At Sea.

Dearest Heart:

Now I know my letters will not seep through, but will go in due course, posted by me at some future date as some place unknown to me. We are off, this afternoon, on a fine sunny day. It is now half past ten, the voices of people on deck come through the scuffle & David sits in the cabin with me playing with his revolver. We are in convoy, a small one as yet, but it is very impressive, very inspiring & very stimulating. The red ensign at the cross trees!

By the time you read this I’ll have been in action I expect, and you will know more of the broad picture than I shall. My men and I will have been christened by fire, and we will know what we need to know.

I shall add to this letter little by little. Necessarily I shall repeat myself, when I touch on my love for you. But just as I cannot say that too often for my satisfaction, I know you cannot find it stale ever.

This afternoon I had all the men on my (?) come on the boat deck & talked to them for an hour. Malaria, morale, Combined Operations and so on. They are in wonderful fettle, gay and bright and sparkling, and I’m so grateful for the bond of sympathy I can feel between us.

The orderly room sergeant, who travels with me, is producing a daily paper, “Mess Deck Musing” for which I have contributed an editorial & a few paragraphs. It’s very gay & amateur & full of intimate wit. All a mark of good spirit.

For the rest, the men have had training, we have eaten & gazed at the coast-line slipping by- viewed with some veiled emotion- and the day has passed. Some Bridge, three games of Cribbage with the O.C. troops, a nice kindly and amusing major, a Canadian.

The sea is a fascinating affair. There’s so much of it. It can be dangerous, it can be cruel, it can be terrifying. Yet we can always gaze at it, and some deep chords respond. We’ll take this trip in the future, as we are going to other places my army career has taken me to. I’ll have tales to tell en route I expect.

More Later . . . .

At Sea.

[Much Later, over 2 weeks.]

My Dearest Heart;

Two weeks have passed since I last wrote to you, and now another chance of getting a letter off. By the time you get this a great deal will have happened, your great adventure will be over, I shall be a Father, and my initial great adventure will be over too. And that golden, incredibly xxxxxx^* day of reunion will be much nearer. That day! I’ve not been homesick these past weeks. I’ve been too busy & life has been anything but dull. But the men are a very great comfort to me, for I find them looking to me so faithfully & trustingly I am buoyed up and stimulated by them. There is a definite bond between us & at anxious times we sit around & we talk & I find it easy to keep them occupied. We have many “Get- Togethers” and even a simple service.

I’m proud, very proud, of the Navy, of our companions, of humour & of resolution which begets courage & confidence. We are learning to acquit ourselves like men. Also we are seeing places & shall see more. Already I’ve a tale to unfold,- later. I’m happy too, in a man’s job, and always you are at the back of my mind, in my heart, & with my spirit.

We produce a bi-daily paper, & all are brown & lean & gay & all have the same sinking feeling in the tummy when things happen. Oh, I’ve travellers tales for you.

And You? What can I say. As I write this you are very near your great adventure. That anyone as beautiful, no, lets say lovely, for with you it is an outward bloom of an inward loveliness, far richer than beauty. Truly an inward grace. But as I was saying, that anyone as lovely as you should be the mother of my child is a miracle of fortune, a gift of God, beyond my deserts.

If things have gone wrong, my one prayer is your safety. If there is no child yet, nor ever, & if you are safe & well, then I shall thank God. The other is a crown to my happiness I cannot yet conceive. For truly are you my beloved.

All goes well with us, spirits are high in the handsome tradition of our race. In due course you’ll learn just how high is our privilege. And for you and your child, for our way of life, for all the ideals poor Bobby cannot stomach, we go forth to prevail. And in spite of all Bobby’s quibblings had love to be with us.

And Candy, golden ears? She will think my prolonged absence a grave fall from grace. What halcyon days we’ve had, us three, evenings by the little river, she bounding so brightly ahead, yet always with us, enjoying, chasing, laughing, ever happy, appreciative, ever grateful. And all that vibrant golden happiness loved by us, serenely quiet, filled with wonder at the spring evenings, your burden, our companionship. A perfect memory to fortify me in our separation.

Maybe Dickie-Anne is really visibly with you as you read this. My greetings to all our so excellent friends. “Uncle Jack”, the Fennimores, Marjorie and Christopher, dear cuddly delicious Christopher, so manly and so clean cut. Jack Lawrence & the Sadgroves, Mary & all the Hansons.

I have been reading Sheila Kaye Smith “Village Doctor”, two travel books, The Sonnets, many new pamphlets, many exciting maps, and every evening four of us play Bridge. My Bridge has at last cleared up, the mists are gone. I’ll play Leonard & beat him every day. Childs & I play the doc & a Sapper Captain. Overtricks are rare, more than one run occurs only every other evening, & we bid slams occasionally.

And you, anything besides the garden a letter & Dickie Anne a lot I expect. Dickie Anne requires pretty exclusive attention both now as I write & then as you read. And what a pile of letters there’ll be for me! The last was written in early June. They’ll find me. And Aerographs may be, & the cable. All in due course. Wonder if I’ll get a broadcast!!!!!!!!

Childs has a daughter, age 12. When she was 2½ he bought her a part electric train set for Christmas, & had a lovely time. He’s like that. He liked the tortoise story. He had one once, coloured and tame. No tortoises about us!

Next Day

I enclose three paragraphs from a book I am enjoying- “We took to the woods”. Hughes lent it to me, one of the officers here, & he has given it to you. I’ll parcel it up & hope that after the censor has enjoyed it he’ll post it on.

Every few minutes I have to wipe my arms with a towel. Its very hot here, even under way. The fan is on full blast, & yet I, not a sweaty person, am moist.The sea is calm and very blue. We all wear shorts & shirts with sleeves rolled up, and we are colouring nicely, & effortlessly.

My men are very proud making. They’ve been told as much as anyone knows, & they’re the briskest, smartest and best disciplined on board. They work hard, parade twice a day, & I have an hour talk to them every evening, they sitting around and me in the middle. They never seem to be bored or doze. I’ve two babies I take especial care of, two new ones at 19. Lockley is as silently efficient as ever, & all goes well. During difficult times we get together below & my three mouth organists play & we all sing. I always request “The Apple Tree”, our song & we always have C.R.E’

Life is busy, happy, &increasingly significant. So much to tell, so little I can tell. But I’ve never felt fitter, never felt more content with my task, I never had so pleasant a job as leading my rapscallions.

I’ve just used my lighter, & my cigarette case is in my heart pocket with you and Candy in it. I sleep well, have a hot wash and a cold salt shower in the morning & read your letters in bed at night last thing. I feel quite sure that you’re all right in these difficult days, & that you are backing me with faith and confidence. And that you’ll make a great success of Dickie- Anne. He’ll so soon be an individual now. The cable may reach me quickly. I’ll cable as soon as I can of course & also send airgraphs, in my best handwriting.

I expect you’re keeping in touch with my Mother bless her. Her line of cheering you up is a great idea. Let her. What a sweet discerning compliment to pay you, to say that she’s glad I’ve so wonderful a wife as you to think of during our absence from each other! That is profoundly true. Everyone here of my intimates knows you now. David will telephone or call when he gets home. David Smith is the name, & a gay naval lt. named M^cLaughlin will also telephone. He’s a very good character. He’s the architect R.N.V.R chef, age 26, lean and very handsome, with a wide good laugh. He’s always gay, always smart in his R.N. whites, & he laughs with a wide mouth, white teeth & a snort, which is quite infectious. He’s a type, & has been in Destroyers for all the war before this. He’s going to tell you scandalous things about me, all very untrue, or so he threatens. He’s a dear.

Being finger tired I can not go on, yet I hate to stop writing. And the heat & interruptions & ordinary lack of control has reduced my handwriting to the worst ever. Its almost a code that only you can decipher. Hope H.M. Censor doesn’t think so too!

 The next evening

Having been writing the Editorial and some snippety pieces for the paper, I have a typewriter and shall write a page more to you.   The trouble is that this being a long letter written in daily doses I shall probably repeat myself quite a lot

The little pin in my lighter came out this afternoon as threatened by James Thom, and the Electrician is putting a new one in, a non-come-outable one.

We have many little pills, the kindly Government thinks of everything.   We line the men up, they open their mouths like little birds and Doc throws the pills in, deep to the back. They drink out of their water bottle and pass on, making comments. Officers have glasses and put them in their own mouths, a subtle difference.

Sunshine sunshine all the way and a blue blue sea. Some land on the horizon most of today, exciting sight. Also revolver practise at floating barrels.   Also conferences and briefings and the men  dobeying their shorts and shirts.

This book Hughie gave you, or me for you, is quite charming. The woman has such true views on domestic life, children, cooking, housekeeping and such things as sawing wood handling husbands and all the little things which are so big.   Its’ not a brilliant book but parts of it are very personal to you and me. She has the right sense of values.

So have I in valuing you.   And I do, above all else, but for now you have to tie with my section, yet you are part and parcel of it.   I can’t conceive this affaire without you in my heart and spirit, without your gage on my helmet. Or shall I say, your mittons lashed to the Jumbo.

The lovely maps I’ve got and guide books and dictionary and details.   The organisation by our Higher Command is truly wonderful, never let people say “The Germans are such wonderful organisers” or “with Teutonic thoroughness”.

It may be that I shall be at the end of a cable when the News comes through from you and my knowledge of Dickie Anne’s Debut may not be so much delayed after all. I’ll cable as soon as I see a Postie shop, and send aerographs and letters at every opportunity.   I shan’t mind a bit if Dickie Anne doesn’t write often, I know how difficult it is when you are young, and writing to strange men is difficult anyhow.  A drawing of a hen or a dog, as circumstances dictate, will suffice. I can now understand what was once a mystery.  Way back in Scarborough days a bloke showed me a sheet of paper with vague squiggles all over it, from his child aged about three months. He was so very excited over what was obviously of no value that I marvelled.   Now I don’t.

My compliments to your mother, and my respects to Julian and to Corisande my love.

You should write, you know, your letters confirm my belief that you have a brilliance and an originality of style which is first rate.   And you have rare gifts of painting, and not just technical, but springing from your peculiarly wonderful appreciation.  Write and paint and bath Dickie Anne and tell him-her of me.   Shall I be allowed to be present at a bathing?   Or once when you are out and doors and locked and no-one about, actually bath himher myself.   Wouldn’t Candy give me a look.

Oh there’s a good time coming, immediately, intermediately and ultimately.     (This typewriter is very confused about its H and its G.   Its Sparkes’.

My word, it is hot, but when I was on the Coast . . . . . . .

They’ve come for me for a Bridge game, the men are draped around the decks, happy and ready.   So I will relax.   Bless you dearest heart, I’ll add a few lines last thing tonight and away with this.   The next letter will be with coming events behind me.

See you bedtime, dearest . . .

Bedtime. The intervening six hours have been spent in conference with three other people, Conference with my NCOs, two successful rubbers of Bridge & routine evening activities. Now all is peaceful & beautiful. David is packing so the cabin is uninhabitable for a long time. He’s also broken a bottle of rum which scents the air charmingly. Dear David.

So farewell for a while, dearest one. I’ll be writing & cabling & airgraphing. You try airgraphs. APO address. And I’ll be always with you, at all times when the time is ripe, for all times.

God be with you.
Ever your very devoted husband
David

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

¹

 

                          In the Club, at ten to five, on Friday.  Tomorrow, – elsewhere.  I shall post this before half past six, & another later on.  At half past six I shall telephone you, then dinner here with our very young & sweet Sub- Lieutenant, R.N., Who is the third in our cabin, & then the cinema, then club for sandwiches & a drink & may be another little chat.  Peter is not with me.

                        I’ve just written a very short letter to Uncle Jack & to J.G.L.  Also to Marjorie.  After this to Auntie Edie & the Thoms.

                        All goes well – its gone well.  The sun shines & spirits are high.  Remember that, it’s no mournful cavalcade of unwilling men but of joyous adventurers. And nothing is so bad as you think it will be.  Anyhow, what is this ?  I’ve been spilling far too many words of encouragement to you not to fret at a brief parting, & ignoring your courage & many qualities.  Its unmannerly of me.  Lack of cooperation & faith in you !  I’m sorry.  Its a time for exultation – if you’ll be all right over the other business.  The that’s the real adventure.

                        A minute on Income tax is enclosed, also some soap coupons.

                     Think of the nights together stretching ahead of us like a string of precious stones.  Sparkling, like an endless line of stars.  Nights together, & days.  Work & play, romps with Dickie Anne, sea-side, Broads, drives, bed time & bath time games, tales, & fun.  Novels, difficult chapters & good running ones, proofs, titles, press notices & you cross with Kate O’Brien !  New treasure for the home, Great Alne Church on a winter’s evening.  You & I, hand in hand, always hand in hand, walking down the future like the curtain scene of a picture with a happy ending.  So I’ll lay off the comforting line and believe in your good sense & backbone in my absence.  You’ll feel far worse when Dickie Anne goes to school for the first time !

                        And when we are together again there’ll be little change, you constant, lovely & gay & charming, Dickie Anne more get-attable, Candy fatter may be.

                      Give my love to Mrs. Ellens, peering, sharp nosed, between her little modest curtains.  She’ll rejoiced in your baby.  So will we all.  Proudest father ever, me.

                        There’s so much I’d like to tell you.  But I can’t.

                        There’s an elderly major here who sits all the evening every evening gloating over foreign stamps !  A droll world.

                        No writing has been done, I find the circumstances unhelpful.  But I think the pay will pan out.  I’ve drawn five pounds today & five last week, & will leave it alone for a while.  Mr. Careless will always let you know the figures.  Are you going to do any Christmas cards.  If any B.B.C. letter comes send it on when you have my address & maybe I can cope.  But tell them what you’ve done.  I couldn’t do anything very urgent, & it may not be possible.  Write nicely & say you’ll send the letter on.  Also have any cheques.  Its yours now, I’ll draw only the minimum.  You are my purpose for life & only when everything is all right at home shall I take any.

                        I’ll write to Fitz, bless the man.  Got the new nurse yet – stupid me, asking questions you can’t answer.

                        No news, a very great deal of love.  Bless you, dearest one & be happy.  If you’re happy I ‘m happy & and then if I’m happy your happy & there we are.

Pantellera

                                     It seems that we shall have another opportunity for leaving letters ashore for later posting.  So I thought I’d have another letter ready for you.  This will be largely “Thoughts on Leaving England”, though we seem to be likely to lurk in the offing for quite a while yet, though ship bound.

                                   Seeing the quay recede was dramatic, as always, thoughts were mixed, but you were in the centre of them all.  Then we looked out into the river & *
Mountains, white houses ———— & sea, blue & rippled. My men join me in a day or so.  But we’re afloat & out of touch with you all.

                                 The food has jumped up to a high level.  Breakfast was porridge or cereal, cod au beurre, bacon & eggs, sweetcake & syrup, toast, rolls, marmalade & coffee or tea. Lunch was Soup Ministère, Salmon curried, Macaroni au gratin, roast lamb & vegetable fritters, cheese, spring onions, & coffee.  Cigarettes are plentiful at 1/- for 50, Chocolate of all kinds at 2d a bar.  All drinks at 6d, double whisky 9d.  I’m building a bridge four & reading “For Whom the Bell Tolls”.  Else writing on & off.  The officers are the O/C Troops, an C.R.A.S.C. Major, a gunners Major, an R.A.M.C. Captain, Child, a captain, & another subaltern, R.A. & myself.  Also “Sub”, 19d a half with emphasis on the half, who’s been playing with his radio all the afternoon, & SNOT, my architect R.N.V.R. lieutenant.

                                   I was a bit whimsy last night, after my five minutes with you between 1030 & 1035 showed the Sub (David his name is, lives at Cirencester) & he was very sweet & interested.  Liked Candy too. (Censorship coming through from the other side of the page!)
have with me.

                           Ted Child has a red crocheted squirrel, six inches high, the silly man.  He just bought it because he likes it.  It sits by your picture, on the dining table.  The Chinese steward cleaned and dusted your picture very carefully this morning.  Ted would have a red squirrel.  He says it SQURRRL somehow.

                           David the Sub has a nice things, travelling clock etc. He Wants To Write !!!  I talked to him about it.  He’s getting very attached.  He’s so very young & English & keen.

                             I have the command of 28 soldiers in No 1 lifeboat, where also sails, if needs be, the Master & the Sub & some crew.

                               The Chief was yarning with us last night in the saloon & said he had three boys, 14, 11 & 10 & then last year had twin girls !  He says they look exactly alike when viewed from the stern, but different the front.  We have a ship’s M.O. on board, who is going to squirt out my ears this evening.

                                  We are a gay party, the ship’s officers are all very nice & amiable & everyone is keen as mustard on this job, whatever it is.  When we go, or where we go no one knows. But we’re willing to go anywhere.

                                And this fine afternoon Gwen is with you.  Dear understanding Gwen. I like her a lot.  Also Mummy Hanson.  Tell her so, & give her my love
Good old Dickie-Anne.  I’ll be excited enough coming home just to see the Boot & the wall of Jeavons house.  But to see you, to have you & to hold you, will be ecstasy.  Added to that is your Mother & Candy & Julian & topping it all, with emotions I cannot yet know, the peep at Dickie-Anne.  May I hold Dickie-Anne ?  In my arms.  He-she’ll hate my tobaccoey smile & my rough uniform.  I’ll be very careful.

                              A sea journey is a satisfying thing, standing by the rail, watching the sea running past, the cream of the bows & the spreading wake astern.  I stood like that, horizon circular, between half past ten & eleven last night thinking of us.  Not of you, not of me, of us.  I feel you very near to me, her smoothness of you in bed, the softness & sweetness of you, and the perfect rest only to be enjoyed with you in my arms.  You are right when you say that we have the art of being comfortable together.  Together we can make the earth stand still.  Together we can be life & living, quelling all aches of living, being, essentially being.  This we shall continue to do, our appreciation and understanding sharpened by our forced separation.  We shall walk together, talk together, sleep together, & more than sleep, sail together over lost unknown depths.
Still we lie here,
me in the cabin of a steamer, you in our well loved home, our child ripening in your body.  We have a host of friends, but I would lose them all for a day & a night of you.  The marriage service is comforting reading.  Bound together as we are, by our mutual & indestructible loyalty, it is good to have the bonds of worldly customs binding us as well.  The tighter the better.

                               I have been thinking about the first few days “afterwards”.  Normally it’d be leave that will bring me home first.  That will be ordinary, if “ordinary” can be used for such a meeting.  But if the first time I am home is really afterwards and for good, we must meet somewhere first, together, for a honeymoon, your mother looking after Dickie-Anne.  A few days together, at Oxford even, or London, in a hotel.  Then, when we have calmed down well go back to Great Alne together, & see what there is to see.

                                  This period of waiting is very pleasant.  A sunny loch, a moutainy shore, calm deep water, wireless in the cabin, books, drinks, companionship and no responsibilities until my men come along.  Even had a rubber of bridge last night.  Ted & the Sub & the Doc & I.  Very pleasant and playful.  Also two Guinesses.

                           Lockley will be with me in a day or two.  I may get other letters off by this delayed action process.  They’ll arrives someday, either together or in some order as the censor releases them.  You’ll just have to take them as letters.  I expect I’ll get a packet from you before I go.  If letters have been returned don’t be disheartened.  They’ll come along.

                               I don’t think this war will last very long & we must be ready for the afterwards.  I am full of hope for future writing too.  We’ll bring it off. Jonathan Cape will play anyhow.  I wish I’d got more done for the BBC to give you little extra cheques.  Odd ones may still come.  But everything is paid up now.

                             Before lunch they had Gershwin ” American in Paris” & the Rhapsody.  In half an hour David the Sub & I are listening to a Chopin recital, with our special Nocturne in it !  You always fill my mind on such occasions

                            Had my ears syringed out this morning by the M.O. and now I’m very sharp of hearing.  A good thing to have done.  My vaccination didn’t affect me at all.

                            David the Sub is reading the sonnets, with much glee.  He likes them but doesn’t know them.

                         Changed the ink, this is better, blue Quink.  A bottle has just been unearthed by David the Sub.

                         My keepsake is the red rose, at which I look in the evenings.  Bless you for sending me that.

                             Of news I have none.  I shall have later.  Of love I have a great deal.  And no one has ever gone on an adventure better protected & cared than this party.  So do not worry about us.

                              Bless you dearest heart, be happy, be well, be comforted
* This is censored.

 

Dearest Heart:
Today we have heard that all our carefully censored & carefully written letters are being held up, until such time as our safety shall not be jeopardised by their delivery.  Its a galling thought that somewhere a pile of letters is collecting, & my daily letters will be delivered at some remote time, en bloc.  But my safety, next to my duty, is my prime concern, for you, for our sake, so it is a good thing.

A lovely day, & tomorrow a route march with my detachment leading !  Its a lovely idea, though pillar boxes & telephone kiosks will be a trifle tantalising.  But we shall see bicycles & children, & lampposts & dogs & may be real women.  Strict discipline will be necessary with 78% of our cooped up rude & licentious soldiery.  Maybe I am rude, but not, I assure you licentious.

What of me as a writer?  I am doing nothing yet.  I could be, I expect, but it’s very difficult.  I’m living hard, as it were & can’t settle.  But feelings & ideas & emotions are building up & I shall either produce a real Book or else go stale & loose the little gift I have.  I think the former.  Its difficult writing real things away from you, of course.  Directly I get home & with you I feel my full self & needed to write.

Your day draws nearer.  I think of that a great deal.  All will be well.  But has your fortitude being capable of standing up to the strain of my actual absence?  I expect so.  But it must not interfere with the welfare of you & the child at this vital time.

A rough looking a lot of men, my soldiers, simple & some might think dull.  But so many of them are romantics & lovers, as their letters show, & they are so very fond of their children.  Its very touching.  But there subaltern is also very very fond of his wife & of his children or child.  Will be.

Bless ears, & your Mother & our warm friends, & yourself.  Bless your self for ever.

God bless you.
Ever your own

Dearest Heart:
Another letter on the off chance of it finding you soon.  A short one because the collection occurs any minute.  I’ve been really busy at last, & this is a snatched five minutes.

Lovely weather, lovely scenery, lovely company, lovely you in our little home.  I reread your five letters last night, dear newsy letters.

Tails all up, spirits high & the sun shines.

Peter found a copy of The Time of the Singing in the library & pinched it !  a services library.  He’s very thrilled.  I got a note from him.  A dear lad.

No more or nothing will go.  A great deal of love & the kisses are there if censorship does forbid them.

Ever your own very devoted.

Dearest Heart:
Another wasted letter sent away almost anonymously.  Still we lurk patiently.  Happy & busy.  I talked for an hour and a half this afternoon to my men, & enjoyed it.  Whether they did or not I can’t say.  I think they did.  After all, I’m all the poor dears have got to look to, a poor thing but their own.

The day is full of keeping them busy, eating, P.T, eating, seeing to the men, inspecting them, their rifles, their billets, eating, conferences, eating, drinking, bridge, a letter & bed, with a last look at the men.

David is so very nice.  He and I are the only ones who don’t sit drinking & talking far too late, who like being with our men (not the only ones I speak wildly) but he likes a quiet time, likes his gallant job, reads, sings little songs & is young.  He is going to telephone you when he gets back from this trip or even call on you if he can get from Cirencester to Great Alne.  He’ll have first hand knowledge of me up to the fairly last minute.  You’ll like his young seriousness & his Royal Navy good manners & his Dartmouth voice.  A good man & a true.  Also a gentleman.  He’s gloriously untidy, which is a fine at mark of youngness.

I find I’m living very moderately.  I have cashed for a cheque for four pounds from a sapper who wanted to send money home & a cheque was the best way.  Otherwise I’ve drawn nothing, only £5 at the beginning of the month.  So all should be all right. I’ll live very gently.  My only interest now is to do my job & you should be the spender.

I am no gardener, as you know, pansies shudder as I pass with a hoe.  Yet I think of home not only as my booking room, nor only as that perfect bedroom, but as all of that & the garden.  You & I walking along the paths towards the chicken run is one of my nicer visions.  It’s not so much gardening I like, its the garden itself, & the products.  Peter goes too far sometimes, its not surely the rarity of the plants, nor the cost, but their actual niceness.  I loved sticking the sweet peas with you.  You must run a Nature Class for Dickie Anne & me.

The inducing of children to play the piano, given a necessary flair in the child.  One must not pay the teacher’s fees & provide the piano & lay down times for practicing.  One must evoke a desire to be able to play, & short of inflicting “little pieces” on gloomy visitors, encourage.  She shall play Chopin, he shall play Brahms.  And then some quite unsatisfactory young man will come & be enchanted & what shall we do?  We’ll have each other, and that’s the greatest thing.

We have soups with French names & Chinese stewards who say nowt & look very oriental.  We also have a steward who at last understands that David doesn’t want morning tea, & agreed that “you want no cups of tea every morning”, & every morning David has no tea.  We love our little jokes.

A charming bout of Bridge this evening.  The O.C. Troops, a very sound Major, & I play against the army M.O. & Child.  Four brisk rubbers, sharp bidding & well mixed cards.  Also I consumed a steady Guinness.  All very nice, in the tiny smoke room.  All it needed was you, you quite perfect wife.

I have the quite sincere feeling that if I were to be taken away from this now it would cause definite consternation & distress to seventy five true men who each have their loved ones, as I have.  I know they have their loved ones, only too well from their letters.  They are so inarticulate, too most of them.

“Music while you work” is on David’s wireless set, & its Student Prince or Chocolate Soldier, (we dispute that- “Come come come to me only….”)

My blessings dearest heart, and our Day will come.  Bless you & yours.  I hope the infant arrives in good order & has some vague resemblance about him her to me.

Bless you, dear heart, be happy.

Dearest Heart:
Another letter, which will be delivered sometime.  And as the days pass with no letters inward I gloat on the pile collecting to reach me in due course.  What a day that will be.  All my sappers say that to !  Its difficult to be original after reading so many other letters.  Only when I consider you & us am I original.  For the is none like you.

Dear David is so much in love with his Wren, named Ivy !  Its a blissful, aching, radiant, early love.  Sweet & sharp, bewildering and poetic.  He writes to her all the evening, dreams about her all night, & goes thoughtful in the midst of activity all day.  A good man.

Last night I stood looking at the blues & greens & softness of the hills & communed with you.  The scene was splendid in the quarter light, the magic of water & the soft quiet of everything.  You would have put your hand in mine & we would have sunk into the silence.

This afternoon, talking to the men, I looked up & saw the Red Ensign.  It suddenly became real & held in its soft fluttering all the meaning of our History, all the meaning of our little stream, of the Mill and Candy, of Macaulay & Jane Austen, of great adventures, honour & service & by the trivia of English life.  The inarticulate loyalty of our Dominion men, the dumb loyalty of the most cynical critic of Government & custom.  It’s not void sentiment, the emotion a flag like our ensign can muster, its so deep that we must mock or say nothing, we have not the moral courage to praise it.  Yet this afternoon it caught me &  made me feel confident & proud & tall, it held my feelings on a steady pitch, it gave me a vision of resolution.  We have no flags & music in war today, but it is there, all of it.  It is our child’s flag too, and its a rare heritage.

The little picture will please you.  It is cut out from an old World Digest or some such paper.  I had to send it to you.

The men are producing a little newspaper & I have been asked to contribute an editorial & anything I like.  A tricky job.  I must try.  I’ll try to keep a copy for you to see afterwards.

“Afterwards”.  Yes, it will come, at first a delicious shyness, then a honeymoon, then the settling down to the old life renewed, renewed by our ended separation, by the presence of Dickie Anne, by new work and by the peace & content we shall have earned.

There is nothing very original in the parting between you and I, you at home caring for the house, preparing have to have our child, waiting for your soldier-husband-lover.  There are millions like us, there have been tens of millions, hundreds of millions like us in the past.  Yet for each player it is new & sharp & bitter.  Yet if you do not pine, I shall be well in my mind.  We shall not be far apart, modern science has overcome the distances of this world.  In so many ways I’m fortunate in my service, & fortunate in my destiny.  Most fortunate in my home life & in my wife.

You must paint some pictures, paint some Christmas cards, take walks with Candy, be careful of your health, no that’s not necessary.  Live your life & your health will be ever present.  Write when you will, your letters are always precious & beloved by me.  Relish your friends and the your good gay happy self.  I’m all right, that we know.

God bless you & keep you, and the days of separation will soon pass. Leave will come round again & the ultimate peace.  Indeed it will be a peace that passeth all understanding.

I like the little bears in this picture & the the rabbit with his ears down.  And the Buck & the furriness of it all.  We do love furry things don’t we !  But its the loveliness of you I love above all.  I have just leaned back & reflected on your salient characteristics.  Your laugh, your eyes and your certain judgement & your swift love of all things good & sincere struck me first.  Then, physically, your scent, indescribable, but warm & spelling home & peace to me.  Then your courage & faith & fortitude.  Your sensitive appreciation of people & of honesty.  Your cleanness of soul and your tenderness.  But this is impossible.  Your entire self ears all sufficing & a splendid gift I can never prove worthy of.

                        En bref, I love you, and you alone.

                                    Ever devoted husband & lover

Yes, sterilise the Teddy, he’ll not mind. He’s very good at Children’s Hour. I’ll have to learn to be good at that, too.

Nice little chat to you. You have guts, & you are a dear. Enclosed is £1 for the telephone calls. Or should I keep it. Yes I’d better. Pay the telephone by cheque. Heaven & M^r Lloyd help us.

Such a nice Sub I’ve dined & pictured with.  Named David.  About 20 & genuine R.N.  Lives in Gloucestershire.  Beautifully untidy is our room.  The third member of the party is RNVR, full Lieutenant.  Handsome & gay & unruffled, very nice, an architect.  He’s building our house.  I showed him the design.  He puts it at £6000.  We’re all writing letters & soon we’ll all go home together.  Busy tomorrow, all of us.  He’ll get his comic hair pin radio going for the midnight news, the sub. – David Smith !  Jolly & thick thatch hair, reddish face.  Been on Destroyers ever since Dartmouth- very difficult to wake in the morning.

Your wonderful ¹ & your spirit on the telephone has made it much easier for me.  More than you know.  Give Gwenny my love & the enclosed little note.  Bless her heart.  Post it on if she’s gone when this comes.

The odd Major with the sour grey face is still sticking stamps in his album. – made from an army book.  Funny old world.

My job’s going to be all right, I’ll enjoy it.

If your job’s going to be all right, & if you’ll enjoy it then your job being all right will make my job all right & my job being all right will make your job be all right & all will be well.  As you said so gaily, Whoopee.

My handwriting is dreadful.  But I want to say so much

We’re a jolly crew, & a good crew, & you & Fitz & the Nurse & Dickie Anne are a gay crew.  And above all & over all & through all & by all I love you, in every way.  It shall in time be proved to you.

The stamp collecting Major has the M.C. !!  But I bet he’d swap it for a Victoria Black !

Write to Rolf for me, 13 (3) Dunstable Rd, Wimbledon.  No I’ll write some time.  Tell him about the bairn when it comes.  His address is in the address book.  Peter & I had baths last night here.

If you fancy a different name when you see him-her, you can do as you wish.  I’ll consider it the most handsome name of all whatever it is.  It’ll make all names seem less good.  Send cables re:- first smiles
first chuckles
first teeth
2^nd teeth & so on and to 28.

You were wonderful just now.  If you had not been so amazingly Mistress of yourself it would have been hard for me, and me is a railway station too !  Hell of a good show & a vast help.  You are a dear.  You are the dear of all.

After this letter there’ll be a pause.  But I’ve you with me, & I’ll have, above all, one walk, the last river walk.  That I’ll always have, the Ford, the sharp reed where we usually sat & ², the other sit down, the haystack & the Home Straight.  Candy perfected those walks &  the Brave & Ferocious Bull.

God be with you, dearest one, be happy & have faith.  All will be well, so very very well.  Time is ours & the fullness thereof.

¹

²

                                                               Here we are, Peter & I, side by side on the settee in the lounge of the Club.  It was his last telephone talk to May, mine is tomorrow.  After that we adjourn for a few days or weeks, adjourn to a place where contact is not possible – only telepathetic.  It may be that I can’t get out tomorrow, in which case you to have a lonely vigil.  Yet I’ll manage it somehow.  You have got guts; its remand & weak of me to tax you so much by telephoning, – yet I can’t resist it.  I’m very fond, you know.

Peter & I part for an interval after this evening, our first real separation.  We dined well here as a sort of ceremony and talked almost entirely of you & May.  A funny pair, you & I & Peter & May too, & Peter & I.  Other blokes seem to be making other kinds of hay.  But they are only half alive.

Oh, business.  I am writing to the Income Tax about the Dependent relatives.  Remember next time you have claims for reduction on :-  (1) child = £50
(2) D.R. = £50
(3) Insce= 10 –(£9-15-0 actually)
Tell the income tax man that, next April.  And send that certificate when Dickie Anne is registered.  Send Birth Certificate to the Paymaster first, Officer i/c Army Pay Officers, Stockton road, Manchester.  Then send it with that form to the Income Tax, or right for a new form if you’ve mislaid the one I sent – easily done.

Nice letter from mother, in which she quotes a card she saw in Bonds:-picture of a spaniel & this verse:-
Please keep my master free from harm
Wherever he may be –
And when this war is over
Bring him safely back to me.
So we can stroll together or share a cosy fire-
Please hear a doggy’s earnest prayer
And grant her heart’s desire.

Not very clever nor subtle, but not at all a bad idea.  Sweet from Mother anyhow.  She also says “I had such a delightful letter from your Betty last week written on the anniversary of your wedding day, bless you both.  Its lovely to know how happy you are, if only more marriages will like it.  We are both going to be very brave & and keep looking forward to a reunion.”

An exceptionally nice person who loves you very much & will be so very proud of Dickie Anne.

Put the Teddy Bear and the cot, & do some plastic surgery, he’s a worthy bear. First you, no first Teddy, then Mack, then – adventure & you.

Peter has just told me that Roger has 7 teeth 7!  Also how he and May, walking back from Communion at Worcester Cathedral, felt mad & May went down a side street & changed all the milk bottles over.

I have a tiny vaccination scab & no ill effects !  Its the fourteenth day, too.  Healthy me.

When I go places how shall I write ?  A little every night, whenever I can ?  That’s the best idea – even on very busy nights, and then send a wodge.

This will arrive on Saturday morning, & I shan’t be telephoning that evening.  Forget the telephone.  Cut the cable if you like.  No, because if Dickie Anne.  But there’ll be a letter on Monday for you, then a goodly pause – paws – ! (Blass us !)

Good old Fitz, & Jack & Uncle Jack !  And although love you.  We can be proud, Dickie-Anne & you & me, of our new job you know.  It’s not a back room job at all.  And I’ve my own beloved men, too, 80 of them.  They’ll look to me for the tone, & they’ll all feel as we do.  Censoring their letters will be hard.  They’re such dears & I’m so proud of them.  And they’ll back me up.

Memories I have, & each of them is not a dead museum piece, but a living token of the future.  Do not fear to make your plans for the future, & always there is Dickie-Anne.  I am there, for all time.  And you have my books, nothing great or remarkable, but us, – the last one anyhow.  The difference between the last & for a second is the measure of the change you have wrought in me.

I can see quite clearly the changed rooms.  Your cot, the pictures & the scent & intimacy of you.  The palette, too.  Paint & draw my dear, if Dickie Anne lets you.

I could write so much, but time is fleeting.  Peter has to get back, & I may as well go with him.  No telephone this evening, but another letter on Monday.  And I’m with you in mind.  Shall we have five minutes together every evening at half past nine ? At half past nine every evening, I’ll be with you, or bedtime ?  half past ten.  Nothing definite, nothing difficult. Just five minutes of quiet contemplation.  Also at bedtime, but that varies.  But him in a crowd, at 10.30 are switch my thoughts to you it is only the loveliness of you that worries me at all in all this.  The rest is a gay, high spirited adventure, all good, or slightly splendid. But its bleak for you & that I feel. So at half past ten we’ll be together for five minutes.

God bless you, dearest one, & bask in their love of your so many friends, & above all, in my love.

                            Only one or two more letters and then – silence – while I sail away on business which you & I, & Dickie Anne must approve.  My trade is writing, yet I cannot write as I would.  But I have the consolation that you, of all people, will understand what lies behind the mundane things my feelings make me write.

                        Confidence, the pride of our race, the past & the future, all this drives me jubilantly forward.

                        You, who need the fortitude, stay behind.  But my love for you, my deep devotion to all that to us makes life, is the epitome of what we fight for.  We have a resilient pride & glee, a fund of fierce nonchalance, which is born & bred of our history.  And in everything, personnel, equipment, all is quality.  The quality of the materials marks the otherwise indefinable quality of our men.

                        Through some vagary of the postal authorities there was no letter this afternoon, maybe two tomorrow.

                        The dear telephone talk.  I’m not really Tight, just a victim of professional hospitality, the Chief served one & his Lieutenant deemed it proper to regale one with a few pints of Bitter.  Very regimental & gentle really.  Peter is telephoning May.  Then we have sandwiches & take the ferry home & so to bed.

                        I’d love to see the cot in your room, our room.  That is perfect.

                        For heaven’s sake let the child realise that it has the most ordinary of fathers, a dull witted dog, but blessed with much human kindness, & affection.  I’ll have the wits and not to let him or her down.

                        If by any mischance this child dies, & such a consideration must not be ignored, remember that for me you are everything, & your health & happiness is the lode star of my life.  I should be sad for you, but otherwise not unduly disturbed.  I’d hate to have you fret if the unlikely mischance occurred.  You are my love, & the child is valued only because of you, as yet.  So if that happens, don’t worry.  So long as you are safe & well I’ll be grateful.  Its you I cherish.  You & you alone.

                        We have a carpet today, & three chairs, one Lloyd Loom, one wheelback armchair, & one carpet seated one, & three bunks, one for Capt. Child, one for a pink young RN Sub Lieutenant & one for me.  Also a dressing table the top drawer of which draws out to make a bureau, & five different lights.  Also a jar which fairly swings round the room.*  Very cosy.  And I bought 50 Gray’s cigarettes today for 1/- !!!  Only cigarettes available as yet the bar is not open yet.

                        I have a memory you haven’t got.  Monday week, the village street, winding away past the Jeavons wall, & you, in the road, waving, so alone, so much one of the individuals which is you & I.  You looked young & lovely & fond & in every inch, English. But it is not on visual memories I rely, but on a general universal & all important awareness of the essence of you.  Blind, dumb, deaf, I’d know when you were present.  You have an aura, a spiritual grace & a character which is unique, & which is, for me, the mainspring of life.  And in the happy humdrum existence of afterwards, always there’ll be the snatches of the Halcyon days to make me marvel & wonder, at your goodness & my good fortune.

                        When the letters cease to come, you’ll feel lost and alone, & you’ll fret for me.  Do remember that I’ll be all right, that I’m in splendid company, and that were you able to be with me you’d revel in it all.  So do not fret, & do not worry when the evening comes when I don’t telephone.  Be busy & occupied on Saturday, in the garden if you like.  Or disconnect the telephone.  Do not expect me to telephone

                        Of my love for you I can say nothing.  A love story shall be my proof, & the growing face of Dickie Anne.  We’ll be together, never fear.

                        Bless you, my dearest, & be happy, brave & reserve all your nervous energy for the ordeal ahead of you, the happy ordeal.

*

Tuesday, June 8^th 1943

Dearest Heart.

                        Here we are, as I said, in the officers club, writing letters & drinking laager.  Very civil and a nice.  A good talk to you on the telephone.  But don’t think I’m ringing up every evening, oh no.  And when I stop doing so, it only means I’m away from a telephone.  Not necessarily for long.  And Saturday I shan’t ring up, so you can go out if you get the chance.

                        The rose came safely, a dear red rose.  Its in my pocket book now, snug & heartening.  Your picture of St. Hubert, that was a good thing.  Oh I bought some Johnson’s Baby Powder this evening, for my poor feet !  Also a kind of keep-off, only for insects, not for dogs.

                        I can imagine the cot, the room will look very different, & very charming.  Candy will like the cot very much.  Will Dickie – Ann be all right in the arm chair ?  A rehearsal for the Bin on the Flow incident last Christmas.

                        Your will beat Nonies’ & Ella Edkins’, beat all comers in fact.

                       Peter & I have just joined the club here – 1/- subscription, we call for our membership cards in six weeks time.  Remind me.  I’ll be too busy worritting about Dickie Ann then.

                        I’ve so many people to write to yet time is rare.  Here are the polyphotos, Peter has 2, I sent one to Mother & 3 to the Thoms.  All right ?  The rest are yours.

                        That was a blessed weekend we snatched out of our separation.  Do not slip back from the faith it engendered.  I have full confidence & trust in the happy outcome of all this, my only anxiety will be if you are anxious about me.  I’ve also mastered my natural disquiet about your great experience at the end of next month.  So if I can know that you’re not worrying I’ll not worry.

                        Your letters have come every afternoon, dear letters to be read in sweet solitude.

                        Remember always that I am by no means alone in this affair, on the contrary I have a host of companions, the like of which no man has had before.  Everyone is keen & happy & gay & everyone has their folk at home.  There I differ, for my wife is the best of all, peerless, quite peerless.

                        Now we are going to have sandwiches & another beer.  Then home by the ferry & to bed to read & then with a few minutes quiet reflection about you & us, to sleep.

                        Dickie – Ann, Dickie – Ann.  Speed the day when Dickie – Ann appears, & speed the day when we are all three together again.  I’ll take some getting used to for the small person.  I’ll try to please.

                        So many memories I have, & each of them a precious token for the future.  And I too have that vision of Christopher, our touchstone, & others.  Others of you & you alone.  Coronation Day, walks, happy drives with silly games, Salhouse Broad, Scarborough, Bromborough, Glasgow, Barton, on the sands, Oakfield Road, Orphanage Road, Bristol Road.  All dear memories, with their counterparts to come.

A lovely evening, even in these circumstances.  A busy day, with nice problems to solve all the while, & now tea in 10 minutes & then Child & I are going to the flicks & back early.  I’ll find opportunity to telephone you afterwards.  Then back to write letters and read in bed.  I’ve a smart little reading lamp over my bed, & a fan & a light over the dressing table & and another one over the wash-basin.  A galaxy of lights.

Nice telephoning you last night.  So very glad that Fitz has approved of your arrangements with Dickie Anne.  Its a great blessing that all is sensible & comme il faut.  You are a wonderfully healthy & sane person, & that’s the greatest blessing of all.  We are both healthy.  May Dickie Anne also be healthy.

A letter out of turn & belated arrived this morning, written on the Thursday before I came home.  A brave loving letter, but obviously pre- our weekend. That was a help to both of us.  A meeting arranged by St. Anthony, who made us each see everything more clearly.  One son must be Anthony, after St. Anthony.

The food is still very fine & rare & plentiful.  A great help that.  No news, only a very great deal of love.  Your sensible philosophy towards our probable separation is a very great help to me.  I’ll be able to quit worrying about you, or rather about you worrying about me !  Then all will be easy

Letters seem to come every day now, which is splendid.  Oh & good about your financial success with Mr. Careless.  If we can keep it under £100 all will be well.  The lower the better but have your £2 a week & an occasional nibble for clothes etc.

                                                God be with you

Another letter this morning, a nice, very nice, exceedingly nice letter, written on Monday night – Tuesday afternoon, 5 pages & sensible, brave, true & warm letter.  Thankyou.

Peter & I have lunched here in the club & are sitting in the lounge preparatory to having baths.  After that tea & a boat ride to new Brighton & a walk, a sit, a talk & back to our temporary homes.  Tomorrow is a day of quite hard work.  Then there is quite a lot of pottering about.  Maybe several weeks when we’ll be so near & yet so far.

Yes I have full faith in you, Fitz & Dickie – Anne.  St. Anthony will be there, with tout que c’il faut pour naitre. I’ll see the child when very young alright.  A matter of months I think.  No more. What a todo !

Child & I drank a solemn pint last night while I telephoned & then back & early to bed.  I’m glad the cream & powder arrived in good order.  Lockleys a good lad indeed.  I hope the powder was the right shade.  Choice was limited & difficult.

Ships are lovely things, & take such a host of men to tend them.  But they are lovely.  The ship I know so well has been in convoy work since 1939 & has lived a charmed life.  Never a splinter, & not through absence of Jerry’s trying.  She’s been on the North Africa run too, & the old risky Mediterranean run.  Nary a thrill.  A lucky ship.

D’you remember lunching downstairs, with the portly waiter ?

Peter has just seen the wedding group.  He observes that I look very “hedged about” !  Eager to be off and away with you.  Always eager for that.

                        Now for my bath.  Farewell, sweet wife.  God be with you,