Simon Spanyol is fundraising for Alzheimer's Society

Simon Spanyol is fundraising for Alzheimer's Society

Christmas letters of the famous and infamous - humorous history: BUY THE BOOK

Christmas letters of the famous and infamous - humorous history: BUY THE BOOK:

BUY THE BOOK

Gret news the book is avaialble to buy through Lulu at only £6.96!

http://www.lulu.com/content/paperback-book/if-only-id-known---the-christmas-letters-of-the-famous-and-infamous/302719

Josef Vissarionovich Stalin 1940

Kremlin
Red Square
Mockba 1
CCCP

December 1940
Happy New Year Comrade,
“Start at the beginning and finish at the end”. Not as complex as some of Vladimir Illyich’s didactics perhaps, but an appropriate maxim for this vehicle of communication.
If I had thought that last year (The 18th Congress of the party “The greatest genius of humanity, teacher and ‘vozhd’, who leads us towards communism, our very own Stalin”, my 60th birthday with both the Order of Lenin and the Hero of Socialist labour) was impossible to follow, I would, uncharacteristically, have been wrong.
You must have seen Time Magazine from January where I was named their Man of the Year 1939! “ World shattering” it said, perhaps they are premonitive.
Svetlana, my little sparrow, was fourteen in February and we had a party out at the Dacha in Kuntsevo. She really is a chip off the old block and issued me with lots of orders for the day signing them Svetlana Stalina (the boss). She invited all of the gang -Lev, Vyacheslav, Nikita, Lazar, et al. How they like to spoil her, they must have misheard and thought her presents could soften steel.
March saw a conclusion to the last four months of unpleasantness with our Finnish neighbours when they finally conceded that maybe the fence had been in the wrong place between our properties. They even gave us Karelia as a goodwill gesture. Not our most successful winter outing, which makes me all the happier about the détente with our new, found German friends.
Also in March, Lavrenty was very busy in Poland, Ukraine and Belarus and told us that he has found over 20,000 nationalist and counterrevolutionary activists. He can be very untrusting and insisted we all sign some order or other freeing up their camp space. I have a nasty feeling this may come back to haunt us.
I heard that Mikhail Afanasievich Bulgakov died and was buried in Novodevichy cemetery. I didn’t go to the funeral, as I had never bothered to answer his request to emigrate. I thought “The White Guard” was one of the best Russian plays of all time and, although I could never admit it in public, some of the stuff we banned really was quite funny.
On a brighter note, the deal Molotov struck meant we could annex Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania and get whole tracts of Romania Vis a Vis Northern Bucovina and Bessarabia, or Moldova if you prefer. I may have to rethink my taste for Kindzmarauli but suspect the collectivisation of their agriculture will not sweeten their red wine too much. Another spin off from this Ribbentrop pact is that I have been forced to stop screening Eisenstein’s Alexander Nevsky, which is such stirring stuff, at least for the time being. As part of educating the proletariat this year’s hot release is the third part of the Gorky Trilogy “My Universities” quite well done by Donskoi but hardly going to inspire major patriotic zeal.
The International labour May Day parade in Red Square from atop the Lenin’s mausoleum witnessed the prototypes of the Petlyakov VI 100 bomber, T34 tank and Yak1 fighter plane. I keep wondering if they are a waste of money now that Germany is at war with France and England. By the way, did I tell you my son Vasily has been promoted to Captain in the air force and at only twenty years old?
June saw my work on “work” reach conclusion with the Decree of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet that not only got us back to a seven-day week and eight-hour days, but also got rid of the mandatory dismissal for absenteeism. Too many saboteurs and dissidents have been using this clause as an escape to more bourgeois employment. They must think I was born yesterday or that my name is Stari (old) not Stalin.
August finally saw us rid of Lev Davidovitch, or Judas Trotsky as I prefer to call him, when he was murdered in Mexico with an Alpine ice axe - slightly ironic when you consider their climate compared to ours. He was still waiting for the revolution in the West while we are busy building Socialism in our country.
I see Eugene Lyons finally published his book about me “Stalin: Czar of all the Russias“. Although much of what he said is charming I am unhappy with the title and amazed at how simple Americans are. He just repeated everything I told him “ No one man or group of men can dictate. Decisions are made by the party….”. Khrushchev told me a good one - I should have told him “Did you know they have taken the word gullible out of Webster’s dictionary?” "Omigod" he would have replied, “Have they really?”
September - the Germans were bombing London and have signed a deal with the Japanese and Italians. Molotov has a mole in Tokyo who tipped us off about the latter and in the end I think we acted surprised enough. I asked Molotov to tell Herr Hitler that with our agreement we expect to know in advance of such manoeuvrings when next they meet.
November - The 23rd anniversary of the Great October Socialist Revolution
Molotov was asked to go to Berlin in November to placate them over Bessarabia - Adolf was worried that we got a bit too close to the black stuff in Romania. He was trying to sort things when Mr Churchill’s RAF dropped a couple of bombs close enough that they had to use an air raid shelter! Asked our man in London to convey our serious displeasure to HMG at such a hostile act
Now the year is drawing to a close I plan to go to the new Tchaikovsky hall to hear The Moscow State Academic Philharmonic as Schostakovich has finally finished his 7th symphony.
I read the transcript of Roosevelt’s Christmas address “The Nazi masters of Germany have made it clear that they intend not only to dominate all life and thought in their own country, but also to enslave the whole of Europe, and then to use the resources of Europe to dominate the rest of the world.” How he must wish he had a pact like ours.

Josef Vissarionovich Stalin

Tsar Nicholas II 1916

Mogilev, Russia
Christmas 1916

Dear ,
How time flies! Last Christmas saw me at home in our beloved Alexander Palace at Tsarskoe Selo with my dearest wifie Alex, or “Sunny” as I like to call her, and our five little ones- Olga, Tatiana, Maria, Anastasia and Alexis, gathered round the Christmas tree. The pile of presents underneath was somewhat smaller than normal owing to Cousin Willy not being his usual generous self. I cannot fathom why he now considers us, and Cousin Georgie in England, to be his enemies. Dear Grandmamma would be exceedingly annoyed at his less than peaceful stance towards everything not German. I suppose the Austrians can just about be counted on his side together with other ragtag and bobtail central European states.
This last year has been very busy, leaving me with little time for my favourite relaxations smoking, dominoes etc.
Fortunately spring came early and I was able to get out in the garden for some much needed fresh air and exercise, digging, sawing logs, etc. My darling Sunny was much happier lying in her beautiful mauve boudoir telling the government what to do and giving her usual good advice to all and sundry. She received so much help in her good works from her spiritual advisor, good friend and mentor, Grigori Rasputin. They were constantly closeted together and in early Summer Grigori told Sunny that, in spite of optimistic reports from the various Grand Dukes and Generals at the front, the army was suffering heavy casualties. I do not understand this as we were assured that 500 of our sturdy peasants armed with a rifle and two bullets to every fiftieth man, and the rest with stout sticks, could easily overcome one German machine gunner. The problem apparently arose when an officer shouted 'fire' and half of them ran for buckets of water and the others started rubbing the sticks together. He also told her that he had seen a wonderful vision in which essential food supplies got through to the troops (cabbage soup, etc.) I told my army friends this at dinner and one of them muttered something about Grigori seeing pigs flying but I'm sure he never mentioned pork in the vision.
However, all the foregoing gave Sunny, and Grigori, a very good idea - who better to inspire confidence and gets things moving than the Tsar, and before my feet could touch the ground I was on my way here to be actual, as well as acting, commander in chief.
What is so touching is the men's faith in me, they call me their 'Little Father' with such simplicity and loyalty. When this dreadful war is over I am sure they will return to their humble homes and tell everyone of the Tsar's kindness and humanity.
We had to forego our usual summer seaside holiday at our little palace in the Crimea owing to many petty annoyances, such as that fool, Witte, the Prime Minister or something (Sunny would know she is so good at politics) being assassinated. The four girls so loved digging sandcastles and now the eldest is 20, they were getting quite elaborate. Even Royalty has to take its share of hardship and set a good example.
You may already have heard, the greatest possible misfortune happened only last month. Grigori, our Friend, disappeared. He was later found drowned, shot and poisoned. We were devastated when the police came to the conclusion that it must be murder.
We cannot understand who might have wanted this saint among men out of the way. He had been making some odd remarks, saying that if anything happened to him, our dynasty could not survive, as if something founded by the great Peter could just be snuffed out because a peasant (albeit a very holy one) was not here to advise us.
With Sunny's sure hand guiding the ship of state and my leadership and inspiration for our gallant army what could possibly go wrong?
And now, a little secret before I wish you all a very happy 1917, Cousin Georgie is making me an English Field Marshall! I always said he had a nose for talent.
Happy Christmas


Tsar Nicolas II

Winston Churchill 1944

10 Downing Street
Whitehall
December 15th 1944
My Dear ,
To continue from my El Alamein speech of 1942 - now is not the end but it is, perhaps, the beginning of the end!
Clemmie suggested that this year we might include a brief synopsis of events with our Christmas card and then suggested that, with my experience of writing, I might like to compose it on the family’s behalf.
In January, like a Websters dictionary I was Morocco bound and, as I was still recovering from that nasty bout of pneumonia, took some time out in Marrakech at La Mamounia to paint. Harris informed me that this month his men dropped two thousand eight hundred tons of bombs on Berlin and that he could win the war without a ground assault. Following Teheran last November we are turning our attention to Europe post war and I must make a mental note to “clip his wings” before he does something completely abhorrent.
A German air raid in February blew out many of the windows in number ten. We were unharmed and the mess was quickly cleared up with little or no damage. Charlie the parrot showed the right spirit and was particularly vociferous after the raid repeating “f*** Hitler” much to everyone’s delight.
We had a family party for Clementine’s fifty-ninth birthday and Diana, Sarah and Mary were with us at Chartwell. Randolph could not join us as he was in Yugoslavia helping Tito’s partisans. In November the red army liberated Belgrade and: Serbia, Croatia, Slovenia, Bosnia (including Herzegovina), Macedonia, Montenegro, Vojvodina and Kosovo were made into the new Yugoslavia. I fear for the long-term future, as must anyone who has read the history of the Balkans. Given the proximity of this new state to Greece we are planning to fly out to Athens this Christmas in the hope that we may stop Josef from excessive expansionism.

June of course saw the liberation of Rome on the 4th with the operation Overlord Normandy landings on the 6th. I had wanted to go over with the first wave but H.M. prevailed and we visited Monty on the 10th. I wrote to Uncle Joe who had been asking for the western front that the enemy is now bleeding on every front at once; perhaps this will stop his perfidy.
In August I visited Pope Pius XII and we discussed the dangers of communism, which in light of the treatment before this war of the Orthodoxy in Russia was a subject close to his heart. This month also saw the liberation of Paris much to the delight of my “bete noir” General De Gaulle. I have already made arrangements that, if he outlives me, my funeral cortege should stop at Waterloo station to give the radio announcers something to relish.
Following Teheran last year I had hoped that Roosevelt, Stalin and I might meet together but in the eventuality I sailed to Canada in September and flew via Cairo to Moscow in October. Although Stalin made a large tick on my piece of paper (Romania 90% Russia 10% rest, Hungary 50:50, etc.) we left after the usual dreadful rounds of interminably long, drunken (even by my standards) dinner parties with no formal solution to either the Balkans or Poland. If and when Russia takes the lot it will be interesting to see how long it retains them, my money is on considerably less time than our Empire has already lasted.
November saw us in Paris to mark the Armistice, Franklin won a record fourth term in office and I celebrated my seventieth birthday and even His Majesty King George stayed until after one in the morning. The three events combined to make me question what next? Europe is already preparing for the peace but what of the Albion and the Conservatives? Although my party colleagues assure me that once the war is won we will be returned to government I am less convinced. Beveridge’s “Full employment in a free society” will remind the populace of the general strike and depression rather than the homes for heroes campaign.
Whichever way next year’s election goes I believe in destiny and am sure I will be PM again. In the meantime, if people ask me what I will do if not re-elected I will tell them that when this war is over history will be kind to me as I intend to write it!
Yours always,
Winston S Churchill

Guy Burgess letter 1959 - he was one of the Cambridge spies

Hotel Mockba
Manezhnaya Square
Mockba

Christmas 1959

Dear,

I don’t really know why I bloody writing this as I won’t post it and even if I did it wouldn’t get past the censors. I trust you will get it eventually as I have asked Donald to hang on to all my ramblings and do something with them when I have finally succeeded in drinking myself to death, not that I am in his good books again despite his darling wifey and sprogs now being out here too.

God, you would not believe what a depressing fucking place Moscow is in December. They don’t celebrate Christmas, of course, the sky is grey, the buildings are grey, the slush is grey, the people are of the same hue inside and out and it is brass monkey cold. Sorry for this depressive outpouring but there are months where I feel sorry for myself and then there are months without an “r” in them, not that you can get oysters in the capital of the glorious Soyuz Soviet Socialist Republic.

I can’t believe it is eight years since Donald and I left England for the last time, meandered through France and Czechoslovakia to wind up here. I have heard that my going with him stirred up a ruckus and put poor Kim under suspicion but what to do? Kim was saying one thing but Yuri was insistent that, without me, Donald would wobble and crack and send us all down. I know he found leaving Melinda on his birthday a terrible wrench but she’s here now. He has gone completely native, working up the road in the Lubyanka and teaching the spooks in perfect Russian, whereas I hate their glottal tongue, it always sounds like they are arguing, so I just get Andrei to translate everything for me.

I hope Kim will find it in his heart to forgive me; after all I did recruit him and even interviewed him for the BBC about the Spanish Civil War. I have to say the way he got me out of America to tip off Donald was masterly – “Go and get into as much trouble as you can” he said, red rag to a bull. I think I was arrested three times in one day mainly for being drunk but they knew that my passenger was not a hitchhiker, for God sake he had his pants down to his knees. How is it that these distant memories are so clear and I have no ruddy clue what I did yesterday?

Andrei is a dear, sweet boy. Even though I know they are paying him, and the USSR is more like Victorian England “a love that dare not speak it’s name”, he acts like he cares and doesn’t seem repulsed by my increasingly bloated form.

Macmillan was over this year with his entourage, which made downtown Moscow look a bit like an Old Etonian re-union. I dined with Randolph Churchill up at the National overlooking the Kremlin and entrance to Red Square. I’m afraid my suit has seen better days, with a bit of darning here and there, and that actress (Coral what’s her name?) I met must have forgotten to pass on my measurements to my tailor. I think Randolph hoped that I would have renounced communism and become straight so the conversation was a bit strained. Even though this place is not exactly happy valley, everyone is treated more or less equally badly and the vodka is incredibly reasonable. I had to tell him that I would never lose the views I formed way back in the thirties with the Cambridge Apostles. Strange to think it is twenty-five years ago since I first visited Moscow. I don’t suppose they will give me a silver Ferris wheel trophy to mark the first time I passed out in Park Culture back then.

Anyway, if and when you read this have a drink on me
Yours truly,


Guy Francis de Moncy Burgess

Dostoyevskys House in Baden Baden

 

By way of a diversion here is the house where Dostoyevsky lived whilst he was wasting his money in the Casino and being inspired to write the Gambler. 

Preface to "If only I'd known the Christmas letters"

We, like most people, have occasionally received a Christmas round robin letter casually slipped in with a card. They are most often from someone that one has all but lost touch with - of course, they are unnecessary from close friends & family.
Although, in general, these letters tell us little of much significance about the writer’s family over the previous year “Sophie passed her grade 6 clarinet”, “Our new puppy `Bozo’ is such a tearaway”, etc. they do have an attraction. Perhaps they provide a slightly voyeuristic feeling?
We have also noticed that, no matter what the circumstances, it is OK to mention the death of a pet or loved one but not to dwell on it. People rarely fail to put a positive spin on the year so we don’t often see “Laurie’s new drug habit means I now wear a money belt to bed to stop him stealing from me”, “Tabatha’s latest body piercing developed a nasty infection so she now looks as though she has two navels”.
As a record of the previous year, however trivial, Christmas letters are a part of contemporary history. This sparked a thought and we wondered what various historical figures would have written?
The result is a series of; hopefully, humorous round robin letters purporting to be from the famous, infamous and even fictional characters that grabbed our attention.
And now the disclaimer, a friend of Simon’s at school had failed to revise for his mock history “O level” examination but completely filled the answer paper nonetheless. When he got his inevitable “F” grade his paper had the comment “Do not make up history”. Given how little is written at the time it feels like most of history is made up to some extent or the other. So before you read these and feel like pointing out “actually it was in December 1843” remember they are intended to be funny. If you want history then please buy books by different Simons - Simon Sharma or Simon Sebag-Monefiore to name but two.
So here for your enjoyment is a selection of the letters we wished had been written

Authors biography

As a Mother & Son combination, Doreen & Simon Spanyol share similar tastes - for example three years ago each bought the other Antony Beevor’s “Stalingrad” for Christmas.
Doreen began writing weekly letters to Simon when he was at Leeds University in the seventies and he would always share the contents, if not the enclosed Luncheon vouchers, with his friends: “Your father has asked for a Kalashnikov again this Christmas”, “You will like our new Collie puppy, Oliver, he bites people, especially hands & feet but he doesn’t draw blood very often”, “Your brother went on a grant demo to London, you know the one that was on the telly, he saw some Leeds students among the 20,000 there and did a lot of mindless chanting which pleased him”.
Simon’s half of the correspondence is lost to posterity but much of it only consisted of short requests for more luncheon vouchers which he found could be exchanged for beer.
They live in Hertfordshire & Rutland