Letter to Marion
11 April, 1941
Dearest Mog,
Here is your money and the other pound. In a few weeks I will be able to send you some more extra. I finished the pastel this morning and the sitter is very pleased with it, her mother is paying, however, so it must pass her. I think it should be all right though, I have made the most of her. I have also received an enquiry from Rugby to buy one of the oils, £20, on the instalment plan. I will accept it. You must forgive me for not sending you and Julian Easter presents but I will as soon as some money comes in, which it will now quite soon.
I do hope you will be happier at East Meon. I do know just how you must hate having to be away all this long time. I am able to imagine myself in your place and I can guess easily how it must feel. I will try to make it all up to you when we are together again.
Try hard to find some place in East Meon, that is unless you find that you can fit in really comfortably at the cottage*. I will come to see you as soon as my next lot of leave is due. It should be lovely there in May.
*At around this time, the Thompsons, Marion and Julian had just moved again. This time to The White Cottage, High Street, East Meon, Hants. This cottage is now a Grade II listed building.
I am glad that you enjoyed the book on Watteau. I thought it was extremely good. It is far better than Chesterton's one on Blake, although that is worth reading too. I hope you have not had anymore bombs nearby. Last night was very noisy but Chelsea was not touched.
I cycle to the depot now and enjoy it. I had a trial run last week and went right down Oakley Street without holding on to the handlebars. This pleased me immensely. The bike goes fine since I put lots of oil in it.
Has your cold gone in spite of this horrible weather, and Julian too?
Write soon.
Lots of love to you both,
Clifford
Blitz
CLIFFORD HALL'S JOURNAL ~ 1939 - 1942 P17
including letters written to his wife Marion and some other correspondence
Letter to Marion
23 April, 1941
Tuesday evening,
Dearest Mog,
I am still perfectly all right. Don't worry about me. It only makes me sad to think that you are worrying. I have faith that I will be very alive at the end of the war. We have had nothing so bad as last Wednesday's raid, only a lot of very hard work cleaning up the mess. It has given me more subjects and two more drawings, and I hope to get another one done tomorrow.
I did one of the Royal Hospital. I have had to dig there twice. I worked through one of the blasted wards. It was a strange experience. Beds, furniture, shapeless lumps of sheets and blankets littered the huge rooms as if some giant had flung them about. The window frames were splintered and some leaned inwards towards the walls. Rain dropped steadily through holes in the roof. The floor was covered with broken bricks and glass and everything was grey with a deposit of fine dust made up of powdered plaster, bricks and mortar. I went from ward to ward each one the same. I felt like an explorer suddenly come upon a place where people had lived ages and ages ago. The dust might have lain there for centuries. In one room a picture still hung, crookedly, its glass miraculously unbroken. It showed a battle. Red-coated British soldiers heroically fighting the enemy, advancing up a hill amid solid looking puffs of smoke. The romantic, flag-waiving, patriotic, aspect. I looked around me again and saw the real thing, just a tragic mess.
Perhaps I am not entirely right. Those old pensioners stayed on picket in the open all through the hell of that night. No, I will never admit that the things that are happening now are necessary. Carnage can be shown in many other ways.
My show at Legers will start on the 9th of May. I do wish you could be there but I will tell you all about it. Impossible to say if it will be a success or not. A few more severe raids will ruin everything. A horrible amount of damage was done last week. Oxford Street is still partly closed, Jermyn Street is a mess, and a big chunk of Leicester Square has gone.
I am disgusted with the whole dirty business and very tired of digging and shifting big chunks of stone and timber. One cannot turn into a navvy in a few days.
It must be very beautiful in the country now. It has been here these last few mornings, birds singing and the almond tree outside the studio was lovely but now there is a big jagged piece of glass wedged among the branches and it has been there since last week. I will be able to come and see you at the end of May - no leave here before then - but it's not long really.
Mother is going to Bournemouth for a month. The change will do her good and she is fond of dismal Freddy*.
* "dismal Freddy" is possibly Clifford's uncle Frederick G Beatty, born c 1875 in Wandsworth, who was Clifford's mother's youngest brother.
Putney got it as well last week so there is no harm in her going away for a while. She is staying with Dorothy*.
* This Dorothy may possibly be Dorothy Hall, the first wife of Clifford's brother, Brian. If so, Brian would have been away serving in the army at the time.
Lots of love to you and Julian and lots more to you in memory of the 25th. And don't worry. Keep lovely for me,
Clifford
PS
Am forwarding a letter, maybe from P Jones. I will be able to send you something towards this bill by the end of the month.
I have been reading George Moore 's "Memoirs of my Dead Life". A lovely book. I will try to get a copy for you to read. How perfectly he expresses the inevitable sadness of life; that ultimate loneliness from which none of us can escape. And reading him I feel again the utter stupidity of war, how unnecessary it is - for all it has to teach can be realized in other ways, without make so many innocent people suffer.
I wish greatly that I could be with you - and I will be in four more weeks.
All my love,
Clifford
Journal Entry
April 25, 1941
In another twenty years I think I will have succeeded in making a philosophy that would be of great help to me - if I were twenty years younger.
Lavery memorial exhibition at the Leicester Galleries. A bad, vulgar colourist and a clumsy painter. His work lacks quality and his vision is usually commonplace.
There are, however, one or two fine things. A profile of a girl well drawn and solidly painted. I liked it immensely. A head of Pavlova, shockingly brutal in quality of paint, yet it achieves a mood, and in a curious way in spite of the plastered paint, struck me as sensitive.
There is also a good half-length of a woman in black holding a red book in her hands. She leans back against a dark crimson cushion. These works painted with a simple palette are admirable, but Lavery had, generally speaking, a poor idea of colour. His greatest fault was the detestable oily sticky quality of his paint.
Lunch with Lillian* at the National Gallery canteen. She has been having trouble with Lady Gater** who runs this. She objects to posters advertising the current exhibition at the gallery being displayed in the entrance to the canteen.
* Lillian is Lillian Browse, the art dealer. She and Clifford had had a business association for nearly ten years at this point, dating back to Clifford's first solo show at the Leger Gallery, Old Bond Street, in October 1931.
**Lady Irene Gater (1896 -1977), the wife of Brigadier-General Sir George Henry Gater, set up a sandwich bar at the National Gallery, Trafalgar Square, London, after attending a concert given in 1939 by the pianist Myra Hess and feeling hungry. Gater's idea of providing refreshments at museums and art galleries soon caught on and now we take these facilities for granted as a standard feature of such institutions.
'I can't understand the National Gallery at all. They seem to think of nothing but pictures' she says. But the quality and variety of the food remains excellent.
Lillian wants a painting from me for an exhibition she is getting together for the provinces. And I have done no paintings of any importance since this miserable war - only little things and drawings.
Letters to Marion
25 April, 1941
Dearest Mog,
Thanks so much for your telegram. I hope you got my letter and I wish we were together today and all I can hope is we will be soon. I am so tired of that beastly depot, and all I want is to be left alone to paint. Far, far too much to ask in the present mad state of the world.
The review started yesterday and went very well and my scenery looked pretty good. I am very depressed because I have painted so little this last year. I do not seem to have the time to ever take anything as far as I want to and I have several things unfinished and I fear they will remain so: toy can draw anywhere and with almost anything, but painting demands time and peace, a sequence of uninterrupted days and time to dream. That is just the very thing I cannot get. Well, I look forward and continue to draw. Were it not for the absolute necessity of doing something in order to avoid being even more hopelessly involved in the war I could happily spend my days painting and loving the things around me. I have not discovered patriotism in myself. Artists have no country for they have inherited the world, and even as the world is now they can enjoy it only if they are not allowed to as often as they would wish.
Everyone we know is all right after last week. I think the Crema you read about was a different person and lived in Burton Court which was hit and almost destroyed. Bill only lost one pane of glass but he did not want a repetition of what happened to him in Hampstead.
I wish I could see you, - (ends here. The last sheet of the letter is missing)
30 April, 1941
Dearest Mog,
I was very pleased to get your last letter and to know that you had settled down comfortably. I knew you would be far happier there, and having someone t0 take Julian out should give you more time to yourself. You cannot imagine what a time I have had getting everything ready for the exhibition next week. It's simply appalling having one's time cut in half and being forced to waste so much of it. Transport is difficult too but the man whose portrait I did recently has promised to help me take all the pictures to Legers tomorrow in his car as they must be there a week before for the catalogue.
Lily Browse came yesterday to choose a picture for a show she is getting together to tour galleries in non-blitzed areas. She wants the self-portrait I gave you. Do you mind? I told her that it could not be for sale. I think it is just as safe travelling around as it is in the studio. The trouble is the excepting small panels, I have done to few paintings of any importance since the sacré war and this is to be a carefully selected show and I must be represented by a really good one. So let me know what you think when you write next. If you would sooner it did not go then tell me. There is another one I could send, one I have just done, but it is rather too small, only 21" x 17", whilst the self-portrait is 24"x 20".
I have several books I want you to read and I will send them as soon as I find time. I am very glad the lipstick is the colour you like, for I spent a long time choosing it. Mother has not gone away yet but I believe she will soon. I sold two pictures at Rugby, one watercolour and one oil, the oil to be paid by instalments but I know the buyer is reliable. Here is something towards the P.J. bill. I will send you some more when I can get things straightened out. I have got quite a bit to pay for mounts, photographs and one or two extra frames but I am hoping I will get this back from the Leger show and some over.
Yes, the studio is patched up with black felt but I do not know when I will get the glass put in, however, there is still enough light from the top to work by.
I saw Brian* last week and he is fatter than ever, in his greatcoat he seemed almost monumental. Of course, we disagreed about everything. With his wild ideas about discipline and his drastic methods of enforcing it, it struck me that, if he could have his way, half his men would be shot for failing to do this or that in the proper manner. It's all a farce. We have practically no discipline and yet when we go out during a raid out discipline is perfect and since last week our noticeboard with letters of congratulation from various authorities for our conduct during the recent raids. And he hasn't even been in one yet. Naturally, he flatly refused to believe a word I said. Anyway, what does it matter? The whole business is stupid and there are still lots of other far more interesting things to do.
* Clifford's younger brother, Brian, an officer in the British Army.
I am wishing in some ways that you could have got a room to yourself because it will be difficult when I come to see you but what I really want is that you be happy and not sad when I do come, which won't be long now.
Lots of love to you and Julian and give my love to all the others.
Clifford
2 May, 1941
Dearest Mog,
Things have been nice and quiet lately. I am glad but I seem to have got out of the habit of sleeping - even when I get the chance. It's really worse than raids. Hope you got my last letter and that I will have one from you soon.
I got all my drawings to Legers yesterday and I think the show will look good. There is only one painting. a 30" x25", and that's practically a monochrome, however it fits in well with the drawings round it. There are thirty-one drawings. I wish I had done more paintings but I have found, for some time, that I have not got the energy to paint anything large. I'll be all right when the war is over; in the mean time I must content myself with drawings and just small things. But it's a pity because there is so much I want to do. About a year ago, before things got difficult, and I slept better, I was sure that I had found out how to paint, or, at least that I had settled on just the approach that suited me best. You may think it is wrong or selfish of me to worry about such things in these days when everyone should "strain every nerve for victory" and so on, but it's the way I am made and nothing seems to alter it. And I am very tired of ugliness and stupidity, for that is how it strikes me, and feel that the expression of something lovely is far more important even if few want it and time destroys it in the end. After all, only ideas are real but they must be expressed in some tangible fashion.
Life is not really dull even in wartime London and I am always seeing interesting things. The trouble is I am to tired to react to them in the way I should. Maybe it's the Spring, let's forget it, it won't last.
I should be able to get some leave about the 28th. I am going to ask for it next week. I spend some very good evenings with Bill. He plays the Grieg piano concerto to me; and Chopin. This does me more good than anything else.
I hope that you are both well and the others too. Lots of love to you and Julian. Don't ever smack him, there's never any need for it. Whenever I think of Peter's ideas on bringing up children, I feel quite ill. There is enough violence in the world as it is.
Lots of love to you both,
Clifford
6 May, 1941
Dearest Mog,
Many thanks for your letter with the cheque. You are quite right about the cheque - you did not have one for April.
I wish you could come to the exhibition on Friday when it opens but if you do decide to come up for the day I would sooner you came next week when we can have all the time together. I will be stuck in the gallery till six and next week we could spend half an hour there quietly and then do lots more exciting things. I hope you can get Fanny to look after Julian for the day. I feel it would be better. My off days next week will be - Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. If you make up your mind to come let me know time and station and I will be there to meet you.
I will let the self-portrait go to the exhibition for I think it is as safe there as anywhere else but I have already told Lily that it belongs to you and can't have a price put on it. The main thing is to be well represented in the exhibition, which will be an important one.
Do not worry about having to leave the pictures at Pearl's - Stanley can collect them when he goes there. I am sure you must have had a job moving everything.
I have an idea that my show will go well, at least from the publicity angle, because I have a viewpoint that no one else has touched yet. The Star sent someone down to the depot to interview me this morning. If there is not a sudden spectacular development in the war or another big raid on London, I stand a chance of attracting some notice. It is, however, a chancy business nowadays.
I feel better that I did when I last wrote to you and I am eager to come and see you at the end of the month. Good news about the bid. It has cheered me up lots. I always think of you as especially adorable in the Spring because of that Spring when we were so very happy and which I have not forgotten, but even seem to remember more clearly as time passes.
Write soon. Lots of love to you and Julian,
Clifford
The White Cottage, Grd II listed building, High Street East Meon Hants. Photo credit: britishlistedbuildings.co.uk
Journal Entries
April 17, 1941
Last night London had its worst attack. It started at 9pm and did not finish until 5 the following morning.
Chelsea Old Church and the bottom of Old Church Street is now only a heap of rubble.
A shocking amount of damage. The same dreary story. I have not the heart to write it.
Came home, tired out, to find the studio covered with broken glass and plaster. Only four panes left whole. Four out of eighteen. Front door blown open, pictures flung about, but only one panel slightly damaged. Two Chinese vases I was fond of broken.
Long splinters of glass stuck in the floor, like thrown knives. The bed in which I would have been sleeping, had I been off duty, was untouched. A little dust on the shawls, not a bit of glass. The clock had been thrown ten feet into the middle of the floor. It was still going.
Kitchen door wide open with the lock blown off and the window frame smashed. Altogether I consider myself amazingly lucky.
All this is the result of a reputed landmine that demolished the top part of Chelsea Square.
My lovely big window is now mostly covered with black felt and the place looks very gloomy.
The temporary repairs were done this morning.
A German airman landed by parachute on the mud by the Embankment during the raid and was easily captured. Probably glad to be out of it.
In spite of the Government's recent boasts Wednesday night showed again that against a really heavy raid - 500 enemy planes are said to have taken part - we can do comparatively little.
All the Cheyne Row houses from Danvers Street to Old Church Street are either right down or damaged beyond repair.
The café on the corner of Danvers Street contained a good collection of Greaves's drawings. I do not know if they were there or not when the bomb fell.
April 18, 1941
Working amongst the ruins of houses in Old Church Street. Dug out a woman, neck broken and other injuries. A horrible sight this one. A smell of burnt wood and decomposition was everywhere.
Later: managed to get sent out to Chelsea Hospital. Was able to get half an hour to myself and made a drawing.
I walked through one of the wards. The daylight was failing and rain dropped regularly through holes in the broken roof. Beds, invalid chairs, shapeless lumps of rags, broken furniture, bricks. Glass cracking underfoot. And everything covered with a thick layer of grey powdered plaster.
In a corner lay a Chelsea pensioner's cap, and high up, hanging from a beam in the roof, was a pair of blue trousers, thrown there by the force of the explosion.
Above the mantelpiece I saw a cheap coloured reproduction of a battle picture, its frame intact and its glass miraculously unbroken. Red coated soldiers advanced up a hill through clouds of white smoke. The officer leading them waving his sword. A union jack floated above the group. The romantic idea of war.
Pathetic walking alone through those wrecked rooms, almost impossible to realize that they were in perfect order only two days ago. I felt like someone from another world who had suddenly come across a place where people had once lived, ages and ages past. The dust seemed as if it had lain there for centuries.
When I got back I made a drawing of Old Church Street aided by a few lines I had been able to get down on the spot. Then, very tired, I had a few hours' sleep.
Letter to Marion
18 April, 1941
Friday
Dearest Mog,
I hope you got the letter with the money; the one I sent last week. I phoned Stanley this morning and heard that you were now at East Meon. I hope you will be happier there.
We had a very bad night here on Wednesday, that's why I sent you the telegram as I thought you might worry. Chelsea Old Church is now only a heap of bricks and dust. It is not even a picturesque ruin - just a mess. Most of the end of Church Street has gone too and all the Cheyne Row houses between where the Lombard stood and the corner of Danvers Street. Do you remember the café on that corner where we had tea and looked at the Greaves drawings?
That's all blown to pieces.
A German airman came down by parachute and was captured in the mud near Battersea Bridge. It was an appalling night and started soon after dark and lasted until dawn. Most of the time it was as light as day for there were planes hanging in the sky all around us. A landmine has destroyed about eight of the new houses at the top of Chelsea Square. I found only two panes intact at the studio although the top light has only lost one pane. The door was blown open, pictures, books, plaster and broken glass everywhere. Long pieces of glass were stuck in the floor like thrown knives. The alarm clock was lying near the window, still going. Two vases broken, and that's all the real damage, except a tiny bit off the edge of one of my panels. The lock was blown right off the kitchen door and the window broken.
I looked at the bed. Of all the studio it remained untouched, just a light layer of dust over it. So my luck has held again. Even my drawings for my show and the pastel portrait which were all being mounted at the Chelsea Art Studio are unharmed and the shop front was blown in and some pictures damaged. Garlicks were very good and started first aid repairs at once. They had to build a scaffold from the garden to get up to the window. It was a difficult job as even the window frames are smashed and there wasn't much support. They finished by the evening and thanks to the top light being almost intact there is still enough light to work by; we hope to get glass put in soon in place of the black felt that now covers the quarter part of the window. I think I was very fortunate to have got off so lightly.
Dozens of buildings in Chelsea were hit including the Royal Hospital, Burton Court, Cranmer Court, Stanley Street and Sutton Buildings. Very heavy casualties One of our superintendents was killed. He was off duty. Had he been at the depot he would be alive now. They knocked London sideways and it just shows that we are almost helpless when a really largescale raid comes over.
Write soon and tell me how you are. I had hoped to hear from you this week but I expect you must have been pretty busy since you moved. We are going ahead with exhibition and hope to open on the 8th May although Leger had his windows blown in on Wednesday.
I was certainly glad you were not here the other night. I don't like to think what it would have been like for you. How is Julian? Is his cold better? I don't feel too good at the moment. Lack of sleep mostly.
Give my love to everyone at the cottage and tell them that I hope I will see them all at the end of May, but most of all I am looking forward to seeing you again.
Love to you both,
Clifford
PS
Friday night,
I have been digging in the wreckage most of the day, but I found time to do two very rough sketches. Also was able to go into the studio on the way back and got your letter. I am so happy you are at East Meon and I am sure you will like being there much more that at that terrible watery place.
Lots of love to you and Julian.
Clifford
Journal Entries
April 19, 1941
Drew again today.
April 20, 1941
Raid last night. Working today at the Royal Hospital. Dug out a few odd portions, a hand, an arm, and other pieces too shapeless to name. These were put in a new dustbin and carefully placed on one side.
Sloane Infirmary, Chelsea Royal Hospital, bombed, 16 April 1941.
More info at chelsea-pensioners.co.uk
Chelsea Old Church after being bombed in April 1941.
More information at: keepingthingslocal.com