Full printed extract from third letter (to his fiancée Edith Bratt, 26 November 2015):
The usual kind of morning standing about and freezing and then trotting to get warmer so as to freeze again. We ended up by an hour’s bomb-throwing with dummies. Lunch and a freezing afternoon. All the hot days of summer we doubled about at full speed and perspiration, and now we stand in icy groups in the open being talked at! Tea and another scramble – I fought for a place at the stove and made a piece of toast on the end of a knife: what days! I have written out a pencil copy of ‘Kortirion’. I hope you won’t mind my sending it to the T.C.B.S. I want to send them something: I owe them all long letters. I will start on a careful ink copy for little you now and send it tomorrow night, as I don’t think I shall get more than one copy typed (it is so long). No on second thoughts I am sending you the pencil copy (which is very neat) and shall keep the T.C.B.S. waiting till I can make another.
I’m a bit of a Tolkien obsessive, as you may perhaps have noticed, and this is the primary source for a lot of the stories about his life that I have known and loved for decades. I read all of the History of Middle Earth volumes a few years ago, but even so, it’s quite a delight to read about his writing in his own words. I knew that the process of writing The Lord of the Rings was painful and difficult; I had not realised that it was literally painful, given the extent of his and Edith’s ill health at the point that he was struggling to complete the book; perhaps there is a selection effect in that people in those days instinctively wrote openly to business partners about their medical problems?
He also complains bitterly about the costs of tax and housing – he and Edith moved several times to smaller and smaller places, and only at the end did Merton College provide him with free lodging and partial board, for which he was duly grateful.
His relationship with children and grandchildren seems to have been genuinely warm and loving. There are no letters to his daughter here, but that is presumably accidental, as she is mentioned in passing in other correspondence. He lived long enough to see his grandchildren starting on their careers, which obviously gave him much pleasure.
There are still some surprises. At the end of May 1945, writing to his sone Christopher about the coming end of WW2 in Asia, he says, “as I know nothing about British or American imperialism in the Far East that does not fill me with regret and disgust, I am afraid I am not even supported by a glimmer of patriotism in this remaining war.” There is also some poorly articulated but deep anger at the racist policies of the government of South Africa, where he was born. One of those cases where an icon slightly exceeds one’s hopes.
And there’s his lovely reminiscence of his first encounter with Finnish, in a 1955 letter to W.H. Auden:
It was like discovering a complete wine-cellar filled with bottles of an amazing wine of a kind and flavour never tasted before. It quite intoxicated me.
And I love this namedropping story from a January 1965 letter to his son Michael:
An amusing incident occurred in November, when I went as a courtesy to hear the last lecture of this series of his given by the Professor of Poetry: Robert Graves. (A remarkable creature, entertaining, likeable, odd, bonnet full of wild bees, half-German, half-Irish, very tall, must have looked like Siegfried/Sigurd in his youth, but an Ass.) It was the most ludicrously bad lecture I have ever heard. After it he introduced me to a pleasant young woman who had attended it: well but quietly dressed, easy and agreeable, and we got on quite well. But Graves started to laugh; and he said: it is obvious neither of you has ever heard of the other before’. Quite true. And I had not supposed that the lady would ever have heard of me. Her name was Ava Gardner, but it still meant nothing, till people more aware of the world informed me that she was a film-star of some magnitude, and that the press of pressmen and storm of flash-bulbs on the steps of the Schools were not directed at Graves (and cert. not at me) but at her….
I wouldn’t recommend this to anyone who is not a Tolkien completist; but there are a lot of us around. You can get The Letters of J. R. R. Tolkien here. (This is an expanded version, published only a few months ago.)

