An uninspired foreign correspondent

What are the essential elements that make a good book of letters? The first is mild spite. Had John Gielgud spared us his catty asides (such as his amusement at Larry’s latest attempt at Iago) his letters would have been horribly dreary. The second is a lively correspondent. Fanny Kemble’s vivid letters describing the horrors of the Deep South will remain an everlasting antidote to the ghastly Gone With the Wind view of the ‘golden age of slavery’. Thirdly, one needs to be interested in the letter-writer. Anyone who would happily wade through Tolstoy’s novels would brave a similar struggle with the great man’s letters. So why would anyone want to read the letters of Gayle Hunnicutt’s father? Having just finished Dearest Virginia, I am pained to say that I cannot provide the answer to that burning question.

Gayle Hunnicutt, the actress, recently discovered her late father’s wartime letters tucked away in her 94-year-old mother’s cupboard. So captivated was she by reading ‘Daddy Lloyd’s’ tireless declarations of love for both her mother and herself that she decided to publish them. This sturdy batch of letters was written between the years of 1942 and 1944, when Lloyd Hunnicutt was serving in the US army as a cavalry officer in the South Pacific. Mr Hunnicutt comes across as a decent, kindly Texan gentleman. His letters display a sincere devotion to his pregnant wife from whom he was separated during the war years. The replies from Virginia are not included because American soldiers were ordered to destroy their correspondence within days of receiving it. This is a great shame because she might have proved to be a more entertaining correspondent than her husband.