You must surely have known that you were going to upset her badly. The consequences are being borne by me, not by you.
I would be more sympathetic to your wish for âadventureâ if you had not walked out of the Army like a housemaid taking affront at some fancied slight. Had you remained, you might have had plenty of adventures and might have perhaps experienced them in the public good. Perhaps it is my fault that you find it hard to be frank with me and I cannot forget that you told me you left the Army as you wanted to look after under-privileged children. Perhaps Charles Shearer comes into that category in your opinion?
All this is to me very painful, distressing and worrying. I need hardly tell you that your mother is in a thoroughly disturbed state. My advice to you is to take up your job at Hamptons and stick to it. I am sure that any close association with Charles Shearer will end in utter disaster.
Yours ever,
D
I have just started my new job but within a week I resign, full of ambitious plans to go to South America with one of my more disreputable friends â the only boy, I think, ever to have gone straight from Eton College to borstal
.
The Sunday Times
Dear Charles,
You certainly live up to the name of âLupinâ but I donât yet know who is cast for the role of Miss Daisy Mutlar.
However, many thanks for your letter which at least was not abusive as I am given to understand your letter to Mr Shearer was. Possibly I am pessimistic by nature, but so far your career has hardly inspired a demeanour of sunny optimism. If there are signs of panic, as you infer, it is because certain past experiences left an indelible mark.
As regards your friends, you are quite right to be loyal to them. You must permit me, though, to possess my own judgement as to their âdesirabilityâ. I do, though, like Chicken Hurt, who seems neatly cut out to be one of lifeâs more agreeable failures. I know very little about Shearer junior. Perhaps one day you will have the leisure to explain to me why he went to an âApproved Schoolâ; and the details of this curious financial transaction that seems to annoy his father so much.
I am sorry you are already disillusioned with your work as an estate agent. The job, though, was your own choice. It is easy to find a trite phrase that will devalue any form of employment. I have heard my own described as âcasting sham pearls before real swineâ. I doubt if you will find any work rewarding unless you give thought as to what you can put into it; not just what you hope to take out. If the notion of sitting in an office repels you, why did you not go into the Army or the RAF or something like that? Presumably because any code of discipline, and that includes self-discipline, is abhorrent to you. I cannot see what Charles Blackwellâs life has got to do with yours. I donât know if he is happy or the reverse.
If you wish to work (I repeat âworkâ) in South America, by all means do so. Approach the matter in an adult and professional manner, though, and not like a Lower Boy. Go to night school and learn the language. Study the trade conditions and labour situation in the country you propose to favour with your presence. Go to the Royal Geographical Society and find out all you can about Brazil, Argentina etc. Above all go to S. America by yourself and stand on your own feet; donât just go on a motoring beano with some feckless companion. You could well afford to spend a year or more preparing yourself for this venture.
However, all good horses run true to form and no doubt in a few monthsâ time you will want to be a jockey or manufacture cut-price tambourines for the Salvation Army. However, it is your life and I know nothing I say or wish will ever have the slightest effect on any course of action you propose to take.
Yours,
RM
The Brazilian adventure is put on hold. Dad good-naturedly resigns himself to yet another
I would be more sympathetic to your wish for âadventureâ if you had not walked out of the Army like a housemaid taking affront at some fancied slight. Had you remained, you might have had plenty of adventures and might have perhaps experienced them in the public good. Perhaps it is my fault that you find it hard to be frank with me and I cannot forget that you told me you left the Army as you wanted to look after under-privileged children. Perhaps Charles Shearer comes into that category in your opinion?
All this is to me very painful, distressing and worrying. I need hardly tell you that your mother is in a thoroughly disturbed state. My advice to you is to take up your job at Hamptons and stick to it. I am sure that any close association with Charles Shearer will end in utter disaster.
Yours ever,
D
I have just started my new job but within a week I resign, full of ambitious plans to go to South America with one of my more disreputable friends â the only boy, I think, ever to have gone straight from Eton College to borstal
.
The Sunday Times
Dear Charles,
You certainly live up to the name of âLupinâ but I donât yet know who is cast for the role of Miss Daisy Mutlar.
However, many thanks for your letter which at least was not abusive as I am given to understand your letter to Mr Shearer was. Possibly I am pessimistic by nature, but so far your career has hardly inspired a demeanour of sunny optimism. If there are signs of panic, as you infer, it is because certain past experiences left an indelible mark.
As regards your friends, you are quite right to be loyal to them. You must permit me, though, to possess my own judgement as to their âdesirabilityâ. I do, though, like Chicken Hurt, who seems neatly cut out to be one of lifeâs more agreeable failures. I know very little about Shearer junior. Perhaps one day you will have the leisure to explain to me why he went to an âApproved Schoolâ; and the details of this curious financial transaction that seems to annoy his father so much.
I am sorry you are already disillusioned with your work as an estate agent. The job, though, was your own choice. It is easy to find a trite phrase that will devalue any form of employment. I have heard my own described as âcasting sham pearls before real swineâ. I doubt if you will find any work rewarding unless you give thought as to what you can put into it; not just what you hope to take out. If the notion of sitting in an office repels you, why did you not go into the Army or the RAF or something like that? Presumably because any code of discipline, and that includes self-discipline, is abhorrent to you. I cannot see what Charles Blackwellâs life has got to do with yours. I donât know if he is happy or the reverse.
If you wish to work (I repeat âworkâ) in South America, by all means do so. Approach the matter in an adult and professional manner, though, and not like a Lower Boy. Go to night school and learn the language. Study the trade conditions and labour situation in the country you propose to favour with your presence. Go to the Royal Geographical Society and find out all you can about Brazil, Argentina etc. Above all go to S. America by yourself and stand on your own feet; donât just go on a motoring beano with some feckless companion. You could well afford to spend a year or more preparing yourself for this venture.
However, all good horses run true to form and no doubt in a few monthsâ time you will want to be a jockey or manufacture cut-price tambourines for the Salvation Army. However, it is your life and I know nothing I say or wish will ever have the slightest effect on any course of action you propose to take.
Yours,
RM
The Brazilian adventure is put on hold. Dad good-naturedly resigns himself to yet another
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