En dos av skär poesi
2011-05-07 14:23:15 ur ArkivetI never saw my client again. It was my fault that I lost touch with him. It had been my habit for a great many years to take my holiday in the spring, when I would go with my wife to Scotland for a fortnight's fishing, usually to Loch Shiel.
I thought that this was going on forever, as one does, and that next year I would call again upon this client on my way from the north to see if there was any other business I could do for him. But things turn out differently, sometimes.
In the winter of 1935 Lucy died. I don't want to dwell on that, but we had been married for twenty-seven years and - well, it was very painful. Both of our sons were abroad; Harry in his submarine on the China station and Martin in his oil company in Basra. I hadn't the heart to go back to Loch Shiel, and I have never been to Scotland since.
I had a sale and got rid of most of our furniture, and I sold our house on Wimbledon Common; one has to make an effort at a time like that, and a clean break.
It's no good going on living in the ashes of dead happiness.
I took a flat in Buckingham Gate opposite the Palace stables and just across the park from my club in Pall Mall. I furnished it with a few things out of the Wimbledon house and here I set out to recreate my life.
I knew the pattern well enough from the experience of others in the club. Breakfast in my flat. Walk through the Park and up the Strand to my office in Chancery Lane. Work all day, with a light lunch at my desk. To the club at six o'clock to read the periodicals, and gossip, and dine, and after dinner a rubber of bridge. That is the routine that I fell into in the spring of 1936, and I am in it still.
- Ur "A Town Like Alice"
I thought that this was going on forever, as one does, and that next year I would call again upon this client on my way from the north to see if there was any other business I could do for him. But things turn out differently, sometimes.
In the winter of 1935 Lucy died. I don't want to dwell on that, but we had been married for twenty-seven years and - well, it was very painful. Both of our sons were abroad; Harry in his submarine on the China station and Martin in his oil company in Basra. I hadn't the heart to go back to Loch Shiel, and I have never been to Scotland since.
I had a sale and got rid of most of our furniture, and I sold our house on Wimbledon Common; one has to make an effort at a time like that, and a clean break.
It's no good going on living in the ashes of dead happiness.
I took a flat in Buckingham Gate opposite the Palace stables and just across the park from my club in Pall Mall. I furnished it with a few things out of the Wimbledon house and here I set out to recreate my life.
I knew the pattern well enough from the experience of others in the club. Breakfast in my flat. Walk through the Park and up the Strand to my office in Chancery Lane. Work all day, with a light lunch at my desk. To the club at six o'clock to read the periodicals, and gossip, and dine, and after dinner a rubber of bridge. That is the routine that I fell into in the spring of 1936, and I am in it still.
- Ur "A Town Like Alice"
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