12th January 1933 - Terrick to Mary

Parts of this letter thrown away by Mary (written on the top at a later date by Terrick)

The Highland Hotel

Fort William
Inverness-shire

starts on page 3

mouthfuls of rice-pudding: “You little beast!”

So you have been flirting again.  Please let me know by return of post if you are going to continue, because if so my reformation becomes null and more or less void and the daughter of the bank-manager here is casting voluptuous eyes at me – I am invited there to-morrow, too soon to get your reply unfortunately, but if the rain keeps off there will be plenty of time.  And anyhow, she is exempt from the resolution under the “confirmed flirt” clause (see my last letter but one), though up till now I had been sticking more to the spirit than the letter of it.

Incidentally, even if I do decide to keep the resolution, you will be exempt from it too under the same clause.


No, cancel that.  I’ll leave the banker’s daughter alone.  She is not so attractive as you, and I like the best when I can have it.  I’ll exempt you from the resolution as a Confirmed Flirt, out-flirt you, and possibly break your heart. (The word “possibly” in this context denotes doubt, not as to the writer’s ability, but as to the recipient’s possession of a heart to break)

No again, on third thoughts, I think loads of time will be the best method.

Anyway the bronchitis is probably a visitation from heaven, and you don’t deserve to have a nice, steady lad like me writing to you.

How much of this were you angling for?


The reason why you did not get my letter before is that after 4.5 p.m. on Saturday there is no post at all out of here till 1.42 p.m. on Monday.  I thought when I was writing that it was 8 a.m. and wasted a ½ d stamp by getting two penny stamps out of the slot machine because I had.

Continues on page 7

I can’t see myself whispering to you – at least not about being introduced to other damsels.  When you are about, other girls don’t seem very conspicuous.

I am glad you like my letters.  But wait.  Just now it is how I write, rather than what I write that is interesting.  The bare bones of my letters are little more than veiled (thinly I admit) hints and innuendoes.  Wait till I go away at Easter.  We shall have danced a good many dances and sat in a good many pits, and then you will get letters that will be letters.  I shall have something more important to fill the pages with than persiflage.
I don’t know what you bargained for in my instance (I wish I did) but you can be dead, damned certain that you won’t get less.

After Lunch

I have just had a short note from Paul.  He has not yet done anything about the office of the Scheme but he is about to do it; a state he has been in ever since Christmas.  How shall we spend that shilling?

Still no one has come to the hotel, even for a drink.  The night before last I felt the loneliness get a bit oppressive so at 9.p.m. when no one had turned up, I dashed down to the cinema in time for the big picture, “Polly of the Circus” which was utter rot.  Tonight I shall have to wait till nine before going round to the MacNivens’.

The management of the hotel has gone very smoothly except one day when I issued coarse salt from the stores instead of granulated sugar and the woman only found out after she had made the pudding.  With castor sugar I always taste it because it looks like salt, but I have never seen