I do you such a grave injustice, making you out to be some kind of ogre to your son. Just yesterday I recovered from its storage box a cache of those thin blue air mail forms, letters written to me over the years by both yourself and Peggy. I have not read them all—there are dozens of them—but they are filled with such love, such compassion, such concern.
In one of those letters, written at the time when both Flora and myself were having trouble in our relationships, you wrote these words (you write so well, I quote the short passage verbatim:
I am convinced (between you & me) that a lot of the trouble is relationship adjustment (horrid phrase). The old 7 year itch. 7 to 12 yrs seems to me the biggest test of a marriage. If you can ”make it” over that period, not just accepting, but winning through, then you achieve a wonderful fulfillment in each other. It’s never easy-going.Well, Harry, what you say is true. You would be proud of me and Ellie, who have sailed past your 12 year point many times over. But then you continue in the next paragraph, with words that touch my heart: “My heart ached for you, reading your last letter, and all our thoughts will be often with you at Christmas.” I’m not sure what I wrote to cause your heartache, but mine ached when I read how you continued:
As I am aware of both you and Flora now, I do often reflect on my own failings as a father. How much have I passed on to you my lack of self-confidence, apart from much self-centredness & I suppose irritation and frustration. This doesn’t depress me now, but it does sadden me. You both have many creative gifts and yes, somehow, you both appear to have a tendency to destroy your own happiness, even perhaps your own success.And you signed yourself “Your ever affectionate, Father.”
Thank you for those words, Harry. Thank you for the insight and the compassion. Thank you for the affection. I have made too little of it in these letters, and for that I ask forgiveness.
Your ever affectionate son, Peter
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