Letters to Marion
22 November, 1941
Dearest Mog,
This time next week I will be with you. I will bring some margarine and some lard and some sugar. Do you remember what you did with your deposit book? I paid 18/1 into the bank for you this week and they told me there was still eight bob or so in there. I have started saving again and I should have waited longer before opening the box but I wanted you to be able to get a pound out if you wanted it.
I hope Julian is still getting better and that you are having an easier time. I am looking forward to seeing you very much. Your last letter made me very happy.
How is Lena? Better, I hope. Don't worry, I have got my fur coat on the bed now.
I had a letter from Hunter this week. He asked after you. He wants to buy two drawings. I fear there will be some delay as I have to get a permit before I can send them to Belfast. I hope it goes through before Christmas. I must spend some money on frames but I'll send you some of it when it arrives. Ted has given me a frame, about 6ft by 4ft. One day I will do a full length of you in a velvet dress for it. I feel I could do it well now.
Lots of love to you both,
Clifford
PS
If you know, don't forget to tell me times of buses when you write. Do you want any matches? I can bring some if you do. Chocolate very hard to get now, but will try.
6 December, 1941
Saturday
Dearest Mog,
I got back all right. I hope I will see you again soon. I did enjoy being with you. Please give my love to Sybil and Alice and everyone.
Here is the money - also £1 as well. Will write a proper letter soon. Love to you and Julian - lots.
Bill wants 12 xmas cards.
Clifford
PS
I forgot your deposit book. Can you send it sometime.
11 December, 1941
Thursday
Dearest Mog,
Many thanks for your letter which I got this morning. I am so glad you have found someone to look after Julian. I hope she turns out well and that you will have more time to yourself. I am on duty Saturday week and I dare not ask for the day off as I want to try and get a day later on so that I will be able at least to come to you for Christmas. Will let you know about this as soon as possible. I would not get enough time to come to Pearl. Things are getting difficult here. Lots of preparations for more raids. I have a gas exam next week and soon after Christmas I have to start on a course of lectures. Utterly, utterly boring. As for the gas my brain simply will not work. I can't remember a thing about it.
Things certainly look bad at present and I am far from happy about it. Even my off days are often miserable.
This morning at 5am some bastard fell over me on the way to the lavatory. I did not get to sleep again. I started a painting at 10.30 and I was very tired. I painted badly and I will have to rub out all I have done - it's only coloured turps and will come out easily. Isn't it stupid? But I am not a superman. It would be so easy to do nothing these off days - and yet so difficult, for I am driven unmercifully, and I am glad, because sometimes I do have a good day, and although I usually start tired and I get going after a while - sometimes. And the maddening part of it all is this - I know how to do it. When I tell myself that I can't go on and realize all the time I am just being silly. I will go on because I simply can't help it. But I could cry that I have so little to show.
As you say, it might have been better to have lived in the last century. It is perhaps one of my greatest faults that I relate everything to myself, selfishly. I feel that in the last century I would have been a very bad artist, and I think that out of the present I will someday make something worth looking at. I see things so differently now. I have got to hold on to that and paint it.
I have been thinking about what Rowley wrote about the sort of effect a picture should have on those who look at it. Like the child's reaction on seeing a Christmas tree all lit with little candles and the light sparkling. It's not what I want a bit. I want to make something that will have a haunting quality, a mood that will steal over you slowly but inevitably with a feeling of nostalgia in it, like Chopin. I've got a hell of a way to go yet. I want the lovely moment that never happens again, and yet I want it to stretch back into the past, thousand and thousands of years, as long as there have been human beings; and to belong to the future as well. Perhaps I want it to have that quality they claim for God, I believe; the same, "world without end", for ever and ever, the same. But, really how can I write these things? I can't. They probably sound stupid. Just now and again I feel I am getting there with a brush. Do you know once or twice lately I was quite sure I had got there, at the time. The belief even persisted for a few days - weeks, and the I realized that I hadn't. I think I will never know. One can only be certain of facts, and even those! Perhaps Turner was the wisest. You remember his lovely speech when he was made professor at the academy - "Well, gentlemen, painting, painting's a rum go." It pretty well covers all you can say about it.
And whilst I write, at the back of my mind something asks, uncomfortably, why do you write like this to her? Is it because you are not sure of yourself, or is it simply because you are not working enough? And how can you bother her with it anyway, when she has got so many worries and disappointments of her own. And so, dear forgive me.
Friday
I have put in for the 24th December. This means I could come to you on the 23rd and stay over Christmas but would have to go back on the 26th, the day after. Could you find out what buses will be running on the 26th in the morning, between East Meon and Petersfield and let me know when you write next.
Lots of love to you and Julian,
Clifford
16 December, 1941
My dearest Mog,
Thank you so much for the little panel and for you sweet letter. I am not at all sure I will be able to come at Christmas. A note came through yesterday stopping all leave. I am, of course, still trying to get it. Also, I may be called up in a few months - perhaps three. I have asked the Commandant if he will ask for my reservation and he says he certainly will; it is, however, far from certain the request will be granted - although I think there is a good chance of it succeeding. If it fails, I will have to do some quick thinking for I have made up my mind not to be in the army. Anything is preferable.
You can imagine I am not feeling particularly cheerful. I had looked forward to seeing you again, although it would have been for a very short time. If the worst happens and I am not allowed to come you must come and see me soon - and try to stay the night.
I started a 24 x 20 this week, don't know how it will turn out - I always feel so tired, but I think I will get it - but slowly.
I will write again soon.
Lots of love to you and Julian. I hope you are able to get more sleep now.
Clifford
20 December, 1941
Saturday
My dearest Mog,
Here is the rest of the money, also five shillings for five of the cards. Bill hasn't paid yet but it will be all right.
I do not know if I will succeed in getting to see you or not. It's very difficult, and I may not know until the very last moment. We will just have to leave it that I will come if I can. I can't help it. I had your letter. Don't worry. I have made up my mind and I will not go in the army, whatever happens.
I have got a good watercolour for Sybil and Alice and also a little panel for Lena. I feel she should have something - she has done so much for us. The best I can do, and they are good pictures.
I saw the United Artists show yesterday; most depressing and not a patch on the last. A year of war has left its mark. My ballet picture is shied* although it looks well in its new frame, but Quentin** is very well placed and really knocks everything else on the wall. I hope you will come and see the show with me some time in the new year. It does not close until March so there is plenty of time.
*"shied", meaning the picture was hung in a position where it might not be noticed or fully appreciated due to poor lighting etc.
** This is an obvious reference to one of Clifford Hall's three portraits of Quentin Crisp. It is, perhaps, a little disappointing that Clifford wrote nothing in his journal about asking Crisp to pose for him or their first meeting. But this letter makes it clear that Clifford had told Marion about painting some pictures of Crisp. In his actual journal, Clifford made no mention of Quentin Crisp until January 1968.
If I can't come to see you, I will get Harry or Stanley to take my parcels - if they are not too loaded up.
Lots of love to you and Julian,
Clifford
Blitz
CLIFFORD HALL'S JOURNAL ~ 1939 - 1942 P20
including letters written to his wife Marion and some other correspondence
1942
Letters to Marion
3 January, 1942
Dearest Mog,
Thank you so much for your letter. Did you get mine?
Let me know when you are coming. Would Saturday the 10th be all right? I am off that day. I think you said a Saturday would be best. If not, it would have to be the 24th. I hope you can stay the night. I will try to get permission to come in late on the Sunday morning. I hope you are all right darling.
I have been sleeping a little better but this job is really getting me; however, there is no alternative that would not be just as bad, if not worse.
I took some pictures to the Leicester Gallery yesterday and I think they really liked them. Brown* has promised to have some in their next mixed show, whenever it is; anyway I will keep him up to it. If only this bloody war was over, I could get moving!
* Brown is Oliver F Brown (1885 -1966), the only son and eldest child of the art dealer Ernest Brown (1851-1915), who co-founded the Leicester Galleries in London circa 1903 with brothers Wilfred and Cecil Phillips.
Everything seems a continual rush and yet practically nothing is accomplished. That's how my life seems. And when the war is over, I need a place to work and time to work in it and heaven knows how I will get it. Sometimes it really frightens me, for I am not just thinking of myself but of you because you are not having a cheerful time either and you must not have to go on being miserable. Still, it's a mistake to meet trouble half way. I know it, it's a big fault of mine; and I continue to commit it.
I wish I could send you more money. Perhaps I will be able to soon. It is very difficult. Everyone says I am painting lots better (when I paint!) and no one buys 'em. I simply haven't the time to do anything about it. It's all I can do to produce one oil a month and often I fail to do even that. I am seeing Lillian on Tuesday, maybe I can get her to sell something for me. Also there is a chance of selling some drawings of Chelsea to the Library. We will see, but there is damned little money about.
Forgive me for not being more cheerful. I hope you will come soon. Don't know when I will get anymore leave. There was a bit of trouble over the Christmas one. I don't care I am glad I got it.
Lots of love to you and Julian,
Clifford
9 January, 1942
Dearest Mog,
Thanks so much for both your letters. I am sending you the ten shillings from Bill for your cards. He gave it to me last week but I had to embezzle it, I was so hard up. The doctor's bill seems far too heavy. How many times did he visit? Don't bother about it yet, we can talk about it when we see each other. I think the 24th will be fine and I will look forward to seeing you then. I will try to get some tickets for the ballet in the evening and you must stay here overnight.
I hope to make some money soon. The library may have some of the drawings of Chelsea. Their committee will see them at their next meeting. I wish I had never taken on this job. I believe I would have got by somehow. I am no financial use to you anyway and I am forced to waste so much in the most boring way imaginable. On Feb 2nd I must go on a week's course in rescue work. Every bloody day!
Come on the 24th and we will enjoy ourselves.
Lots of love to you and Julian. I had a nice letter from Anne.
Clifford
17 January, 1942
My dearest Mog,
I am expecting you next Saturday, so let me know what time your train arrives and I will be there to meet it.
I have got good seats for the ballet in the evening. They are doing Syphildes, which is always lovely.
I am making every effort to get some money in and there is now £1.10 in your deposit account which you can take out for anything you must have for yourself.
It is some time since we had any serious raids although there has been a little activity this week but it really would have been impossible for you to stay here when things were bad. You cannot realise what it was like - night after night. No one can unless they have actually experienced it. And the whole trouble is it may start again: and one never knows when. It is a horrible situation and it has gone on so long.
There is a scheme now to make us do war work on our off days! That will be goodbye to everything - but it hasn't happened yet, and from what I have seen of our ability to organize there is a very good chance nothing will ever come of it. However, it is disturbing.
I hope we have a thaw before next weekend. At present there is no water and the lavatory is frozen too. I can get water from the timber yard and the usual quite incompetent plumber and his mate are making an awful mess. They promise water at any minute but they have been promising that all the week.
The parcel came from America and you must take back what you want from it. There is tea, cheese, corned beef, chicken spread and dried apricots. The tea canister burst and some of the tea was lost, otherwise everything was all right. I wrote to Stanley thanking him for it. It was so nice of him.
Write soon. Lots of love to you and Julian,
Clifford
Journal Entry
January 20, 1942
Conduit Street. I did not want to do any more to my painting of Emie, also it was very cold so she kept on her dressing gown.
'I will make a drawing.'
'May I read?'
'Yes, of course.'
She sits on the bed and reads. She seems very interested in the book.
When I had finished I asked her its title.
'Les Rues Secrètes. It is about prostitutes! Très intéressant.'*
I write the title of the book on my drawing. It seemed worth noting.
* The book Emie was reading was probably "Rues Secrètes" by Pierre Mac Orlan.
Evening at the ballet, New Theatre, sketching in the wings. One I am pleased with, just a few lines and some smudges, and if you can't understand it, it's a pity, for I can.
Later at Bill's and I am alone with Celia for a few minutes. About 12.30 I start home. Leo comes with me. He wants to see the painting of Emie, he had liked the other one so much. It is very cold and we get our shoes full of snow.
The studio is perishing. I showed him the picture and he looked at it for a long time, then he said it was like a painted Buddha or idol that had been lying there for hundreds of years and would always be there, knowing that it need not come to you for inevitably you would, sooner or later, come to it. 'That is what I meant,' I said, 'only my painting is all I will give it, all I need to give.'
'That's where you're lucky.' He asked to see the last one of Celia - the one with the arms raised above the head, which is in profile. 'You have gone deeper with that than with any of the others.'
'I know.'
'I have seen the mood so often. She sometimes looks like that for hours and says nothing, and oh so much is going on inside her head. If I had been able to paint it I would have put a touch here and there of caricature, cruel touches.'
'And I only want to make it as lovely as I can. I always want to do that when I paint her. My pictures of her paint themselves. I am very happy when I paint them.'
'There is the difference, Clifford. I am cynical, like my father, you are a saint. If I thought I could have dislodged you I might have tried, once. But you are something she believes in, someone she needs. She has a kind of hate for me, a loving hate. She treats me as a mother might treat a very bad child. We could never quarrel about her. We are black and white, one can't quarrel about black and white.'
'I would have gone,' I said, 'and I would have been utterly miserable.'
'She would not have let it happen.'
'For a very long time there was something I didn't believe in because it had not happened to me,' I told him.
'Yes, you are very rational.'
'Now I believe it because it has happened. But I have done a very dangerous thing, although I know it is the only thing to do. You see I have put all my eggs in one basket.'
'You must not worry. They are perfectly safe, and you were right, it shows. Your work has changed so greatly.'
'Some day you may do what I have done Leo. Then there will be trouble.'
'I won't, but if I did there would be no trouble.'
I felt terribly cold. I looked at the clock: it was 2.30am - and I am on guard duty at 8.45.
We said good night. I smoked a cigarette and looked at the pictures again. Her bouquet of pink carnations was still on the table, since last Wednesday when she was with me - almost a week ago. The water it stands in is frozen, solid ice.
'Quentin Crisp' 1941 by Clifford Hall.
Emie reading 'Rues Secrètes', 1942, pencil drawing by Clifford Hall
Letter to Marion
22 January, 1942
Dearest Mog,
I have just had your letter. I am terribly sorry about last week, if I did not write. I thought I had. I had a hell of a lot to do, trying to find some way of raising money, getting a picture finished I want you to see and running around fetching coal and water. You may imagine. Everything is still frozen, but don't let it worry you and I will have enough coal when you do come. You have not told me which train on Saturday, so if I don't hear come straight to me. There is plenty for me to do to try to tidy up a bit.
Everything goes to pieces with this weather and I have no one to do the work now.
Can I work, you say, or is life too insupportable? What an idea! I am working very well and I won't let anything stop me.
Standing outside myself and looking in as I sometimes do, I would say that if I did not work I would have no reason for being; that if I did not work, and work with feeling, I should deserve to be wiped out utterly. But I do not work to justify or explain, I work because now I feel things, and somehow they say to me - you must do this, you can't help yourself, and you may never feel it just this way again and you may never, never, again have this time, so now work. It's just like Morrison's GO TO IT!
About my efforts to get money, I will certainly be able to let you have £3 towards that doctor's bill next week, or even on Saturday, but it's quite certain.
I am looking forward to Saturday and I hope I won't have to go in too early on Sunday morning.
Lots of love to you both,
Clifford
A Chelsea ARP Cabaret Show, 1941, with set design by Clifford Hall.
A sketch of a cabaret set designed by Clifford Hall.
It seems highly unlikely that any of the theatrical scenery painted and designed by Clifford Hall has survived into the present day. However, this sketch has. And it is clearly linked to the backdrop seen in the photograph above,
