November 25, 1908 KITEBROOK,
My dearest Robin,
I hope the bonfire entertainment went off well. It wouldn’t matter throwing lamps and things about at that sort of gathering, I suppose. [The references in this paragraph and the next are to Robin–November 4, 1908.]
Since you have written for your hunting maps, I shall have to send you the sort of letters I write Grandfather. I think I shall ask him to return my chronicles so that I can send them on to you. It will save labor!
We had a capital hunt on Monday, a six mile point but a good deal more as hounds ran. We found at Walk Gorse, ran to Badgers Gorse, back to Walk Gorse, round Heythrop Park, across the Eustace road, and left-handed to Tytchley where we lost him. It blew a gale all the time and no one expected any sport, so it was a pleasant surprise. Ever so many people got left at Heythrop as they expected to mess about there as usual, so they were rather sold. The Evereds, who were late for the meet, never turned up all day! Dorothy Hoare spent the time at Over Norton having a “nice warm” (and good square meal probably) and joined up again at Salford, but at the first sign of a fox she exclaimed “Oh Lor!” and went home. Truly a strange state of mind to go a-hunting in! We had a nice little gallop from Salford to Heythrop and so ended a good day. You and Grandfather can make little maps of the runs and I will give a little prize for the best collection at the end of the season. I expect some of my descriptions would puzzle you a bit. I generally give a quite impossible route which is flatly contradicted in the Eversham Journal.
Tomorrow I wander to Paxford and the next day to Bourton-on-the-Water. I am getting quite a lot of hunting. Auntie says I must make the most of my last season. I expect she has a back-thought that the more I get the more I’ll want and I shall come to think I couldn’t get on without it. I don’t believe I could either, if I stayed in England, but I am going to try your paper-chases instead.
I am so glad you won the singles. Did I tell you that in my last letter? [See Robin–October 27, 1908. Kathleen did not congratulate him in her last letter, possibly because she wrote it while colouring photographs.]
Thursday. We had a thrilling time with the North Cotswold this morning and arrived in Wolford Wood about 12:00 o’clock. We worried round there for an hour and then the master withdrew to his mountain fastnesses, so I came home. No one was anywhere near hounds, as we got hung up by a big brook. It’s a horrid bit of country, all scraggy fences and big ditches.
I took my knee to London to be overhauled on Saturday. It seems I have sprained it slightly and now get rheumatism–old age I suppose! The electric treatment was most weird. My knee was first put in a sort of oven and heated up to 400° and then massaged with an electric roller which made all the muscles jump in a most absurd way. I think it did good. He said I ought to bicycle but I hate bicycling so I shan’t.
Eva Wiggins came last night for a few days. She and Auntie have gone to the Styles’ for bridge this afternoon, the first of the ladies-bridge/ball-committee meetings.
We are still struggling to raise a party for Stow ball. So far Hereward and Margaret Barnes are coming and we are making vain efforts to secure another man. The cousin whom I detest is not coming, thank goodness! We have asked everyone we know, so are now starting on people we don’t know–at least, Auntie has made me write to someone I once stayed in the same house with two years ago for one night for a dance. He was at school with the boys but they won’t either of them be here. I know he will think I have “designs” on him, especially as he is a youthful baronet!!
Yes, I have discovered what “every woman knows” and I certainly didn’t know it before–that woman was not made from man’s rib but from his funny bone. Absurd I call it, but I expect I wasn’t made from a very good one. I didn’t care very much for the piece but it must have been my bad taste, for everyone else seems to love it. [See Robin–November 4, 1908.]
Have your Waxworks come off yet? I hope you had a rose. [See Robin–October 27, 1908.]
I am so sorry you damaged your horse paper chasing. I hope he’s all right again by now. They really sound quite exciting. [References in this and succeeding paragraphs are to Robin–November 8, 1908.]
The beginning of your surprise party sounds rather horrible. It’s bad enough having to stand about till there are enough people for the band to start and sitting in a cold room would be a thousand times worse. It sounds a nice easy way of giving a dance.
Your mind seems rather full of gateways. I must have been horribly careless last season. What a nuisance you must have thought me, for I suppose I always got hooked up just when hounds began to go. Heaps of people just pretend they haven’t noticed and go on. I hope it won’t occur this time, for if I have to get off myself to retrieve it I could never get on again. Utility is much too big.
I wonder if you will get your gramophone. I like them rather but one gets awfully tired of them. We hardly ever use ours since I got my pianola.
If the spirit moves me to pay calls, it will have to move you too. I couldn’t possibly ever pay calls alone, I am much too shy! We have been going to call on Fosse Cottage for the last three weeks but haven’t got there yet. I hate calling and am absolutely speechless from the moment I enter the door.
I wonder how you are getting on with that pencil and note-book. I am sure I should have lots of suggestions to make, though I shouldn’t have the least idea what was wanted. You must make little plans of the rooms and then we can think out what would suit them.
Mr. Scott’s party for Stow consists of seven shes and one he–rather useful isn’t it!
I took some photographs of Utility yesterday. They ought to be rather good I think. I took him in the stable yard and the boy was sent out into the road to shout, to make him look interested, and Knowles clung to his head with his most charming grin. The tout ensemble should be perfect.
It seems I have meandered on all about nothing till this refuses to go into any ordinary envelope.
Ever your loving