Must You Go_ - Antonia Fraser [105]
14 March
Harold’s poem, inspired by a remark of ‘a senior nurse called Sue’ to him at the Royal Marsden, ‘Cancer Cells’, appeared in the Guardian and it was subsequently printed by Bob Silvers in the New York Review of Books, to his great pleasure.
CANCER CELLS
‘Cancer cells are those which have forgotten how to die’–
Nurse, Royal Marsden Hospital
They have forgotten how to die
And so extend their killing life.
I and my tumour dearly fight.
Let’s hope a double death is out.
I need to see my tumour dead
A tumour which forgets to die
But plans to murder me instead.
But I remember how to die
Though all my witnesses are dead.
But I remember what they said
Of tumours which would render them
As blind and dumb as they had been
Before the birth of that disease
Which brought the tumour into play.
The black cells will dry up and die
Or sing with joy and have their way.
They breed so quietly night and day,
You never know, they never say.
Harold is I think fortunate to have been able to write two great poems at critical moments in his life – ‘Death’ when Jack died being the other. Come to think of it, what about ‘Paris’ in May 1975: ‘She dances in my life’? He had worked on this poem since his return from the hospital which has brought him much pleasure.
17 March
Innumerable children racing round and round the new font (thirty-five apparently). Like the tigers in Little Black Sambo I thought they would turn into ghee. The occasion was the christening party of Natasha and Jean-Pierre’s twin daughters Cecilia Antonia and Allegra Giovanna. Harold managed to make a well-turned speech at the godparents’ lunch beforehand: he invented the Twinnies’ conversation with one another, half in English and half in French. It came to an end at the age of eighteen when one says to the other, ‘It’s a funny old life,’ the reply being ‘C’est une drôle de vie.’
22 March
Went with Harold for a ‘family conference’ to the Royal Marsden to see the oncologist following the endoscopy which had showed a ‘reduction’. Dr Cunningham was extremely cheerful: it was good news and they were recommending an operation. Harold remarkably calm at the description of the operation and its results in full detail including the comment: ‘You’ll never be fat again.’ But as to the next batch of chemo, post-operation, he says he will make up his own mind about that.
25 March
Saw the surgeon Jeremy Thompson. He drew maps for us of what he was going to lop off from the stomach(!) He called it high-risk surgery and referred to 5 per cent mortality, as he was bound to do. I think we were both quite shocked by the reality of all this. As Harold said later: ‘I’ve been pretty broody ever since.’ Harold: ‘I never asked what would happen if I didn’t have it,’ so he rang up and asked. The answer was that the tumour would regroup and spread … Anyway, on a lighter note, Jeremy Thompson had on his desk a copy of Harold’s poem ‘Cancer Cells’ which he had sent him. We’d both been eyeing it and in unspoken accord longed to know what he thought of it. ‘I got your poem,’ he said at last. ‘Very enjoyable,’ he said with a humorous, almost indulgent smile. It was the most wonderfully inappropriate word, surely, for such a poem. That at least cheered Harold up.
7 April
Dedication of the plaque to my father in the local Hurst Green church. Harold gallantly elected to come despite a bad attack when he tried to eat, failed, took refuge in the kitchen and was fed ice cream by the aged Bernhurst staff Gwen and Ellen. But he did manage to have some words with Mummy, not seen since 3 November. They discussed Peter Stanford’s book on Heaven and Mummy told Harold that she thought he would be a very exciting presence in Heaven. Later Harold wondered aloud in the Chez Moi restaurant in Holland Park Avenue what would happen if there was no death, no one ever died. So perhaps there had to be