Dear Bertrand Russell, 1969

Preface by Bertrand Russell

The letters in this volume were written without any thought that they would ever be published. They recall some of the lighter moments of distraction from answering more serious correspondence, although I thought them sufficiently important to write and welcome their publication.

Undoubtedly the art of letter-writing has been lost in the twentieth century through the development of the telephone and, to a lesser extent, the greater ease of travel. In my youth it was imperative to master the art of letter-writing if one was to make one's way in the world. Letters had a formality which today must appear ponderous and even absurd. When my grandfather wrote to my father he would conclude 'Yrs. aff., Russell'. Every letter had a formal beginning and a formal ending, and even to a close friend one might end as follows : 'I sincerely trust that you and your family are in the best of health and that you are not displeased by the course of events in the great world. For my part I am enjoying the sunshine and have every hope of profiting by it. With warmest good wishes, I remain, Yours very truly . . .'.
The owner of a coal-mine seeking financial assistance from the Prime Minister or other leading Minister might have written :
'My Lord, I am venturing to approach Your Lordship on a somewhat delicate matter. The matter in question is the working of the coal-mine at Z. Your Lordship will doubtless have realised not only through the public press but also through private communications that the coal in this area is giving out unless forcibly encouraged by public money. Your Lordship is also doubtless aware that great hardship will be caused to all classes of the community in the neighbourhood of Z unless steps are taken and taken soon to mitigate the impending disaster. Trusting that Your Lordship enjoys good health, and continues to enjoy the confidence of the Party, I remain Your Lordship's humble and devoted servant . . .'.
One was never so brash as to ask for money bluntly, but the purpose of the letter was not lost on its recipient. It was a world remote from the age of the tape recorder, the telex machine and the 'hot line', and I cannot say that its passing necessarily denotes progress. Today favours are still sought in clubs and over lunch, but the growth of bureaucracies has produced a new form of letter which is archaic, deliberately uninformative and completely lacking in subtlety. The Civil Service rule books on letter-writing must form part of the obituary notice of the twentieth century.