DEAREST CONRAD . .

DARLING DIANA

THE autobiography of Diana Cooper, one of the century's great originals and beauties, is dominated by passages from an extensive correspondence with her admirer Conrad Russell. The following extracts from a new edition of Russell's letters are interleaved with some of her previously unpublished replies, chosen by Louis Jebb.

A DIFFIDENT but clear-minded member of a distinguished political family and one of the survivors of the 'golden' generation killed in the first world war, Conrad Russell had, at 42, given up stock-jobbing to become a farmer, first in Sussex and then, in 1927, at Mells in Somerset. There he was a close neighbour of Raymond Asquith's widow Katharine, and her Catholic circle. His affection for her was paramount, but his life was transformed when Diana Coop- er, up till then no more than a friend, invited him to Cardiff in January 1933 to see her celebrated performance of the Madonna in C. B. Cochran's production of The Miracle.

CR to DC, 3 April 1983 This letter is from a man who is nearer 60 than 50. In other words I am 55 so my course is nearly run. It seems queer but I feel about 23 and very shy, callow and unformed — and quite without any know- ledge of the world. I've learnt nothing and made a hash of my life. And instead of being humble and repentant I simply don't care a button. Enough about myself.

If you think of me sometimes, think of me with charity.

You have been so perfect to me. You must believe I am grateful for my pen can't express my thanks.

Sweet, darling Diana, dearly I love you and I shall love you all the rest of my life. With the coming of war, Conrad, now in his sixties, headed the Home Guard in Mells and helped Diana establish a smallholding at her house in Sussex. In August 1941, their weekly meetings and exchanges of presents were interrupted for six months when she accompanied her husband, Duff Cooper, on his mission as Minister of State in Singapore reporting to Winston Churchill on war-readiness in the Far East. Conrad's nephew, Martin Russell, went as the Minis- ter's private secretary.

CR to DC, 6 August 1941 I have today finished Noble Castle by Chris [Hollis]. It is about Greek and Roman Civilisation and Christianity and is frankly a book which sets out to convert

sceptics. The amount of curious things Catholics believe is surprising — especially Old Testament prophecies. Chris does not at all seem to share Hilaire's [Belloc] view of the Old Testament. I suppose that's natural, Chris being the son of a Protestant bishop. Now I go back to Charles 11 by Bryant which doesn't amuse me much. I miss you cruelly.

CR to DC, 18 August 1941 Teddy died this morning ['my tenant, pensioner and ex-gardener']. His life bears out your contention about the hooch. He was a professional drunkard for sixty years and then died at 76 because he would scratch his face with his dirty hands. The nurses had warned him not to but he turned a deaf ear to the counsels and gave himself blood poisoning. I was very fond of him.

20 August

We had quiet guard. Not a mouse stirring. I wore my new inch-thick serge battle dress, long winter drawers, two pairs of socks, leggings, sleeved cardigan, kept on my fleece-lined greatcoat, got a good fire going in the small windowless hut, snuggled up close to Les for warmth's sake, but couldn't sleep for the cold. 1 thought of you naked and sweating on the Portuguese bed. This is August in England and cruel it can be. From 8 a.m. to 1 p.m. unrelieved

downpour — then sunny and we actually started cutting the oats. They must be cut now, wet or fine. We expect a change on Friday when St Swithin's forty days,are up and a new moon comes in. Friday is the best day for a new moon. The young Phipps called on me — they are motor biking from Oare to Pixton. He's the Ambassador's son and clearly hasn't got one drop of European blood in his veins, she's Veronica Fraser — a most attractive Imp and professional saucebox. Just my style and seems so fond of me. But she gives the same impression to other men. When they left she had to run behind pushing the bike up hill. Bang Bang, it backfires in her face, she leaps (betrou- sered) into the pillion, grins, blows a kiss, sways to one side — then to another side and they are a speck in the distance going up the Mendips at 55 m.p.h. I never thought to see the daughters of the nobility go country-house visiting in this style. . . . I love your letters so much. I am glad you think of me. And I am glad you think of me as your own. I don't want to change. I would rather be eaten by tigers than be anyone else's.

DC to CR Singapore, 10 September 1941 So we've made it! The gorgeous East, I mean! I'm delighted with everything, not least with three letters from you, the first written before I left, the other two (pre- sumably on the Clipper with me all the way) covering from August 12th to 21st. You tell me of . . . a sad harvest, of old Teddy's demise, of the young Phipps, looking sweet, upon the seat. . . My spirits are soaring, I must keep the continuity of the Saga. . . . Where did I leave you? I think at Guam. The Pan America Hotel was very charming there, with walls and divisions of plaited grass, but the night was all too short. Four o'clock saw us getting up and packing the sodden clothes into a confusion worse confounded. A good show had to be put up at Manila which complicated matters. Claire [Booth-Luce] spent so long in the 'Ladies' that I following her had to work fast for the transformation. Without water (it's too hot to use in the Clipper) we did a pretty good job. Arriving about 3 p.m. in a little village port of great beauty, we had a sensational reception from the Philippino Commonwealth, then driven 25 most fasci- nating miles to the capital. . . .

Duff went to see the famous President, Mr Quezon, said to be a 'character', 100 per cent Philippino, straight as a ram's horn, and head and shoulders superior to any of his people. He can't choose but be old and to have TB, so he received Duff in a wheeled chair at the top of a gigantic flight of stairs with only men as banisters. I meanwhile sat in the Hotel hall, as silly Martin [Russell] had brought his own beastly box (from which the handle has now come right away so that he must always carry it babywise) and left ours to

come at its leisure. I had to sit and wait for it, and not go out exploring with Mrs Wyatt Smith, the consul's lady, or we should have had nothing pressed for our smart din- ner. . . .

At six we shook hands with 300 guests at the US High Commissioner's part- ly . . . the house built in faultless Amer- ican taste and faultless American cock- tails, but I never had a hand to throw one back with. At eight, dinner with the British Consul [Stanley Wyatt Smith], who we were spying upon. I sat next him and found him delightful . . . only criticism was unin- hibited intimacy (not physical), which I enjoyed very much. It may, of course, be due to drugs or drink, or smoking opium in his room. He had collected all the 'contacts' . . Vice-President, US C-in-C MacArthur, GOS High Commissioners, etc. His confidence and poise too, far exceeded any English Consuls I have seen anywhere. . . and 0 Boy! what one has seen in Consuls, and in Ministers, and in Ambassadors too.

'CR to DC, 11 September 1941 I made butter again this morning — less well than the first time. I always seem to

4 When I got Winston there at last he undressed in front of me, trousers and all —no "do you mind if I debag?"

deteriorate. I was beating away with my spoon for one hour and five minutes. Katharine [Asquith] who was doing the same thing at the same time at the Manor says hers came in four minutes. I wonder what these differences can be due to? And I must say hers when finished looked much better than mine.

I asked Kath what her plans were for letting the cottage when the Pollens [Arthur and Daphne] went and she said she 'rather hoped' Ronald Knox would come and spend the winter there. There would be Mass every morning and it would suit her no end. It would suit me too really as Ronald who is the son of an English Bishop and from Eton and Balliol must be more of a resource than one of those peasant-bred Black Monks from York- shire.

You can tell Duff that being out of a book I happened on his Horace, re-read it, and thought how good it was. I thought it much better than when I read it first three or four years ago. And I say this is praise when on re-perusal you think something better. Then I took up old Hilaire's Cruise of the Nona. He actually says the Dreyfus case will always be like the Tichborne case, a thing on which it is impossible to decide one way or another. Both the cases some- how (it is quite inexplicable how) bring in some Catholic mental complex. It really makes one think that 'true' and 'untrue' makes some different picture in Catholic minds to other minds. I am sorry to think it.

DC to CR, Singapore, 2 fanuary 1942 Another raid at midnight. We are of course having radiant nights, with a bom- ber's moon. I didn't get to the shelter because Duff wouldn't come and I suppose it's unfair — also useless — to hope that he would — as except for the first night this week there has not been much firing — and the bombs dropped into sea and open spaces.

Never a dull moment! Beri-beri has become a threatened epidemic — cholera, of course, and malaria. One can only hope that things dreaded seldom come — e.g. diphtheria in the tubes.

Our gallant Colonel [Robertson] is off to the wars tonight. We had champagne to celebrate his last night. It cost a fortune, and Martin, retiring to bed with a touch of fever, left a box of cigars as a contribution: We shall miss him dreadfully. . . . I hope Robby gets back soon (even Nelsoned up — one black eye and an empty sleeve) and takes this job [Military Attaché] up again. He thinks if he starts running as soon as he gets to the front it will only take him 10 days to reach Singapore. He is to command his battallion and feels proud. I saw a scribbled letter from his colonel painting a grisly picture of incompetence versus Japanese efficiency and tactics. Believe it or not, we never thought to get interpre- ters, let alone guides, attached to the army. The enemy are, of course, well equipped with both. We even had interpreters en masse in France, where the population is intelligent and understands a bit of En- glish. Imagine the babel handicap with Scotch-Indian troops, Malay and Chinese inhabitants — and Japanese prisoners. The civil authorities should have punishment but good God! so should the military. The Gov. [Sir Shenton Thomas] has at last accepted the idea of digging for victory considering that in all probablility there will be a siege here and that vegetables properly cultivated grow up in a few weeks — they might have got started. The population is utterly undernourished, which is reason for the disease fears vegetable vitamins would help a lot, they now say . . . .

I'm tired, tired and giddy with . . . figures. I pray so hard for change, help and courage.

After a year as British Representative to the French Committee of Liberation in Algiers, Duff Cooper became Ambassador in Paris in September 1944. In 1945, Conrad began to suffer from heart trouble. Diana visited him during his convalescence with a sister in Surrey, immediately before Churchill, now leader of the Opposition, made a hero's visit to Paris. DC to CR, Paris, 12 November 1945 Early morning. Duckling [Winston Churchill] arrived at 5 yesterday — a picture of cherubic curves and glowing health — with boiler suit discarded in favour of civvies. He looked less porcine in fact near elegant. . . . I was relying on his taking a snooze between tea and dinner and finally forced him to, tho' he says since he has no more work he never sleeps in the day. What a constitution! He would take a child's nap at any hour during the hideous days, with child's serenity. I said was he ever discouraged, depressed, anxious, even in '40? No, never, not a night's sleep lost, not a quease or a qualm. After all there was always death — he'd have done what Hitler did. 'Yes', I said, 'of course, but that doesn't help one's anxiety as to whether one was acting for the best' — but I don't think he ever had any such misgiv- ing. Duff went to work, and I was left to cope and to edge him upstairs. I didn't feel up to it. When I got him there at last, he undressed in front of me, trousers and all — no 'do you mind if I debag?' and got into his bed propped up on five pillows, and Mary [Churchill] and I lounged across the bed till his lids dropped — and I tiptoed away.

For dinner, we had M. et Mme. Monnet, financial experts who cope with Washing- ton, and M. Alphin of the Quai d'Orsay and Lady Abingdon, once mistress to the latter, and Eve Curie, and an unfortunate journalist called Tom Cadet, who was unsquashable and a little tight and, un- daunted by bitter irony and broadside battering from Winston, continued to annoy and attack and third degree and argue with him. It was a dreary evening, I thought, and nobody knew how to stop it This last number of Horizon (October) is like being in a gas chamber — suffocat- ing stench. I really feel I can't take it any more, but then Cyril Connolly will be hurt so it's a case of 'burn before reading'.

They've just come in to say Winston wants a bath and all water has ceased to run. . . .

Continue to cure. God bless you my own dear Conrad.

DC to CR, Paris, 13 November 1945 The Duckling days are in full swing after writing yesterday we waddled off to the Lou-ver — the director had it opened and a lot of rather undistinguished friends joined in the cortege. Duckling, very smileless and silent, stared for a long time at the 'Victory of Samothrace', while M. Salle, the director, told us where and how it had stood and the colours it was painted. From there we passed through the Salle d'Apollon, where is newly exhibited most beautiful objets d'art, in gold and lapis and crystal and diamond. These didn't tickle Duckling at all (I must go back and spend an hour feasting my eyes) but he revelled in the pictures, touching their surfaces gently, with his delicate hand. I've never seen pictures stroked before. M. Salle says the Chinese do it. The Chinese wear their nails long so as to appear and to be unable to work, but they stroke and finger little jade balls to keep their touch sensitive.

At lunch we had M. et Mme [Leon] Blum and M. [Francois] Charles-Roux of the Institute and the afternoon was spent listening to Winston make speeches in his atrocious French to different academies in the Institute. He was enthroned in a 'chair' in one of them.

I asked all the dreariest people to cock- tails at 6.30. They all threw up whatever their business was and precipitated them- selves into the salon vert to see their hero. M. Bideau I was able to postpone off when I discovered that Duckling had put his head under his wing and 'not to be dis- turbed'. I felt such a fool with no Prince of Denmark and such a poor alibi, and what's worse I've had to ask the same horrors to come in after dinner tonight.

CR to DC, Barhatch, Cranleigh, Surrey, 15 November 1945 All that you say about Duckling is so strange and interesting. He is not a conven-

4 I've read our Cecil Beaton's book. It shows extraordinary endurance and pluck for a pansy

tional man. I can't imagine Mr Gladstone undressing and getting into bed in the presence of Lady Lytton, but I suppose Fox might have behaved so before Lady Granville. . . .

And answer this please: once or twice you have called me 'gothic'. Now what can it mean? Something nice I feel sure. But to me Gothic means savages who invaded Rome and then also a style of architecture which is the opp. of classical. But then if you are going to compare me with special reference to architectural styles surely I am out and out classical as against Gothic? I mean I'm much more like St Paul's than like Chartres Cathedral. So explain all please I beg.

17 November 1945 I don't think there is any point at all in Duckling making speeches in French. I'm told no one could make a guess what the language is at all. And then he makes such good English speeches so why not stick to that? You'll remember what happened when Dizzy wanted to address the Con- gress of Berlin in French and what Lord Rowton said to Uncle Odo [Russell, Ambassador in Berlin, 1871-1884].

DC to CR, Paris, 25 November 1945 A lot of letters — two from you that I will answer before I close this one, one from Winston and an endless one — a saga — from Mary Churchill . . . all the Brus- sels days. Winston said nowhere had he seen the like — they were given crown jewels, diamonds, pearls and tapestry and treasure. . . .

Katchen [Kommer] always referred to you as Diana's Gothic farmer'. Neither he nor I saw GOthic as Vans and Huns but as The Miracle and its straight lined virgin architecturally you are surely more the pointed arch, unbastardised, than either Palladian masses, or ebulliant baroque without continent or reserve . . .

What did Uncle Monty, to me, Rowton say to Uncle Odo about Dizzy addressing the Krauts in French? . . .

I've read our Cecil Beaton's book [Far East). It shows extraordinary endurance and pluck for a pansy and mentions farting once and wet dreams twice.

I love you, my darling — and always shall.

CR to DC, Barhatch, 29 November 1945 Gothic farmer. No it means nothing to me at all. I think I am radically classical, unromantic and matter of fact. 1 see myself as Lord Grenville (Prime Minister in 1806/ 7) with a dash of Lord Melbourne and John Stuart Mill thrown in. How do you see yourself? As Cleopatra possibly.

To deal with a few points: Lord Rowton came to Uncle Odo at the opening of the Congress of Berlin and said it was too awful his chief was determined to speak in French; his accent is terrible and when he says epicier it sound like 'overseer' and he'll be a laughing stock. No one can stop him. Uncle Odo said 'leave it to me' and he went and saw Dizzy and led the conversa- tion to the question of opening speeches. Dizzy said he was speaking in French. Uncle Odo let his face fall and emitted a slight groan. 'What is the matter?' said the old Jew. Uncle Odo said 'the disappoint- ment will be terrible. You see it is not as a Prime Minister that all these foreigners regard you, but as the greatest English writer since Shakespeare and the greatest orator since Burke and there is intense excitement to hear you speak. A French speech would be a terrible disappointment; they will never forgive it.' Dizzy screwed his eyeglass in and peered closely into Uncle Odo's face. He didn't bat an eye. Then he said perhaps he ought to think it over. And he spoke in English.

But Uncle 0. said Dizzy wasn't deceived by the flattery for a second. He knew all about flattery and the whole thing was play acting on both sides and each knew it was all gammon.

Diana Cooper's letters are reproduced by kind permission of her executors. Letters of Conrad Russell 1897-1947, edited by Geor- giana Blakiston (John Murray, £16.95), is published on 28 May. © Georgiana Blakis- ton 1987.