back to say they were not from them. I suppose eventually their true author was appreciated. The new moonlighting [presumably some sort of relaxation of the black-out] in London is a great improvement. It applies only to the main streets, but there at least one can get along with adequate comfort. At least one can see where one is going and who is approaching. … -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.58. Michael Lambert C/o E. Griffiths Hughes, Manchester, to Florence Lambert in Devon, 3 December 1944
Darling Heart, Manchester is really living up to its reputation for rain. The last two days have been vile, with hail and sleet. My old friend the cook was telling me the other day of the iniquities of the Catholic priests up here. She and her husband are both Irish and devout R.C.s but are also Socialists. Her husband, as a man of strong political views, refused to vote as the priest told him. The priest and local Jesuits publicly called him a Communist and had to apologise. The cook told me that it was rare for a family to stand up against the priest. I did not realise that Mother C. was so reactionary up here, as my friend the cook is very pink. The Jesuits I can understand as they are the corps d’elite of reaction. The cook’s final remark was: ‘I tell the priest that the Catholic Church had all the world in its embrace and can only have lost its hold through using its power badly.’ Perhaps I am not so far wrong in regarding Mother C. as not the most just and humane exponent of the principles of government in this world; and if not in this world, why should she be sub specie aeternitatis? There are a number of American AT.S. [Auxiliary Transport Service, the part of the Army that was staffed by women] here. American girls are supposed to be pretty, though one would not get that idea from viewing these A.T.S. I notice the American men always appear with English girls. Several such couples appear to be staying in the hotel. The Midland never had such a reputation before, as it is a very expensive place. However, anything is possible today. I was told of one poor man who was robbed and beaten up in bed – in bed in the Midland too! There was a Negro having breakfast this morning, but I did not notice any Americans get up and walk out. As I was leaving my room about ten this morning, an Army officer emerged in a great rage, enquiring about the breakfast he had ordered for eight o’clock. One does not have to be a civilian for long to realise that in hotels it is best not to ask for more than the minimum service. In any case, even Army officers should get up for breakfast nowadays. All my love, Mickie. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The next two letters were both written at midnight, which may account for their particularly acerbic tone. Florence’s parents (and to a lesser extent Florence herself) belonged to a generation in which it was common in certain sections of society to see leisure as important for those who were educated, so that culture and beauty could be cultivated for the benefit of society generally.
Letter 8.59. Michael Lambert C/o E. Griffiths Hughes, Manchester to Florence Lambert in Devon, 4 December 1944
… You mother has chosen an unfortunate occasion on which to base her claim for personal liberty. She is of course quite right in realising that sauve qui peut is the only way to get what you want; if you don’t look after yourself, no one else will. No doubt too the Town Hall were inconsiderate and ill-mannered. But after all the Square has not lost much glass and if I thought that, by permitting one window to remain blocked for a few months I was helping towards enabling the many hundreds of families who have not roof, door or window to get shelter, I would gladly let my window remain blocked. … I sympathise with your concern at losing the privileges your superior brains and ability entitle you too. For myself, I have an uneasy conscience on the matter. The Church taught me that all men’s souls are equal before God and I certainly believe it. The sensible thing would be to enjoy the inequality one sees in this world, as you suggest, but somehow it does not seem to me the right approach. Perhaps I have more than average mental capacity, but the credit for that is hardly mine and I don’t therefore see how I can claim to have earned any particular privileges. The most I can say is that I was brought up to a certain standard of living and therefore it is harder for me to adopt a lower one. I hope we may attain to a standard which will give us reasonable comfort. If not, there is the old High Church doctrine of the C. of E. that one’s duty must come first. Anyway, I am surprised at your Mother’s attitude towards Beveridge [the Beveridge Report on introducing a welfare state], now that Mother C., through the person of Archbishop Griffin [Archbishop of Westminster and the senior Catholic prelate in England], has accepted him. On the whole, I favour Beveridge, even if I do have to make some small sacrifice myself, because I think it is wrong that some people do not get enough for subsistence. … Whatever privileges we may have earned, there is also the question of noblesse oblige. It is up to us to set an example, not of querulously complaining about our lost privileges, but of doing our duty, trusting to obtain thereby reasonable prosperity in this world. It is chance, not Beveridge, that will remain the determining factor in everybody’s life. All my love, Mickie. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.60. Michael Lambert in Manchester to Florence Lambert in Devon, 5 December 1944
Darling heart, When finishing your letter last night, I was amused to think how you with your consuming passion for intense beauty find yourself completely out of sympathy with my family and how I disagree toto orbe with nearly every view expressed by your worthy Mother. Yet we seem to get on all right. It is an odd world, but interesting. There is little virtue in uniformity. It is puzzling that your Mother, a good and pious woman, should have so little social sympathy, so little understanding of the aspirations of the common people, whereas uncle Ferdie¹ is so very the contrary. Perhaps it is Mother C which, with its hierarchical conception of society, has little use for ordinary people attempting self-betterment. A great Roman Catholic, Lord Acton, said that power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. It is not to be wondered at that Mother C, in claiming absolute power in the most important departments of life, faith and morals, so often tries to buttress its claim by keeping the masses illiterate and docile and by discouraging in the faithful any spontaneous sympathy with the underdog. You will probably call this one of my prejudices. Yet the more I see of R.Cs., the more I am confirmed in this opinion. I was led to these ruminations by a talk I had with my friend the cook. She, poor woman, reduced herself to tears when telling me about a girl in the works [of E. Griffiths Hughes]. This girl, it appears, is to have a baby next month but has to keep on working because her husband lost both legs on D-Day. The girl is 21 and the husband 23. Mrs Evans, the cook, was very moved in contemplating what life had to offer that girl. She even said that something more should be done for her. Perhaps one should not go so far as that. But isn’t it wrong to make such a fuss about being deprived of glass in a couple of windows for one winter or at having to adopt a lower standard of life? I am not out of sympathy with your desire for leisure, but merely frightened when I compare our good fortune with the misfortunes others have to bear. The girl Mrs Evans told me of is not the only tragedy I have come across. The last job I was on in London was in connection with a man caught stealing. He is married with two small children and his career ruined. At the job before that, there was a woman who has to work to support her three children as her husband is a wastrel and has deserted her. So it goes on. Can one help wondering whether the leisure of a cultured few is so important that one must disregard such misfortunes? This is a matter on which your mind is, of course, made up. Leisure in which to cultivate beauty is worth all else. But it is more difficult for me to feel so certain as on so many days in the year I am brought face to face with these misfortunes, and however much I may disapprove of Beveridge on details, I cannot help feeling that in principle it is right, not aesthetically but morally right. Life is not so simple that beauty, goodness and truth come always arm-in-arm. Sometimes it is a question of choosing one or the other. When one has to choose between what is beautiful or what is conducive to beauty and what is morally right, I would be inclined to sacrifice beauty. Who would have thought, seven years ago, that I, crusty old Tory, should so soon have to wake in you a little human sympathy? … I cling to the hope that a change of scene may bring about a change of heart…. Nor have I given up hope of interesting you in the creation of beauty in the everyday things of today. It would be deplorable if you continue narrowing your interest… to intense beauty of not less than one and a half centuries old, and continue to fancy you are in any way furthering the cause of intense beauty by shouting on all occasions, appropriate and inappropriate, ‘Puritanism! Puritanism!’ All my love, Mickie.
¹ Florence’s uncle Ferdinand Tuohy was a journalist of leftish views. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.61. Michael Lambert at the Midland Hotel, Manchester, to Florence Lambert in Devon, 8 December 1944
… I don’t quite understand your reasoning when you say that your mother was not allowed to replace her windows because she belonged to a certain class. The reason was, as far as I know, that no one may at the moment spend more than £10 on repairs, without a licence. That applies to everyone, though people like your mother are better able to get round the regulation by producing a doctor’s certificate and employing her own builder. The £10 limit may be severe and probably your mother is obtaining a doctor’s certificate and having her windows put back did not stop some seriously damaged house being repaired. But a thousand people like your mother would certainly hinder more urgent repairs. How can we expect any privileges if we are not prepared to be a little public-spirited? You are quite right in saying that it is more difficult for our parents than for us to face the future. Those who were brought up among the upper class in Edwardian days were very spoilt. For all except the very rich, life before 1850 was not easy. There may have been plenty of servants, but there was an awful lot more menial work to be done. One servant can today with modern appliances and fittings do what three did then. After 1850, there was a long period of expansion and peace. The Edwardians were lucky because they had all the Victorians had without knowing the grim period the Victorians had once known. I very much doubt if life after the [last] war was for the professional classes any harder than it was at any time before 1850. The Edwardians were spoilt because an undue part of the wealth that the Victorians created went to the rich. The poor are now catching up. The comparative standard of living of the rich and the poor is, I should imagine, much what it was before the Industrial Revolution. On the question of going abroad, except in a few backward countries like India or Italy, I doubt if we would be much better off. How long it will last in those countries, I don’t know. You certainly would not get any more leisure in North America. South America I don’t know about. Australia or New Zealand, I doubt it. South Africa is the most likely spot, until the explosion takes place. The trouble is, you can obtain your leisure only at the expense of the poorer classes or, as in South Africa, of the [so-called] inferior races. Those poorer classes and inferior races are everywhere waking up and refusing to slave so that you may have leisure. For myself, I should not leave the social stability of England for an extremely explosive country like South Africa unless one had the opportunity of making a fortune fairly quickly. With taxation everywhere at a very high level, this is a difficult undertaking. Your trouble is really quite simple. You imagine that life in England after five years of an extremely exhausting war is the pattern of the future. When you think that half our resources are devoted to the war, you will appreciate that there will be a considerable rise in the standard of living when the resources are devoted to our own well-being. Everyone working today spends half his time supporting someone else who is used solely for fighting the Germans. That is why we have no leisure. I feel sure you would be much happier if you made up your mind to be content with only a little more leisure than some of your class had a century ago. All my love, Mickie -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.62. Florence Lambert in Devon to her mother at 27 Kensington Square, 16 December 1944
… I’m glad your rheumatics are better and I’m sure Norberg [her doctor] will cure them in the end, but I think you are making an unseemly fuss about your windows. You are, I regret to say, rapidly entering the “Why don’t they eat cake?” category, which helps to oil the wheels of revolution so well. Do come off it and lay off the Class War. After all, your case would not look very well in Parliament. It would be pointed out that you have a number of other rooms in which you might very well sleep and in which the thousands who have lost their homes completely would be delighted to sleep. I think you are allowing “the windows” to assume an importance out of all proportion. An Aunt Sally, in fact, on which to hang your extremist views and the result is to make you out a heartless, selfish egotist who would gladly watch others starve unless they had been to the same school. As you are not really like that, this is a pity. I know Granny [Jane Macaskie’s mother] firmly believed that her birth and education entitled her to priority in everything over the lower classes, whom she regarded with the same callous indifference as the Germans regard the Poles, etc. But I should hate it if you got like that. Don’t you think it would be better if we went in for a little noblesse oblige and spent our time keeping alive our conception of the good life until this wave of red tape and planning is over? I don’t believe in your bloody revolution, but enough people going round talking like you might start something. … -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.63. Michael Lambert at 57 Apsley House. St John’s Wood, to Florence Lambert in Devon, 11 December 1944
… I had lunch at the Square [with Florence’s parents] last night. … Your mother was telling me more about her windows. I think she has a certain reason for complaint, as she has been most unfortunate. She went to Barkers as the people most likely to have glass, only to find that Barkers had quarrelled with the Town Hall (!!) and could not get any licences. After all her scraps with Barkers it is a bit hard, on joining forces with them, for her to find them on the wrong side of the Town Hall. Love, Mickie -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Whatever Florence had been writing to Michael about her mother’s problems with her windows, it is clear from this letter that she was absorbing and passing on Michael’s arguments.
Letter 8.64. Jane Macaskie at 27 Kensington Square, to Florence Lambert at Coffins, Spreyton, Devon, 20 December 1944
…I have got my bedroom window mended, and the sitting-room one. Barkers and I took the law into our own hands; but actually there is no law in the matter, only a dirty kind of blackmail, and if you knew me a little better than you seem to, you would have realised that I am fully aware there are people in much worse case than I am, who could sleep out of a draught in about a dozen different rooms. You surmise rightly that I am not wholly selfish, but you failed to grasp that I am roused purely on a matter of principle. I really can keep personal feelings out of my philosophy of life. What I objected to was this preview of Brave New Beveridge – corruption, personal spite and above all inefficiency. The Borough authorities try to get John Barkers to give up all their workmen to the general pool. John Barkers refuse absolutely. The Borough apparently have no power to compel people to join the pool, so they retaliate by refusing licences to every unlucky wight [person] who, ignorant of this blood feud, had asked Barkers to do their repairs, which they were perfectly entitled to do. In our case, they actually ordered the workmen already in the house to stop the work already begun, though the wooden frames were made and the glass cut. This I call the grossest waste and inefficiency, because we were depriving no-one of anything. Then we are told that not only is our licence refused but, when at some indefinite date we may have our windows replaced, it must be done by their workmen, not those of our own choice, and if we are not satisfied we have no redress, as we have no contract with the Borough. … You probably think Barkers are very unpatriotic, but the reasons they give for their refusal to let their workmen go were 1st because all their workmen are old or C3 [unfit for active service] and they see that they don’t have to do work that is too heavy for them – the Borough would not consider this – and 2nd the work passed by the Borough is of such inferior quality that their workmen would be utterly demoralised and no use when they came back. … ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.65. Michael Lambert at 57 Apsley House. St John’s Wood, to Florence Lambert in Devon, 5 January 1945
… How I wish the war were over. It is so tantalising how nearly it was finished in the autumn. There seems to be little doubt that, if our armies had concentrated on one part of the German frontier, it would be over by now. As it was, the Germans just managed to hold us everywhere. Of course, there is quite a possibility that the Germans have put everything into the attack in the Ardennes and the relief of Budapest and, if these can be dealt with, the end will soon follow. I hope so. Your Mother was lecturing me the other night about the letters in the Sunday Times criticising the government of the Inns of Court. She was quite sure the writers were paid by the conspiracy she thinks is planning to ruin this country. I don’t know where she gets the idea of a conspiracy. There is a lot of loose thinking, particularly among our intellectuals, who are the least critical section of the community and will follow any will o’ the wisp of an idea. But I really don’t believe in a conspiracy. Communists always like discovering conspiracies and I fancy it is also a Catholic weakness. To someone like me brought up in an individualist tradition, the only conspiracies that exist are those aiming at seizing power. But conspiracies do not have just broad and vague objects such as ruining a country by anonymous letters to the press. Their objects are very much narrower and more direct, and also violent. I don’t regard the Beveridge plan as a big conspiracy. Besides, English people are not good conspirators. Not even the Medical officer for Health of Kensington, your Mother’s chief bugbear, is a conspirator. He is only a prejudiced bigot. I must return to my police duties, as I have taken a few minutes off to write you this letter. It has turned much colder again tonight and is not very pleasant out. … -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Florence returned to London with Sophia in the new year, but went down to stay with her cousins Gerald and Dodo Tuohy in Surrey.
Letter 8.66. Michael Lambert at 57 Apsley House, St John’s Wood, to Florence Lambert at Longbury, Uckfield, Surrey, 1 February 1945
Darling Heart, The sweet ration arrived safely and I will on Saturday progress to A. Brown to purchase some soft centred chocolate creams with a few peppermints thrown in, if there be any. … I am glad you managed to overcome your aversion sufficiently to write to my dear Mama and Papa. However distasteful Spreyton was, they did help us out of an awkward situation and I don’t really think Spreyton at its worst was as bad as a flying-bomb at its best. Anyway, you are away from it now. … One can hardly realise the Russians are actually approaching Berlin. Perhaps they will reach it next week. It will probably be some time before it is captured, and by then there will not be much of Berlin left. After the way the Germans have damaged and destroyed other people’s towns, it will do them good to see their own being treated the same way. But what a change! Take good care of yourself and the little love. All my love, Mickie --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Leter 8.67. Michael Lambert in London to Florence Lambert at Longbury, Uckfield, Surrey, 25 February 1945
… I am enclosing some money. The reason I don’t send you a cheque is that there are two things on which I have found you most unreliable. The first is letting me know when you have cashed a cheque. The last time you did that, I suddenly found we were overdrawn. The second is recovering any thing we lend to the Square [Florence’s parents at Kensington Square], such as our screwdriver. I have no doubt you promised most vehemently to get it back, but I do not deceive myself into thinking you ever will. However, it has caused me some inconvenience not being able to mend our front door. … Your idea of going to Syria is very diverting. I have no particular wish to see Damascus which I expect is full of fleas, but I should like to see Palmyra and Baalbek. I hear our recent bombing of Dresden has destroyed the Zwinger [the Baroque palace that was Dresden’s most famous landmark], which is a pity. I have never seen it. All my love, Mickie
Florence was always more keen than Michael to visit foreign parts. In the 1950s, when it was feared that Florence had some wasting disease and not long to live, they did finally make a trip to the Middle East that included Damascus, Palmyra and Baalbek. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.68. Michael Lambert at 57 Apsley House, St John’s Wood, London to Florence Lambert at Longbury, Uckfield, Surrey, 11 April 1945
Darling Heart, You are quite wrong in thinking that a genius can give inspiration to an uninspired age or that a great artist will always overcome his environment. It is very difficult without resuscitating a genius into a dull age to say what exactly is the effect of environment; but the evidence is not in your favour. First, as to the Pre-Raphaelites. You say that they always would have been mediocre. You must remember that the Pre-Raphaelites undertook a very difficult task, one similar but far harder than that so successfully tackled by the Italian Renaissance. They tried to go back. Practically always, progress in the arts is achieved by developing the attainments of the immediate past. The impressionists tackled their problem this way by developing first Constable and then Turner, but they were fortunate in that there was a continuous and living connection with these artists through the Barbizon and plain air schools. No doubt you will be content to say that this shows that the P.R.B. [Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood] were bad artists and there lies the difference in our outlooks. I am less interested in criticising the P.R.B. and dismissing them off-hand than in noting that progress in the arts is not often achieved by going back to a past period. When I have managed to interest you in our modern problems, you will see the relevance of this. However, to return to the P.R.B., what would have happened had they been born into the Italy of 1430 instead of the England of 1830? They were fine draughtsmen and competent enough technically. Instead of trying to return to a past period, they would have used the colours and forms of the real pre-Raphaelites without thinking any more about it, because they would have known no other. What in 1850 was consciously artificial would in 1450 have been the natural thing to do. I have not the least doubt that they would have been much better than they were, and an artist bad by 15th century standards would have been good by most other standards. Even the greatest artist is inevitably influenced technically by his environment, as he can draw on the experience of his predecessors. What would Rembrandt have been like if he had lived at the time of the van Eycks? In some spheres, particularly science, a genius can only arise and do great work when the technique is developed. In mathematics the modern technique was evolved during the 16th century, and was considerably advanced by Descartes during the first half of the 17th century. Then there follow a number of great mathematicians and two geniuses, Leibnitz and Newton. By any standards they were geniuses, Newton particularly, because like Leonardo he did his greatest work in his spare time. But Newton, had he been born a century earlier, would have been a much smaller figure, as the technique was not there. Artists are fortunate that they are not so dependent on technique: Einstein could not have done his work had not Morley devised a technique for measuring the speed of light. Yet artists, as you admit but do not try to explain, appear in groups. English literature exemplifies this well. Milton is the only writer I can think of who did not work with a number of good fellow artists. Even Chaucer had Langland and Gower. Shakespeare was no flash in the pan, and he could scarcely have developed as he did had not Wyatt and Surrey, Spencer and Marlowe led the way. Is it not odd that the 18th century should have produced a number of supremely good prose writers and then suddenly Wordsworth, Keats, Shelley, Byron, Coleridge? Why should Addison, Steele and Swift, all prose-writers, have lived at the same time? How do you explain that prose should have produced such masters as Tyndal and Cranmer at one moment and only a few years later have declined so greatly, just when Shakespeare, Jonson, Herrick and all those other poets were writing? When you say a genius inspires an age, can you answer these questions? Inigo Jones was a superb architect, but could he have inspired England with the Palladian style, had England not been ready to receive it? If he did really force it on the country, how was it that at once there were so many men able to use it so freely and well? Could Yevele [Henry Yevele, c.1320-1400, architect of inter alia Canterbury Cathedral] have worked as well in flamboyant as in perpendicular or Wren in Baroque as Palladian? Could Wren have built the Gesu in Rome? Why did he not use baroque? Vanbrugh did. There were patrons enough who would have accepted Baroque. Why again did England twice turn away from continental architecture and each time produce her own simpler and certainly as beautiful a style? If Michelangelo and Raphael had been born in England, would they have produced a great school of painting? I doubt it. You yourself have admitted that the English climate does not favour painting. What is that but environment influencing genius? Why should there be so many good but minor English painters and so few of outstanding merit? Why was there so much English sculpture in the Middle Ages that was so good and why has there been so little since? Do you really see nothing unexpected in the superiority of one art at one time and another at another? Is it not worth considering why all the great Greek lyric poets should have been contemporaries; that Alcaeus and Sappho both came from the Ionian Isles; why Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, Aristophanes, Socrates, Plato, Thucydides, Pericles, Ictinus, Pheidias should within two or three generations have been born in a city half the size of Exeter? When genius appears so regularly in constellation, it is mere perversity to go on calling it a planet, a mere wandering star that goes its way alone, unheralded and aimless. … On the matter of aniline dyes, I have erred in good company: Gertrude Stein thinks it worth mentioning that Picasso used Ripolin paints. I cannot understand what you see in her book. After all, as you are so constantly telling me, all that need be said about an artist is that ‘He is a good/bad (delete the word not required) artist!’ That is a complete and exhaustive appreciation of his work; to say anything more is to misunderstand that wonderful thing ART (ecstasy and deep sighs). All my love, Mickie --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.69. Michael Lambert c/o E. Griffiths Hughes, Salford, Manchester to Florence Lambert at Longbury, Uckfield, Surrey, 7 May 1945
Darling Heart, Just a short note before the post comes to its V-day stop, or in case it comes to a stop. Really this V-day business was designed to create the maximum confusion and cause the greatest possible waste of time. Everyone went home tonight fully convinced that the eagerly awaited announcement would be tonight and that there would be no work tomorrow. However, it looks as though there are going to be some long faces. I am so glad a letter has come from Jimmie [Florence’s brother] recently, as now our people have stopped fighting, he should be pretty well and out of danger. What a relief to your Mother! It was a pity you had a contrary day in London. Still, if we have to do without curtains during the summer, it will have to be offset by the far greater pleasure of knowing air-raids are at an end. When you feel annoyed, dwell on that. All my love, Mickie --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.70. Michael Lambert c/o E. Griffiths Hughes, Salford, Manchester, to Florence Lambert at Longbury, Uckfield, Surrey, 8 May 1945
Darling heart, What a pity it is that we cannot be celebrating V-day together. As far as I am concerned up here, it is a damned nuisance and an unlikely muddle. It was extraordinary the number of people who went to work both yesterday and today only to find their places of business closed. I passed crowds of them on my way down here. I do think the authorities could have made a little less muddle about what days were to be holidays. It has made catering arrangements so difficult. My friend the cook left us cold meals one day in the canteen. However, two days’ holiday upset all that. Luckily she had to come in to see about some meat which needed cooking and was able to give us lunch again. It is such a terrible waste of time going back to Manchester for meals, and, as you can imagine, there are not many facilities today. We should be through here quite comfortably by Friday. I will, all being well, catch the 3.55 on Friday. Unhappily, I must return Sunday. Have you made up your mind which day you want to come back? I do so look forward to the time when we are all settled in again. All my love, Mickie -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Florence’s younger brother Jimmy was at school at Downside when war broke out, but when he reached the age of 18 in 1943 joined the Irish guards. After the Allied advance into mainland Europe, he was sent to Belgium and by VE Day his unit was in a small town in North-West Germany.
Letter 8.71. Jimmie Macaskie, 2nd Battalion Irish Guards, in Oldendorf to Florence Lambert at Longbury, Uckfield, Surrey, 16 May 1945
Dear Florence, This letter was prompted chiefly because I remembered that amongst other things yesterday was Soppy’s [Sophia’s] birthday. So please give her my love, best wishes and congratulations and everything else, and I shall send her a proper present when I next reach a country where money is of some value. Peace found us in a most delightful country town called Oldendorf and ironically enough the Recce troop of which I am second in command was sent some brand new tanks. On the whole, VE Day fell rather flat with us as we had done celebrating on the Friday when the German Army in N. W. Germany, Holland and Denmark surrendered. It was rather a noisy party, especially as the Mess was also a grocer’s shop, and before it ended everyone was covered in a sort of porridge made from flour, hen food, brick dust, water and most of the other things that were available. So was the floor to a depth of about two inches, and so would most of the furniture have been, but it was most effectively poltergeisted out of the windows, together with the hideous German ornaments. I have never seen a house more devastated than it looked the next morning. One of the German soldiers who came next day to clean up was told, when he asked what had happened the night before, by one of the Mess waiters that we had had four Russian generals to dinner, and I think he believed it. Since then, we have been rather at a loss and inclined to get bored with the tedious job of rounding up the Wehrmacht, stacking the weapons, answering the fatuous questions of the Burgermeister [Mayor] and settling ourselves down to a routine again. There are still a great number of German troops about and it is very odd to be saluted by people who ten days ago one would have shot first and questioned afterwards. I don’t think we had bargained for taking a whole army prisoner. We are now in a most comfortable house with hot water and electricity. Even the telephones work. The people whose household it is are the family of an ex-officer and evidently pretty well off. Everything is well-looked after and although the Germans are incredibly industrious, it could not have been kept in such good order if the country districts had ever felt the war. I have not seen any of the big towns yet, but the country has certainly never felt the pinch. Of course, they haven’t got the ridiculous attitude to work on the land that prevails in England, so I don’t think the war labourers for the factory have come off the land to a great extent. We have been having glorious weather, hotter than you need for bathing, and because the lilac, the fruit trees and all the other trees are out, the flat dreary countryside looks quite pleasant. Please give my love to Michael and cousin Dodo and cousin Gerald and wish Frank [his young son] a happy birthday. How goes Nancy? With all my love to you and Sop, Jimmie. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.72. Jane Macaskie at 27 Kensington Square to her daughter Jane Barran, C/o Asiatic Petroleum Company in Jerusalem (where she was living with here husband David, who was working for Shell there), 21 May 1945
… It would have been lovely if you had been here for VE Day, darling, although I do not encourage myself to think how lovely it would be to have you here every day. But actually, as far as Daddy and I were concerned, it was a very quiet affair. It was somewhat of an anti-climax in any case because the announcement had been expected ever since the Saturday before. The reason for the delay I heard was because Stalin would not even reply to Churchill’s messages suggesting a joint announcement. Finally, on Monday evening he refused to wait any longer. Many people went out that night after the 9 o’clock news and made whoopee, but nothing of it penetrated here. The next day was like a Sunday except that there were queues outside every pub and refreshment place from about 10 in the morning. It was a tremendously hot day – a hothouse day describes it better. There was a breathless, steamy hothouse heat. Awken and I went to see Percy¹ and the only house in Kensington Palace Mansions [probably a mistake for Kensington Palace Gardens] which hadn’t a flag was the Soviet Embassy. In the evening we went to dine at the Club with old Allen. Pall Mall had its flares and as many flags as possible and I believe there were great demonstrations of loyalty and delight outside Buckingham Palace, but I didn’t dare to venture into the crowd.
Otherwise, there was nothing like the rejoicings for the Jubilee or the Coronation. There were no official decorations, no official lighting, or stands or music and hardly anything to eat or drink and no transport. Not even a prolonged All-Clear [signal on the sirens that indicated that the danger of air raids was over], which would have been a wonderful ending like we had in 1918. Herbert Morrison just said no, like he does. The decorations were the best people could dig out after five years of war and not very grand. I couldn’t find our flag anywhere.
It wasn’t really a bit like the Armistice in 1918. Then, on the stroke of the 11th [hour] killing stopped on all five fronts. The unremitting massacre which had gone on in the trenches for four years and four months and which killed so many more than nearly six years of this war with all its horrors [this was before the extent of the Holocaust and the deaths in the Soviet Union were fully appreciated]. Then everyone could turn to enjoying themselves. The lights went on; we were not left in darkness because of fuel shortage. Although there were many fewer cars, everyone who had a car could take it out and joy-ride in it. There were plenty of new, smart clothes – they didn’t become impossibly dear until 1919. The trains were dreadfully over-crowded, but you could go anywhere you liked. Granny immediately started making plans to go to Monte Carlo and went in January 1919.
Food wasn’t good or plentiful, but there was plenty to drink and food very soon – by the new year – was quite pre-war again. There was a servant shortage, but nothing like now. Ellen [their cook] was able to leave her fuse-filling factory at Slough and come back to me a month before you were born, and I had Nanny all the time.
Also the dancing craze was in full swing and London had been very gay all along and only the Jews went to Brighton every night and came back every morning. Everyone’s home was intact and we could all see our friends and entertain. There was something to rejoice about and something to rejoice with, too. Many people had made a lot of money and the taxation was nothing like as heavy. The only blot – and it was a black one – was the terrible flu epidemic which raged all that autumn and winter nearly all over the world and which killed millions.
This time nothing has changed really except the gladsome sound which goes on day and night of planes roaring over the roofs full of returning prisoners. All the restrictions are not only still in force but likely to get worse. No one knows how many men will have to go to the Japanese war. All the Air Force and Fleet anyway, and there is no immediate prospect of the men getting back from Europe, not even on leave. The worst part of the job is done, it is true, and I think people were much more truly thankful than last time, but joyful – no. …
¹Percy Brooke-Hitching was a family connection of Jane Macaskie. He owned a lot of property in Bayswater and lived in a house (now demolished) on Bayswater Road between the top of Kensington Palace Gardens and Kensington Gardens. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
During the war, party politics were suspended and there was a coalition government. When the war ended, a general election was called and unexpectedly the Labour party gained a huge majority over the Conservatives led by Winston Churchill. Before the election, on Churchill’s initiative, George Lambert had been elevated to the peerage as Viscount Lambert of South Molton. That meant that he had to give up his seat as an M.P. His son, George junior, had just out of the Army after a successful war career, and stood as a “National Liberal” candidate (i.e. taking the Conservative whip) in his father’s old seat, winning it by a handsome majority. He benefitted not only from the Conservative votes but also from those many electors who were attached to his father and probably still associated any Lambert with traditional Liberalism.
Jane Macaskie, who had never liked Florence’s father-n-law (they were chalk and cheese), wrote a somewhat waspish letter about the peerage to her daughter Jane.
Letter 8.73. Jane Macaskie at 27 Kensington Square to Jane Barran in Jerusalem, 11 June 1945.
….It is too funny about old George Lambert, isn’t it? Unfortunately too late to make him a gentleman. Tell David I feel like Mrs Bennett [in Jane Austin’s Pride and Prejudice] with two daughters in Debrett [David’s father was a Baronet], though to be sure the son of a mere Baronet is nothing! It was a bombshell to the family who saw it in the papers. Old George had always maintained that what was good enough for Mr Gladstone was good enough for him and the betrayal of true democracy by Earl Lloyd-George of Dwyfor [the title taken by the former Liberal Prime Minister David Lloyd George, of whom George Lambert disapproved] seemed only to strengthen his determination despite constant carping from Mrs Lambert – but apparently Churchill absolutely insisted. I suppose he wanted to encourage all good Liberal Nationals. Besides, if only you live long enough, in English public life a pedestal is ultimately provided. What the old man has used for brains all these years I have never yet discovered.
Patsy will in any case make a beautiful peeress, though with her Norman Hartnell training, she may be tempted to overdo it [the wife of George Lambert’s eldest son had been a model for the royal couturier Norman Hartnell before her marriage. In fact she always dressed with impeccable taste]. The only bright spot that I see is that he must have some money because the Royal family are always against handing peerages to paupers if they have descendants. Florence and Michael are much amused and Michael hopes the title will be Lord Coffins of Spreyton Wood – the real name of their house is Coffins. Poor Helen Hamilton must be turning in her grave – she detested George Lambert and poor Fred is only a knight. … -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.74. Florence Lambert at Coffins, Spreyton, Devon, to Jane Macaskie at 27 Kensington Square, 22 July 1945
Dear Mommy, We had a lovely journey [to Devon] with the carriage to ourselves all the way and Sophia slept for an hour, so she arrived in fairly good condition and has been behaving surprisingly well ever since. … There is still an unseemly wrangle going on about the coat of arms and Michael is the only member of the family to be asked for criticisms and is doing his best to eliminate the two farm labourers and a cornucopia with a pineapple in it. … George Lambert finally chose a coat of arms with Cornish choughs rather than farm labourers as the bearers and an “apple tree fructed proper” as a crest – far more suitable than a pineapple in a cider-producing county like Devon. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.75. Florence Lambert in Devon to Jane Macaskie at 27 Kensington Square, 1 August 1945
… How surprising the General Election results were. George got an extraordinarily large majority, when you consider what a lot of safe Government seats were lost. The edge was quite taken off it by us because it coincided with Sophia learning to become dry at night. Everyone is now sitting back waiting for the Labour Government to get into a hopeless mess and be thrown out. If they don’t, it will mean they’ve made a success of what is a particularly difficult period in our history, so that either way it should not depress you as much as you would no doubt like…. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.76. George, 1st Viscount Lambert (aged 80) at the St Regis Hotel, New York, to his daughter Grace Lambert at Coffins, Spreyton, Devon, 1 November 1946
My dear Grace, It was nice to hear from you, but oh! my dear, what a distance we are from the pig, the beer and Diver [the family dog]. The pig was straightforward. It was my pig and I am allowed to kill two a year and the one you have is one of the two – any others will come later. I wish you could be here, my dear. There are so many things that I would like to buy you, but I don’t know what. There are so many things here: it’s a new world to us starved Britishers. I waste more food at each meal than we get at home. Last night carrot soup, Virginia ham and sweet potatoes, and for a sweet I compromised with a pear. It is like it was in the old pre-1914 days. The shops are full of every kind of thing. Sugar was scarce a day or two ago, but it was all on the ships and held up because of the strike. In fact the strikes here hold up all sorts of things, but the Americans have got them but we poor things haven’t. George went with Harold Lee – a China boy who was at Oxford with him – to the Rockefeller Institute last night. There was room for 12,000 in the cinema, which was packed; 16 entrances. I went to bed. I took George to Coney Island. It was hot; the heat was unprecedented for the time of year, so I was a bit exhausted after dinner and went to bed and sweated like a pig, but it did me good and I am all right this morning. … In fact the food business is so lavish one has to be careful. I took cornflakes instead of the usual bacon and eggs this morning. Gilmore, Jules Bache’s butler, came to see me last evening. It was interesting, the talk of old times. He brought some Scotch whisky. Two other bottles were sent to me too – Scotch is scarce. I have 25 cigars that I can’t smoke and George has 1,000 cigarettes from the judge, who is ill but will see us next week. Give Mother my love. I shall be glad to be back again. Daddy --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The end of the war meant that Michael and Florence were reunited in their house in Kensington Place, although Michael continued to travel on business and, while he was away, Florence sometimes went to stay with friends. In November 1945, there was a brief gas workers’ strike in London.
Letter 8.77. Michael Lambert on the Isle of Man to Florence Lambert at The Garth, St Margaret’s Bay, Dover, 26 November 1945
Darling heart, I am glad we are out of London during the gas strike. Your poor Mother, having to eat cold meals. At Millbank I don’t think they use gas at all and probably won’t be inconvenienced. Many of the street lamps in Westminster are gas, though I cannot remember if they are along Millbank. They used to be, but I have an idea that they were changed. I hope Ellen does not blow herself up should the pilot light on our geyser go out. If it did through lack of pressure and the pressure then came back, there might be a leakage of gas which could explode. I also hope the strike will be over this week [it was] and we can take up residence again in comfort. I should hate to return and find you staying away because there is no gas. Our double bed would feel so empty, like the one I have here, very cold and bare. All my love, Mickie. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter 8.78. Jane Macaskie at 27 Kensington Square to Jane Barran in Jerusalem, 25 January 1946
… What it is like to be in England now that Labour’s here! Everything has slowed down, supplies of all kinds are running out and not being replaced. Despite 1,500,000 demobilisations, labour is short in every field. It has practically disappeared. The laundry only comes once in three weeks. There are fewer servants; there is neither coal nor gas. Florence, Michael and Sophia bath in a small tub in front of the kitchen fire. I suppose coal is at the root of it all, but also the working classes who have all made money during the war and been made to spend it or are now spending it doing nothing for so long as it lasts. Food is infinitely worse in quality and quantity and everything is ersatz. The building situation is chaotic. As far as Kensington goes, nothing has been repaired, and I expect that goes for many other districts. The only improvements that I can see is we have more No. 9 buses; one more post a day; and clothes get cleaned quicker. In fact cleaners are springing up everywhere, which makes one suspect some sort of racket behind it. …
Jane Macaskie tended to blame everything on the Labour Government, even the foul-smelling water from the taps in Kensington Square (it turned out that there was a dead pigeon in the tank).
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