"I wish instead of books someone sent me a small can of olive oil!" This was Eileen O'Faolain's exasperated response to yet another American consignment of improving literature in 1946, writes Mary Leland
Her words were reported by her husband Sean in a letter to their friend John V. Kelleher in America, and Kelleher spent a lot of ink and effort in the next couple of years trying to make sure that Eileen got her heart's desire.
Eileen O'Faolain wasn't the only one wishing for the "American parcel" in grim, coal-less, frost-bound Ireland in the aftermath of the second World War, and Kelleher's provisioning skills came under terrific pressure from his friends in Dublin.
Kelleher, who is Emeritus Professor of Modern Irish History and Literature at Harvard, he was awarded a D. Litt. Honoris Causa by University College Cork in 2001 in recognition of his contribution to Irish studies. His correspondence with Sean O'Faolain began in 1943. His friendship with another eminent Irish writer, Frank O'Connor, dates from 1946, and his collection of the letters he received from both men is now at the Boole Library at UCC. The Boole also holds the correspondence between O'Faolain and his American editor, the poet Peter Davison, dating from 1963, as well as photocopies of seven letters between O'Faolain and the American novelist and poet George Weller.
Facts of life
Most of these letters are marked by the drollery or acerbity of the authors as they deal with issues of writing, editing and, above all, selling the artist's work. There are reflections on politics, religion, the carry-on of Dublin writers, the importance of reviews, the significance of critics and criticism, all the stuff of life to artists, scholars and readers who also happen to be friends. But the early letters from O'Faolain to Kelleher also demonstrate the degree to which, in 1947, the relentless facts of life dominated all else.
When, in a letter dated January 1947, O'Faolain discusses Elizabeth Bowen and Eudora Welty in terms of the importance each novelist gives the "technique of living" as opposed to the "technique of writing", it's obvious that the technique of living is getting to be pre-eminent in his mind:
"My poor wife. . .slaves trying to make wet turf burn, gathering twigs in Killiney Wood, drying sodden bits of timber, slacking the fire when it does burn so that our exiguous stock shall not burn too fast - and all the household, including myself and the maid, in bed with flu. . ." By April efforts are afoot to ship coal, which had to be sent as a gift to get past the Irish customs, and O'Faolain remembers that the previous year he would have done anything to stop scurrying around - "to be able to work, to stop sawing branches"; meanwhile Eileen, ill with a duodenal ulcer, wants cottonseed oil, rice, sugar, and two pairs of nylons.
Coal from America
The nylons, like the coal, become an issue in themselves, but in the meantime O'Faolain writes of having met Evelyn, the first wife of Frank O'Connor (whom he usually refers to affectionately as Michael O'Donovan) and, learning from her that she is also trying to organise coal from America ruefully suspects that her source, like his, must be Kelleher. In May Eileen writes that the nylons should be size 39" and, aware that the coal is on its way, tells Kelleher: "We might get the Brian Boru Pipers' Band out and pipe that coal up from the quays. . ."
It was shipped by A.J.Lane to O'Faolain, Frank O'Connor, Niall Sheridan and Niall Montgomery in Dublin and to Standish O'Grady in Limerick, travelling in 50-lb bags of two tons to O'Faolain and a ton each to the others. It was in the O'Faolain shed by September, and Sean's thank-you letter mentions his visit to Italy for a travel book which has to be completed along with his work The Short Story (first published by Collins in 1948). Also under consideration is a book about De Valera and another, a commission from Longman's with an advance of £1,000, on a life of Cardinal Newman.
The food parcel, however, hasn't been released as the sugar is 4 lbs more than allowed and a special licence is required. There's no sign of the nylons, but when the olive oil appears they'll drink Kelleher's health.
Eileen herself writes that she is losing hope for the nylons - "I conclude they have been swiped by some dog's body" - and believes that the customs are operating a policy of not putting notions into people's heads. A box of food sent in June hasn't been released, perhaps because they trusted to a pal of Niall Montgomery "who knew a fella whose aunt's brother's cousin worked in the docks. . ."
Because she has sent the Kelleher children copies of her own books The Children of Crooked Castle and The King of the Cats, there is a tiny mention of her writing, but her main theme is the stockings: "I'd hate to think of any other pair of legs sporting those nylons!" And lo! Later that September the nylons arrive: - "four pairs of sheer glamour!" - and now perhaps there's some hope of the food.
In the meantime the coal is grand, having "no objection at all to Irish grates. The neighbours came in to look at it. . ." And in December 1947 Sean writes to say that the food was released by customs in October. The trouble had been too much sugar, but now it had come and "We duly passed out to Frank O'Connor his quota - and did he gloat!" As well as this, "Dicky E." (Richard Ellman) has sent a parcel "with many bachelor dainties and, o joy, a flask of maple syrup."
"Marvellous scrounger"
The seasonal plum-pudding and mince-pie making now going on in the household doesn't distract O'Faolain from the critical maltreatment of Frank O'Connor's new book, The Common Chord". He writes of how much he himself had longed for fame "which not only never came but never could: for who could bestow it whom one could trust?"
The December issue of The Bell carried Patrick Kavanagh's angry reaction to Frank O'Connor. As O'Faolain tells Kelleher, Kavanagh's piece was disgraceful and Frank O'Connor had been deeply hurt. The magazine was "against the ropes just now", but Peadar O'Donnell, revealed by the Kavanagh/O'Connor row as an inefficient editor, was nonetheless a "marvellous scrounger".
Throughout this correspondence of 1946 and 1947 both Sean and Eileen O'Faolain insist on repaying Kelleher for his shipments, but one certainly gets the impression that O'Donnell and O'Faolain shared that essential attribute of Irish life at the time - the ability to scrounge successfully.