Briarcliff Lodge, Briarcliff Manor , New York 11th January, 1933
Mamma darling,
I wonder where you are. You didn’t give me your Swiss address, I suppose because you thought I should be back before I needed to write to you. This however was not the case. I’ve just written an enormous, or fairly enormous, letter to Papa, because I had one from him, but nothing from you, and I daresay he’ll show it to you. And incidentally it’ll be interesting to see whether it arrives or not, because I’ve sent it straight to Paris, c/o Admiral Castex*, and told a man who’s going to Paris to look up his address in the telephone book and post it to him. I hope it’ll work. My feeling is that it probably will, because Admiral C must be wellish-known in Paris, or at any rate in the French Admiralty.
I saw the Northern Echo cutting a day or two ago as someone had had it sent to them, and it’s the sort of criticism people always make to start with. I think I used all those arguments myself. I don’t think the reverend bishop can know an awful lot first hand.
Mamma, I’m absolutely convinced that this is going to be the only sort of work I’m ever likely to do, and that it’ll be right for everyone if I do. You see, what I thought was – supposing I married you wouldn’t dream of saying I don’t want you to leave home, although you’d probably be sorry about my going, and equally if I got a job for several thousand pounds a year, or even less, you wouldn’t object, or if I were going on a pleasure cruise, the same would apply probably, and there’s really no more reason to think it’s unreasonable that I should do this than anything else. I can’t tell you the things I’ve learnt from it, and I’ve seen such horrid things about myself, which were definitely not a good thing. I mean you always say that you know me so well, and I always thought that we were about as close to each other as mother and daughter could be, but what I now see is that I could know you lots better, and you me. All the part of me that’s secretive and untruthful, and you know it’s there, and have told me about it, but we’ve sort of never pursued the subject any further, and have tacitly dropped it, but I am naturally untruthful, and I am terribly sorry not to have made any effort to own up to it or to correct it before now. I don’t want to be less truthful with you than with all the Group people and they’re all so above board that I can’t be dishonest with them, and simply had to admit to having told them lies a few days ago which was rather awful, but it made me realise how awfully I do it, and how I don’t really show you my real self nine times out of ten.
I shall have to stop because the people who are taking the mail are going, but I shall write and tell you some more later, because as I said to Daddy, I think this is going to make all the difference to all of us, and if as you inaccurately say, I was a good daughter before I truly will try to be a better one now.
Bless you Mamma.
Your loving,
Maria
English