Journal Entry
December 19, 1940
Still quiet. Very few raids. Making up sleep. Drawing. Finished first stage of oil, Seaton Street last Monday.
Gas on again - after more than six weeks.
Letters to Marion
20 December, 1940
Chelsea, Friday
My dearest Mog,
I was so pleased to hear yesterday that my letter and the photo of the picture arrived safely. I wish you would tell me what the doctor thinks about your leg; if you may have bruised the bone slightly. It worries me, so do let me know.
I am sending two pounds with this and 5 shillings also, and will get something you want with the postal order, only please do spend it on yourself.
I will send you ten bob towards the Peter Jones bill as soon as I get the money from Rugby. It's only 2 guineas for a couple of small unmounted watercolours bought by the librarian. He wants to pay the expenses of a show there in the Spring and I am to go and give a lecture. They will, I think, pay my fare so it may be worth trying. I have suggested March as I want to come and see you for my next leave at the end of January. I am going to try and be with you for my birthday to make up for not being with you at Christmas. My butler friend has invited me to dinner on Christmas Eve, the master will be away and the butler has all the keys!
I hope to get a photo of the stage set sometime next week and will certainly send one to you. We are giving the play for the troops tomorrow and Sunday which means another day off for me -touching up the scenery and so on.
The last couple of weeks have been very quiet and I have made up a lot of sleep, finished a 30"x25" monochrome and done two more towards my series of drawings.
Give Julian a kiss and remember I will be thinking of you both - as always.
All my love,
Clifford
23 December, 1940
Dearest,
Thank you so much for the gloves. I am very pleased with them and they fit perfectly. Here is ten shillings towards the blankets. I will send you some more when I can. I wish it was more but I must buy some coal.
I was really delighted when I saw the cards you painted and sent to mother, particularly the one with the little figures of children. Seeing it meant more to me, perhaps, than anything you could have said or written. I know the difficulties you must have had to work under, but apart from that which is really neither here nor there, it is beautifully done. I feel that consciously or subconsciously you have put into them a sense of drawing that you can only have got from seeing our own baby. You really must go on with that work, always. I think that perhaps in the past I may have discouraged you with a sense of accuracy which I am at last beginning to realize is not a millionth as important as feeling. That feeling you always did have. I think you have more now. Go on. Don't worry about anything else. The feeling will get you somewhere. Leave facts alone. They are not for everyone. The world is too full of them, and ideas matter more. We both know that the real world beaters have full command of both facts and ideas - but they still put the ideas first. Vandyke is certainly a finer painter and draughtsman than our Gainsborough, who never in his life managed to get the construction of a neck quite right, but could we spare him?
When Whistler had an idea, a sensation to be put into paint, he said he would not let that great clumsy Nature step in and spoil it! Too brilliant to be true for the sensation came, in the first place from Nature, but I know what he meant. Every true artist does.
Lots of love and remember I will see you in January - so make a birthday cake for me and let it get nice and stale, how I like it.
Clifford
Journal Entry
December 27, 1940
Lots of incendiaries. Depot roof alight, St Mark's, a number in the grounds. All put out quickly. We expected the bombs to follow, but nothing happened. Raid was over just before 11pm.
Letter to Marion
27 December, 1940
Friday
My dearest Mog,
The book arrived yesterday and I am so pleased to have it - only the gloves were really quite enough. Also your card, which I am very pleased with. It really is good. I hope Christmas went off well and that the children were not too wearing - although I expect they were. I cannot say I enjoyed myself particularly, however, I appeared to: which, in the circumstances was what mattered most. Everyone, with one or two exceptions, was far too sober. We were given a pint of bear, loathsome on a cold day, with dinner. and in the evening a few of us went to the Wheatsheaf for half an hour and had a couple of sherries each. But one cannot get very gay on that.
On the whole I was heartily glad when it was time to go to bed. The day before, dinner with the butler, was far better and I spent yesterday at Putney. Quite cheerful - so I should not really grumble. I do hope though that we can be together next time and we will get Julian a tree and make it look very pretty.
I am hoping to come and see you in January. I have to register sometime that month although it seems very likely that I will be able to stay on here if I wish. I feel very unsettled. I have just about exhausted the possibilities of this job and the time it compels me to waste is literally terrifying.
I have now got sixteen drawings done and I am going to have another go at a war artists job via Kenneth Clark if Lily Browse can fix it for me.
I know I could do good work in that way. The truth is that this is just becoming dull and I hate wasting time. Up till now I thought a lot, and with some results, now I want to do something and I feel just shut-in. In the end I suppose I will just have to stick it out until this ridiculous war is over.
Then I have again such a longing to do only beautiful things. I can never paint the river now because I can only do it when I see it late at night, sleep with my senses free of it, and then paint it the following morning. It is such an elusive thing, all the wonderful things are, and it can so easily slip out of one's fingers.
But there your world, my world, has almost gone.
That is not a bit frightening because we can find it again quite easily, only just now we have no time in which to find it and that is the depressing fact.
I know the time will come. But it does get dull waiting, doesn't it?
I reckon to get away round about the 22nd of next month but I will be able to tell you for certain when I write next.
The arrangements for the exhibition at Rugby are going well, but one raid could ruin the whole idea. They want me to give two lectures and will pay for them, so I am bound to hook in a bit - also my fare will be paid and someone in the local Art Society will put me up. I hope it comes off.
All my love to you and Julian,
Clifford
Journal Entries
December 29, 1940
Another raid, this time extremely heavy. A huge orange blaze in the sky over London. Expecting to be called out any moment.
December 31, 1940
No raid on London last night. A good thing for us they didn't follow up their success on Sunday.
The damage in the City appalling. Madness. And yet this is normality as the world has always known it. Build, destroy, build again, and so on backwards and forwards. I can't think it out properly. There must be a reason somewhere.
I am not working well.
Letter to Marion
31 December, 1940
Dearest Mog,
Thank you for your last letter. I will be coming to see you in about three weeks' time, round about the 22nd or 23rd and will let you know for certain a little later on.
Here it is, New Year's Eve and I am on duty. Last Friday was lively here and they tried to set alight to us but it didn't come off. On Sunday the fires in the city must have been terrific. From Chelsea it seemed as if half London was blazing. The extraordinary thing is that they didn't follow it up last night - there was no raid at all.
You must certainly try to do some cards for next Christmas, only it would be better to try to sell the original designs rather than hand painted ones. There would be more money in the former. Only you must let me have them by April or May at the latest; or send them out yourself if you prefer. But don't leave it any later than May.
I am in the way of selling two watercolours at a guinea each unmounted. It is terrible, such small prices but what can I do?
I would not let the very best go for so little.
I have not heard a word from Manchester and I am wondering if the gallery has been bombed.
I hope your leg is getting better. Don't forget to let me know when you write next.
Love to you both,
Clifford
Blitz
CLIFFORD HALL'S JOURNAL ~ 1939 - 1942 P14
including letters written to his wife Marion and some other correspondence
1941
Letters to Marion
3 January, 1941
Dearest Mog,
I had your letter this morning. Very glad to hear that you are all right. You will, I expect, have already heard from me since last Sunday. Enclosed cutting* gives a fairly good idea of the damage, I should think. I have not seen it myself. I am in the midst of a big reaction against such things, and I long to make something completely lovely.
I have for some days been working on a drawing which pretty well sums up the horror and I simply hate it, and have nearly torn it up many times. Yet something holds me to it and I go on taking it a little further each time. I have got the stove alight but it is very cold. Everything is frozen - even the watercolour water has got bits of ice that rattle against the brush as I dip into it.
I did very well with presents but no ready money. The most hard-up Christmas I have had. I will be down to see you for certain this month and should be able to give you the exact date when I write again next week.
I did hear from Harry and he sent me some cigars. I wrote him a couple of days ago. It was lucky they were all able to come and see you. I am so glad Julian is getting on well. He will be alright, don't worry.
About a change, I quite agree, anything but the army. My idea of Hell. All hells are man-made anyway, and that is possibly the worst.
I am sending 30 shillings as I am very hard up again but I will send the other 10 shillings early next week. I should have it then. I have bought myself a bicycle, very cheap, ten bob, promise you I won't ride it after dark, but there is very little traffic on the roads during the day and when it gets better weather it will save me money in fares.
Will write again early next week. Lots of love to you both and I am looking forward to seeing you both in a very few weeks now,
Clifford
PS
I have enjoyed reading the Rowlandson book. The girl on the tightrope is easily the best reproduction, but the one of the girl playing the piano and sending her man to sleep is about as good.
5 January, 1941
Dearest Mog,
I will be in Dorchester on the 23rd, about the usual time, but will verify that later and let you know.
I sold two watercolours this morning - only one guinea each I will make up the ten shillings I owe you when I write with the rest of the money on Friday or Saturday. The rest I will get my ticket with; this being a problem these days. It is the very devil to hook in any money. All the prices of food in our canteen are going up tomorrow. They are high enough already but there seems nothing we can do about it.
This has been a fairly quiet week although we heard hundreds of raiders going over last night. They must have knocked hell out of somewhere, but they dropped nothing near us. Rather terrifying, the complete selfishness one finds in oneself nowadays.
After many false starts I managed to make one drawing last week, also to finish the one I told you about. I hate it but have decided to let it stand because it really has got something.
All arrangements for the show at Rugby are going well. I do hope there is not some horrible bust up in March to ruin the whole thing. I have at last heard from America that they want me to send all the panels of the ballet. I am going to see about sending some but not all. I am too fond of them, also need them to complete my large picture - and one I gave you so that has to stay with us too. Fortunate. However, I can probably send four or five, but I hate the risk. Suppose the ship was sunk. There, more utter selfishness, but I can't help it - and don't intend to try.
You still have not told me if your leg is better, and it still worries me. Let me know next time you write.
Looking forward so much to seeing you. It won't be long now.
Love to you and Julian,
Clifford
Journal Entry
January 9, 1941
Many of us down with influenza. Felt rotten last night. Had a long sleep, fortunately a raidless night, and I think I have beaten it. Pains in back almost gone.
Filthy weather. All water pipes frozen at the studio. Heating is unobtainable, other than gas which is practically useless when it's as cold as it is now.
Rereading Richard Aldington's Death of a Hero. A fine book. It makes me realize in what comfort I am living compared with those unfortunate soldiers in France during the last war.
Going through the last entry and have reached a conclusion. War is normality. In other words it has always existed only now its effects are more widespread owing to the mechanical-industrial age. What a hope.
Letter to Marion
10 January, 1941
Dearest Mog,
Thanks for all your letters. Sorry I have not written sooner but I have had flu or very nearly. Half the depot is away with it, no wonder considering the conditions there, however, I aa slightly better today and think I have got it beaten. It's partly wrong food, I am sure of that, for all last winter I did not have a single cold and conditions were harder in many ways than they are now. Of course, like most schools, this place is an elaborately constructed draught trap, with outside lavatories.
I can only make up half of what I owe you this week. I am terribly sorry but will do the remainder next week. As usual I am being kept waiting myself. The old vicious circle.
I will be with you on the 23rd. Have not been up to verify the time yet but I will next week. I expect it is still the same.
So glad Julian's water system seems to be working so well. One of your letters was almost saturated in it! We will have to talk about the cards when I see you. Did I tell you I have now read the book you sent me? It is very well done and I enjoyed it. I have reread "Death of a Hero". Really magnificent, and am now reading his "All Men are Enemies". I have borrowed this from Addington's ex-valet with the censored passages - about twenty typewritten pages. All D H Lawrence tried to do and did not succeed with.
Nothing much has happened lately although last night was reasonably bad. Anyway, the whole business bores me completely at the moment.
Yesterday I went to get some panels from the packing case full I had left in Maddox Street. It made me so happy to see them again. I felt as if someone I had known quite well had done them and that they were reasonably good. And I wondered if that someone was really myself and if I could ever do such things again. I walked part of the way home through Hyde Park and I was amazed and delighted to realize that I could see at least eight subtle values in the sunny winter sky. I say this because for some time now I have not been able to see things like I could. The point of view seemed to be just dull. The sky just sky, the buildings simply buildings and nothing more. So maybe I'll get back to it again one day.
There is a burst pipe in the kitchen, repaired yesterday, and a small waterfall in the passage. No harm to us.
Write soon. You still do not say if your leg is better.
Love to you both,
Clifford
Journal Entry
January 13, 1941
Thoroughly ill last night. High temperature, pains everywhere. Could hardly keep my feet. Had to get myself sent to Putney, by car, where I now am feeling warm, slightly better and very determined not to go back this time until I am really well - although half the depot is out of action from this wretched 'flu.
A reply from Ala Story last week. Evasive. Apparently expects all expenses paid. Not worth it. News from Rugby, who had asked me to have a one-man show there in the Spring, also most unsatisfactory. Their final offer very poor compared with the original suggestion. Have refused. Reynolds' original suggestion: two lectures paid, the travelling expenses paid, Packing and carriage of pictures both ways paid. His Committee's present offer: no lectures, no travelling expenses, carriage and packing up to three pounds. No thank you! Looks as if Reynolds was too optimistic and the Committee would not back him up.
Letter to Marion
14 January, 1941
Tuesday evening
Dearest,
This is not a reply to any letter of yours, for I have not been to the studio since Saturday. I have really been quite ill with the worst chill or flu I have ever had. I stuck it as long as I could, but on Sunday night I was sent back here by car, well wrapped up, and with a terrific temperature. It was either that or the depot sick room, a straw mattress on the floor and a smelly Elsan* in one corner, and half a dozen or so men even worse than myself.
* Elsan, i.e. a type of portable camping toilet
These two days have done me a lot of good and I feel a great deal better and I have not got to go back until Thursday - not even then if I should still feel bad. I am sure I will be quite all right and I don't believe I have had flu at all, only a really serious chill and I did so want a real rest. One can't go on for months on end sleeping in ones clothes, and broken sleep at that, without getting found out. This business really started more than a week ago when they nearly set alight to us and we were all out in the bitter cold, rushed out from a hot stuffy building in the middle of the night with no time to grab an overcoat. I had been fighting it ever since. It's really better to allow oneself to flop out as soon as one feels bad and get it over.
All this, I fear, will mess up my leave. So many men are away ill, at least half them, that I expect I will have to wait perhaps until next month for things to straighten themselves out again. But I will come as soon as ever it is possible because I want to see you so much. The birthday cake will keep.
I have, for the past two weeks, been shockingly depressed; got out of it once or twice, but it has held me most of the time. However, I can now see that the reason was chiefly because I was not feeling well for today I am taking a more cheerful view of things, I am even thinking about doing some more painting. Leger had a really good show of drawings which opened last week. I have five there, including one you may remember of yourself with your arms raised, fastening a flower in your hair. I think it looks very SERENE and lovely.
I have seen the catalogue of the show of Theatre & Ballet that went to Australia. A very gorgeous affair, about 12 inches by ten with a coloured cover and well printed. My two clowns reproduced very well Everyone from Degas onwards represented. I am trying to get one. Possibly one was sent to me from Sydney and the boat was sunk. Or maybe one wasn't sent. Since the war there has been a sad falling off in good manners, as in everything else.
How bored I am with this war! I have lived through my indignation, even my sorrow, to find only boredom. Bored with the hopeless, wicked stupidity of it. I could not write again like I did in the first book of my diary. I think my sensibilities have become dulled. Only something very beautiful can move me, shapes, colours, music, poetry. Perhaps the fool who can wholeheartedly take sides in this affair are lucky, at least they achieve a certain happiness. You can if you are able to really hate people. As for myself I would as soon save a German's life as an Englishman's. Both are entirely in the wrong. Victims of wrong teaching and bad government; of cynical exploitation. Deprived, almost as soon as they learn to talk of the right to think, deprived by the state, by so-called education, or by the Church; that is in such countries where that colossal failure is still allowed to use its evil influence. No, I can't take sides. Of course, life would be hell if Germany won. But who made the Germany we are now fighting? Ourselves. And will life for the masses be so very gay when Germany has been beaten? As, technically, she doubtless will be. Because when we have beaten Germany we must, if we wish to avoid another war, alter or do away with the economic systems that made this one possible. Seems silly, doesn't it? We learn by our mistakes. Do we? Individuals do, and only some of them. That's our, as individuals, only hope. And when this is done with, I only want to paint like myself and for myself. When I dare to think about the peace it all seems very difficult. The old problem of making a living without giving oneself up to one or the other recognized forms of artistic prostitution. Yet I still have faith that if what I want to say is worth saying, somehow, I will get the opportunity to say it. It's going to be bloody difficult though.
I have not got a lot of faith in the brave new world.
"After the war Britain will not tolerate in her midst the tragic spectacle of abject poverty and unemployment" - and so on. Mr Arthur Greenwood, News Chronicle 14.01.41.
And Mr Ernest Bevin - "I sincerely trust that this year will bring us victory, the opportunity to begin the great work of reconstruction, and the building of a peace of such a character that we shall be able to feel that future generations will never have to face a holocaust such as this." Vague, very vague.
Much the same things were said last time and there is a terrible lack of anything constructive in these statements. They sound merely bombastic. I sincerely hope I am completely wrong.
And now let's change the subject. The future may be far easier or far worse than we think. Anyway it isn't here yet, so why worry?
After seven pages all more or less about myself and my stupidly getting ill, how are you? And how is Julian? I hope it is not so cold for you or that at least you are managing to keep warm somehow. Write soon and let me know how you are, and please do not worry about me. I give you my word I am lots better, as good as well. I will come and see you as soon as they will let me, and I am terribly sorry this wretched epidemic has messed things up for us.
Mother is very well and has enjoyed making me do as I was told for a couple of days.
Lots of love to you both,
Clifford
Later - Tuesday night
And as if to reproach me for my remarks about Messrs Greenwood and Bevin I have just come across the enclosed* noble statements from Mr Attlee himself.
*The enclosed (newspaper cutting?) is missing, being no longer in the envelop with the letter.
Well I can't find much fault with them. He does seem to have the right ideas. We must wait and see. It sounds just lovely. Tell me another fairy tale.
The Ghost Train set, designed by Clifford Hall for the Chelsea A.R.P.'s Christmas 1940 production. Photograph by Paul Tanqueray.
A Clifford Hall Self-Portrait dated 1940. Probably painted before the German bombing of London began. No colour photo currently available.