Saturday
Dover
Dearest,
I didn’t bother posting a letter yesterday because there was very little news and, from what you say, letters take two days from here so it would not have reached you until Monday in any case. I hope that by now you have received the sweets and pan scrubbers I sent. Soon you should get a couple of bigger parcels for I have written and asked Jack to send home all the stuff I had left behind me – spare pyjamas, civvy shirts, socks, shoes etc. So will you let him and me know when they arrive, please? And on the subject of acknowledgements, many thanks indeed for your letter yesterday containing the face cloth – a minor thing which means a lot. However, before I answer that letter I’ll answer the one of the previous day which was, I think, chiefly concerning the plot. You have no idea how pleased I was to hear of Michael’s interest in it and I’m very glad I remembered to give him a pat on the back for it in my last letter. I might have piled it on a bit thicker if I’d known how hard he is working. He seems to be settling down a lot lately and I’m very pleased with him indeed. Wendy, of course, has always been very reliable. To get back to the plot, you seem very late with your tommies this year, though those I have seen here out of doors don’t seem as far advanced as usual. The only thing is that you don’t want to overdo things, you know, and you have done very well indeed. Usually I have been able to help a little, but I seemed to be home at the wrong time this year, though perhaps I might have done a bit more in January than I did. If we go back to Whitehall and get leave from there I will try to get a cutting of Tom’s cultivated blackberry for the fence. I saw one at his mother’s. You have to saw the old wood through when pruning each year! My idea was that it might help to strangle some of the rubbish at that end.
The only outstanding item in that letter is about my tummy, I think. I went to the M.O. yesterday, and after the manner of his kind he asked tenderly about my bowels! Seriously, he’s an Irishman (a different type from Peter Regan who is the craziest doctor I know) and he is very good. Gave me a hell of a bottle one day because I’d missed a single dose of medicine. He wouldn’t sign me off until I’d convinced him I was really feeling better. Our place doesn’t keep him very busy – about two hours a day – but he must be working hard somewhere for he looks to me like a man who needs a long holiday. Why is it that so many Irish doctors – Peter being the exception – have that peculiar quality of tenderness more than any other nationality? I’ve noticed it in “Morry” [???] Ryan and several others before. I wonder where young Steve Regan is. Peter is very proud of him and I think rightly so for he has all of Peter’s mental brilliance without his really irritating mannerisms, and I believe he qualified at a very early age, becoming just about the youngest captain in the RAMC. I wouldn’t be surprised if he stayed in after the war for he looked very much the soldier the last time I saw him and I think that in some ways he is more essentially conservative than his father who, after all, must surely be unique. He is the only man I ever heard of who threw up an engineering lecturer’s job to become a doctor!
Your Jean Batten episode must have been a pleasant break from normal household and garden routine and I only hope you can do a bit more of that sort of thing while the children are at school. Once more, why not see Mollie and ask her about sending odd news pars in to the ‘D.P.’ or ‘Echo’? In some ways I’m sorry now we let the phone go. On things like that you could easily ring Mollie and, if she hadn’t got it, ring the office with a stick or so, though admittedly the occasions will be few and far between, though they will probably increase later on.
For a long time I intended mentioning this matter of Salute the Soldier week and suggesting that Wendy and Michael should not take any extra to school and that they should be given reasons if they were asked, but I suppose they would be merely voices crying in the wilderness. Who was the child who took £250? It sounds like a piece of vulgar snobbery which would delight young Cynthia’s heart! Still, I’m glad to hear you are keeping the flag flying, love. I’m afraid that these days I have sunk into a mental torpor.
An amusing little incident occurred yesterday when we were going ashore. We parade for liberty boat, you know, and I had several letters in my hand ready to drop in the censor’s box as we went out. A P.O. solemnly warned me against the dangers of posting letters ashore as ALL letters in this area and for some distance around are censored and servicemen get an outsize dose of jankers if they endeavour to avoid the censor in this way! As if I had never seen the naval patrol near the post office!
As we only had syrup for tea, which I didn’t fancy, I split half of your cake with the few lads on my watch and it went down very well. Many thanks indeed, love, it was really nice. So you can tell Michael some of the other sailors did come to my party after all!
We got proxy voting forms today and of course I put you down as my proxy. No need to tell you what to do if the need ever arises. Incidentally, guess who printed them – J&C Moores! Did I hear you murmur “racket”? Tut tut.
Yesterday, Tom and I hitch-hiked to Canterbury and spent a pleasant hour or so in the Cathedral, where the sub-librarian was showing a party of people round in a manner which would have pleased even Yanks for its high pressure level! He certainly knew his stuff and I should like to spend a whole afternoon there with him. The city, by the way, has had a bad bashing about and it shows up a lot because it is almost wholly confined to two areas: one near the station and the other near the Cathedral. It’s a lovely old city, reminiscent in some ways of Chester, though without the famous Rows, of course. A very pleasant day indeed and once again, for the thousandth time, I wished you could have been there too. You would have reveled in it.
What do you think of Jerry’s pilotless planes? One thing I’m glad of is that if the official statement that they are rocket-propelled is true they are not likely to reach Liverpool! I must drop Dot a note to see how they fared, for I hear things were a bit hot in that neighbourhood. I’m annoyed that I haven’t seen one! As soon as there is any danger we are shepherded down into caves which will stand up to any bomb in the world, so there is no need to worry about us. My complaint is that you can’t sleep in comfort for they are dank. First Whitehall and now here, I seem to be spending all my working hours underground, which is why I like to get out all I can. In some ways I’d welcome a draft like Robin and Jack Gray got, for at least we would not be leading the life of a mole!
Well, love, that’s all for today. Don’t worry, we are almost depressingly secure! You know the moods one is apt to get these days, but generally speaking I’m managing to look at things sanely.
Now I must go. No need to say how much I reciprocate your feelings on various subjects, is there? I’ll answer today’s letter tomorrow, but meantime let Wendy go to the Brownies so long as there is no religious tie-up. Next time I’m home MAKE me have a serious talk with them both on this subject, for thank goodness they both trust our judgment and I think a talk now may save a lot of trouble all round later on. They are old enough now to realise things are not what they appear on the surface. Tell Wendy I will pay for her Brownies hat or frock or whatver it is they have and I want to hear a full account of her first day there.
Must fly. All my love.
Ever,
Arthur X
Jun 171944