In 1936, after his first wife had left him, Evelyn Waugh sent a letter to her cousin Laura Herbert, asking whether “you could bear the idea of marrying me.”
“I can’t advise you in my favour because I think it would be beastly for you,” he wrote, “but think how nice it would be for me. I am…
One of my favourite EW’s letters, well worth repeating.
Chapter 13 of AW’s autobiography is almost entirely dedicated to his mother Laura.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Combe Florey 1971-1973
Another reason for the move to Combe Florey was that my mother had been living alone there since her husband’s sudden death in April 1966, and although she never complained of loneliness, and was visited quite often by her children, one had the impression that it was quite a burden for a single woman who had allowed herself to be convinced that she was very poor to keep up a huge house with four acres of garden, a further thirty acres of woods, parkland and ornamental water.
With Meg gone, all pleasure in life evaporated, and Evelyn fell into deep melancholy. Not yet sixty, he felt eighty; he was enfeebled by senile infirmities and talked openly of his wish to die. Most of the day was spent indoors reading and writing letters, every evening doing The Times crossword with Laura.
It was a gloomy period for her, her husband’s unhappiness weighing heavy on the household. If an old friend proposed a visit, Laura now had to calculate whether to tell Evelyn in advance, knowing that he would suffer days of agonising, convinced the visit would be a failure and he himself an intolerable bore, or to spring it on him at the last moment and risk his rage.
More and more Laura took refuge in her work out of doors, growing more silent and withdrawn when with her husband. Having given up her cows, she started market gardening, in which she was helped by Walter Coggan, a villager whose dubious expertise she unreservedly admired and depended upon. Soon it seemed that she preferred his company to that of anyone else, Evelyn sarcastically referring to the unprepossessing Coggan as ‘my rival’ or ‘Laura’s lover’. Evelyn now ate little, but he and Laura both smoked heavily and drank too much, she sherry, Evelyn gin. Refusing an invitation to stay with the Walstons, he explained, ‘The sad truth is that I am not sortable these days -too deaf & crotchety,’ and to Nancy, ‘I very seldom mind people’s deaths. I long for my own.’
The collapse of talks left the Waughs free to enjoy themselves, with MGM’s hospitality continuing ‘consistently munificent’. ‘Social life gay & refined’, Evelyn reported to Peters. ‘Not as generally described.’ Laura in her expensive new clothes ‘grew smarter and younger and more popular daily and was serenely happy. I was well content and, as soon as the danger of the film was disposed of, almost serene.’ They met Anna May Wong and Merle Oberon, saw Charlie Chaplin’s ‘brilliant new film Monsieur Verdoux and went to a supper party at his house later which comprised mostly central European Jews. We also went over Walt Disney’s studios.’ They were taken up by the English colony, among whom were a number of friends, the painter Simon Elwes and his wife (whose hostess, Andrea Cowdin, was exceptionally hospitable), Iris Tree and Ivan Moffat, Randolph Churchill, Sir Charles Mendl. It was Mendl who took them to lunch with Aldous Huxley, whose wife, Maria, described the occasion in a letter to Christopher Isherwood. At one end of the table sat Waugh, ‘wearing a little black hat on top of his little face and a striped suit over his little body … at the other end a very English, still young, woman with an intensely inner-absorbed face. Unlined unwrinkled without any expression but when she looked out of herself the most despairing eyes … I must have put my foot in it when I told her she looked melancholy… because Waugh in his little black hat put his arm round her shoulder and assured her that she was the gayest person he knew; and they walked off, all three and we were left - uncomfortable.’
Christopher Sykes in his biography recorded some of Evelyn’s most coloratura performances [supposedly in 1956]. Over lunch at Wilton’s one day with Sykes and both Waughs present an argument began between man and wife. Laura had a watch in her handbag which she wanted Evelyn to put in his waistcoat pocket.
He refused. She protested. ‘It’s such a bore in my bag… All your pockets are empty’ … ‘By no means all,’ replied Evelyn with a glare. Laura appealed to me … ‘Why don’t you put the watch in your pocket?’ I pleaded …
‘Because’, he said in a voice of thunder, ‘if I were to put the watch in my pocket, and if later someone were to pick me up by the heels and shake me, then two watches would fall out of my pockets and I would thus be made to look ridiculous.’
The conversation moved on to a new book which Sykes had brought with him, a life of Logan Pearsall Smith, which Evelyn had agreed to review.
‘Give me the book.’
‘All right. I’ll send it to you tomorrow.’ ‘Why tomorrow, not today?’
‘Because I want to read the book myself. You’ll have it tomorrow.’
At this Evelyn began to … yell in the manner of a two-year-old child, gurgling between ear-splitting ululations ‘I-want-the-book-now’. In the confined space of the little restaurant the noise caused much sensation. I hastily gave him the book and his howls of agony instantly stopped.
As head of the household, Mary Herbert, looking like the Monarch of the Glen, ruled her domain with absolute authority. In the evenings before dinner she stood in front of the fire with her glass of gin and her cigarette, pushing back her tangled hair and demanding, ‘What? What?’ when, as often, she could not quite hear what was being said. (She was nicknamed ‘Mrs What-What’ by her children’s friends.)
When Evelyn arrived, he found a large, young and rumbustious house party in progress, with hockey and hunting during the day, noisy games of charades in the evening. Everyone seemed tireless, he complained, and made him feel very middle-aged. Previously his particular friend in the family had been Gabriel, but now his attention was caught by her younger sister, Laura. ‘I have taken a great fancy to a young lady named Laura,’ he told Maimie.
What is she like? Well fair, very pretty, plays peggoty beautifully. We met on a house party in Somerset.5 She has rather a long thin nose and skin as thin as bromo as she is very thin and might be dying of consumption to look at her and she has her hair in a little bun at the back of her neck but it is not very tidy and she is only 18 years old, virgin, Catholic, quiet & astute. So it is difficult. I have not made much progress yet except to pinch her twice in a charade and lean against her thigh in pretending to help her at peggoty.
Although Laura was only eighteen, Evelyn was quick to recognise in her the qualities he most desired in a wife. She was kind, quiet, stable, innocent and true. She was also pretty, well-born and devout, with a subde sense of humour and an admirable dislike of London and sophisticated society. Although in manner still rather childlike, Laura had a stronger character than might at first appear. Youngest of the three sisters, she was very different from both Gabriel and Bridget. They were tall, energetic young women, outgoing and impatient, talking loudly, shouting with laughter, striding about the house calling to their dogs and throwing themselves on to the broken-springed sofas. Superb horsewomen, they went out several times a week during the hunting season, fearlessly galloping up and down the steep valleys and jumping the terrifying stone walls of Exmoor. Laura, on the other hand, was physically far from robust, a bout of rheumatic fever in childhood having left her delicate. Although she hated riding, she loved animals, like all the Herberts, but while her sisters went in for big, muddy labradors and setters, Laura’s dog was a whippet called Imp. Tmp-Imp-Imp’, she would be heard calling, clacking over the uncarpeted floors in her impractical high heels. She was not a beauty like Bridget - her long nose had been broken by an accident with a cricket bat when she was small - but her fragile features, pale skin and huge dark eyes gave her an ethereal, fairytale look.
Thin and frail though she was, and seemingly overshadowed by the forcefulness of her mother and sisters, Laura was no cipher. When in company she contributed litde, being extremely shy as well as socially lazy, but nonetheless she had a mind of her own and firm opinions about the people she met. She could be surprisingly judgmental, and to some observers there was a quiet arrogance about her, often a slight curl to her lip. As one of her schoolfriends observed, ” [Laura had] a very definite personality with a quirky way of criticising people’; another remarked that she was ‘pretty unforthcoming, but a very strong character’. In her own eyes her worst fault was a violent temper, so violent that when in its grip she would take to her bed for the day as the attempt to control it made her physically ill. As a result of this drastic form of self-discipline, Laura became adept at suppressing her emotions. As one of her daughters was later to say, ‘Mummy had a very strong character, but very suppressed. Everything was very suppressed with mummy’ But she also possessed a great appetite for enjoyment, and loved being made to laugh; safe within the family circle she could be very funny, with a talent for mimicry. ‘Behind the veil of good manners, she mocked everybody and everything.’ She had, too, all the Herbert self-confidence and family pride, indeed felt little need to make friends or pursue interests outside the family pale. There was, said Gabriel of her at this time, ‘a quality of self-containedness and irony. .. [as one who] steered a determined course of non-involvement’.
