pasties for our lunch & took them down to the beach, where we sat on the golden sand & looked out to St Michael’s Mount, & then we swam. I like it better out on a big beach sometimes than our own cove back at the house. Our cove is secluded but sometimes you feel shut off from everything. No one can see you. Marazion beach had people with picnics & transistor radios, all playing ‘Summer Holiday’ over & over again. Secretly I rather like that song. It was great to be out in the open, not cooped up at the house or in our tiny little secluded beach. It has been so hot & humid, today there was a bit of a breeze & it was delicious.
Guy & I walked across the sea on the causeway, to the castle. The others couldn’t be bothered to come. We talked about lots of different things, I can talk to him about anything, he’s v. calm but he’s interesting too and I like that. I didn’t think you could talk to a man like that, I have to say. Guy asked me what the exercise book was for & I told him about the diary. He raised his eyebrows. ‘Are we all in it?’
Me: Yes.
G: & your darkest secrets?
Me: Yes, but I don’t really have any. (Except I do, squashing my nose every night and bust exercises & not being quite sure what intercourse is.)
Guy: Tell me one.
Without thinking I just said, ‘I want to be a writer.’ I wished I hadn’t, but he didn’t say anything, just nodded & we walked on over to the island and climbed up to the castle. It is very steep, along a cobbled path, but in the shade from the sun. The castle looms over you, it is very dramatic. After a minute G said:
‘I think you’d be a jolly good writer, Cecily.’
Me (holding my breath, because I found I really cared about his answer): Why?
G: Because you notice everything, & you see the world in your own way. You’re your own person & you’re lovely as you are. Don’t ever change.
That’s exactly what he said. I memorised it.
I think that is about the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. Especially because I want to change everything about myself. I was embarrassed, but I didn’t want him to see. I asked him about himself instead, what he wants to do when he leaves. He wants to be a satirist, writing for television or a lampoon like Private Eye. He would be ever so good at it, I think.
We walked to the top of the castle & we climbed to the viewpoints where you can stand & look out across past Penzance almost to our house, & the sun was glinting on the waves like diamonds. Everything looked still & peaceful from up there. I wondered about Miranda & Mummy & the others back at Summercove & what they were doing.
I talked to Guy about Miranda. I wanted to explain that she’s not always this bad.
Guy said she’s looking for attention. ‘Perhaps she doesn’t get enough of it.’ I laughed cause EVERYONE pays her attention because she’s so badly behaved a lot of the time. Then he said, ‘Why does she dislike your mother so much?’
I know they don’t get on but it’s not terrible, so I was surprised he’d noticed.
Me: She’s just being difficult, that’s all. Mummy can be tough with her, I suppose.
G: She’s terribly jealous of you. Hadn’t you noticed? That’s why she’s nasty to you.
I laugh: Hardly. She thinks I’m a baby.
G: It’s more than that. How old are you?
Me: Fifteen. Sixteen in November though.
G: Fifteen? Really? He shook his head.
Me: Yes why do I seem much younger than that? (I was crossing my fingers not.) G: Sometimes, yes. A lot of the time . . . no. Fifteen, eh?
(He was silent for a moment & then he nudged me. I was blushing.) Perhaps she’s right. Perhaps you’re still just a baby then.
Me: You’re 19! You’re not much older. Just three years & a bit.
G: I suppose so.
I hope he was joking.
We came back via the moors & the daytrippers were just leaving the beaches along the way past Penzance: Lamorna Cove & the rest of them. We stopped off at Logan’s Rock (the pub not the rock) for a lemonade & sat outside on the tables. The countryside was so beautiful, green and lush & heavy, so still & quiet. Jeremy, Louisa & Archie talked about what we would do this week. Guy & I didn’t say very much. I sat next to him quite still. I felt the cotton of his shirt on my bare arm. I didn’t move. He didn’t move. We sat there while the others talked. I can’t explain it but it was wonderful.
When we got home, it was late, after nine-thirty. Miranda was in bed. She pretended to be asleep but she’d been crying. I heard her when I came upstairs. I got into bed and I said, ‘Are you all right?’ softly, but she didn’t say anything. I don’t think she is and I don’t know why.
Monday, 29th July 1963
