A Notable Woman. Jean Lucey Pratt
a house to look after and all the furniture: responsibilities increase daily, and each new difficulty proves my immaturity. I have never felt so tired and worried and alone, yet everyone tells me how well I look.
Monday, 8 June
The thing that looms largest on the horizon now is our move from Wembley and my move into a new flat in Hampstead. Vahan and Joan are converting a house in South Hill Park: they are to have the ground floor, and I am having (I hope) the attic.
Monday, 27 July
I’m here, at 83, South Hill Park, Hampstead. I have signed an agreement for 3 years. I have been here a fortnight, and my lodger (Vahan’s younger brother) arrives on Thursday. ‘Homefield’ is empty, its garden rich with rain, flowers and maturing fruit, and everywhere are rumours and threats of war. How can one feel settled?
Cecil Lewis has written in Sagittarius Rising: ‘World state, world currency, world language … would demand new allegiances, new deals. Possibly two or three more world wars would be necessary to break down the innate hostility to such changes … It is a fight between intellect and appetite, international ideals and armaments. The latter will probably win the first two or three rounds; but if civilisation is to survive, the ideal must win in the end. Meanwhile, if a few million people have to die violent deaths, that cannot be helped. Nature is exceedingly wasteful.’75
It will not matter: war and death and the spoliation of one’s loved possessions. Whether we live violently and die damnably, or long and die in peace, we die. We die and our loved possessions must become possessed of another’s love or crumble away unloved. Only the love we can give out in passing matters; it is the only thing that lingers after a person dies.
I wish brother Pooh was in England. Homefield is a big responsibility for me alone. Ethel went away on July 1st, and I had to undertake the move and warehousing quite by myself. Lonely? No, I haven’t felt lonely yet, there has been too much to do. War? Then let there be war, I can do nothing to stop the mass foolishness of barbarians. My room here fills me with delight. But if I could send a message to Heaven, I would ask an angel to tell my father that I love him, that I love him.
Tuesday, 18 August
I have acquired a kitten. Its curiosity is insatiable. Writing is difficult with Cheeta walking over the page.
Friday, 21 August
Next Friday I start with cousin Martin and his girlfriend Dorothy on our motor tour in Europe (he has an Alvis). Belgium, Germany, Switzerland, N. Italy, Nice. And then I may take up ballroom dancing with Joan Silvester at the Empress Rooms in October. I am also getting involved with a Communist movement in Hampstead. I even typed some cards for them yesterday. What will the Conservative relatives say …
Tuesday, 25 August
The movement is not specifically Communist, but a movement to establish a Popular Front in England involving all parties, sects, religions and classes. A good thing and an urgent one I feel.
Nockie was full of scorn at first at the ballroom dancing idea, but the more I think of it the more I approve. I need hardening, smartening: if I dance I shall have to care for my hair, nails, clothes, and I think it should give me the confidence among the sophisticated that I lack. Clothes, or rather one’s physical appearance, is the symbol of character. A really smart woman must be intelligent. The tragedy is that not all intelligent women are smart.
Thursday, 27 August
I add my name (humbly) to the list that appears at the end of the letter in the Statesman this week on Britain and the Spanish War. ‘It was almost universally held that the noblest contribution of the British to European civilisation has been our theory and practice of political liberty and parliamentary democracy … It has taken over 300 years of our history to establish and consolidate this characteristically British freedom and we have had to defend it against our own kings, aristocracy, army leaders and … Spanish, French, German monarchs, dictators, conquerors … At present in Spain a constitutional government, elected by the people, is being attacked by a junta of generals who have declared their intention of destroying parliamentary democracy in that country … We who sign this letter agree in retaining belief in the British ideals of political freedom and democracy.’
Everyone at present is afraid that Socialism and Communism means an attack on their property; the idea is fostered by a capitalistically controlled Press. But I don’t see why the confiscation of individual property must be necessary to bring about the reforms needed. Everyone is so smug: so scared for their own safety. But there is evidence of immense wealth in this country, and I am sure it is only a matter of readjustment and intelligent control of the situation. Not by Fascism or military despotism – that is death, not life to the people. The individual’s material needs are limited: after a certain point luxury becomes a vice, and possessions superfluous. The trouble is, I suppose, that the surplus millions are controlled by a small set of powerful persons who have so strangled themselves spiritually that they can only kill and corrupt life.
I am all for the Vogue way of living: elegance, grace, culture. I consider it necessary to fine living, and know it to be a difficult achievement. But my sense of justice demands that everyone is given a fair chance to achieve that social height. The finest intelligence and most artistic nature should be at the top, but not bolstered there by immoral economic support. Give every man and woman sufficient means to feed and clothe and house themselves, and let the intelligent and artistic rise as they should by the natural development of their capabilities. Let us be snobbish about ugliness and meanness and lies, and let us encourage kindness and cultivate manners and good taste.
Friday, 28 August
On the eve of this long-planned motor trip in Europe it has occurred to me that I have made no will. I have been told repeatedly I should make one, but it is such a complicated business I have shirked it. But supposing something happened, who on earth would settle my affairs?
In The Event of My Sudden Death during coming fortnight, I appoint (or request) my friends Marjorie Nockolds and Joan Bulbulian executrices.
My share of the property at Wembley and all invested and current monies I leave to my brother Leslie Vernon Pratt (c/o Pacific Cable Board, Barbados, BWI), with the exception of the War Loan Stock, which I should like transferred to my friend Marjorie Nockolds, and £100 to my friend Constance Oliver.
I should like Constance Oliver also to choose whatever furniture she cares to have from the lots stored with John Sanders of Ealing Broadway, with the exception of the grandfather clock, which I leave to my cousin Margaret Royan, and the piano, which I leave to my cousin Joyce Joliffe.
And furniture for which Constance cannot find a use I should like my stepmother Ethel Mary Pratt to have in the hope that she may buy her cottage soon.
All MSS, Notebooks, Diaries etc to be burnt please without being read.
My new fur coat (purchased this week and being stored with John Lewis of Oxford St) I leave to my friend Mrs Valerie Honour. My other clothes to my friend Zoe Randall (109 Charlotte St), and also to her my sewing machine.
My jewellery I leave to my sister in law, Ivy Pratt. My typewriter to John Rickman. My best deep-blue tea service to Gus (Geoffrey Harris). My plants and kitten to Joan Bulbulian, and my good wishes to everyone I haven’t mentioned.
Thank you all,
Jean Lucey Pratt
‘Only the brightest memories remain.’ Jean’s parents, George and Sarah.
13.
Israel Epstein
Saturday, 29 August 1936 (aged twenty-six)
Luxembourg.
For a fortnight