August 7th, 1958 – 4pm
No peace, even on holiday, or perhaps I should say vacation (=vacation from school; holiday = essentially, time spent in recreation or amusement away from home) – Mrs. F.D’s vacuum cleaner is whining away up above.
Five-finger Exercise by Peter Shaffer last night. A brilliant first play. The theme well-worn: rich philistine father v. sensitive young man, but the dialogue extremely good, with only occasional short longueurs. The youth’s affectionate relationship with his kid-sister – charming. The other two “fingers” were the mother, a soi-disant culturist, and a German tutor, son of a Nazi, engaged by the mother for the daughter.
The vacation frittering itself away, as usual. So much to do – NLJC [New Liberal Jewish Congregation] lessons for the whole of next term to be prepared, I won’t get time in term itself; three talks I have agreed to give at the children’s services on Rosh Hashono and Yom Kippur to be prepared; my Evening Institute French lessons to prepare. from trying to write anything iz oopgerett [you can forget it]. But I’m not kidding myself – I just haven’t the will-power to have a go at writing anything, anymore. And it all seems so ridiculous, anyway: if I do kratz out a couple of articles a year (which would be a high output for me) – so what?
The whining has stopped, thus depriving me of my last pretext for lack of brilliance in entries (how we cling to our pretexts – a shrewd aperçu this, if it could be worked up). Again, so what? Are all these literary journals so interesting, really? Judging from the extract Brod quotes from his book on Kafka, they’re mostly of the met-X-to-day, – he’s-reading-Y, – I-told-him-to-read-Z, – we’re-planning-a-holiday-at-N-and-from-there-we’re-going-to-M.
What, if anything, would I wish in, say, ten years time, to have a record of? I suppose I ought to mention that a new peril has loomed on the horizon. J.S. phoned me the other day, out of the blue, to say he was being allocated to Daubeney, where I taught from about 1950-1955. I had met him at his wedding, en secondes noces, to Rayner (Renee?), one of the [surname redacted] family. He was known to be peculiar, but at the wedding he made quite a sensible speech. I remember meeting his father, a former primary school head, who was worried about him then, as he was apparently having difficulty in getting through his emergency training college. The father a somewhat crabbed, pince-nez-ish man, but not without some dignity.
Anyway, J.S. – a few months after the death of his second wife – tells us he’s lonely, wants to find a suitable girl, he’d be grateful if he could come round to us once a week, could he stay with us for the Yom Tovim if he made suitable financial arrangement. I had at the very first felt that here was a chance to show that I’m not the marook (curmudgeon) that my mother says I am, here was a chance to lend a helping hand to a fellow creature in his hour of need. But – non possumus. Two hours of J.S. telling us he can’t stand an all-boys school, he must have girls, I can stand once, twice a year – but once a week, even a fortnight or month – no. (There is a definite sexual perversion – he tells me, e.g., he called to a girl in a P.E. lesson: “Come here, Miss Blue Knicks” and he can’t understand why this should be held against him.) In his own interests he would be well advised to stick to Daubeney or any other all-boys school, but he says he would resign the service if he thought he would have to spend the rest of his life teaching boys only. He could probably afford to do so. I believe his father left him property, and presumably he has something from his two deceased wives. he has a son and a daughter staying with his first wife’s parents, I gather – the fact that he has a daughter makes his little-girl perversion a little difficult to understand – but I’m inclined to feel there’s not much you can do about a perversion – certainly not pronounce moral judgement on the pervert. Any potential victims of the pervert, though, must be protected against him, in their and his interests.