BOOKS

Thoughts of a Somerset farmer

Julian Oxford

LETTERS OF CONRAD RUSSELL 1897-1947 edited by Georgiana Blakiston The art of letter-writing has declined, it is said, because of the telephone. The practice of preserving letters is also declin- ing, through lack of storage space. Since the public appetite for reading private correspondence is growing all the time, it seems that, in years to come, more and more people will be chasing the fewer and fewer good letters that will remain unpub- lished.

Conrad Russell, who died 40 years ago, has luckily escaped all the problems posed by this equation. Disliking the telephone, he was one of the most enchanting letter- writers of his time. His correspondents kept and treasured almost all he wrote (to my mother, Katharine Asquith, alone close on 1,000 have survived) and the prevailing demand has now enabled a fair number of his letters to be printed. For his niece Georgiana Blakiston, who now edits them, the main problem will have been one of selection, to conform with conventional requirements about the length of such books. She has done a great service in bringing to life the rich, complex and, above all, humorous personality which speaks to us through these letters and she deserves much gratitude for this discerning labour of love.

He needed to be brought to life for, although the circle of his own friends was predictably wide, he was little known beyond it until Lady Diana Cooper, the inspiration of his later years, introduced him to a somewhat larger public by writing of him in the last volume of her autobiogra- phy.

In a short introductory chapter, Mrs Blakiston gives an outline of his life and character, together with thumb-nail sketches of people referred to in the letters and a useful compendium of their nick- names. She curiously omits to mention at the outset that Conrad's main occupation in the inter-war years was farming — but no matter, as this becomes obvious later on. He had earlier worked for a time on the Stock Exchange but, after four rather miserable years in the first world war with the Bedfordshire Yeomanry (he was him- self first cousin of the 11th Duke of Bedford), he decided on a rural back- ground for his life, first in Sussex and then, until his death, at Mells in Somerset.

As a young man he had been ill at ease in society and vulnerable to attacks of des- pondency. He remained always without worldly ambition and his earlier letters lack the sparkle which a growing self- confidence and detachment gave to the later ones, which are nothing if not racy and robust. He was indeed a man of many

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contrasts: modest and diffident by tem- perament but clearcut and forthright in his opinions; a quizzical observer and recorder of odd concrete facts but given to abstract speculation in matters of philosophy and religion; essentially kind but prone to astringency and even tartness in his com- ments; essentially truthful but a fascinating and shameless embroiderer of the truth; careful in money matters and somewhat absorbed in them, but extremely generous with all he had. (He was never rich, and although he took his farming seriously, the farm nearly always made a loss. In 1935, exceptionally, it made a profit of £3.12.9). His education had been unconventional (he was at Oxford but never at a public or any sort of school) and he had little to show for it in the way of academic achievement. He was nevertheless highly cultivated in his tastes, well-read in literature, both English and Latin, and a mine of interesting, if disconnected, historical information. Keeping watch over his cattle as they grazed, he would have with him a copy of Virgil's Georgics or the Odes of Horace. He had little appreciation of painting and none of music, though (like his cousin Russell Pasha of Cairo) he was adept at imitating the songs of birds.

His letters of the 1920s and 30s fall very roughly into two groups, those written before and those after his attachment to Diana Cooper, although their subject mat- ter is not dissimilar: farming and local news, accounts of social occasions and a good sprinkling of his philosophical opin- ions. Any idea that this could be dull fare is quickly belied by the liveliness and idiosyn- crasy of its presentation.

May 1921 to Katharine Asquith:

There is a distressing taste for sapphism in my herd. They submit to and even provoke the very warmest embraces from their own sex and then when William comes (the bull) they reject his advances. And as soon as he has gone they carry on again among one another . . . Such depravity is surprising among creatures that look so gentle and innocent. But one finds vice where it is least expected.

February 1928 to Diana Russell (his sister): If I say to the Carter 'Mr May wants a load of hay' the Carter says 'Does er?' (not 'does he') and dialect writers write it 'Does 'er' and think it is 'her' the feminine accusative. But it isn't. It is er = the Saxon 'he' and Er still means he in modern German. The aitch is added by an ignorant cockney.

February 1923 to Katharine Asquith: I keep my end up in Society and sat between Lady Waldegrave and Lady Hylton at lun- cheon. I like Lady W. who wears high black button boots. . . . They dug up a small Roman baby on Kingsdown. It was put in a cigar box of Lord Hylton's (he smokes Ramon Allones) and Father Horne took a small spade and buried this singular coffin on a remote part of Mr Pane's farm with all the rites and formalities of the Catholic Church. How strange this second interment — the cigar box so strange and unfamiliar and yet 2,000 years later and still the Latin tongue in use on Mells Down.

October 1923 to Katharine Asquith:

The Mangels are in the pulling and now one sees 'em in heaps they make a fine show — magnificos . . . I am trying to read the Timaeus which good Mr Jowett calls the most 'repulsive' of all the dialogues. Plato is the best writer for making anyone believe in Catholicism. You might like to give this piece of advice to Hon Mrs Herbert. . . . it is not easy for a Platonist to swallow the doctrine of the incarnation or the resurrec- tion but Mrs Herbert will not see that. St Thomas Aquinas saw it and so do I, but not Mrs Herbert I expect.

In the light of what was to come, Conrad's excursions into theology (some- times deliberately fanciful and provoca- tive) have an added interest. A liberal and a rationalist by upbringing and tradition, he found it difficult, if not impossible, to accept Christianity or any dogmatic or revealed religion. But although in one of his letters he describes himself as a 'good old freethinking Epicurean' it is clear from many others that he had, throughout his life, a firm belief in the existence of God and in an absolute morality grounded in theism. 'Beyond that', he says in 1924, 'it seems to me a pleasant, comfortable and dignified position to be a sceptic.' His continuing preoccupation with such mat- ters suggests that he found less comfort in the position than he claimed.

Shortly before his 55th birthday in 1933, Diana Cooper, who had come over to Mells, invited him to return with her to Cardiff, where she was acting the part of the Madonna in The Miracle. To every- one's surprise he accepted her suggestion -- a decision which, his niece says, 'was perhaps the most important of his life. His affection for Katharine was paramount but

• . Diana's friendship, enjoyment of life and vitality swept him off his feet and rejuvenated him.' The bulk of the letters selected after this date are addressed to her. They are livelier than ever — some- times frivolous — in tone and, to some readers, the social chit-chat may seem overdone. But he had suddenly realised that there was more fun to be had out of life than he had thought and more people who appreciated him and who could give it to him. Among them was Lady Weymouth, a close neighbour at Longleat, whose friendship was to be another impor- tant stimulus and solace.

Space forbids more than a few quota- tions, but the following extract, to Diana Cooper, August 1941, is an example of the mixed diet which a single letter could provide:

We had a quiet guard. Not a mouse stirring. I wore my new inch-thick serge battle-dress, kept on my fleece-lined great-coat, snuggled up close to Les for warmth's sake but couldn't sleep for the cold. . . . The young Phipps[es] called on me — they are motor- biking from Oare to Pixton. He's the Ambas- sador's son. . She's Veronica Fraser — a most attractive imp and professional sauce- box. Just my style. . . . And I also went to see one of my cottages. The tenant, Miss Witcombe, had come to tell me the rain was coming down in bucketsful. . . . I was just thinking it would kill me to live in such a cottage when 'Mother' appeared looking in the pink and beaming all over. She had lived in that cottage 'more than 60 years'. She said the rains had come in terrible bad since she could remember. I continue my reading of Greek history with great interest. The Greeks had trial by jury. There was no judge and the jury settled the sentence too. They didn't have 12 jurymen as we do. The number on a jury was either 201, 401 or 6,000. No other numbers were allowed. Then I read about Prodicus, who gave a course of lectures on the whole of wisdom. The course cost 2 guineas. For those desiring something icss ambitious he had another course (also teaching the whole of wisdom) but it cost tenpence. I shall come to Alexan- der the Gt. soon and then for some odd reason the history of Greece ends, or isn't worth bothering about.

Entertaining as his letters to Diana mostly are, his immersion into her social world was not all gain. It brought with it some loss of the detachment which was the charm of his middle years, with the result that his critical comments are sometimes more querulous and more barbed. He would never, of course, have envisaged them being published and if they were to give pain or offence to people still living it is the last thing he would have wished. With such a wealth of other material to choose from, one cannot help questioning the appropriateness of their inclusion.

Be that as it may, Conrad's resilience in

the second world war was in marked contrast with his despondency in the first. He took its vicissitudes in his stride and would show impatience, occasionally, with those unable to do so. When bombs fell on Mells

a few Manor House windows went and a few Church ones. The ceiling of the Rectory came down on Miss Higgins' wedding gown which was laid out on the bed. . . I took Lady Wey to church and we said the Athana- sian Creed together. It is said to have been written by a second-century metaphysician in Alexandria who quite misunderstood some- thing he had read in Plato.

I've seen Miles Howard, now Adjutant 1st Batt. Grenadier Guards [and now Duke of Norfolk] at Nunney about two miles away. To my surprise we are buddies. He will send Grenadiers to help my harvest whenever I like. 'How many can you send?' I said. And he said 'Will eight hundred do?' In one sense it's comforting to think of these fine men waiting so nearby in our defence. But why do the authorities think it necessary? . . .

The tilting goes on against the religion whose claims he could not ignore but which part of his nature continued to resist.

The Bishop of Clifton is coming to say Mass on Sunday in the kitchen maid's bedroom. In the Manor House, the saying of Rosary at 6.45 is announced and advertised ad nauseam. 'Do stay till Rosary' Tell Per Rosary is in 10 minutes' Were you at Rosary yesterday?' Everyone is nervous and jumpy. It might be the start of the Grand National.

He tells Diana (in 1941) that he means to keep the 'banner of Voltairian scepticism' flying, but later (a propos Brideshead Revisited) admits to her: 'I've been pretty near becoming a Catholic a couple or three times myself, but never for such a damned silly reason, as [Captain Ryder].'

In 1945, his health began to show signs of failing and his letters become more subdued — still with their characteristic flavour, but high spirits now alternating with low. Shortly before his death in 1947, he was received, at his request, into the Catholic Church. His own family was dismayed at this and saw in it only an aberration of his infirmity. His fellow- Catholics will see it otherwise.