week of the war. From 1917 onwards a gap. He seemed very prosperous when I met him in London, but now no money - nix. What happened? He doesn't tell me.
But when we get to Paris the good life will start again. Besides, we have money. Between us we have fifteen pounds.
All the same, I never thought we should really get married. One day I'll make a plan, I'll know what to do....
Then I wake up and it's my wedding day, cold and rainy. I put on the grey suit that a tailor in Delft has made for me on tick. I don't like it much. Enno comes in with a bunch of lilies of the valley, pins it in my coat and kisses me. We get a taxi and dive through the rain to the town hall and we are married with a lot of other couples, all standing round in a circle. We come out of the town hall and have one drink with Tonny and Hans. Then they go home to look after the shop. We go on to another place. Nobody else is there - it's too early. We have two glasses of pot and then another two.
'How idiotic all that business was!' Enno says.
We have more port. It's the first time that day that I have felt warm or happy.
I say: 'You won't ever leave me, will you?' 'Allons, allons, a little gaiety,' Enno says.
He has a fiend called Dickson, a Frenchman, who sings at the Scala. He calls himself Dickson because English singers are popular at the moment. We go to his flat that afternoon and drink champagne. Everybody gets very gay. Louis and Louise, tango dancers, also at the cabaret, do their show for us. Dickson sings In These Hard Times:
That funny kind of dress you wear Leaves all your back and your shoulders bare, But you re lucky to be dressed up to there In these hard times.
Enno sings:
Quand on na pas de chaussures On fait comme les rentiers, On prend une voiture, On ne vous voit pas les pieds!
Parlous done de chaussettes: Faut pas les nettoyer, On les retourne, e'est pas bete, Puis on les change de pied!
I sing: 'For tonight, for tonight, Let me dream out my dream of delight, Tra-la-la....And purchase from sorrow a moment's respite, Tra-la-la....'
Mrs Dickson reads aloud excitedly from a theatrical paper. Two girls they know are mixed up in a murder case. She reads about Riri and Cricri, rolling her 'r's'. Rrrirrri, Crrricrrri....
I am a bit drunk when we take the train to Amsterdam.
....The room in the hotel in Amsterdam that night.
It was very clean, with a rose-patterned wallpaper.
'Now, you mustn't worry about money,' Enno says. 'Money's a stupid thing to worry about. You let me do. I can always get some. When we get to Paris it'll be all right.'
(When - we - get -to - Paris....)
There's another bottle of champagne on the table by the bed.
'Love,' Enno says, 'you mustn't talk about love. Don't talk'.
You mustn't talk, you mustn't think, you must stop thinking. Of course, it is like that. You must let go of everything else, stop thinking....
Next morning we eat an enormous breakfast of sausages, cold meat, cheese and milk. We walk about Amsterdam. We look at pictures in the Rijksmuseum. 'Would you like to see your double ?' Enno says.
I am tuned up to top pitch. Everything is smooth, soft and tender. Making love. The colours of the pictures. The sunsets. Tender, north colours when the sun sets - pink, mauve, green and blue. And the wind very fresh and cold and the lights in the canals like gold caterpillars and the seagulls swooping over the water. Tuned up to top pitch. Everything tender and melancholy - as life is sometimes, just for one moment....And when we get to Paris; when - we -get - to - Paris....
'I want very much to go back to Paris,' Enno would say. 'It has no reason, no sense. But all the same I want to go back there. Certain houses, certain streets....
No sense, no reason. Just this nostalgia....And, mind you, some of my songs have made money....' Suddenly I am in a fever of anxiety to get there. Let's be on our way, let's be on our way....Why shouldn't we get as far as Brussels? All right, we'll get as far as
But when we get to Paris the good life will start again. Besides, we have money. Between us we have fifteen pounds.
All the same, I never thought we should really get married. One day I'll make a plan, I'll know what to do....
Then I wake up and it's my wedding day, cold and rainy. I put on the grey suit that a tailor in Delft has made for me on tick. I don't like it much. Enno comes in with a bunch of lilies of the valley, pins it in my coat and kisses me. We get a taxi and dive through the rain to the town hall and we are married with a lot of other couples, all standing round in a circle. We come out of the town hall and have one drink with Tonny and Hans. Then they go home to look after the shop. We go on to another place. Nobody else is there - it's too early. We have two glasses of pot and then another two.
'How idiotic all that business was!' Enno says.
We have more port. It's the first time that day that I have felt warm or happy.
I say: 'You won't ever leave me, will you?' 'Allons, allons, a little gaiety,' Enno says.
He has a fiend called Dickson, a Frenchman, who sings at the Scala. He calls himself Dickson because English singers are popular at the moment. We go to his flat that afternoon and drink champagne. Everybody gets very gay. Louis and Louise, tango dancers, also at the cabaret, do their show for us. Dickson sings In These Hard Times:
That funny kind of dress you wear Leaves all your back and your shoulders bare, But you re lucky to be dressed up to there In these hard times.
Enno sings:
Quand on na pas de chaussures On fait comme les rentiers, On prend une voiture, On ne vous voit pas les pieds!
Parlous done de chaussettes: Faut pas les nettoyer, On les retourne, e'est pas bete, Puis on les change de pied!
I sing: 'For tonight, for tonight, Let me dream out my dream of delight, Tra-la-la....And purchase from sorrow a moment's respite, Tra-la-la....'
Mrs Dickson reads aloud excitedly from a theatrical paper. Two girls they know are mixed up in a murder case. She reads about Riri and Cricri, rolling her 'r's'. Rrrirrri, Crrricrrri....
I am a bit drunk when we take the train to Amsterdam.
....The room in the hotel in Amsterdam that night.
It was very clean, with a rose-patterned wallpaper.
'Now, you mustn't worry about money,' Enno says. 'Money's a stupid thing to worry about. You let me do. I can always get some. When we get to Paris it'll be all right.'
(When - we - get -to - Paris....)
There's another bottle of champagne on the table by the bed.
'Love,' Enno says, 'you mustn't talk about love. Don't talk'.
You mustn't talk, you mustn't think, you must stop thinking. Of course, it is like that. You must let go of everything else, stop thinking....
Next morning we eat an enormous breakfast of sausages, cold meat, cheese and milk. We walk about Amsterdam. We look at pictures in the Rijksmuseum. 'Would you like to see your double ?' Enno says.
I am tuned up to top pitch. Everything is smooth, soft and tender. Making love. The colours of the pictures. The sunsets. Tender, north colours when the sun sets - pink, mauve, green and blue. And the wind very fresh and cold and the lights in the canals like gold caterpillars and the seagulls swooping over the water. Tuned up to top pitch. Everything tender and melancholy - as life is sometimes, just for one moment....And when we get to Paris; when - we -get - to - Paris....
'I want very much to go back to Paris,' Enno would say. 'It has no reason, no sense. But all the same I want to go back there. Certain houses, certain streets....
No sense, no reason. Just this nostalgia....And, mind you, some of my songs have made money....' Suddenly I am in a fever of anxiety to get there. Let's be on our way, let's be on our way....Why shouldn't we get as far as Brussels? All right, we'll get as far as
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