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Henry
P.S. From Radclyffe Hall to Evguenia Souline, 1934:
Darling—I wonder if you realize how much I am counting on your coming to England, how much it means to me—it means all the world, and indeed my body shall be all, all yours, as yours will be all, all mine, beloved.… And nothing will matter but just we two, we two longing loves at last come together.
Re: Hometown stuff
A 9/3/20 6:20 AM
to Henry
H,
Shit. Do you think you’re going to enlist? I haven’t done any research on it yet. I’m gonna ask Zahra to have one of our people put together a binder on it. What would that mean? Would you have to be gone a lot? Would it be dangerous??? Or is it just like, wear the uniform and sit at a desk? How did we not talk about this when I was there?????
Sorry. I’m panicking. I somehow forgot this was a thing looming on the horizon. I’m there for whatever you decide you want to do, just, like, let me know if I need to start practicing gazing wistfully out the window, waiting for my love to return from the war.
It drives me nuts sometimes that you don’t get to have more say in your life. When I picture you happy, I see you with your own apartment somewhere outside of the palace and a desk where you can write anthologies of queer history. And I’m there, using up your shampoo and making you come to the grocery store with me and waking up in the same damn time zone with you every morning.
When the election is over, we can figure out what we’ll do next. I would love to be in the same place for a bit, but I know you have to do what you have to do. Just know, I believe in you.
Re: telling Philip, sounds like a great plan. If all else fails, just do what I did and act like a huge jackass until most of your family figures it out on their own.
Love you. Tell Bea hi.
A
P.S. Eleanor Roosevelt to Lorena Hickock—1933:
I miss you greatly dear. The nicest time of the day is when I write to you. You have a stormier time than I do but I miss you as much, I think.… Please keep most of your heart in Washington as long as I’m here for most of mine is with you!
Re: Hometown stuff
Henry 9/4/20 7:58 PM
to A
Alex,
Have you ever had something go so horribly, horribly, unbelievably badly that you’d like to be loaded into a cannon and jettisoned into the merciless black maw of outer space?
I wonder sometimes what is the point of me, or anything. I should have just packed a bag like I said. I could be in your bed, languishing away until I perish, fat and sexually conquered, snuffed out in the spring of my youth.Here lies Prince Henry of Wales. He died as he lived: avoiding plans and sucking cock.
I told Philip. Not about you, precisely—about me.
Specifically, we were discussing enlistment, Philip and Shaan and I, and I told Philip I’d rather not follow the traditional path and that I hardly think I’d be useful to anyone in the military. He asked why I was so intent on disrespecting the traditions of the men of this family, and I truly think I dissociated straight (ha) out of the conversation, because I opened my blasted mouth and said, “Because I’m not like the rest of the men of this family, beginning with the fact that I am very deeply gay, Philip.”
Once Shaan managed to dislodge him from the chandelier, Philip had quite a few words for me, some of which were “confused or misguided” and “ensuring the perpetuity of the bloodline” and “respecting the legacy.” Honestly, I don’t recall much of it. Essentially, I gathered that he was not surprised to discover I am not the heterosexual heir I’m supposed to be, but rather surprised that I do not intend to keep pretending to be the heterosexual heir I’m supposed to be.
So, yes, I know we discussed and hoped that coming out to my family would be a good first step. I cannot say this wasan encouraging sign re: our odds of going public. I don’t know. I’ve eaten a tremendous amount of Jaffa Cakes about it, to be frank.
Sometimes I imagine moving to New York to take over launching Pez’s youth shelter there. Just leaving. Not coming back. Maybe burning something down on the way out. It would be nice.
Here’s an idea: Do you know, I’ve realised I’ve never actually told you what I thought the first time we met?
You see, for me, memories are difficult. Very often, they hurt. A curious thing about grief is the way it takes your entire life, all those foundational years that made you who you are, and makes them so painful to look back upon because of the absence there, that suddenly they’re inaccessible. You must invent an entirely new system.
I started to think of myself and my life and my whole lifetime worth of memories as all the dark, dusty rooms of Buckingham Palace. I took the night Bea left rehab and I begged her to take it seriously, and I put it in a room with pink peonies on the wallpaper and a golden harp in the center of the floor. I took my first time, with one of my brother’s mates from uni when I was seventeen, and I found the smallest, most cramped little broom cupboard I could muster, and I shoved it in. I took my father’s last night, the way his face went slack, the smell of his hands, the fever, the waiting and waiting and terrible waiting and the evenworse not-waiting anymore, and I found the biggest room, a ballroom, wide open and dark, windows drawn and covered. Locked the doors.
