Who wrote this to his wife?
I wish I knew how to flirt with other women, and especially with my wife. I wish I’d sown more wild oats in my youth, and could excite more than I fear I do. I wish I wasn’t in the Navy and had to drag you out to Malta. I wish I had an equal share of the money so that I could give you far handsomer presents than I can really at present honestly manage. In other words, I’d like to feel that I was really worthy of your love.
Actually it is Lord Mountbatten writing to his wife, Edwina. I am reading Indian Summer by Alex von Tunzelmann. She is writing about Indian Independence and tells the story by concentrating on three of the actors: Nehru, Gandhi and Mountbatten. It is immensely readable and not too scholarly.
The Mountbattens lived on Malta from the late 1920s when he was attached to the Mediterranean Fleet. When Noël Coward came to stay they took him to Gozo. He stayed for a month describing it as “one of the gayest months I have ever spent with him and Edwina in Malta”. Excellent historian of trivia that she is, A von T quotes his thank you letter to Dickie Mountbatten.
Dear dainty Darling, I could not have enjoyed my holiday more … Please be careful of your Zippers Dickie dear and don’t let me hear of any ugly happenings at Flotilla dances. Love and kisses Signal Bosun Coward (I know Bosun ought to be spelt “Boatswain” but I don’t care!)
The Mountbattens’ house on Malta was subsequently the first married home of Princess Elizabeth. It must have been a welcome change from post-war Britain.
Zippers in the old RN? Buttons surely. Which reminds me that a few years ago in Valetta near the Barraka Gardens I saw the most button happy khaki uniform I had ever seen—looked High Edwardian with a hysterical splatter of keyhole buttons and leather knobs on the shoulders. War surplus? Want to guess? It was a motorcycle constables tunic from the time when young Maltese were recruited as traffic police in protectorate and post-p Alexandra and Cairo. Owner was very firm about origin… and price. His great uncles kit had several he said.
We were invited to a cocktail party that week on what used to be called the Via Reale given in a townhouse of a local baron. This very kind gentleman had sat out the worst of the Mintoff years hunkered down in a bungaloid in the Dukeries. Dom dead, he returned. He was proud of a title that a number of the toff end of the social order had: Patrician of Rome. Papal or HRE? Don’t know. Drinks excellent local prickly pear liquor cut with naval strength gin. Stuff to give the troops.
Gosh, that’s the way to see Malta. We are just tramping around and dropping into bars. We did walk past Triq Lord Strickland which may be a calculated insult to Lord S as it is a nondescript village thoroughfare.