My Dear Bessie (37 page)

This afternoon I went to the Bulk Issue NAAFI, to assist in drawing our Christmas rations. A fortnight's rations were drawn, about eight pints of beer, five bars of chocolate, two hundred cigarettes, per man. We had a couple of thousand bottles of beer, several dozens of gin, whisky, sherry, and port (for officers and sergeants), 18,000 cigarettes, and various oddments like oranges, mincemeat, tinned turkey (a precaution against having our live turkeys purloined?). Our three ton truck was well stacked on the return journey. I always find myself meekly wondering when I get to these wholesale places, ‘How is it all done?' Great feats of organisation are accomplished in the supply of necessities to armies.

Here I am, in the YMCA at Portici, with two Indian soldiers drinking tea and eating cakes at the next table. When they go back to civilian life, the whites will shun them, cordon them off, deny them intercourse. How will the Indian take it? The soldiers like the average English soldier because we treat them decently. He must ponder our way of life and that of our wealthy prototypes.

What do you think of ole' Mosley
*
and crew? There's a lot in the paper about banning them. I don't agree, myself. I think that all the 18B clients
†
should have been tried for their projected
treasons, and in the event of guilt being proved, at least had their estates sequestrated. If nothing has been done up to the present, I can't see why we should prohibit peacetime part-time lunatics.

I hope, hope, hope for news of you tomorrow.

I love you.

Chris

20 December 1945

My Darling,

I shall go berserk unless I get some mail shortly; today was another blank day, although one of the ex-4 AFS [Auxiliary Fire Service] chaps did get 14 letters.

Blow me, this not having any mail is a blooming bind. Suppose you had not heard from me for 25 days. What a lark – you'd think I had deserted you, wouldn't you? I very much hope I shall hear from you before Christmas. I reckon I will swoon when I see my own name on a letter. I know that some Air Mail must be held up going your way, as some of our releases are not getting away by air, due to the bad flying weather. We have had a bit of rain lately. I don't care if it snows.

Sorry for the oil stain on the first page of this. It comes from a YMCA cake I have just consumed.

Lovely Bessie, I love you.

Chris

21 December 1945

My Darling Bessie,

I fear that you are due to hear more weepings and wailings and gnashings of teeth from this direction. But the fact remains, no mail, no mail, no mail. Not a word from you for a month all but a day. What a joy it is to be out, here, in the blooming Army!

Our turkeys met their deaths today. Not a gobble did I hear as I went for my tea today. All that remained of them was red bareness hanging by a hook. The Italians killed them. Laid their necks on the grounds and chopped their heads off.

This afternoon I went for a bath to a place called Annunziata, about half an hour's ride away. A BATH! The first all-over wetting I have had since you (my gracious, wonderful wife) scrubbed my back. The Army pays over 9d. each per man. It was jolly fine and I feel beautifully clean.

I understand, by the way, that soldiers with a year to do in Italy can have their wives out here, as the Colonel is doing. So
that if I had a year to do, it might have been worth considering (though what a hole this is!). The wives get Army rations and so on, and I believe the Army finds them billets, too. Your remarks on this may be interesting, so please let's have them.

I hope for mail tomorrow. I must hear from you, to tell me you are alright, to hear about the ‘smashing' dinner you've just cooked …

The time is passing; I hope now only for our next meeting, our always-togetherness.

I love you.

Chris

22 December 1945

My Dearest, Loveliest, Wonderful-est One,

Today was THE DAY – sixteen letters (marvellous, kind, warm, human, real, sweet, delicious, joyful, you-ey letters) arrived, one direct to 6 AFS, thirteen forwarded on to me from 4 AFS since my leave, and two old ones (good nevertheless) sent while you were still a spinster and I a single man. I also had another 20 letters – what a difference reading yours, delighting in the real beauty, the warm sympathy, the grandness of your nature – and all these others. I'll send you some of the more interesting ones later on.

I am in a terrific whirl at the moment, because such a confrontation of your wonderful expressiveness has to be allowed to sink in. Not all the paper in Italy is sufficient for the quantity I want to write you. Although I got your letters at 10 a.m., I had to rush around until 1.30 p.m. before I could start reading. After reading I had a busy afternoon on redirecting mail. So I have only read you once. Tomorrow afternoon I will read you more and more and more.

Janet – Christopher? struggles, asserts, demands first mention. Probably at this date you already know; I can still only speculate. I shall reserve my comments until you write me again. I want to be everything to you. I love you and I need you, I love you for what you have said about this possible event. You are everything to me and the world is a wonderful place because you are in it.

The Christmas present for Mum: whatever you did, OK by me. I thought we had said we'd let it slide. I have only had occasional stabs of sorrow at the thought of her self-made miseries. Please do what you think is best, and don't fear at any time that I shall wish anything different. Another thing, if, say, Mother or anyone ever refers to something about me that you didn't know, say if you wish that ‘Oh yes, he told me', or something like that. What I intend to convey to you is your complete right to do as you will, and my complete faith in you.

Yes, I have ached like you. It was wonderful being so close to you for so long. It was breathtakingly joyous. Being away from you is grim, being in the Army away from you is grimmer. But we have plenty of grounds for hope, plenty of reason to suppose that
we shall meet again before next winter. I hope I can write you less critically and sound as near to you as I feel and know I am.

I appreciate the way you write of our bed, our room, our bottom drawer. My darling. I am so pleased you are happy about me. In my first leave I was too self-contained, this time it was grand to brim over.

Please do continue with your domestic details if you can. I am most interested in your dinners, your appetite and all that you do. You may bore yourself with a recital of your house-cleaning, but you won't bore me, because I imagine you brandishing a duster and wielding a Hoover – and imagining you is the most happy occupation I can have till I meet you.

Your ‘ums' spoke plenty, don't worry about that.

I am sorry to hear about the FLU, but suppose you had to have it. Hope it wasn't too bad – don't go out of doors when you're not well if you can help it, there's a good girl – and that you are OK now.

Yes, it is a job with the whistling. It is an unconscious barometer. I stop short when I think of your horror, but I am by no means cured.

I love you.

Chris

23 December 1945

My Darling,

One of your letters today told of your visit to the doctor. I am disappointed as you are that he could not say definitely. You would think he would say why you had missed. Your symptoms are interesting but not conclusive. I suppose you will have to grin and (literally) bear it, although perhaps you could see another doctor if you felt like it. We are both so know-nothing on this that I am not happy about the doctor's statement about it not being broken not mattering. I should think it would be less easy for an exit (an entrance to the world). But I suppose he knows best. Am glad the hospital seems to present no difficulties. I think we should say nothing until you are certain. I have no doubt you think that, too. I hope that everything goes as you want. If it doesn't, well, we have plenty of time. As things appear, it seems I should be home within the eight months, with any luck. If it does transpire that we are to be parents, you can be sure that I am sorry that only you can possibly endure the pain. You can be sure that this addition is OURS, a physical sign of our mental togetherness. I should like to write for the rest of the evening, and try to say all that I can to encourage you in the event of it being true, or in the event of it failing. But I cannot, I must push on to another subject.

Sanderstead: Business deals with relations are notoriously awkward, and usually more savage than normal deals. I think £1,000 a great deal to ask. Could we enquire the original price (was it £550?) and say we will pay only 50% more (i.e. £775 if it
was £550)? Would it be worthwhile getting a Valuer (Simpson, Palmer and Winder, 1 Southwark Bdge Road, SE1 would help) and stand by his opinion?

Payment: I believe we have a little over £1,000 at the moment. (I have £315 in NSC [National Savings Certificates].) Addition like Income Tax rebates, and Army Gratuities, should raise another £100. I believe you are saving about £1 10s. 0d. a week. If it reaches that stage, get the cash by crossed warrant, NSC and POSB, and send me a form to sign for the £315. Simpson, Palmer, will probably act for us both reasonably. Legal costs will be about £15, I believe.

I feel like a millionaire buying a mansion as well as like a little boy buying his weekly sweets.

Look after the stamps I am sending you. They are really very nice and when I get home I will put them in books.

Just room to say – what a woman you are!

I love you.

Chris