I am writing this from 19 Woodlands Rd etc, where I am spending a week or so, gorging, & picking up a good deal of piquant information about Keithles. A very persistent lad, I gather, not without a good many subterfuges which may have imposed on himself, but on nobody else very much, unless perhaps Frannie. However it would be a shame to shout these things around where Auntie might hear them; I might get it back on myself one of these days. I must say the yarn about the motor- bike is not bad though — of course you know that Keithles bought a motor-bike, on which he came merrily spinning up the road regularly enough to 19 Wdlands Rd, home & beauty, whence apparently Father Johnson chucked him out about 11pm every night. The trouble was however that he could never get the bike to start at that time; & after trund- ling same up & down the road with loud roars & snorts & puffing from bike & swearing from Keithles, he had to go inside & announce that he couldn't get it to go. So naturally being a good Christian family they had to let him stay the night. Well, it wouldn't have mattered once or twice; but it appears the neighbours began to com- plain to Father Johnson, so he said, Well darn it all, the lad had better stay there anyhow & cut out the motor-bike stunt, as it didn't deceive anybody. anyhow So Keithles stayed & got the girl, who has always given her father a good deal of cheek anyhow. The funny thing was that the bike always went as good as gold in the morning. I've heard a lot of yarns like that; but as I have said, I had better not spread them around too widely for the honour of the family. Still you would have thought that a cove who had parents & brothers (or at least a brother) of the mental calibre of Keithles' relations would have been able to vary the scheme a bit now & then. But apparently it worked so well the first time that he thought, Well here goes! This is easy! & didn't take any more trouble. This proves that that he isn't an artist or he would have tried something fresh occasionally just for the sheer joy of creation. However as he was too busy to study (as Father Johnson told me in his most significant way) no doubt he didn't have much time for gratuitous exercise of his brain; & having perceived his goal, went straight for it with an entire absence of anything like a carefully thought out & coherent plan. This of course may represent the characteristic genius for muddling through, as Frannie succumbed to the onslaught. He appears to have made himself fairly well-known in the district while he was about, but I haven't heard of anyone else falling in love with him. One thing I must object to, & that is the striking likeness everybody professes to find between us, & I may be under the necessity of telling off someone severely before I leave; but up to now I have done my best to radiate the Christmas spirit & turn the other cheek when insulted. However there is a limit to that sort of thing, even with a gentle unassuming sort of cove like me. Of course I suppose you can expect the poor ignorant circumscribed stunted souls in a place like Manchester to know much better. It is a filthy hole, dirtier than London, which is just about putting the lid on. Seven collars have I had to wear in seven days & such is their hue after a couple of hours that they would make a nigger's neck look pale.

I came up here on Thursday afternoon, leaving Duncan behind with a large Christmas cake his cobbers in Sydney sent him with instructions to share it with me, but I haven't any great hopes that I'll get a look in by the time I get back. You see that my fame has spread to Sydney & all his friends are enquiring for a fuller account of my virtues & appearance, what colour eyes, taste in socks etc. As long as they send him Christmas cakes it doesn't matter. By the way, I hope Auntie Win's mysterious parcel turns up all right by the time I get back, & that D. hasn't scoffed it. Not that I should complain of having to go on to a simple diet again — I have been longing for our simple but satisfying meal of wholem. bread & figs & raisins ever since I got here & began to be stuffed. If this crew is a representative English family, no wonder they're the English are a CS nation. Christmas Eve was bad enough, but Christmas Day was disgust- ing. There were 15 or 16 people present altogether, & these pro- ceeding to demolish about ½ ton of provender, including a 70 lb turkey, a ham & ?lbs of sausages, let alone the rest of the stuff which I needn't particularise. By the time Frannie & Betty & His Nibs had disposed of the washing up, a tri triumph of large scale organisation & expeditious handling, for which I need not say how far I was responsible, it was time to buzz next door to have tea, under which the massive table groaned. The next door mob then came back, the exer- cise of walking out of one door & into the other being necessary to prepare for supper. Fair dinkum, what with the labour of eating (we didn't get through the 1st course of dinner till ¼ to 3) opening umpteen cider bottles with a screwdriver, clearing tables & washing up, starting motor-cars ( for it was me that cranked up a car triumphantly that had been freezing outside for 8 hours or so with run down batteries), pounding the piano as a soloist & for songs (Watchman what of the night etc), & giving all manner of useful hints & tips, by the time I crawled up the stairs to bed I was a tired man. And now that most pe of the crowd are nearly back to normal we are all going in next door again to night for a whist drive or something equally nonsensical & damnable. Father Johnson kicked up a bit over this & reckoned that he & Jack ought to be allowed to stay at home for a bit of in- tellectual converse; but Mrs J. got going in the normal pained motherly-wifely style that I know so well; so it looks as if ou we are doomed. I hope to God I never have a wife who goes all twittery at the idea of hurting the feelings of the neigh- bours. Or the relatives. If I had known I should have thought twice before coming up, but it can't be helped now. Perhaps we shall be allowed to play ping-pong or something nice like that. However I seem to have got off the subject of feeding, which is perhaps just as well. I am not a bigot on this subject, as you know, & have not had much of a chance to be a vegetarian since I left home, but swelp me, if I had to stand this sort of thing as a regular custom, I'd conk out in no time. No wonder the kids are so unhealthy, either; they are bogging in from morn to eve, with vigour, smacking of lips, & loud cries. I'd soon settle their hash if I had charge of them. They are not bad kids though apart from that. The other girl is not a bad sort either. Sings & plays a bit, & the lad has quite a good voice & uses it pretty well. Everybody (talking of th singing) thinks Keithles had very good taste in the way of songs; which speaks well for me, I think, as I picked most of th his for him. But of course I didn't say so, being a modest sort of cove. They think I've got very good taste too in music, so I just let them think it's in the family generally, & let it go at that. I needn't say anything about Father & Mother Johnson; she runs around like a little sparrow, but doesn't seem to have much control over anybody; while F.J. is the help- less Eng. paterfamilias all right — doesn't so a hand's turn. I had quite a chat with him on things generally the night I got here; he thinks the Unitarian movement in this country is dead, & he doesn't worry about him himself; so he isn't surprised it has faded out in N.Z. He is barmy on Walt Whitman, & informed me he knew him as few other men did; but very few people know how to read WW. He then took down Leaves of Grass & proceeded to read me a few chunks, after which I decided it was just as well. He then sug pushed a volume of prose works, prefaces etc on me, & suggested I should read the same while I was here; so I said I should give it a go. He doesn't seem at all backward about his own knowledge & accomplishments, but he appears to have had a pretty interesting life, knew Kropotkin & Baron von Hügel & all sorts of coves. One of founders of Oxford Univ. Fabian Society etc etc. His family seem pretty comprehensively ignorant for such a father; but that may be characteristically English for all I know. We have had a good bit of fun scandalising them together the last couple of days. I went to church last night after an argument with Frannie of considerable duration as to whether anybody's feelings would be hurt if I stayed away (unfortun- ately went to sleep during the sermon, but I was upstairs in in a corner by myself so E it didn't matter). Hell, the organist like a silly ass, for p a closing voluntary played the Hallelujah Chorus & the whole crowd stood up stock still in their pews; but I who had had to stand while he did the same thing the morning before hopped out & walked home. And letting this slip casually out, you never heard such a horrified outcry! Mrs J. quite paled. F's breath taken away. Father J's sister struck all of a heap. But this was nothing to the sensation caused when the conversa- tion having drifted via standing up generally & God Save the King & London customs in connection therewith, I had the face to suggest to Father J's sister's husband, who was going off in a paroxysm of more or less inarticulate admiration for the Br Empire that per- haps the said empire would come to an end some day from the instability of its social system, & added not with entire truth that I was a Socialist. They all paled distinctly & leapt from their chairs as if I had stuck a pin in all of them simultaneously. (Father J wasn't there then) And then we had a snorter ding- dong argument. You ought to have heard Mrs J. & the Father J's sister on socialists & the dole & Ramsay McacD & A.J. Cook & the Bolsheviks & when they would be put in gaol; while the husband leant forward earnestly & positively interrupted me. However it wasn't much good, as none of them had the vaguest idea what they were talking about; but it evidently quite stirred them up as they all started off again this morning at breakfast without a word from me or a contribution from me & went merrily on in the most satisfying way. The sister has a delightful sim- plicity somewhat reminiscent of R. Denton. What is wrong with the social system? Nothing. Why are people down & out, having to sell matches or themselves in London streets? Drink. Why do they drink? Weak will. Q.E.D. Dear, dear, it's an irrational world. The sister's husband is a great old lad, retired something or other, benevolent face if somewhat dull, bald head, deaf in one ear; he has a great admiration for the Daily Mail because of its fine principles, & regales me on English history from its pages. His great hero is Oliver Cromwell, but he shouldn't have cut off King Charles' head — he evidently feels about this strongly as he repeated it several times during the day. Oh, they're a hummer crowd — a man needs a dictaphone going all day to take it all down. This old lad thinks it is a great mis- take to give votes to all girls of 21; will mean the ruin of the country; he rea thinks really men shouldn't get the vote till they're 25, & then the country would be governed on sound, lines. A man of 40, now, was able to give a really sound, reliable, well-thought out, reasoned vote; I expressed some doubt about this, & suggested cutting out the vote altogether, but no, that would simply not do. Most illuminating views on the Chinese problem too, & why Australia was colonised; all of which he lays down with an air of quite infallible triumph — Well well, I suppose all this hotch-potch is characteristic of the great English middle-class, male & female; which accounts for a great deal of our abnormal mess up of a history. No wonder a cove like Shaw left them gasping like sick fish. And yet, my oath! They've produced Shakespeare & Dr Johnson & Keats! What a mix-up. The old lad doesn't bear me any malice & pats me on the back paternally & they all praise the lord thankfuly when Father Johnson says I'll grow out of it — he was worse than that once.

We had some good fus fun before I came up here, going to a few of the plays previously omitted; or rather to some which had come on in their place. About the best play I have seen was the Doctor's Dilemma done by the MacDona Players; by gosh! it was a snorter — everybody first rate without a single exception, the doctors most extraordinarily well done, Dubedat excellent, Jennifer done by Gwen Ffrangçon Davies — by jingo! she is good. The old doctor, & B.B. with the fruitiest voice imaginable, were the best of the quacks — you never heard anything so magnificent as "Stimulate the phagocytes!"! I think this crowd is doing a whole season of Shaw in the New Year; they have some farce or other on now, the Private Secretary, I think. Then we went to The Would Be Gentleman run by Nigel Play- fair at Hammersmith; the thing is made into a roaring farce, & N.P's Jourdain is not much like Molière's; but here again everybody was good; & the scenery & stage furni- ture etc by Norman Wilkinson also extraordinarily fine. He did a lot of the G & S stuff as well. The after- noon after this we went to the Church House Westminster to see the Coventry Nativity Play set to music by Rutland Boughton, the Great Communist Composer — this was another very good thing, done in modern dress & the three wise men in academic gowns, Herod in flash evening dress & top hat, his servants a Br. policeman & two soldiers; the entrances & exits were all over the hall & the chorus crowd pranced around all over the place. They put it across jolly well on the whole. They had quite a small stage with Joseph's house, & the manger & Herod's palace all stuck together like this