Sunday
Sick Berth, Skegness
Sweetheart,
The first thing, I think, is to try to answer the riddle of the difference between Michael and Wendy. Let’s try to get down to common ground if we can. First of all, I don’t think you are quite right in saying they have both been treated exactly alike. Think back. Did we ever say, in excuse of Wendy when she was 3 1/2, “well, you must remember she is only a baby yet”? We did not. We treated her, from the beginning, as our equal and that policy has paid good dividends. She was helping you, in her own tiny way but to the full extent of her powers, to look after Michael in the first few days you were back from the nursing home. It might have been that she only brought the towel or the powder or a clean nappie but, and this is the important thing, even at that age she was learning to think of the welfare of others. It was the same with her toys. She would give anything to Michael because she wanted to see him happy. She was learning to give, Michael always taking. It is so still. Wendy is far more generous with her toys when other children come in. Michael tries to play with three things at once in order to corner the market. Then there is the big factor of their opposite sexes. Women have always fussed over him more than over Wendy – a tendency I have always protested against. That is where a lot of the trouble arose, the tendency to treat him continually as a baby. And the unfair thing is that Michael himself will suffer for it when once he gets to school. The lads there have no illusions about babies and for that reason he should learn to stand on his own feet and yet show some consideration for others. In this respect Wendy comes much nearer to a happy medium because, coming back to the original premise, she has thought of others from a very early stage and was always treated as an equal. Michael, on the other hand, has always thought only of himself and other people have been much more inclined to say “Oh! It’s a shame. He is only a baby yet.” That, I think, sums up the difference between the two of them. The question remains, how to make Michael toe the line properly?
Two great dangers must be avoided at all costs. (1) In attempting to make him more considerate and obedient he must not be continually nagged at or over-punished in sheer desperation; (2) I must not be held up to him as a permanent threat.
This is one of the worst sides of war, the withdrawal of authority at a crucial age. In one way it is so easy to give advice from a distance; in another way it is very difficult to give sound practical advice because there are so many factors to take into consideration – Michael’s health at the moment; whether or not your own nerves are strained; the degree of temptation; and the enormity of the offence. These are but some of the things to be considered, yet they make it difficult to lay down a set of golden rules. I’m pointing all these things out because I don’t want you to think I’m under-rating the job of keeping Michael on the right road. One good way might be to give him more responsibility. Face up to this fact – that where a child is left an orphan at an early age, he or she soon has to take on responsibility, especially where there is a family of any size. Small sacrifices are accepted as inevitable and become part of life.
To get back to Michael. Let him do things for you by himself – not with supervision from you or from Wendy (her continual supervision may be worse than yours). Look how pleased he always was when he came back with a load of manure. To him it’s a job well done – an achievement. Why not let him bring the chips in for you every day and let him realise that he is doing it because I am away and he is being the daddy. Tell, him, too, that he is helping both you and Wendy. If it weren’t for him bringing in the chips there would be no fire for you. That is one little thing he can do every day. Can you think of any others? There must be lots of little things – even such things as bringing the milk in from the front door each morning. Make that his job, too, even though he has to carry the stool to the front door. It’s another community job and don’t let Wendy interfere in any job assigned to him. That would spoil the whole thing. If you can, try to find little things he can do for Wendy – jobs you can say are boys’ jobs. I know you are not keen on stressing the sex differences but I think it can be done with success and advantage sometimes. If you can make him feel that both you and Wendy are to some extent dependent on him he will respond by accepting responsibility more readily. Once he does that, you are on the way to teaching him obedience and self-discipline, which are both necessary if he is going to be a “good” boy, in the real not the namby-pamby sense. Show him gradually that your happiness depends to a large extent on his behaviour. Sometimes it pays to show some of the weaknesses in your armour, unless the other party is essentially evil – and, with all his faults, I don’t think Michael is that. Above all, try to keep him away from the exuberant admiration of people like Mrs Reid. People like that mean well but can make things much more difficult.
On the second point there is not a lot to be said, but obviously it would be bad for me to be held up as a distant but rather terrifying deity. The danger then would be if I was away for any length of time he would feel perhaps that he had only to behave himself while I was at home. Alternatively he would learn to dread my homecomings for fear of an accumulation of sins to be accounted for.
Well, sweet, there is the problem as I see it. I don’t know whether all this, written in more or less detached spirit while 200 miles away, is going to help you faced with the problem in the flesh and no escape from it. You speak of “worrying” me with these problems. Don’t be daft! I don’t like to think of you having to battle with all these things alone and like to feel that you still turn to me in your hard times. It keeps the contacts with home ever so much real.
Now about one other “serious” matter while we are in this mood. You speak with dread of the possibility that I might be away for long periods at a time. Make your mind up to the fact that I probably will have to go at some future date. That is by far the best way of dealing with these problems. Expect the worst all the time. Neither you nor I enjoy the prospect of such a long and enforced separation, but we are luckier than most people. We know each other as few people do. We are constant to each other for another ten thousand years. Darling, we faced worse things than a world war in the few months before we were married and the eighteen months after. It was worse than a world war because, knowing each other far less intimately, we found ourselves together and to make sure of our own happiness were prepared to give our families the bird. That was a much bigger personal decision than the decision we now have to make – that, come what may, we will hang on like grim death until eventually we come together again, as come together we must. I am not enjoying being away from you all but I do realise this, that more than ever will I appreciate my own home and family. In that way we may gain something deep and lasting from all this nonsense. While I have been here I have been amazed at the depth of feeling there is in quite ordinary every day fellows for their wives and families. I never imagined the average Englishman had such a highly developed family sense. In many ways I feel sorry for the single man who will gain from this war nothing but a sense of disturbance and frustration. They will find it difficult to settle down for few if any of them have ever lived in a “normal” atmosphere.
Oh my sweetheart, I do get smug sometimes when I think of you. I still have not got over the miracle of learning to love you and of being loved in full measure in return. I’m still amazed when I think of you waiting with such impatience for me. Beyond loving and caring for you as I’ve never cared for anyone – how could I help myself? – I’ve done nothing to deserve it. I’ve been profligate with money, and drunk far more than was good for me. I have come home late and meals have been ruined. Even if you did sometimes nark a bit, you never bore malice next day, did you? Not even when I woke you, as I so often did, at 4am to give you a cup of tea and other things! Happy days, pet! How happy. And here I am living an almost completely pure life. Never a dip of the wick and seldom a pint of ale. Woe is me for I am undone, or will be in the next couple of weeks I hope.
Several times I have tried to construct the scene when I do creep into the house, but I can’t. All I can see is you and it is impossible to describe your expression beyond the fact that your eyes show how much you love me, if that is possible. I’m toying with the idea of surprising you by creeping into the house about midnight, and just sliding naked into bed beside you. How would you like to wake up like that, one night? In some ways it would be better than getting home and finding you all strung up with excitement. Then, too, you wouldn’t be able to laugh at me until the morning. Now that you have been to Limedale this week – did you have a nice time? – don’t go again until I have been home. You might just arrange to go there on the weekend I’m coming. Then there would be complications with Limedale and with the children.
Sweetheart, I just want to go on telling you how much I love you. To hold you tight until you cry out. To hearthrug you. To throw you on the bed. Oh, to do lots of things I can’t possibly do from this distance, except say “I love you, sweet”.
Now, darling, I’ll have to close soon if I’m going to catch the Sunday post. My gums are coming on nicely but they feel as though there are a few pieces of tooth or bone splinter which have still to work their way out. I have not seen the dentist for a couple of days, but no doubt he will be in some time tomorrow and will probably send me back to normal routine. I want to be out of here soon because I don’t want to run the slightest risk of missing the draft whenever it comes along. If I did I might be stuck here for another five or six weeks and even then might not get a weekend from here. What a prospect! Anyway, I feel fine in myself and am eating quite a lot of stuff, although it takes longer than it used to do. By the time I get home my gums should be quite hard.
Yesterday and today have been glorious here. Lovely warm sunshine for a couple of hours just about noon and no real cold at any time. If only it stays like this until we leave my heart will soften towards Skegness. What has it been like in Crosby? Any more lovely drying days? And what is the garden doing? Crocus should be through now. Are the daffs coming on? If you do anything to the rockery, be careful not to pull out those tiny plants Sid gave me last back-end. And what of the allotment? Judging by reports everything is likely to be late this year. I’ll be interested to know if you are getting any of our own veg. You won’t forget there were two beds of parsnip, will you? Or have you used them all? And how did the sprouts last? I expect most or all of the spring cabbage were killed off by the frost and snow. Keep an eye on the rhubarb and look up the proper treatment of raspberries. They should have been cut back last autumn. That’s my fault but you had better deal with them at once if you can. Anyway, send me a report on the progress of the Johnson estate some time. I’m still interested you know,
Wendy’s birthday is certainly complicating life for you. If I were in your place I should have Mary and Chris and Jennifer and Nanna over on Sunday and make Monday a purely children’s day. If you don’t you’ll do nothing but worry all day Sunday and instead of enjoying Monday you will be snapping at the children all day! Regarding the present, I think you are right. Will you buy it and let me know what my share is? Incidentally, I’ll bet you will never think of giving Michael a “grown-up” present on his fifth birthday. See the point? A gun, or a pair of skates – some toy for him. Why? All this is not to say Wendy won’t appreciate a set for her table. She will.
Well, pet, I really must go or I shall miss this post and I want this letter to be waiting for you if possible but before I go – I love you more and more and more. Take care of yourself, darling, and if you are feeling down slip into the doctor’s for a tonic. He’ll understand and in the end it will be by far the cheapest. I will be much happier if you do and if I know you have taken all the tonic properly! I’ll supply the next tonic – by injections!
All my love, precious. Ever,
Arthur X
Mar 151942