8, 11, 15 May 1959 - Missing Marianne

The poems to Marianne from Mr Nash continued to flow in May, but it seems that her visits to the bookshop off Fenchurch Street in London were few and far between, as Cyril talks in the following poems of missing seeing her, and being reminded of her through music, busy High Streets and good weather, while she unlikely thinks of him in return. Woe... 

How strange and strong the spell
Of music on the ear;
And stranger still that I should hear
With quickened heart the swell,
The ebb and flow of Bach, the dear
Intricacies of sound, of melody
When you (alas, in fantasy)
Appear to be so near.
Yet I have never known you say
That Bach was all in all to you
Or if to Chopin you are true
Or if indeed prefer cacaphony
To strains of symphony, and jazz
To all that old Debussy has.
How then should I so surely be
Aware of your strong presence when
I give myself, and mental wherewithal
To sweetest ecstacies of madrigal?
And how tis then (and only then)
You are more near to me
Than when I see you here, elusively?

8/5/1959

I have put this down but think it could be improved upon with a little more time to gather my thoughts (if any) but it is all true!

You are always in my thoughts;
Even the busy High Street Saturday
With jostling bodies filling shops can be
A wilderness of loneliness, and I
Am filled, alas, with homesickness for you,
Who are remoter than the furthest star
And only seen when you decree.
Here, I look beyond all possibility
Among these many varied faces
Knowing that you may never come this way
And never think of me.

11/5/1959

All through this lovely week in May
The sun has shone with gaiety again
And yet, such is the power of your
Sweet personality, that missing you,
The days have been too long, and I
Have turned for consolation to cool night
Seeking to still my turbulence of mind.
and there I saw your beauty mirrored
At the midnight hour, for tracing their loveliness
Against the skies, giant cedars sang
Their praises to the distant stars;
And I did see - O could you then have
Been with me - the crescent moon
Sail as a coracle their seas of floating fronds
Propelled by fairy oars to Arcady,
And I had wished that we could be aboard.
But, no. forever must I dwell among
Their dim ecclesiastic shades of mauve
Waiting the rising of the sun,
And hope that you will shine on me again.

15/5/1959

No time to retype this legibly!

7 May - Happy birthday

No poem from Mr Nash in 1959 today, 7th May, which was Marianne's birthday. It's likely he didn't know her well enough yet to know this date. But poems to Marianne on this date in subsequent years, as well as books with inscriptions that he must have given to her as gifts, show that he went on to honour her birthday with his words. For example, on her birthday in 1962, he gave her The Handbook of Swindling, by Douglas William Jerrold under the pseudonym of Barabbas Whitefeather. Some fabulous illustrations by Phiz inside.

And another birthday gift (no year indicated) - the somewhat racily illustrated 'Eastern Love Poems' which features a pencilled inscription inside:

"— but true love is much nearer.

Wishing you a very happy birthday

Cyril"

So, happy birthday Mummy. She would have been 78 today. Here are a few photos of her from the family photo albums, there aren't many as she tended to hide as soon as a camera appeared...

Marianne and a hen - aged 7?

Marianne with her mother Hilda (far left) and friends

Peeling something in the kitchen, 1960s? I don't know what the Kinloch Policy is, and neither does Google.

A party somewhere in London - 1960s? No idea who the men are...

Holiday in early 1970s

Little me on the left, so it'll be from 1973!

Our last holiday together, Prague 1988, with family friend Joy

x x x

3/5/1959 So much to say, so little time

So much to say;
So little time
Or craft today
For useless rhyme.

What need to say
The thing that's true
If to display
A thing of rue?

Yet not to say
That I love you
Would but betray
All that I knew.

So much to say
So little time
To do, or stay
For things sublime. 

3rd May, 1959

23/4/1959 St Dunstans in the East

The next poem from Cyril talks of a church in London, and how its beauty was obscured by modern buildings around it. He talks of never taking it for granted in the event he may never see it again. Perhaps drawing parallels to Marianne...?

St Dunstans in the East

This lovely spire, now almost hid
Between the bricks that modern man
Has reared (a symbol to his mediocrity),
May still be seen, so full of grace
With slender beauty and sincerity.

A hope to all who set their steps
Each morning to the daily task
Of making money for these monstrous millionaires
Who neither wish to see nor care
If other than utilitarian.

I see this lovely thing each day
And thank my God that it is so;
And I look long and always steadfastly.
For all these things must pass, and I
May never venture forth this way again.

23/4/1959

St Dunstan-in-the-East, in the City of London.
Engraving from 'Church Bells' published in 1891

So I learn that St Dunstan-in-the-East is (or rather, was) a church on the north side of the Thames, to the left of Tower Bridge. I presume it would have been on Mr Nash's route to work from London Bridge to Jon Ash bookshop off Fenchurch Street.

The church was heavily damaged, first by the Great Fire of London and rebuilt, then again during the Second World War, on 10 May 1941. Its subsequent ruins, including the original Sir Christopher Wren-designed spire which Cyril writes of, are now part of a public garden. This didn't open until 1971, some 12 years after it featured in Cyril's daily walk to work.

This lovely article (scroll down towards the bottom) tells the story of the church of St Dunstan's including its bells, which ended up being removed and reinstalled in a bell tower at Sterling Vineyards in Calistoga, California overlooking the Napa Valley.