My Dear Bessie (12 page)

I love you.

Chris

3 August 1944

My Dear Bessie,

Unless I am very careful I shall be slobbering throughout the whole of this letter.

Honestly, I cannot be casual about what you are saying to me. You are stirring me till I gasp. Although I bravely but sorrowfully burnt almost all your other letters, I feel now that I must keep these latest ones, and so, because I cannot trust you to my kitbag, or that artful little corner in my gas respirator where rests my odd other letters, I needs must have a big pocket bulging in front of me, containing what you have sent.

About our after the war programme, I don't know. We shall settle our troubles better when we know what they are likely to be! It may be a week, a month, but I know that it cannot be much longer. Fortunately our furniture does give something of a start, and we shall have a fair amount of money between us. I expect your Dad will let you have your bed (although I suppose it is part of your other possessions) and no doubt my Mother would let me have mine.

I am wholly in your power. And I know that you are wholly in mine! This cloth (perhaps a small handkerchief) – will you place it on your breasts (no, rub it on them) and then send it? Please. It will take a long time to come, but I shall know when it does, and I shall treasure it and envy it its luck.

I can understand your rows with your Dad. I haven't been on the best of terms with my brother since you enchanted me. He seems to be in the way, obtrudes.

Thank you for telling me the costume you were wearing. I would give a lot to see you in it, though I suspect you would not be in it long. I must take you somewhere, a long way from anyone, away to our own spot, as soon as the time comes.

I love you.

Chris

4 August 1944

My dear and lovely Bessie,

You can imagine how I felt today to get your photographs, on top of these LCs I have lately received! How lovely you are! How really nice! How much to be admired! Dear, dear, dearest Elizabeth, what are you doing to me, what are we doing to each other? How did I not see you, why was I blind, what can I do? I do not want to use ordinary words and usual language to tell you how dear you are to me, how I ache and wait for you. You are worthy of so much more than I can ever hope to give, yet your love inspires me, and makes me think I might succeed with you. I shall return later the photographs taken at Great Yarmouth and Rannoch Moor. Both may be a little bit precious to you, and the FOUR (it's grand to have so many) others will be wonderful for me to drink in.

Already I have had a dozen quick furtive looks. I am looking forward to the time when I can take my first long look at them, when I am by myself, when I can imagine the better that you are with me. Now, when you look at my photographs, you can wonder if I am looking at yours at the same time. There will be many times when that happens, for I shall look often. Look at you holding your skirt, look at you showing your bare feet, look at you by the boat, and be delighted at the curve of your breasts revealed by the jumper. Look at you with the other girl (‘I'll soon polish 'er 'orf' – Sweeney Todd), at your little velvet trousers, your bare knees. Whew! You have done something now!

I LOVE YOU.

Chris

12 August 1944

[Italy]

My dear and lovely Bessie,

This will be a short and hurried letter to convey to you the news that I have recently had a short and safe sea journey, and am having a most interesting time, as well as looking forward to the times ahead. You can imagine my relief when I discovered I was
not bound for India, and my pleasure to be again on the same continent as you. The sand that fell on the stone floor here when I made my bed here last night is the last I may ever sleep on again. I have no great complaint about Libya, but it is good to get away from the eternal camel, sand, khamsins,
*
and to see again trees, houses, streets, civilians and other near-England sights. As I have only been here a day, you will not expect much news of the place. Apart from varied uniforms, there is little sign that there is a war on, and no sign of lack of food. Many of the young children present a similar appearance to those in Egypt, but the adults are well dressed and look true to type. The women are attractive, languorous, and their clothes are of many types and materials. (I gave my issue of preventatives to one of our chaps whose appetite is larger than my own.) There is a good NAAFI, and a YMCA. At the latter I bought 2 cakes (with a penny each) and a cup of tea for – 6d. (10 lire). There are some fine, but very dear, silks and satins on sale. Strangely, not many ice cream shops, although I had a wonderfully cold limonata today for 6d.

There are plenty of nice tomatoes about, almonds, pears, etc. I was unfortunately unable to travel with my brother, but will shortly be joining up with him again, to recommence our journeyings together and swap recent experiences. The best thing about the sea journey was its shortness. The conditions below decks, in the space provided for the Other Ranks, were slightly worse than those I endured for seven weeks, eighteen months ago. You could not imagine those conditions, and I am not going to attempt to describe them herein. Later I will send you a letter
I shall submit to censorship. I am sure every ordinary soldier abroad lost a stone in weight during the journey. The behaviour of the chaps was very much better than previously, and the food was greatly improved. I slept on decks both for comfort and as a safety measure. The main thing about any wartime sea journey, however, is one's safe arrival, and I thank the chaps in the Navy for mine.

Now I want you to understand that from now on my warnings of a few months back, about imagining that my lack of words means lack of fundamental interest in you, really do hold good. At my desert station I had plenty of opportunity for writing. Now, I am on the edge of a new life, the brink of adventure, the fringe of something I have never experienced before. I do not know where I may go or how long I shall be there. I cannot say to myself, ‘Ah, I'll write Bessie tomorrow' – for I shall not know where I shall be tomorrow. I want you always to bear my new circumstances in mind, and never to think I am for a moment leaving off thinking about you with my head, and writing you letters in my heart.

Censorship will naturally be more frequent, and I shall find myself rather discouraged in illustrating the strength of my desires regarding you. I am very sorry that this is so, and I hope you will not fail to appreciate the new position. I shall always write you as often and as much as circumstances allow. I shall think of you, you will be a part of me, now and in the future as you have been in this recent wonderful past. I shall dream of you in whatever awaits me as I have dreamt of you amidst the sand, and, lately, on the sea. Do not worry about my safety, do not worry about the
sureness of my love for you, or the glory you mean to me; you, you, you, alone.

I love you.

Chris

23 August 1944

Dear Bessie,

I can quite easily understand the appeal of My Lady Nicotine in present circumstances, and had awaited some such little ‘confession' as you are good enough to offer. You can be a human chimney if you want to be one. I know you will be able to reduce it when conditions make human beings of us all, again. I wish I could let you have my free issue, which in this Command is a weekly 60 cigarettes (Park Drive last week, Craven A this), 2 boxes of [matches] – and one bar of chocolate. I wouldn't worry too much about saving money. We shall be fairly well off compared with many. I forget how much I am saving each week. Either £2 10s. or £2 15s., I know.

I do not carry your letters about with me now. It was only on the boat. I could not risk you being ‘dispersed over a wide area'. In any move, you – your letters – travel with me. I am sorry I had to burn so much of you – later I will tell you of the few letters I saved.

So your Dad is now retired. A little job would be useful for the reason you give. You are bound to get on each other's nerves. Don't think I shall regard you as a horrid cat if you do flare up. I'll control you alright! Glad you are still getting the
Statesman
, thought you might have lapsed it.

I want to hold you now and always.

I love you.

Chris

27 August 1944

Dearest,

I have now moved from the dusty camp, and after another journey by cattle truck, the details of which are too Army-ish to describe, have arrived at a site, perhaps the most pleasant I shall ever be in, whether in the Army or out of it. Just as I am overpowered by you and not very eloquent in telling you, so this place is so full of natural beauty that it defies the efforts of an ordinary man to describe it. We are in a valley known locally as ‘Happy Valley'. On three sides there are the hills, covered with trees of infinite variety and much beauty – and on the other side – the sea; ten minutes' walk from the camp, from which it is always visible. (I am sitting on the beach in the cove writing this, at the moment,
having just been in the warm sea.) This place might be anywhere in England for the forest aspect of the hills, anywhere along the coast for the peaceful quiet of this cove. When you find a place like this in England you hope that no one else will ‘discover' it. Out here there is no fear of anyone else coming, as there are only half-a-dozen farm houses to be seen situated on the slopes of the valley.