GEORGE & JOHN By Ben Ezra Jacobson
This is a story about two men of different backgrounds, who had one thing in common...both were artists..., painters, most of their lives. Today we would refer to them as self taught amateurs...but in reality, their work was not dissimilar and actually quite good for the knowledge they had accumulated through trial and error, over a span of fifty some years. I had attended their painting exhibits...but considering our vast age differences, they always seemed more like friends of my grandfather than friends of mine. It struck me as peculiar how two individuals from such vast distances, cultures and life style could come together as friends and remain so for the remainder of their lives. As time passed, as it is wont to do, both men aged and eventually passed to their great reward. It was after this, that their journals became public and we learned the rest of the story.
TO YOU: DEAR READER...TO FULLY UNDERSTAND THE SEQUENCES OF THIS STORY, PAY PARTICULAR ATTENTION TO THE CONSTANT CHANGING DATES. A few Kleenix's on hand would be useful. B.E.J.
George Ordway and John Tisbury were both born in 1878. George was born into a large American family in Haverhill, Massachusetts, the seventh of eleven children. John was born into a small family in Cornwall, England. He was the second child of two sons born to John and Martha Tisbury.
George's father was a doctor and a man of some means. George and his two brothers were educated at a military college and it was assumed that they would all three follow in their father's profession. Dr. Ordway and his wife Phoebe wanted all of their children to have as good an education as they could provide. They were steeped in religion, medicine, arts and music. George and his brothers were all fond of drawing...and when their parents offered them instruction in painting...they grasped it. George however was the only one of the boys who actually had any skill in painting. When he announced to his parents that the wanted to go to New York to study in some of the avant-garde schools of the day, his parents remarked that painting was a great hobby...but he needed a substantial way of supporting himself and his future family. They compromised allowing him to study to be an apothecary...which by the turn of the twentieth century was called " a druggist", and was later called a Pharmacist. He was twenty two years old on graduating.
John Tisbury grew up in Cornwall, England. His father was a vicar at the local branch of the Church of England. The good curate was a kind and benevolent father and spent a great deal of time teaching his sons to read and to cipher ( math skills ). He instructed them liberally in religion...but also spent a goodly amount of time teaching them to fish along the coast of England. Tim the eldest, took to fishing and as an adult, embraced it as his livelihood. John, however, was more interested in the church which as a curate himself...supplied him with time to read and to paint.
In 1900 both young men became familiar with an organization which printed a periodical where aspiring artists could read about other artists works and techniques. In the back were listed names and addresses of budding artists who would be interested in communicating with one another. George Ordway took a subscription to the periodical and at a later point in time...listed his name and address as one who would like to correspond with other artists.
In England, John Tisbury also subscribed to the artist's periodical and he too listed his name and address hoping to communicate with other beginning artists.
He received two letters. The first letter was from George Ordway introducing himself as an aspiring artist with a brief history of his life. The second letter came from a veteran painter from York, England by the name of Henry Scott Tuke. Tuke was his senior by twenty years and John thought that he could learn the most from him...however, the thought of communicating by letter with a Yank from America was intriguing.
John wrote to both. The first reply back was from Henry Scott Tuke telling him that he would be coming to Cornwall to paint in the early spring. If they could work out a meeting...he would very much like to meet John and talk about their work. When Tuke arrived, they found an immediate attraction to each other. Both were men whose conversation centered around pigments, tinting, shading, perspective and composition. They discussed stretching canvas and priming with gesso primers which at that time was made from fish paste and white lead. They talked about mediums, linseed oil, dammar varnish, cadmium barium pigments and how to add people to one's paintings to breathe life into the piece.
Tukes was raised in a Quaker family. His manner was mild, soft spoken and patient. John believed that this good hearted painter could persuade the sun to shine on a dull day. When Tuke approached him about posing as model in one of his sea shore paintings...he readily agreed. It was early summer in 1901, and he had just celebrated his twenty-third birthday.
John was asked if he would be willing to pose naked on the sand looking out to the sea. He agreed to do so...if Tuke could guarantee their privacy and if his face did not show in the painting. He sat on the sand, legs positioned in such a manner to show his buttocks but not his groin...and laying next to him was his clothing, as if he had laid them on the sand while he bathed and swam in the ocean... and now sat to dry off in the sunlight. It was an epiphany for him. He had never felt so free as he sat naked on the sand while Tuke painted him into the sea shore scene.
As he posed...he mused over the idea of what his father would say if he knew his Curate son was posing naked for a painter...and if the little congregation where he served, should ever recognize him. The freedom of being unclad was too over powering. At this point, he was being himself...and he really did not care what other people thought of it.
"Take a break John. Your back must be breaking from sitting in one attitude for nearly an hour," Tuke had said to him.
John rolled over on his back and let the sun warm him. Scott came over and sat down next to him...handing him a bottle of ale and a sandwich. As they had their small repast, Scott said to him, " You have a great body for this kind of work, John. I would like for you to come to my studio tomorrow or the next day and let me show you the sketches for some new paintings. I have a commission to do one with some lads in a boat. You are a little too old to pass as a lad...but I could use you again for another beach scene in a week or so."
John, looking up at him, smiled and replied, "I would like to do that Scott. Perhaps you could take a look at some of my sketches and tell me if you think I have any hope of becoming a painter."
"Bring them with you. Are you free tomorrow? It is suppose to rain...so painting on the sand will be impossible," he stated.
"I will," John replied. "Do you want to paint any more today?
"Let's call it a day. If you get sunburned any more...you will not be able to take a hold of your penis to take a piss." With that, he got up and started packing his painting gear into the little cart that he had pulled down from his studio. John got up and started to put his clothing back on...realizing that he was indeed sun burnt and getting sore.
Scott turned to him as he dressed. "vinegar...put vinegar on your sun burn as soon as you get home. It will take the fire out. After about thirty minutes...wash in cool water to get the vinegar off your skin. Tomorrow the sun burn will no longer hurt.
"Don't think I have any at home," John had answered back.
"Never mind then...come back to the studio with me. I have vinegar there. You will have to strip down naked again...and I will put it on for you...so you won't be in agony trying to get it on sensitive places. After about a half hour or so...you can bathe in my room before going home," Scott said back to him.
"That will work...I'm ready to go," john had replied as they headed back to town.
In his journal that night, John wrote:
June 3, 1901
I posed for Henry Scott Tuke on the beach in Cornwall...in a secluded spot. Scott is a fast painter...and had me sketched in and the under painting done along with the surrounding rocks and sand by the time we broke for lunch. I was a lot more sun burnt than I thought. He was afraid if we continued...that I would be too burnt to pose tomorrow, weather permitting, so we called it a day by half past noon. He told me about the properties of cider vinegar to take the sting out of a bad sun burn...but I had none at home...so when he suggested that I go with him to his studio and he would apply it for me. I did. As burnt as I was, there were places that I could not reach. Posing naked was a new experience for me...and very liberating. I have found that I like being outdoors and naked. The air on my skin felt good. While he applied the vinegar...I embarrassed myself when a certain appendage became very rigid and stood out from my body perpendicular.
Scott told me not to worry about it...but said it was natures way of allowing all the crevices to be reached. Vinegar does not feel good when you get it under your foreskin. The cool bath in his wash tub afterwards though felt great. He was right...by supper time...the stink of the vinegar was gone. He lives upstairs over his studio. He asked me if I would like to stay the night. He is a friendly, polite engaging fellow... so I agreed. I went home before supper for some clean clothing, a night shirt and my journal...and returned,
. . . . . . .
George Ordway was disappointed with the responses he received from the painter's periodical. Although the writers seemed sincere about their studies and interests...he just did not feel a spiritual connection with any of them. He would work in the drug store during the day and return to the boarding house where he stayed, every evening. His land lady was fond of artists and allowed him to use her sun porch as a studio. She said...it has a tile floor and if you drop your brushes or kerosene pot when you clean them...it will not damage the carpets in the rest of the house. She would act gruff...but he would write in his journal...
June 3, 1901
Mrs. Prichard acts like she is afraid that I will damage her house with my oil paints and solvents...but she really is the kindest and best of women. She comes to the sun porch to see my progress and tells me that when I became famous...she can brag that I got my start in her house. I painted a picture of her garden and gave it to her for Mother's Day. You would have thought I gave her silver or gold. She has it hanging in the parlor over her piano.
I got a letter today from a painter in Cornwall, England. His name is John Tisbury...a curate and amateur painter who has become acquainted with an English painter name Henry Scott Tuke. I have read that there is a lot of discussion about Tuke. He paints a lot of young men who are posing naked. Some say his work is beautiful and uninhibited and others say it is a vulgar display of immorality. I have seen photos in some of the current magazines...and do not consider his work in bad taste at all. If we are created in the image of God...then why are we ashamed of our bodies. Surely the viewers can see the divine in the sketches. Of the three or four letters I have received since listing in the Artists Journal...the Tisbury letter seems the most promising. I will try to respond over the week end when there is more time.
. . . . . . . . . . .
Cornwall, England August 16th, 1901
Dear Mr. Ordway,
Thank you for your nice letter dated June 5, 1901. I received it three weeks after you mailed it...with some postage due. I am not pressing you for the extra three pence. But your American postal fees are almost always insufficient over here. Never the less, I would be interested in sharing some ideas and sketches with you.
I have had the good fortune to meet a gentleman by the name of Tuke who is an outstanding artist. I have even posed for him in one of his seashore paintings.
He is a paragon of kindness and patience...but not only that, he shares his
knowledge freely. I have learned about lightening my colors to a more soft hue and it has greatly enhanced the depth of perspective. It is not unlikely that he will be known in years to come for his techniques and subject matter. I am sure you have read in the Painter's journal that he paints nudes...but very tastefully done with out exposing the most sensitive spots.
Please feel free to tell me about yourself and your painting styles and preference. It is true, that I am a curate...as a source of some modest income...but in all sense...my great love is painting. In working with Tuke...I have shared his studio and his lodgings...and both are very equitable. Might I suggest the use of burnt umber, Prussian blue and Alizarin Crimson mixed together in lieu of black pigment. The latter being so flat and dead. Give it a try and let me know how you fare with it. We are learning that gesso made from fish paste and white lead is bad for the body. Lead is a great binder as we all know...but it seems to be causing some joint problems with English artists as they age. I should exercise caution in it's use.
Best wishes in your painting efforts. A sketch of your latest work would be very nice. Please do send at your best convenience.
Respectfully,
John Tisbury
#38 Southridge Lake Road Sudbury, Massachusetts September 15th, 1901
Dear Mr. Tisbury,
Thanks for such a nice letter. I did try your formula of burnt umber, Prussian blue and alizarin crimson in lieu of black...and what a warm effect it has. I would never have guessed it. Thanks for the tip. I finished an autumn scene earlier this week. Now to give it time to dry. I love the brilliance of the cadmium-barium colors...but they take such a long time to dry. One gets impatient to move on.
In reading between the lines...I am taking it that you are having more than
painting instructions from your Mr. Tuke? Forgive me if I am being too forward...but we moderns...are not as timid as our ancestors. I studied with a young man at the Boston Conservatory...and he was fond of doing nude sketches of men. He was also fond of other activities. Although I dabbled a bit...I have not found a constant companion in that regard. My brothers have married and begat children...but as much as I admire some of the lovely women of today...I have not wanted to be united with them and to foster children. I don't know why I have the sensations that I do...but I do. It seems very common with artists.
We have an American Artist here who is rumored to prefer the models for his paintings to be male...one Thomas Aiken. I attended one of his exhibits...and found it outstanding. Mr. Aiken is however...a married man...so the rumors may not be true. You know how rumors go.
I am enclosing a pencil sketch of my latest piece. Take a look and feel free to critique. Best wishes to you from America.
George Ordway
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Cornwall, England March 28, 1902
Dear George,
Since you insist on the American custom of speaking to one's peers by their first name, I am going to oblige you. It is not a custom over here so much...but as you wish. Your last sketch was excellent. How many years did you study at the conservatory. Forgive me, my friend...but your work is NOT the work of an amateur. Although your sketch is in colored pencil...I can tell that you have a great deal more understanding about the mechanics of painting than you admit. I showed your sketch to Scott...and he agrees. Bloody Hell...he even liked the sketch of the nude that you did...but he cautions to be a little more careful with painting the genitalia. He says...less is more. That may be true in a painting...but in the middle of the night...I totally disagree. Shock you? We English may be cautious with our speech...but we all like a big penis the same as you yanks. By the way...use Japan Drier to speed the oil
paint drying time.
Scott and I are planning a trip to Land's End to do some painting over the summer months. We are hoping the summer sky will afford the brilliance of the rocks and sea at the further most point in England.
Late last autumn...we went to St. Ives to work on some paintings. It was so nice there...that instead of staying at the inn...we took our camping gear and slept above on the high ground where we could look out at the sea at night. It was a warm night for Cornwall...and we lay in each others arms all night after a frolic with each other on our bed rolls. I experienced a "deep and penetrating" discussion with Scott...and then he reciprocated in kind. It was difficult to sleep after such an intense experience.
The next day a couple of lads from St. Ives came to our camp...having heard from the inn keeper that we were there painting the coast. They wanted to model for us. When Scott suggested that they needed to be nude...they balked at the idea. A few schillings was a great persuader. Not only did they strip naked...they interacted with each other while in this condition. It was distracting when we were trying to sketch. The timid one after he was paid...left for home quickly...but the extroverted one...asked about coming back later that night to watch the night sky with us. I experienced what you Americans call..."a three way." I would guess him to be about seventeen or perhaps eighteen at the most...but his credentials were large...and he really enjoyed sharing them.
I am spending more time painting and less time with the parishioners. It certainly seems like I am in the wrong business. In fact if the parish knew of my business...I would be out of business.
Wishing you a great autumn experience in the states...I remain your devoted friend.
John Tisbury
38 Southridge Lake Road Thanksgiving Day, November 27, 1902
My dear friend John,
I received your letter a few days ago. Mail ship carriers have not improved significantly...yet we hear that the modern world is moving at a faster pace. Your expedition to St. Ives sounded fantastic. You are becoming a little braver with your finite description of events. This last year, I have had only one such adventure. While at the conservatory in Boston...I roomed at the hotel with a young artist who was several years my junior. He had a portfolio of nudes he sketched...all female. From every appearance...he looked like just another ladies man. He claimed that his sketches were done at a bordello in New York...but when the gas lights were shut off at bed time...he became very interested in doing some exploring outside the normal bordello conditions. Although he was average height...maybe five feet ten or so...and some what muscular...his hardware was anything but modest...and he knew how to use it. I had a new experience where one gets up on their hands and knees, leans forward putting their chest on a pillow...and the person behind takes their wet tongue...well, I can not bring myself to say what he did with his tongue...but he almost made my eyes cross in doing it. This procedure was not a 30 second ordeal...but he continued to do it...over and over. I have never had another person lick my testicles...but the sensation was so intense that I found myself issuing a slow but consistent flow of seminal fluid from the foreplay. He seemed in no hurry to quit and I was not in any hurry to end it...so the action continued for some time.
To my surprise, he then anointed his penis with some body oil and my anal opening...and proceeded to penetrate. At first it hurt...and I had to have him pull out. He used his fingers to stretch the tissue there...and when he reentered...there was no longer any pain. The sensation was beyond description. He then ordered me to turn over on my back and he reentered and while he manipulated the former action...stroked me with some of the oil...and my climax was a real shaker.. If that is what being a Uraniun means...I guess I am one. The next day...before going to class...he wanted to repeat the procedure...and I agreed.
Please tell me that you destroy my letters to you as I have done with yours to me. I hope when I am old...they do not turn up in someone's attic or scrap book. I did not win an award for my painting of the nude bathers. In fact the general opinion of the public who view the exhibit...was that I was either a genius and a great modern or a pervert whose work should be destroyed. It is interesting to me that people take so much pleasure in intimacy...but are ashamed to see it in paintings and photographs.
You may not receive this letter until after the first of the new year...so I will wish you a Merry Christmas and a prosperous New Year.
George Ordway
Cornwall, England Lands End at Penzance August 1, 1903
My Dear Friend George...
We have arrived at Lands End, the most westerly point of England...and checked into the Inn here. The rocks are magnificent and the sight of the old light house with the waves crashing against it...makes one's skin crawl. It is such a beautiful sight. I stood and gazed over the sea and realized that you were just over three thousand miles away. I wish I could share this fascinating place with you. How nice it would be to have you here next to me on the over look...gazing out to sea...and to have you sharing my room at the Inn. Scott has been a great friend...but he grows restless and talks of relocating. It is likely that I will soon be on my own once more.
I sold a painting last week and got twelve pounds for it. That is about $25 American money. Two weeks ago, I sold a large floral painting and got eighteen pounds for it. A nice widow lady bought it for her home. She said it reminded her of her parents garden when she was a child. At the moment...my painting income is about equal to my money as a cleric...but I feel that my future is in painting and perhaps teaching it...and my usefulness as a curate is diminishing. I had occasion to mention to my father my consideration of leaving the clergy expecting him to raise bloody hell with me...but he did not. He suggested that one must be true to their inner emotions and if the life of a painter suited me better...he would encourage me to follow it.
Your adventure with the art student in Boston was riveting. I have experience the emotion you described so well...and you are right...there is little that compares. Will you have an opportunity to reconnoiter with him again? It sounds like the two of you have much to enjoy with one another. I wish I were the one sharing it with you.
Tomorrow we pack our painting gear to the overlook...and paint the sea this time. Scott also paints ships...and is very good at it. Perhaps he will be remembered as a seascape artist as much as for his "vulgar" nudes. I am grinning with cramps in my face as I say this. He is really fond of the male form...and it is unlikely that he will ever change from that.
Your passionate friend...
John
38 Southridge Lake Road Sudbury, Massachusetts Christmas Eve December 24, 1903
Dear John,
May I offer you the tidings of the season. Best wishes to you and your brother and parents for a joyful Christ tide. We are all together save one for this Christmas holiday. My younger brother Mark who is a navy man...is on the sea this day. He is greatly missed by the rest of us.
I have done something daring. In Boston last week, I had a photograph taken of myself and several copies made for family and friends. I am enclosing a picture to you so you know what the American artist to whom you have been corresponding, looks like. The photographer insisted that I comb my hair down the middle. He says it gives me height. He also insisted that I wax my mustache...which I hate to do for the sake of fashion. It makes the hairs scratchy and brittle. I much prefer them unwaxed and soft. The suit I am wearing with the belt or sash around the waist is very unbecoming to my way of thinking...but oh the sacrifices we make for the sake of fashion. I hope you find my appearance somewhat like the image you have of me in your mind. Although I jest and refer to myself as gaunt and ugly...in reality...I am not, but thanks to God...am very healthy and fit.
I am sending some sketches that I have done of Boston harbor. The tall ships intrigue me...and we are seeing so many steamers now where the masted ships were supreme. While there last week, I had lunch at the Wharf and talked to a couple of young men that worked on the steamers. One was only fourteen and had already been to sea. Another was sixteen and had been to sea three years in a row. As I visited with the elder of the two...I am convinced by his comments that he has been in some of the sailors beds. He suggested that after a week at sea...the sailors being men with needs...often satisfy those needs with one of the boys. He was very outgoing and I invited him to dine with me. To make a long story short, he ended up staying with me in my room...and I became familiar once again what it was like to have a young man in my arms at night. I treated him to several rides...and he reciprocated in kind. It is amazing to me how the young men today have such large feet and large endowments. This one really knew how to use his endowment to the greatest pleasure. Before he left, I gave him some money to pose for me the next day...half expecting him not to return...but to my surprise, he did return the next evening...and lay naked on my bed while I sketched him with colored pencils. I must confess, I did not follow your Mr. Tuke's advise. Instead I sketched his endowment to its full maximum. Afterwards because of the lateness of the hour, I invited him to stay all night. He accepted and when the lights were out...I spent several hours exploring him and enjoying him to the maximum, again. He asked if he might write to me and I have agreed. Hope this is not a mistake. Although ten years his senior, he seems unconcerned with the age difference. He asks a lot of questions about painting...and perhaps he has found a new interest in life.
I asked if he and his fourteen year old friend were ever on the same boat...and he replied that they were and that they shared a bunk. He confided that he had ridden his young companion many times at night while out to sea. Perhaps that is the reason they both seemed to enjoy our time together.
I am going home in the morning and will not be back to work until after the new year. Have a great New Year John. Please write again as soon as you can.
George Ordway
The New Year was a good year for both men as they painted their prospective masterpieces, selling a few to supplement their respective incomes. The years 1905, 1906, 1907 and 1908 came and went as did 1909. In 1910, after a brutal winter had passed, a very mild and peaceful spring approached.
Cornwall, England
April 3, 1910
Dear George,
Thank you for the birthday card. I turned thirty two years of age this week and when I look in the mirror...I see my late father's face staring back at me. Since his passing, I have been tending his parish flock...mostly elderly folks who think I can do no wrong, the same as he. Oh, if they only knew.
I got a letter from my friend Scott. He has had much success with his painting
has established the Newlyn school of painting at Newlyn, Cornwall. I miss the intimate nights spent with him when we were first studying together.
As we have discussed before, relationships between men are against the law in England...so the utmost discretion is required. It has been my experience that anyone who has submitted to this pleasant past time...is as much in danger as is his partner. That probably is one of the reasons why one never hears of frolics between men here. At least in America, you can pretty much do as you please.
I have painted a garden scene at Lady Mefford's home near Falmouth. She has expressed an interest in helping me to obtain a fellowship grant that would allow me to come to the United States for a year to study in New York. If that happens and I am accepted...could you come to New York and spend some time with me? I should know something perhaps by the end of the year. Life is good George. If I get to come over there and spend time with you, it will get a lot better.
Best wishes
Your affectionate friend,
John Tisbury
8313 Wayside Road Boston, Massachusetts May 28th, 1910
My dear John,
I am praying that you get the fellowship grant and can come to America. Of course I will go to New York to meet you. We have been corresponding for nearly ten years and have born our souls to one another repeatedly. Wild horses could not keep me away from you when you get here. I have a great assistant helping me in the drug store. Buying it when the owner wanted to move to New York was the smartest thing I have ever done. He is a reputable lad...and will care for the store as if it were his own. Let me know when the final plans are arranged. I know what you are thinking. The assistant is not one of us. He is married with small children. He is my assistant and that is all. If he were one of us, I think he would be very good in sharing a room. I have seen him bathing to remove chemicals before going home. He has a very nice body indeed.
Cornwall, England December 20, 1910
Dear George,
I am heart broken. Despite everyone's encouragement and offers to help me...I did not quite qualify for the fellowship grant to study in America. Another student was just a little ahead of me...and the academy gave the grant to him. I am happy for him...but still, a little disappointed myself. Perhaps in 1911. We shall just have to wait and see. In the mean time...I have sold several landscapes and a couple of floral canvases. It is not like I am not having any success. I should be more grateful for the good things that are happening with my work and less covetous of other peoples good fortune.
John
Cornwall, England December 30, 1911
My Dear George,
May I offer you the compliments of the season. It has snowed a lot this month all over England. Our Christmas celebrations were very festive again this year.
The Academy sent me another letter of rejection this year. Another younger student with more education than I have accumulated, won over the rest of us. Although disappointed...I am happy for him. His exhibit was wonderful and he does deserve the opportunity to study in New York. Perhaps next year I can get it.
Cornwall, England April 8th, 1912
My very dear George,
Thanks for the wonderful letter the last of March. I was so excited to win the Fellowship grant this year from the Academy and to get the privilege to go to New York. However, the Lord moves in mysterious ways. When I had my medical with my local doctor...he discovered a problem with my breathing. He thought I was in the early stages of pneumonia and I was admitted to the hospital two days ago. I have coughed and coughed and coughed. My chest hurt really bad the day I was admitted..but I am doing better now but entirely too weak to make such an arduous trip right now. It is said that there was not a runner up so it looks like no one from our area will be going to the United States this year. I was so excited to go especially since I would have been traveling on the new White Star Line flag ship, Titanic. It leaves in two days and will go to Cherbourg, France before leaving for New York. I so wanted to be on deck when it pulls into New York harbor there.
Your impatient but accepting friend,
John
38 Southridge Lake Road Sudbury, Massachusetts May 2nd, 1912
Dear John,
I was never so grateful to hear that anyone was ill as I was on receiving your letter of April 8th. Had you been able to travel instead of bed fast with pneumonia...my favorite person in the whole world, would be at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. You said that the ways of God are mysterious. How right you are my friend. I am so thankful you are still here. You can not pass from this life until I have had time to meet you in person and spend a lot of time with you.
I hope your illness is improving. I pray every night for your return to full good health. I shudder to think what it could have been.
By the way...your new photograph that you sent in your last letter is striking. You are such a handsome man. I could just imagine how firm your handshake would have been had you actually been able to come over here and how good your arms would have felt around me in the privacy of my room. Although I am disappointed that we will not meet evidently this year...I have hope of seeing you soon with next years academy presentation.
George
Cornwall, England August 6, 1912
Dear George,
I am much improved and the doctors think that as my strength returns...the pneumonia will have been totally cured. I have had to change my solvents for cleaning my brushes to kerosene. Since having pneumonia, I can no longer stand the smell of paint thinners. The kerosene seems not to bother me...and the oil in it leaves a nice coating on the hairs of the brushes so they do not dry out and become brittle.
Thanks for the kind request for another photo of myself...but I am still a bit thin from my illness and need to fill out once more before having my photo taken. I am working on a sketch of one of the inns here. I will send a sketch of it. The patron wants the ocean to show behind it...so obviously I will be painting from the back side and the view will be of the building contrasted to the sea.
Do stay in touch George. Your letters mean everything to me.
Love,
John
38 Southridge Lake Road Sudbury, Massachusetts July 4th, 1915
Dear John,
My how I wish you could have been able to get a chance at another grant to study here. I turned 37 years old today...and although that is not old by the modern charts, there are days that I feel ancient. I am negotiating to buy a bigger drug store in Boston. The gentlemen who ran it for the last 60 years has been feeling the effects of age and is no longer able to manage the business. His son has encouraged him to sell and I am considering buying it and moving full time to Boston. It is a big leap of faith to spend three thousand dollars for such an adventure. There is dwelling space above the store plus an extra apartment to let out. It would be a good investment...but the purchase price is scary.
The new photo you sent is very nice. You are such a handsome man for almost thirty seven. I must say that I am glad some young lady has not snatched you up.
I would like to be the one who does that. Best wishes my friend.
George
Number Six, Peacock Lane, Plymouth, Cornwall, England December 25, 1918
Dear George,
A very Merry Christmas to you my friend. We are all so relieved that World War I is over. May we never be involved in another one. I am having Cod Fish for dinner as geese and ducks are not yet plentiful again. My garden was only mediocre this year...but I did have some potatoes and a few carrots to have with the cod for Christmas dinner. Thanks be to God...who has blessed us with peace.
I spoke at Christmas Eve services here last night and again this morning for Christmas Day services. The parish here is so very poor as we try to recover from the war. I have not drawn salary for over a year...but the parishioners have brought me food, oil for the lamps and coal for the fireplace...so even so, I must say that I have been richly blessed.
I sold a small water color of one of the churches here in Plymouth. It fetched five pounds. I spent the money on more paint. Some would say that I had made a foolish purchase. I can hear you saying that "we like what we like"...and that is true. The only thing that could have made my Christmas celebration here better would have been to have you here sharing it with me. As you describe your new life in Boston and the customers that you serve...I can close my eyes and see it all. It is almost like being there behind the counter with you...feeling the camaraderie of your friendship...and the warmth of your body in your bed at night. I hope you have a great new year George. I so long to see you in person and spend time with you before our time runs out. Take care of yourself...and may God bless.
Love you,
John
Boston, Massachusetts January 1st, 1922
Dear John,
Congratulations on the sale of your large floral painting. My goodness, fifty pounds. If my conversions are true, I believe that is a little over one hundred dollars in America. I am so impressed. You say that a countess purchased it for her daughter after she and her husband set up in new home in London. How very impressive. I have not sold anything for a couple of years...but the drug store business has prospered and kept me busy.
My shop assistant has left me to start a drug store of his own in Buffalo, New York. It pressed me to keep up on orders...but then a new assistant applied and I hired him on the spot. He had experience, was only 25 years old, and made it clear that he was one of us. I let him stay with me upstairs a few days...while he looked for an apartment of his own...and found that I preferred if he just stay here.
He is not much of a receiver...but he is a great giver. For now, I am contented with that.
It has been a cold winter here so far and dealing with the snow has been an obstacle. Boston gets a lot of snow in winter. There were several days that we were snow bound. We got caught up on all the back orders and had an abundant time for diversions.
I would not be telling you this if there was anyway that you could be here...but since there is not for now...the truth is still the best policy.
Wish it was you lying next to me at night,
Affectionately,
George
Plymouth, England Easter April 12, 1925
My dear George,
How the years have clipped by and we continue to share our lives with one another. We are in our 47th year. Surely we will be able to meet at some point. I received your latest photo. I think the silver among the gold is very flattering to you. I always knew that you would age so very gracefully. The new dark suit in the photo made you look much younger than your age. You are still such a handsome man. I am going to tell you again that I am proud to know you. A visitor noticed your photo on my mantel piece and ask who you were. I told her you were my brother whom I have never met in person. She chuckled as I explained that we were pen pals these twenty four years and at one time...ambitious artists.
You are still putting your customers ahead of your own needs and interests while I give my sermons and paint away.
I had been working on a watercolor of another church here in Plymouth...but I could not get the perspective quite right and ripped it up one afternoon and started over. The second time around...it turned out ok. I am afraid I was not a very good example of patience and forbearance.
At night, when I go to bed after my prayers, I think of how it would have been to lie next to you all these years and to feel the warmth of your body and the touch of your hand on my skin. I could almost weep sometimes. In those early days we were so sure that we would meet soon and the years have slipped away and left us wanting.
I am thankful for you George. Your letters are the second best. You know that we agreed to destroy our letters so as not to leave a discernible trail after we had departed. Well, I must confess that I lied. I have kept everyone of your letters and have them in scrap books. When I am lonely or sad, I read them over and over. It is like having you here in the room with me. I hope you will forgive my dishonesty.
Love you,
John
Boston, Massachusetts April 30, 1925
Dear John,
My dear friend, do not apologize for a sin you did not commit. I have not destroyed your letters either. I have then all from the first one in 1901 through the last one dated three weeks a go. Mail moves so much faster on modern ships and I must confess that I look so forward to the next letter from you.
I have lost another assistant. He seemed so qualified...but after a week in my bed...he told me that he did not enjoy sex with "an old man." In trying to overcome this obstacle...I have hired a lady this time. She is older, very knowledgeable and is dependable. She can talk to the other ladies that come into the shop about "female" disorders and saves me from a lot more embarrassment. She makes no inquiries as to why I am unmarried, and seems to have no interest in me. Thank goodness.
I apologize to you old friend for talking about my sexual adventures which vacillates between plenty and nothing every year. The truth is, other than the last assistant...who stayed four days...I have had no contact this year. I gauge my interests against your example...and find myself wanting. Forgive me for my lack of good judgment in regaling you with adventures that were really fiascoes.
If you were here...I would then have the best.
Love you too.
George
Plymouth England October 17, 1930
Dear George,
There are rumblings in Germany again. Some upstart named Hitler with political ambitions. We have heard him on the radio and he sounds mentally unbalanced. I'm telling you right now...that man is going to destroy Europe.
John
September 27, 1936
Dear John,
America has been in a national depression these last seven years. The people are wondering why God has forsaken us. They fail to recognize that they over extended themselves with buying stocks on "the margin." Our president kept promising prosperity through "trickle down economics", in other words, you stimulate the very rich and they will throw crumbs to the working class. The man was a joke. Now one of the wealthiest men in the land is trying to save the poor and working class by having the government put the labors to work building roads, parks, bridges etc...and the rich who caused the problems in the first place are screaming their God Damned heads off.
I wish you were here where I could take care of you. I fear for your safety in England with that Nazi nut on the loose. The one thing we all agree on over here is that he, Hitler is going to bring chaos and wreckage to Europe. Yes, I wish you were here in my apartment with me. You could just paint and I would run the drug store. I would rest better knowing you were here safe.
Love you John,
George
Plymouth, England March 1939
Dear George,
Germany denies that there is an extermination order to rid Europe of the Jewish race...but we all know it is going on. I do not know why this has to happen...the Jewish people haven't done any harm to us. Next it will be political foes, than gypsies and homosexuals. Mark my words...in praying about this...I have felt the spirit telling me that it is going to happen. I have not been a paragon of goodness... and being a single man and known by some to have engaged in that which I have engaged in...could be among them, if England falls. We are 61 years old George and have been friends for 38 years. I want to live to see you. yet.
John
Boston, Massachusetts December 25, 1941
Dear John,
What is happening in the world? Now we are at war with Japan. Has the whole world gone crazy. I hear stories on the radio about the war in Europe and go to bed praying that you will be safe another day. You have indicated that in Cornwall...you have not experienced the devastation that larger areas have received. I am sure that as your parish's cleric...that you are a great comfort to your flock. Things are busy here. The war plants are in full swing...and with so many of the young men going over seas...those of us who are now old men...try to contribute where we can. The medicine business is always on full go...but a lot of our supplies that we could get before the war are now being sent to the war effort.
I worry about the people who can not get the medications they need...but they seem to take it in stride for the war effort.
It does not seem like Christmas this year. I went to church last night and again today. It gives so many a little hope in these troubled times. Take care of yourself my friend.
Love you,
George
Plymouth, England May 1st, 1945
Dear George,
While it is true that we have not had as much of the effects of war here as has London...food, medicine and even the post has been effected. Your last letter took four months to reach me. It was like being back in 1901 again. We heard on the wireless last night that the Furor put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger...as Germany falls apart. Why could he have not done so ten years ago. All the talk is about the invasion. I had a special service today at my parish and we had a full house. Most of the congregants are old people...praying that their children and grandchildren will make it home...while knowing that some will never do so again.
I have been working on some small water color sketches. It keeps my spirits up when I feel at my lowest. One wonders if we will ever see the nation at peace and the healing balm of providence shine on us again. How I wish you were here with me. We are both 67 years of age and have been corresponding for 44 years, George. I have longed to snuggle up next to you and feel the safety of your arms around me. I fear that we will never meet. I am thankful for my life having been extended this far...but it is unlikely that going to America will ever come to pass for me.
You have said that you have not had time to do any painting...but I wish you would someway take a little time to do so. It gives me hope.
Love you back,
John
Boston, Massachusetts April 15, 1948
My dear John,
My 70th birthday was this last week. Friends and extended family had a surprise party for me. I look in the mirror and see an old man, but inside, I do not feel much different then I did when I moved to Boston and took over the drug store. Well my friend, I have sold the store. Most of us work a lifetime for other people or for an income and savings...that doctors, hospitals and the undertaker will get some time later. I got enough from it to buy a small house near my childhood home in Sudbury. It has four rooms...and the biggest bedroom is going to be my painting studio. It has a garden in the back and I am working to make it resemble an English garden. Any suggestions you can suggest will be appreciated. Although I have been in the process of moving in since the painter and wall paper hangers have finished making it all new and presentable again...I intend to take a few days off from any more improvements to just relax and enjoy some free time.
Your birthday is coming up soon. I want to mail a package to you with some gifts for your birthday. It is good that mail has returned to an improved amount of time to reach you. Your last letter arrived in less than a week.
It may take me a bit to wrap and tie the packages...so don't expect them for a week or so. Oh, by the way...are you still using the same brand name of paint, canvas, and brushes. I am having trouble finding some pigments despite the war is over.
Best early birthday wishes my old friend. Love you buddy,
George
Lands End, Cornwall, England June 4th, 1948
Dear George,
Thank you for the birthday wishes. I cried the morning that I turned 70 years of age. My life has not gone where I expected. I received a nice letter from the bishop of my region advising me that I was being retired. They thanked me for my many years of service and that they felt I deserved a pension for all those years. I gave my last sermon on Sunday ...and now am a retired clergyman without a fortune to carry me the rest of my days. Perhaps this is where all the faith is to be exercised of which I have spoken the last 47 years. I am vacationing here at Land's End for a week or so...and then must look for a place to stay...and perhaps something to do to earn a small income to supplement my pension.
For the first time in my life...I feel uncertain what to do. I wish you were here to comfort and direct me. Your advise has always been constant through out the years. Today, I feel so alone.
I should very much like to thank you for the packages you promised. I received a post saying that they were sent to Plymouth and redirected to post at Land's End. A courier advised me that they would be delivered today sometime after lunch. I am looking forward to opening them...as you have always been replete with useful items on my birthday. I will write an appendage to this letter when they arrive...and post it tomorrow...in hopes that you will receive it early next week. Thanks for your years of being a faithful companion. I deeply regret that our paths were unable to cross. Perhaps down the road they may yet...but if not...in heaven to be sure. Love you...more and more, with each letter.
Dear Reader: John's letter was the last he ever wrote to George. It was never mailed. At 12:45 in the afternoon...a knock came to his cottage door. Expecting the postal carrier to be there with the expected packages...he hurried to the door only to find a silver haired man in a brown suit standing there with a large bag full of packages.
"Good Afternoon, Gov...might I help you," John asked?
"Good Afternoon to you sir," said the gentlemen with a big smile. "Are you John Tisbury, late of Plymouth, England?"
"I am," John replied.
The handsome older gentlemen in the brown suit, set his packages on the ground, stepped forward and threw his arms around the stunned cleric. Stepping back, extended his hand to shake hands, he replied, "John, I am George Ordway come to see you all the way from Boston, Massachusetts."
John took his hand and shook hands with him. Tears ran down his face as he in turn, stepped closer and put his arms around the visitor.
"I have waited a lifetime to see you, George. Again he hugged the visitor.
George put his arms around his old friends neck. They embraced one another for the longest time...as they cried and laughed and hugged again. Gaining his presence of mind, George picked up the sack of packages and followed John into the cottage. They unwrapped the packages and spent the afternoon reminiscing over the events of their lives that they had shared with one another in letters through out the years. That night, they cuddled together in John's bed and enjoyed the closeness they had dreamed about for 47 years.
John was a man without property or means other than a meager pension from the church he had served for over four decades. George was a man of substantial means from his business of over four decades. John went to America with George for a year...and although he enjoyed the tour...he longed for England. George returned to Cornwall with him...and spent the rest of his life as John's constant companion and benefactor. Together, they painted and sold many paintings until their days ran out. Today, they both rest in the local cemetery, side by side.