Letter from Wilfred Bion to Francesca, May 3, 1951. The Other Side of Genius: Family Letters

Francesca darling,

If I followed your advice on the phone I should start by writing June 9th followed by a short pause, and then June 9th, with some exclamation marks written in some sort of fiery substance not yet invented alas. Then I think: if this is a dream it is the longest and most marvellous dream I have ever had; if it is not a dream, then I don't know how to contain myself. My goodness, I think, how lovely, how lovely she is. And she has promised to marry me. How extraordinary! I must have got myself muddled up with someone else. Whatever shall I do? Will she be very disappointed when she finds out what a dreadfully ordinary person I am? And then I feel rather sad. And then I begin to hope that you like rather ordinary people and that you really know I am ordinary and love me just the same. Is that right? Do say it's right. My dearest Francesca, if only I could tell you how I feel. How excited and how nervous. Will you really love me when you know how tired I get when I am fagged out with work? But you must know even now how dull I can be and how tiresome.

I am trying to think of some way we could arrange a honeymoon. I feel it would be a great help if we could manage some time alone together without having to wait too long for it1 but there is no doubt that the practice is a very serious tie which really dictates our movements very exactingly. But I think it is gradually taking shape – these things have a way of becoming sorted out as one considers the possibilities. It is such a queer business trying to think clearly when for ten hours a day one has the exacting task of being absorbed in the preoccupations of a number of people all of whose holiday arrangements and so on have to depend on those we make ourselves. Not to mention that any of them are liable to commit suicide or some other less spectacular – and in one case more spectacular – indiscretion. I

have been so much in the