SCARBOBOUGH. WEDNESDAY EVENING, about eight.
Your dear letter came, my dearest, this afternoon, dutifully, speeding and loyally. It was written on Monday night and Tuesday morning. With it were two vague book reviews, bless them, and some Times cuttings, bless them. Also news of your welcome from the golden lady, a lovely page, vividly written and valuable to me. And about your poor foot. Be careful, get it vetted if it’s at all sick making, and don’t over do it, but try crutches for porkeries, which are vital. Dear porks, over the hills and far away and far far away we used to go in spirit, didn’t we. We will again, through crisp February snow. And you setting off to give Mrs. Bowen the works, with your head high and a smile of great courtesy and good breeding masking your very correct indignation Bah-ah-haha.
Oh, yesterday I met Barry at the Victoria, I paid the bill had had elevenpence halfpenny left over! Dear Anthony. So I bought two beers, elevenpence, and Barry and I went upstairs to the Lounge and drank them, and I wrote to you. Our non-Colin, the Smilier of the two, was there the one we met first. Also a colleague of his. In conversation I discovered that his name is Dr. Bradfield, a famous scientist, employed by Marconi as a research man, and working now for the Royal Navy! He goes about fitting radios in submarines and battle ships and invents things. He has also done a lot for the German navy and knows how ours are better in every way. He’s a ten thousand a year man or so his friend gave us to believe. The friend does the same thing for the Air Ministry. He, the friend, was over at Junkers in 1939 – he knows Magdeburg very well and is a great friend of the station master there, tell Klaus, he likes Magdeburg -and at Junkers he saw them trying the Junkers 87 for the first time. It circled and spluttered and he asked a German officer what the idea of it was, and he was told “That, mien frienderen, is our answer to your Spitfire” to which our friend answered one duplicate round word! The Junkers 88 was in the shops then. He was fitting the Junkers with Radio sets! He has his office at Croydon and recently the Officers Mess had a big dinner on and the O.C. wanted lobsters. So they sent a bomber to Scotland to get some. It filled up with lobsters, and then, on the way back, met a Messerschmitt, which shot it down. The Mess was furious. The lobsters were ruined.
We talked and chatted and then the doctor invited Barry and I to eat with him and the four of us had an Edith feast in the middle of the room, with more beer and more beer afterwards and I caught the ten o clock bus with my halfpenny in my pocket still, A gay evening. So glad our friend is distinguished. He’s asked me to pop in again before he goes on Friday, and he’s bought the book.
A Gigantic tuck box from Mother this afternoon, About ten pounds of water biscuits, five of chocolate biscuits, a quarter of a pound of cheese, a pound of butter, a pound and a half of chocolate, sixty cigarettes and a pound to pay for the books and keep the change. What a mother and me cigaretteless and broke!
I’ve eaten Noel Cowards autobiography up these past two days to tide over the desolation of a no-you. Its stimulating. One passage struck me as being shrewd, here it is, see if you don’t recognise the spirit of it:-
“People, I decided, were the danger. People were greedy and predatory, and if you gave them the chance, they would steal unscrupulously the heart and soul out of you without really wanting to or meaning to. A little extra personality, a publicised name, a little entertaining value above the average, and there they were, snatching and grabbing, clamorous in their demands, draining your strength to add a little fuel to their social bonfires….”
Let me know about the new Paul, and I may get the fillip to carry on and strike a necessary light note which will enable me to get to the end with a good standard despite the difficulties of this job. I can’t promise much in the near future, because of the classification and Collective training, but if I can carry on to a definite point for us to talk of on leave I may have some peace back here again, if I stay, to do a real chunk or so perhaps to finish it.
They dangled carrots yesterday before our potential OCTU noses. The carrots were an almost certainty of acceptance if we agreed to go to India for training, sergeants pay as soon as we embarked, sergeants allowance for wives, training in the hills in a good climate, a good social life, polo and so on, and servants, and forty pounds a month when commissioned instead of fourteen here, But thinking of the weeks together we should lose, I said NO and bit not. If I have to go I will go, and if it would win the war quicker I would, but as it is its better for me to train here and defend you actively if Jerry invades. I’d shoot with great calm and elation if he was invading the land wherein you lived, but if he invaded while I was 7000 miles away I’d be very upset and frightened.
I must ease off now and curb my desire to write and write to Mama. My love to your Mama, please and the nice Spencers, dear daft kitchen party you are going to, bless you. My love to Marjorie. The picture’s all right then? I was coy about it but wanted you to have one which made the best of me – you see so different a me to anyone else, and I’m happy that you like it.
What a happy holiday. Dear Mrs. Jeffs the old long nose.
Good wishes to Klaus and kisses galore, Spanish ones, to Candy-tuft. Bless the girls and the cats.
Ever your very own, and very devoted. . . .
David