Friday
Skegness
Darling,
This will definitely be my last letter from here and, even more definitely, it will be very brief I’m afraid, because in a couple of hours we will be on our way. The chief reason for this hurried note is to say that, for the moment, you can write to me at this address:
O/Tel AJohnson, JX342517, R.N. Unit, Aberdeen.
Later I may be able to send you a full address which will reach me more quickly, so don’t pass this on as my new address just yet anyway.
Our luggage is on its way now and we have sung Auld Lang Syne at tea so we feel the day is about done. Supper is early tonight, 6 o’clock, and after that we parade to be searched for tobacco and to hand in the identity cards we have been using here. Then off we go like a herd of cattle to the railway station. We may get a chance of one quick drink before we parade for search. We are hoping so.
By the way, I have not written to the children for some time. I’ll do my best to do so soon after I get to Aberdeen and I’ll also try to answer all your recent letters, including your last one. What a lovely letter that was. With things as they are, I had to read it in three separate “bites”, but I’m looking forward to lingering over it on the train. Then I shall go into a coma! Your reference to West Kirby and my first hint of marriage brought back such vivid memories. Even now, amid all this hurry and hustle all around me, it takes me out of myself and I can feel the lovely atmosphere there was that night. Oh darling, I must have loved you then, even though I didn’t realise it. But since then you have grown a thousand times more precious to me.
Well, pet, much as I should like to linger on this subject, I dare not. If I do I shall miss the post, which will mean that you will not get this letter before Monday. If you get this on Saturday you may be able to post a line on Sunday before 4 o’clock which may reach me on Monday. Aren’t I selfish? But I should like it! I really am off now. Bye my love and take care of yourself. You belong to me you know.
All my love, darling. Ever yours,
Arthur X
P.S. Don’t send those pyjamas, or any parcels, until I give you the O.K.