118. The Self-Conscious Eye and the Internal Critic

In a recent blog (113, "Don't think about building a wall. Think about laying one brick perfectly", 10 October 2014) I wrote about some of my experiences in an eight week Creative Writing Workshop that I took part in during 2004. In this blog, drawn from work completed in 2004, I reflect some more on creative writing and explore my growing understanding of the psychology of being ‘a writer’.

(1) The self-conscious eye
I was acutely self-conscious at the outset of that workshop. This was betrayed in the dry factual emphasis of my initial classroom contributions where I presented pieces of Spartan brevity and a minimum of personal disclosure. Throughout the workshop we were encouraged to focus on the more dramatic and traumatic events in our lives and to write out of those experiences, however painful they might be to recall. I avoided this in the early stages, preferring to shadow box, to play facetious word games, to imitate, mimic and show off, refusing to carve close to the emotional bone of my life. Even facetious word games and cryptic statements, however, can come back to bite you.*

    

(2) The critical voice

I had always wondered why artists returned to the same subject over and over. Now I know. What I produce is never up to scratch, never the perfect artefact I have in mind at the outset. Even if I only have a vague idea of what I hope to end up with, it’s always better than the final result. And there never is a final result. Nothing is ever finished. Not in the sense that it can’t be improved.

Big revisions, little revisions, always revisions. To the point where I don’t know if I’m making a piece or a poem better or worse. Writing is for perfectionists, for masochists. I go for a walk to clear my head, down to the beach, along to the Milford Marina and back, sit staring at the sea. In the course of forty minutes I decide to change a single word in the manuscript I’m working on. The next day I read it through again and put back the original word. Twenty, thirty drafts. If you know it’s never finished, how do you know when it’s time to let go?

I have adopted a two-test strategy for letting go. The first is an irritation test. If I can read a piece through without irritation, without the feeling that something is not right – a word, a phrase, a transition in the narrative – then I consider it complete, for the time being at least. No longer waking up early in the morning thinking about it usually marks this phase. The second is the test of abandonment and rediscovery. I put the piece aside for a month or more, sufficient time for me to have lost interest in it and moved on to something else. Then I read it again. This provokes two possible reactions; either, “God, this is awful. How could I have written such crap?” or, “Did I write that? It’s not bad… in fact, I think it’s quite good.”

Supposing a piece passes the censor of the critical voice in my head to the point of ‘quite good’, then what? Self conscious and technically flawed, how is anything to ever be let go to a wider audience? Here I have taken encouragement from the words of ‘real’ writers who have felt equally ambivalent about letting their work go into a wider domain. I was amazed to find, for example, that Elizabeth Barrett Browning, at some time or other in the composition of her Sonnets from the Portuguese (written in 1845/6 and published in 1850), had wanted to destroy each and every one of them. She wrote:

What no mere critic sees but what you, as an artist, know, is the difference between the thing desired and the thing attained, between the idea in the writer’s mind and the image in his work – the great chasm between the thing I say, and the thing I would say, would be quite dispiriting to me – if the desire did not master the despondency.

Erica Jong found ending and letting go of her work a major difficulty and often wanted to take her books back from the printers and editors. In Fear of Fifty (1994) she describes writers as doubters, compulsives, self-flagellants… and conquerors of fears, even the fear of fame:

“What if it’s not successful?"
“What’s that to do with you? You’re the writer, not the critic of your book.”
"What if I can’t do it?”
“You can. You know you can conquer your fears. That’s what a writer is - a conqueror of fears.”

Anne Sexton wrote to her:

Don’t dwell on the book’s reception. The point is to get on with it – you have a life’s work ahead of you – no point in dallying around waiting for approval… You have the gift – and with it comes responsibility – you mustn't neglect or be mean to that gift – you must let it do its work. It has more rights than the ego that wants approval.**

But it’s not just the inner and outer critics that are so inhibiting to a would-be writer. There’s family and friends to consider. Perhaps my much-vaunted creative freedom, like the mythical independence of the self-employed, is illusory. There are many constraints upon creative freedom in addition to the critical constraint of a lack of imagination. Self-censorship in fear of offending family and friends is the one that gives me greatest concern. Dilemmas. If I’m to take inspiration in my writing from the ‘close to the emotional marrow’ experiences in my life, will it not be transparent to all who know me who and what I am writing about? Will they care? Am I merely projecting an innate conservatism and risk aversion or responding to a genuine desire not to hurt those I love? Do I care so much about what others think? About what I imagine they think? Is ‘publish and be damned’ the only advice a writer should adopt? 

It is as if the genie in the private bottle – the creative freedom I currently [2004] enjoy, a freedom that flows from complete lack of responsibility to a known or imaginary readership – is immediately compromised when the bottle is opened. For the present I can write what I like without the constraints faced by ‘real’ writers. I can ignore ethical and moral issues and conceptions of public good taste. I can ignore the artistic conventions of composition and genre. Most of all, since I have no need to make a living from writing, I can ignore the commodity status of literature and the demands imposed by writing for ‘the market’. These are luxuries not necessarily enjoyed by the ‘real’ writer. The ‘real’ writer is free to transgress all these domains, but at what cost? The cost of publication? Yet it is publication that validates the status of ‘writer’ in the first place.***

Hypothetical questions in 2004 but issues that now give me cause for reflection in putting my scribbles into the public domain.

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* Authors are much given to cryptic statements and aphorisms offering up their genius to posterity. Like footnotes, these throwaway phrases have connotations of insight and insightfulness. It’s strange to think that the late Douglas Adams, the author of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, will be immortalised for the notion that the meaning of life, the answer to the riddle of the universe, is the number 42. He became heartily sick of the idea. ‘After twenty years of active service,’ he wrote when introducing his website forums in 1998, ‘I am officially retiring from the job of explaining what I meant by 42. It was just a joke.’

** From Sexton, L.G. and Ames, L., Anne Sexton: A self portrait in letters (1977), cited in Amabile, Teresa M. (1996), Creativity in Context. My thanks to Lucy for sending me this encouraging quote back in March 2002 when I was contemplating giving up my day job.

*** Though not always in the writer’s eyes. The Listener of June 26 2004 had an interview with D B C Pierre who won the 2003 Man Booker prize for his first novel, Vernon God Little. The prize, he feels, gave him permission ‘to keep writing, to go as far as I can. See if I can become a real writer…’ But how long does that take?

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Previous Blogs related to Creative Writing.
  12,  30 November 2011,  Words of Wisdom for Creative Writers.
  27,  20 January 2012,  Blogging: Where the Truth Lies.
  28,  24 January 2012,  Self Portrait of a Clever Dick.
113,  10th October 2014,  "Don't think about building a wall. Think about laying one brick perfectly."
115,  24th October 2014,   Thinking about Thinking.

Short Stories.
  15,  8 December 2011,   Mr. Oliphant's Tears: A Love Story (2004).
  36,  23 February 2012,  "And There the Antic Sits" - Cameron Gunn's Nightmare.
  39,  10 March 2012,  "Soup for One." A very short story.
  57,  16 May 2013,  Francine. A Short Story.
  64,  11 September 2013,  The Hanging Clown: A Story for 9/11.
117.   27 November 2014,  Chatlines.

_________________________________________________________________

   

117. Chatlines.

[Image from: kennethwongsf.blogspot.com]

CHATLINES

“Mind if I sit here?”

“No, go ahead.”

She drew back a fraction from the table as he settled opposite.

“I saw you last night.”

“You did?”

“The cocktail party.”

“Right.”

“You’re not wearing your label.”

“No.”

“And I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your name.”

“Kate.”

“Ah yes. Kate. Who are you with Kate?”

“Nobody.”

“No, what firm are you with?”

“Baldock and Oates.”

“James Thompson, Mackenzie Reed.”

“So I see.”

“Call me Jamie.”

There was a long silence. They busied themselves with their breakfasts.

“Enjoying that?”

“Just yoghurt."

“Very healthy. Been for a run?”

“No.”

“How come the running gear, then?”

“I like it.”

“Yes, very fetching. Do you run much?”

“Not really.”

“You hide well.”

“I’m not hiding.”

“I watched you last night. Very detached.”

”If you say so."

“Just an observation. I don’t mean it unkindly, critically. You seem very detached. Cool. Self possessed.”

Kate shrugged indifference.

“You project separateness. Powerfully. Deliberately. You know you do. It’s a statement, an artefact, a placard, a packaging you’ve designed for yourself. You hang out all the signs. Private – Keep Out, Do Not Disturb, No Loitering, No Throughway, No Entry – One Way Street, Keep Off the Grass, Trespassers Will be Prosecuted, Danger – Hard Hat Area…”

“If I’m that transparent, I can hardly be hiding.”

Kate finished her breakfast and left.

*          *          *          *

“Are you working on something, Kate?”

"Always working on something.”

“For a presentation?”

“Tomorrow.”

“What on?”

"Copyright in China."

“Mine was this morning. New Zealand China Free Trade Agreement. Now that’s out of the way I’m thinking of writing a short story. About you.”

“Me! You don’t know a thing about me."

“What’s that to do with the price of fish? It’s a story. Besides, I do know something about you. I told you I’d been reading the signs. Seen you in the tealeaves.”

“Looks like coffee to me. Froth from your flat white.”

“The stillness. The animation. Unusual combination. Kind of compelling. Intriguing. Shall I tell you about yourself?”

“Sure. Why not. I like a good story.”

“Called you Zhenya. Sounds more exotic. Dark and mysterious. Not so nice as Kate. You, Zhenya, live alone. Apart from your Abyssinian cat. Aloof and haughty. The cat I mean. Townhouse in Parnell, occasional weekends with friends at Omaha. A BMW Compact. Black. Fully paid for in cash. Classy but not ostentatious. You like solitude, enjoy plenty of your own company - long beach walks, tramping, that kind of thing. You had a long-standing relationship. Older man. No children though. Nasty break-up. Left you in a mess. Had counselling and battled through. Learned to view it as a growth experience. Now you tell everyone how much you value your independence. As you do, most of the time. Feel in control of your life, of your future. You don’t commit emotionally, except to your work, and you think that keeps you secure from being hurt again… I think my Kate-Zhenya is coming along nicely. Want me to go on?”

“Clichéd, isn’t it? Perhaps you should try horoscopes.”

“You will meet a tall dark stranger and be mesmerised by his wit, his conversation and the froth from his coffee."

“My god, you are a cliché.”

“You weren’t supposed to say that.”

“Well, I’m so sorry. You should have shown me my lines.”

“We already had this conversation.”

“Was it good?”

“It was different.”
           
 “Better than this I hope.”

“No, just different.”

“Look, James Thompson from Mackenzie Reed. I don’t know why you’ve developed this ridiculous interest in me. I didn’t ask for it. I don’t want it. But if you want to chat me up, chat me up. Stop playing silly bloody games. Forget the games. I’m not that stupid.”

“Aw, now you’ve spoilt it.”

“Tough.”

“Ah well, not to worry. It doesn’t matter. Why don’t we have another coffee and talk about nothing in particular.”

“I think we already did.”

 *          *          *          *

“How’s the panini?”

Kate took another bite and looked at James thoughtfully as she chewed.

“I’m not in the market. I don’t want to trade with you."

“The market for what?”

“Personal intimacies.”

“You mean a personal relationship?”

“No. I mean the exchange of intimacies.”

“Isn’t that the basis of all personal relationships?”

“Heaven forbid!”

“I’m not with you?”

“James, listen. If I want to tell you something about myself, something intimate and personal, something close to the bone of my life, behind the façade of your cat and coffee delusions, I’ll tell you about it. And if I don’t want to, I won’t. But I’m not trading with you. It’s not something you trade. It’s not a question of you show me your hurts, fears, joys, fantasies, and I’ll show you mine. I’ll show you what I choose, if I choose. Unconditionally. But I have no need to tell you such things. Nor does my telling or not telling define something between us. Not even that I trust you with the information.”

“So what does define what’s between us?”

“It doesn’t have to be anything. Could be a space, a void. Or the knowledge that we’re free to tell or not tell, no strings being pulled, no games being played. That there are no expectations, no demands for reciprocity. That if I choose to keep certain things to myself that’s my business.”

“But what kind of relationship is it if you can't be open about everything?”

“Probably a perfectly good one, a normal one. One where there’s respect for privacy.”

“That’s why you’re such a private person?”

“But I’m not. I’m not a particularly private person. I’m just not obsessed by mutual revelations of intimate feelings.”

“And I am?”

“That’s not for me to say. You tell me.”

“You think I’m self-absorbed, narcissistic.”

“We’re all self-absorbed up to a point. The centre of our little universes. That’s consciousness. Trouble with Narcissus was he could only see himself in his reflection. Without that he had no idea who he was. Even if he existed. Without seeing himself in the eyes of others he was totally insecure. So never mind what I think. It shouldn’t matter what I think. What do you think?”

“I like to know about people.”

“Know. What can you know? What can anyone ever know? About other people. It’s hard enough unravelling oneself.”

“I like to know what’s happened to people, what their experiences are, their feelings are.”

“Why? So you can feel free to tell them about your own? Why not just tell people about yourself, your life, your experiences, your feelings. Why wait for them to tell you?”

“Like you do you mean! Anyway, wouldn’t that be self-absorption? Wouldn’t that be narcissistic?”

"Not necessarily. Though it could be boring.”

“Yes, well, anyway, how was the panini?”

*          *          *          *

“If you don’t want to get burnt, Jamie, don’t put your hand in the fire.”

“Just a little singed then. Chargrilled. Like your snapper.”

“Flames don’t discriminate.”

“I can always take my hand out again.”

“I doubt it.”

“You mean I have to fall right in, more like a volcano than a fire?”

“No, you don’t have to be totally consumed.”

“Just burnt. What degree burns do you offer?”

“All kinds. First degree. Second degree. Third degree. Take your pick.”

“Trouble is I burn easy and you look like a third degree burner.”

“You think I don’t burn too. I’m not inflammable.”

“But more flameproof I think. All that protective gear.”

“Well, you don’t have to jump in naked.”

“Is there any other way?”

“It depends what you want.”

“I thought we might just be friends, just people who could talk to each other honestly. No pretence. No artifice. No games.”

“No games?”

“Well, almost no games. The game of no game.”

“How can one know?”

”Yes, how can one know.”

“Motives.”

“Yes, motives. I don’t know all the motives. But I tell you friendship is my motive. Well, I think it is. You distrust that, don’t you? You think I’m after your body. You think stuff about friendship is just fancy footwork.”

“Maybe."

“And you don’t know which frightens you most. That I do want your body or that I don’t want your body. So you assume that I do. Gives you a basis for mistrust.”

“Perhaps I should be mistrustful.”

“You should, Kate, you should. I agree.”

“But not about you?”

“Yes, yes, about me too. How can I know what my motives are? But if I believe they’re friendship, if I say they’re friendship, then I may at least be able to act friendship.”

“No sex?”

“Did I say that?”

“Just friendship?”

“Friends can have sex too. It’s just that friendship is the basis of the relationship, not sex.”

“Once we have sex how can we still be friends?”

“With great difficulty.”

“Suppose we like it?”

“I should hope we would.”

”But knowing that destroys everything else.”

“Knowing what?”

“Love, intimacy, joy. All that.”

“Why should it destroy friendship?”

“You can’t go back. Having lived that makes it hard not to live that."

“But how can that last? How can you expect it to last?”

“I don’t know, but I do expect it.”

“It’s unrealistic.”

“I know, but it’s what I want.”

“Fantasy. Illusion.”

“No, it’s real, it’s real."

“Folly, just folly. Folly and idleness.”

“A divine madness.”

“And then what?”

"God knows.”

“I don’t think he does, and I’m sure you don’t. But we’ll just be friends then. If that’s what you want.”

“Kiss me you stupid man."

*          *          *          *

“That wasn’t in the script.”

“What script?”

“My script.”

“So? You think you’re the only one with a script. God, Jamie, you’re so transparent.”

[Image from: theintimacydojo.com]

116. Sister's Wedding and Antelope and Dodo for Supper: Brother and Sister, Worlds Apart (6): January/March 1974.

Activities in Nigeria - Letters from Elizabeth, January/February 1974

Vining Centre, Akure, January 7th 1974

[For the origin of these letters see blog 30. Love, Death and Letters from My Mother's Hut (4th February 2012)].

   

   Dear Ma and Daddy,

   ...
   Oh! I know what I did that was very interesting. On Thursday evening I went and watched Dr. Salama (an Egyptian surgeon - and Coptic Christian - working in the State Hospital, Akure) do a Caesar. I have talked about doing this for some time but the opportunity didn't arise. However I went. Really I am surprised that I am alive at all! It was a bit like a lucky dip - put in your hand and pull out the baby! - this one was a girl and she was alive but looked a bit doubtful at first - and had to have oxygen blown in her nose. Altogether a rather messy business! I should like to watch an operation in England. I would imagine that the whole thing would be more obviously sterile and a good deal less informal.

Vining Centre, Akure, January 24th '74

[Ruth Martin was my predecessor as the Women’s Warden at Vining Christian Leadership Centre where I started to work in 1972. In January 1974 she invited me to go with her to visit a remote

part of Ondo Diocese on the far side of the River Niger and help her to run a short training course for the wives of Church workers in that area. I was in Bassa on January 19th.]

   Dear Ma and Daddy,
   ... I really want to tell you about our journey over into Bassa land:
   On Monday morning we crossed over the Niger from Lokoja to Shintaku. It is a big ferry that can hold about 10 lorries - but it was almost empty so we had plenty of room and were able to park in the shade in the middle of the boat. Eunice Adeosun came with us so the V.W. was pretty well full to bursting point with 3 of us, our loads and bedding, boxes of books, the Kerosene lamp and projector and screen for the film strip meetings - not to mention a gigantic sack of clothing which the Eyesorun had sent with us for the people of Bassa. (The Eyesorun is the wife of the Deji - or King - of Akure.)
   From Shinkaku we went first to Oguma which I don't think you will find on your map. The main road goes to Dekina. It's a good road but about 5 miles before Dekina we turned left and drove for 8 miles or so along a very sandy and pot holed road to Oguma. There we were met by the Ondo Diocesan Missioner, Rev Oni and Mr and Mrs Aibe. Rev Oni is a Yoruba sent by Ondo Diocese. Two and a half years ago his wife was drowned in the River Benue after a canoe capsised. He was left with 7 children ranging from a teenage son to an eighteen month old baby, Alaba. So he has a problem on hand, especially as they are the only Yoruba family in the village. He is now looking out for a new wife - and Mrs Adeosun has been asked to help to look for somebody sensible. It will have to be a remarkable woman to take on 7 children - and go and live in Oguma!! But he is greatly respected there ... particularly for not running away when his wife drowned and Ruth remarked that there is a tremendous change in the church members in the past two years since she was there before.

2014 photo from Benue River Valley Images

   Most of the women, wives of evangelists and others at Oguma are illiterate so the church agents and evangelists were asked to come too. Some of them came from 15 miles on their bicycles, and they were the people who benefited most from this course. Because there were 3 different language groups everything took a good long time. We started in English or Yoruba and then everything was translated into Bassa-Nge, Bassa-Komo and Isoko. So a 15 min talk took an hour to say! It didn't help that the 1st day was market day so all the women were occupied and although the meeting was supposed to start in the morning at 8.30 nothing much happened till about 10 a.m.
   ... Then on Thursday morning we went to Akabe about 30 miles away - nearer to Shinkaku but off the main road. We stayed with Canon and Mrs Cato. They were delightful. Akabe is his home 'town' (village). I think there were 3 houses with tin roofs - the rest grass ....apart from church, school, clergy houses etc. Most people were cooking in clay pots....and I don't suppose there would be more than a dozen or so beds in the place.
   ... We hoped to travel home on Mon. but the ferry was under repair so we had to wait to Tues. ...I had great fun cooking scrambled egg and white sauce and soup over 3 stones outside. I even did Scotch pancakes!
   ...
   With much love,
   Elizabeth.

January 23rd
    ...
    In the evening we had a 'social' - the women on the course had prepared plays from the Bible and songs. I was the "Chairlady" so in my "Opening Remarks" I told them that I was happy to be the chairlady for a special reason - that it was my sister's wedding day! So they all said that the evening's entertainment should be in honour of Ruth and Trevor! So that was good ... and it was a very joyful occasion. The earlier part of Saturday was not such fun because Ruth developed a chest infection and fearful sore throat so we had to arrange that she went to the doctor 25 miles away while the pastor's wife and I took the meetings for her. So I was kept busy telling the women how to clean their churches and polish their brass and silver if any - and not to use VIM on silver chalices!!
   Thank you for your letters. The next one should tell me about the events of January 19th, the day of Ruth's and Trevor's wedding.
   With much love,
   Elizabeth.

P.O. Box 3, Akure, February 3rd 1974
   Dear Ma and Daddy,
   I was delighted to receive your tape last Tuesday (January 29th).
   ... It was good too to hear all the news of the wedding. It sounds as though it was a very happy affair... I had a very enthusiastic letter from Lynette. She obviously enjoyed every minute of it and thoroughly approved of Trevor and also Jutka (my brother Stuart's girlfriend).
   I went with Ruth to Benin last Sunday and she had her barium enema on Monday. It wasn't much fun because they pump the stuff in - then pump in air so that you get blown up like a balloon inside and Ruth said she thought she was going to burst. The only consolation is that apparently they relay the X-ray onto a sort of tele screen and so Ruth said that when she lay on one side on the X-ray table she could see the picture of her inside on the tele!

Vining Centre, Akure, Sun. February 10th '74.
   Dear Ma and Daddy,
   We have had the first week of the new year here. I have 13 new students and 4 old ones. It has been quite a busy week, but it is good to get back into the swing of it - and once lists and things are made then things can tick over more smoothly. One baby of about a month old is a bit of a worry. It doesn't grow! and looks very puny and weak. Maybe the mother hasn't enough milk, maybe they have used some native medicine. Anyway after a lot of to-ing and fro-ing they have at last got to Dr. Sijuade (the Principal Medical Officer at the State Hospital) and are getting treated carefully. Another new student, the wife of a clergyman in the Lagos Diocese, went to Dr. Kohli on Friday for an eye test and she apparently has advanced glaucoma - so she may go blind - and it is unlikely that she will be able to do much reading here. This is a pity because she has never been to school and the whole point of her coming here was to become literate. [Dr. Kohli, eye surgeon, and her pharmacist husband, also worked at the State Hospital; they are Indian Sikhs.)
   On Friday evening... I invited Dr. Kohli and Mrs Kohli and Rajan (17 year old son)and Ruth and Dr. Salama for supper. All came and we had... antelope, roast potatoes, mushrooms, tomatoes and dodo.

Dodo

   This week - on Wednesday I started my evening classes with the men students. I have been asked to take a class once each week in 'General Knowledge' with special geographical emphasis. It is really to stretch their brains a bit so that they know that the earth turns and not the sun that they know that Jerusalem is an actual town and not a Biblical myth and that they have heard that there are 800 million Chinese living under a Communistic regime ... and such like. Anyway the first one went well and I hope we shall be able to have some stimulating discussions.

Vining Centre, Akure, February 14th 1974.
   Dear Ma,
   I received your letter today  - saying that Daddy is to have a 'cauliflower' removed from his bladder - and that it has already happened... because its today. I shall be thinking of you especially in the next 4 days as you wait for the result of the biopsy. I hope that it is benign. Dr. Salama tells me that most of them are! so I am hopeful. Anyway we can only wait and see.
   I am sorry to be so far away when this kind of thing happens... because everything is a week out of date before it gets here. I am glad that Stuart was able to come home and be with you for a few days. In some ways its worse to be at home wondering what is happening than to be in the hospital where even if its serious everything is very interesting going on around - and you feel thoroughly spoilt.
   Daddy will still be in hospital when you get this - if he has to stay in 6 weeks. I was reading our favourite hymn at the staff meeting last night - "Peace Perfect Peace" - it is applicable here especially this week when it seems to have been one thing after another without much time to spare. But it is also applicable when you are confined to a hospital bed - and waiting at home for the next visiting time ... and one thought chases another in your head. So that I pray that you both may find "Peace" during this time of anxiety. Also, no doubt you will make new friends... others in the hospital and folk in the parish who come out of their shell to share this trouble with you both. I thank GOD for friends.
   With much love and prayers,
   Elizabeth.

Vining Centre, Akure, Feb. 17th '74
   Dear Ma and Daddy,
   ...
   I am also doing my evening lecture each Monday with the men students. Last Monday we went to the Moon - very exciting! This coming Monday I am going to talk about the sun and its influence on the Earth - particularly the changing seasons of the year .... and why they see the sun at midnight North of the Arctic Circle, and such like.
   ...
   On Wednesday Ruth and Sheila and I went to "Mass" at St Louis School. It was a special Mass arranged by the Sisters at St Louis for the Deji who died. Eyesorun asked us to go with her. It was a really lovely service with pure singing .... very beautiful.
   Daddy is now on the prayer list in our Chapel here and so he is mentioned by name twice daily at Morning and Evening prayers. The students send you their greeting and love. No doubt we shall still be praying when Daddy is already home and better - but not to worry.
   I had a very interesting letter last week from Dougan Mayes. He had received my letter of January telling of the death of the Deji and he went and looked up an old diary of 1933 and quoted it to me - of how he attended the laying of the foundation stone of St David's Church Akure and the old Deji was there with his trumpeters and courtiers and that he put a bottle of gin under the foundation stone!
   ...
   With much love,
   Elizabeth.

Activities in New Zealand - Letters from John, February/March 1974



57 Sunnybrae Road, 7th February 1974

    Yesterday was a public holiday here - Waitangi Day, now for the first time New Zealand Day, commemorating the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi in 1840. After breakfast we all went off to Waitangi in the Bay of Islands (about 150 miles north) along with thousands of others to see or hear the celebrations. We sat up on the treaty house grounds and watched Britannia come up into the harbour past Russell. A large Maori war canoe, paddled by 80 or so warriors, went out from Waitangi to the side of Britannia and then escorted the Queen's launch back to the wharf. Then there was a pageant and a concert and speeches from the Queen and Mr Kirk the Prime Minister. Unfortunately, although we could hear, we couldn't see very much since there was a very big crowd and very little organisation - one of those occasions where you see more if you stay home and watch it on the tele! Nevertheless it was fun to be there and the children, Sacha and Stuart, got a glimpse of all the Royals. Lewis wasn't very interested, got tired, didn't like the guns that kept popping off from the New Zealand frigates, but thought the Rolls Royce car was smashing.

Sunday 17th February 1974
    Dear Mother,
    We have received your letter of February 9th with the news of Dad's admission to Ronkswood Hospital. By the time you receive this letter the results of his operation and of the biopsy will be clear and the tension of waiting on an uncertain outcome will be over. Our thoughts have been with you both since we received your letter and will continue to be with you over the next weeks. As you say it is difficult to be so far apart at such a time. It seems probable from what you say in your letter that the growth is benign and we certainly hope so. It was encouraging to hear that Dad was very relaxed, had not been losing any weight, and was enjoying being in a general ward. We sent a get well telegram which should have arrived just after the operation.
   We feel a bit helpless at this distance. You will be facing a number of difficulties about the future I expect - Dad's ability or wish to carry on with parish work or to retire completely. Please let us know the best way that we can help. It is difficult for us to make any suggestions until the full details of the biopsy are known and what the implications are for the future.
    The tape of Ruth's wedding has arrived but we have not heard it yet. Next week we will borrow or buy a cassette player. We were pleased to hear that Ruth and Trevor had been offered a place in Tavistock. It sounds ideal and not too far from Malvern (is it?). The only time I went to Tavistock was when I went on camp from Wells with the army cadets and Tavistock is where we went to fire on a rifle range - something I didn't enjoy and which left me with a very bruised shoulder.
   The slides and papers we sent off in January should be with you soon.
   The children are settled back in school now and Lewis has recommenced at the play centre. I am very busy preparing for the new university year and start teaching again next week. Everything is very quiet here after the excitement of the Commonwealth Games and the Queen's visit. It continues hot with no rain but increasingly humid. It has been the driest sunniest summer for years and people are now wishing it would rain, including us. We have had the builders in during the last three weeks converting the hallway and putting an extra bedroom in downstairs in what was the garage. Stuart has been sleeping in the study/guestroom but will now have a room of his own and we will have plenty space for putting up holidaymakers or convalescents? It's all a bit of a mess at present but will look nice when it has been decorated.
   Is "Ronkswood Hospital, Worcester" sufficient address for Dad or is there a ward number or something we should know?
   Love from us all,
   Pat, John, Stuart, Sacha and Lewis.

57 Sunnybrae Road, Takapuna, 24th February 1974.
   Dear Dad,
   Many thanks for your most cheerful letter from the hospital. We have also received mother's letter of February 16th with the news that everything went off O.K. and that you had been sitting out in a chair the next day. We were so relieved to hear that, and hope for equally good news about the results of the biopsy. If all is well you should be home again by the time you receive this letter and we hope you can take it nice and easy for your birthday. We are naturally sad not to be able to see you at this time but it sounds as though you have had so many visits from friends and relatives that we might have had to queue up!
   There is a lot of interest here in the forthcoming general election in Britain and all the predictions are that the Heath government will be returned for a further five year term. Whichever party wins, however, it looks like difficult times ahead what with the oil business, the miners' strike to settle, the continuing tension in Northern Ireland and a weak economy. It makes people in New Zealand realise how fortunate they are - the latest figures of registered unemployment here were just over seven hundred unemployed in the whole country and none in Auckland. Another topic that has aroused some interest has been the expulsion of Alexander Solzhenitsyn from the Soviet Union. In some respects he is one of the lucky ones. I am chairman of an Amnesty International group here and one of the prisoners whose release we are working for is a Ukrainian poet, Ihor Kalynets, imprisoned for distributing what the Soviet authorities considered to be subversive literature. He is only one of many imprisoned for speaking their minds on religious or political matters. We also have a prisoner in a Western Country, in our case South Africa, and one in a non-aligned country, Indonesia, who we are trying to assist both with finance and with letters of protest to the authorities.
   Last night Pat and I went to see the film version of the rock musical Jesus Christ Superstar. Though we haven't seen Godspell I imagine it was something similar. The film has tremendous impact and a lot of relevant comment on our times. You would enjoy it but the music is very loud so perhaps you should convalesce a bit first.

57 Sunnybrae Road, 16th March 1974.
   Dear Mum and Dad,
   Thank you for your letters - from the hospital, from St. Julians - with all the news of your progress. It was great to hear that the growth you had removed was not malignant and we were glad the flowers arrived at the right time. By now you should also have received the slides and bits and pieces that we sent off in January and Ruth and Trevor should have got their rug. We had a letter from Ruth telling us all about the 'cabin' they are furnishing at Tavistock - it sounds a very lively young community.
   It is some time since I last wrote. We have been putting a tape together for you and I had hoped to send it off before now but it is not yet full. We will send it together with the tape of Ruth's wedding, which we thoroughly enjoyed, and some more of our holiday slides. We have not bought a tape recorder yet as they are surprisingly expensive here, starting at around $80, mainly because of very high import duties. You are right in surmising that most of them are of Japanese make but you will get some idea of the distances to New Zealand when you look on the map and find that Japan is in the Northern Hemisphere, that Tokyo is almost as far from Auckland as Cape Town from London and twice the distance from London to Moscow! We borrowed a very good tape recorder from the University, however, and have used the same tape (Phillips) as you sent us. The University also has video-tape equipment  (records pictures as well as sound) so you might enquire if any of  your local schools have equipment to play video-tape - you can connect the recorder to your TV usually - and we could try and send you a tape/film.
   We followed the general election with much interest and it looks as though there will be another one before the end of the year doesn't it?
   Our decorating is almost finished now - our garage was so large that although we have carved an extra bedroom out of it there is still room for two cars. Stuart will now have a room of his own and we can have a separate study which can also be used as a guestroom. I study at home quite a bit and when Lewis goes to school next year Pat is hoping to do a one-year teacher-training course full-time that will qualify her to teach at primary and intermediate levels. We will have to fit my study leave around that so don't know at the moment when it will be. Pat has to teach for a year after her college course. Study leave is normally the third term plus the summer vacation, that is from August to February, our summer. You should think about coming here from November to March one year and missing out your winter since it is much pleasanter for you to have three consecutive summers than for us to have three consecutive winters!
   We hope you both had a good rest at St. Julian's and then with Lynette in Harpenden. What are your plans now at Malvern?
   All our love to you both, Pat, John, Stuart, Sacha and Lewis.

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Previous blogs in this series:
   (1)    75,  17th November 2013:  Dead Ducklings, War Canoes, Steel Works and a Leper Settlement.
   (2)    92,  16th February 2014:  Tiddlywinks, Happy Families and Christmas "down the creeks":
   (3)    95,  17th March 2014:  Vera Lynn, the Rolling Stones and Scrapping for Petrol and Water in Nigeria.
   (4)    98,  8th April 2014:  Brotherly Love.
   (5)  104,  15th July 2014:  Englishness Plays Abroad - Harold Pinter and John Mortimer in Lagos, Edward Lear in Auckland.