If my father had been an aesthetically-obsessed writer enlisted in the military and not an audiophile student enrolled in veterinary school, this is the same letter he would have written me:
9 March 1944
Dearest Tess
Here is a little note to wish you every happiness on your birthday. Your mother will give you the present I have for you. It is some painting material and I want you to take great care of it & paint very carefully, because these colours and brushes are not made as toys but are the kind which real artists use, and when a thing is the best of its kind, even if it is only a little thing like a paint brush, it should be treated like a Sacred Animal. Always remember it is not the size or price of things that is valuable but the quality.
You have been a great happiness to your mother and me for five years. It is very sad that I see so little of you. I pray that before you are six ¹ we shall be together at home once more
Ever your loving
Papa¹ It was her sixth birthday.
(From The Letters of Evelyn Waugh)
Later he would write, “My unhealthy affection for my second daughter has waned. Now I despise all my seven children equally.” A charming brilliance, he had.
