Peter Conradi J.

Iris Murdoch: A Life: The Authorized Biography


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So Nineham volunteered to get a towel. MacKinnon dressed in the most astonishing and terrible clothes, and they adjourned to the Lamb and Flag, where he bought Nineham a whisky, himself a double, then paced up and down the crowded bar, completing the tutorial, unaware of the effect his rhetoric was having on the other drinkers: ‘You see WHEN Kant says this, he MEANS to say that, and THIS is CRUCIAL,’ in his unique Scots-Wykehamist brogue. This continued for thirty minutes, and the drinkers – all servicemen – went completely silent. When he’d finished, the entire bar broke into entranced applause at this exotic manifestation. MacKinnon was genuinely nonplussed, and blushed deeply. He was ‘not a self-conscious eccentric but a genuine one’. Nineham, like Vera Hoar, identified MacKinnon as Rozanov in The Philosopher’s Pupil, an alarming figure to his students: Rozanov, unlike MacKinnon, maltreats them.

       6 This Love Business 1942–1943

      Two weeks after her arrival in London in July 1942,1 Iris wrote to Philippa Bosanquet that she now lived

      in a fantastic world, ringing with telephonic voices, & peopled by strange fictional personalities such as Lords Commissioners of His Majesty’s Treasury … (Oxford has nothing on the Treasury as far as tradition goes.) I can’t believe that it’s me writing these peremptory letters & telling people over the phone where they get off … all I do at present feels like play-acting.2

      She sat at a ‘desk 8 feet square amid heaps of blue files tied up with tape’ devising new regulations ‘with names like 1437/63538 90m. (14) &tc’,3 sharing a ‘lofty airy office on the 3rd floor’ working in ‘Establishments’, in what was then called the New Public Offices on the corner of Great George Street and Whitehall, looking straight onto the north front of Westminster Abbey.4 Her room-mate at one point was ‘a charming but excessively talkative staff-officer in whose company work is virtually impossible’.5 Iris sometimes fled to the Treasury library. Haughty pre-war Treasury tradition meant Lords Commissioners issuing Letters of Permission. Wartime procedure was more informal, and letters coming into the department went first, to their surprise, to the new, young ‘Assistant Principals’ (AP’s) such as Pat Shaw (later Lady Trend), Peggy Stebbing (later Pyke-Lees) and Iris. They had considerable power, looking up precedents and drafting official letters, which they passed on up to one of the two Principals ‘to’ whom they worked.6

      Was Iris ‘Treasury material'? Senior Treasury ‘top brass’ are famously statesmen in disguise, carrying with them a mass of interrelated exact knowledge, extreme day-to-day precision, intellectual detachment and realpolitik. While generally the Treasury was loosening up, and in measurable ways, Iris had landed in its stuffiest and narrowest division. Other departments looked outwards towards the wider world. ‘Establishments’9 looked inward, dealing with the internal workings of the civil service itself – discipline, pay, emoluments, rooms, complaints, requests to move.10 Iris spent much time on what she called ‘certain pay questions’11 – calculating what increments those civil servants who had been seconded for war work should be entitled to receive at the end of hostilities; otherwise known – a standing Bayley joke, this – as Notional Promotion in Absentia. She was also secretary to three committees, one designated to ‘investigate causes of delay’. She wrote to Frank:

      I still lose more files & overlook more important letters than anyone else in the Treasury … I’m learning a hell of a lot of new things about how our curious country is governed – & I’m even beginning to think that Administration is a serious & interesting activity.12

      Her colleagues were ‘decent and endowed with senses of humour’,13 and Michael Foot reassured Frank that August that Iris was ‘in good heart, but grown very quiet’.14 She was none the less frustrated. Frank had written from Cairo in June 1942 inviting her to ‘Join the WAAF, get a job as a cipher operator, and come out here. I’d love to see you again. I’d love to see anyone who makes sense.’15 Iris’s was not a ‘bad’ war, though, being Iris, she chafed at her ‘cushy job’ when the rest of Europe was ‘taking it on the chin’. She voiced her disaffection to Frank on 24 November:

      Lord, lord. I get so damnably restless … I would volunteer for anything that would be certain to take me abroad. Unfortunately there is