Letter 6

Read by Delia Corrie

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Letter 6

18.01.32

Do you know the story of The Last Mutton Chop? Well, once upon a time Ramsay Mac invited Stanley B., Lloyd G, Mr Hoare B. And Mr. Runciman and one or two others to a ‘little informal dinner at my club.’ It was very informal and the meat course consisted of mutton chops, and there were just one too many. “Come now,” cried Mr. M. in his cheery way, “turn out the light, Stanley, and we’ll all grab for the last cutlet.” Darkness – a most fearful yell!!! The light was hastily relit and there was Lloyd G. with his hand speared full of forks!!! (The story is Granddaddy’s the names were my own idea.)

I am only just emerging from a frightful gloom that enveloped me in the train from Basel to Berlin. Potsdam felt like the inside of a badly cooked doughnut and the illusion was assisted by a thick evilly tasting fog (don’t you boast to me of your ‘yellow fogs’, this one was the colour of aged mustard). Next day I went dead lame in both legs and could hardly crawl to the station; and then, to crown all – I have made a friend. My God! I should think I have! I can’t imagine a more frightful creature. I made her acquaintance at the end of last term – miserable fool that I am! Well, I was quite pleased to see her again this term and went to see her in her room. And then I ask you! She began hugging and kissing me as though I were her long lost teddy bear! HELP! I tell you it gave me the same sensation only far more concentrated as when one plays octaves on the piano and they aren’t in tune - - brrr!

Oh, Russell! I am swamped in depression again. There are examinations in February for Harmony etc. And we have to set ourselves down at the piano and harmonise a tune at the keyboard. I consider anyone who can do this abnormal. Well, last lesson one of these very abnormalities sat himself down at Prof. Tiessen’s command and jangled off his harmonies like one 1’clock. Then – “Halt, bitte. Weiter, Fraulein Hopkinson.” I sat myself gloomily down and stared at the tune. I saw an A, so I thumped down D and F and another D and held them with the pedal;, When the last vibrations had died away Professor Tiessen asked me if I was used to playing the piano – so I replied with a good deal of emphasis that I was not. Whereupon he gave me permission to harmonize my tune on the blackboard, which I did with ease and comfort. But that is no consolation if I mayn’t do it in the exam. May only comfort is the other flute can’t do it either. He, by the way, is rather amusing – a degree better than most of the Hochschulern. He walks merrily up and down the hall on his hands while we wait for our theory lesson. I envy him that agility as I can only stand on my head.

In March I am probably going scuttling round Pommern with the Grafin visiting her various sisters and daughters. However it seems extremely likely to me that something pretty drastic will happen before long, and that will make everything impossible. Indeed, some tiresome modern Cassandra has been peering into the future and declares that though things will improve later, March is awash with blood! I am getting more and more excited about the future.