Sunday
London
Dearest,
Many thanks for yesterday’s and today’s letters which I’ll answer at once. First of all, many thanks for telling me of your plot endeavours, about which I have been wondering lately. However, I now have quite a good mental picture of what is happening. I’m a bit surprised that you have decided to go in for onions after all, for it seems rather late in the year now and, as I said some time ago, it scarcely seems worthwhile as there is almost certain to be quite a good supply in the shops. Still, it’s your plot and you know what you need from it. Are you getting plants from the nursery? It’s a good idea to put peas and beans in that position which will give them a real change and will do the soil a lot of good. The remains of the wood fires are still in the old bucket, I think, so use it up. Will you use it for the tommies? It’s a shame to waste it and either the tomatoes or the beans will be glad of it, I think. Sorry the tree lupin has gone, but it has done very well, hasn’t it? You seem to be doing very well in the plot, love, but I’m glad you are giving your tummy consideration too. This year, try to keep the children in form picking out weeds. If they just did half an hour each every day it would help you a lot and wouldn’t be a very big sacrifice for them. Anyway, now is the time when they have to learn to pull their weight in the family a bit. I don’t believe in children being turned into little slaves, but they must learn some sense of duty – horrid word but necessary sometimes.
I see your point about the ‘Echo’ and agree wholeheartedly. Get the best price you can for your stuff, love. If you do this, Prince may later be glad to pay you decently for stuff. Maybe the ‘Weekly Post’ will open up again after the war and that should provide you with quite a happy hunting ground. Don’t worry, love, if ever you show signs of any of the failings you mention you will come down to earth with a real bump. I’ll see to that and if you feel you still cherish your vices after I’ve finished with you, you can have the house to yourself and get yourself a fancy man in. I’m not going to be “Stella Gregson’s husband” in my own house and the children aren’t going to grow up in a reflected glory atmosphere either if I can help it. No, love, have no fears on that point at all.
Harold sounds a bit browned off from what you say. It’s hard luck when he hears of other people making progress while he is in a dead end. That is where war is really lousy. Incidentally, Jack and I have just been to the Tabard for a pre-luncheon drink and we saw a bloke named Oscar whom Jack says is secretary of British Actors’ Equity. You are more up to date in the film world than I am so you probably recognise the name. I didn’t, though Jack says he plays in a lot of British films, usually as the villain, or some whining sort of merchant. Actually he looks a most human, likeable sort of a bloke.
The poorest of poor views is taken of this rushing of letters to lord and master simply because the woman across the road has been to see her husband and has come home sexually starved. Remind me to remedy the fault when I come home! As you say, I can’t see us letting that happen, for instead of wasting time coming to the digs I’d have had you down near the camp or billet or whatever it was. They are as poor as! Seriously, I’m sorry to hear that he may end up in that godforsaken country and only hope his C.O.’s plea will be successful.
And now you listen to me for a minute. You are quite right in having this “our turn next” feeling in your water! From that, don’t imagine that I know anything or that I have even heard rumours. Honestly I haven’t, but I’ve a sneaking feeling that once we get bases established on the continent, we’ll be over there on communications. I’m making this point because I have grown to accept the position and the sooner you do the same the better for your eventual peace of mind. It may be weeks, it may be months, it may be days, but sooner or later the blow must fall. Although I have never allowed myself to crystallise this thought in words, I now have no illusion that I will see the war out in Whitehall. Our place is now the official “pool” for AM ratings, which means that all drafts will go from here, so one bright day we’ll walk in and be told to pack our bags. I’m not saying all this to depress you, sweet, but you might as well know what the position is. It’s got to be faced. No, my pet. Not for all the tea in China. If I get a draft before the second front opens (a million to one chance) you most certainly are not coming within 100 miles of London. That is flat and definite even if I don’t get leave. Nor will you come after the second front if there is any shelling or bombing. Got that straight? I hope you have, for I have tried to make it plain enough. This is where self-discipline comes in for us and not for the children. We have no right, for their sakes, to run unnecessary risks for the sake of seeing each other. That seems clear enough to me, though I should hate it just as much as you. In any case, I don’t think the need for silent heroics will ever arise, for if we have a couple of days’ notice of draft we won’t be sculling round London but haring home as fast as we can get, for the leave ban won’t affect us then. And from this sentence neither you nor I have any right of appeal!
Norah Gates has certainly been unlucky, hasn’t she? Does her mother still sniff-sniff?
I think the reaction of the BBC to your story is at least very promising for it looks to me as if at least it has not been rejected out of hand. As you know, I have had no direct dealings with the BBC for my stuff was sent through the recommendation of Ernest Atkinson, but I should imagine that stuff which is rejected at once is accompanied by an aerial rejection slip, though how they convey atmospheric raspberries I’ve not the slightest idea! I should say the reference number is a very hopeful sign. Actually I’m eager to say much more enthusiastic things, but I’m afraid of building up false hopes. Let me know at the first moment if you hear anything really definite. Write me at the office if necessary, love.
Listen, love, you have misjudged me about the steel wool. It wasn’t that I’d forgotten. I thought you understood that I simply had not the financial margin for it or for the postage of it. I’m better off now I’ve had monthly settlement so I’ll send some home in the next few days with a magazine or two, I hope. And it was not several weeks ago! A fortnight and a bit.
Now that, I think, answers your letters fully. I’ve written to Michael telling him something of what I did on Friday. This was another glorious day. I just wandered on in strange country keeping a general idea of my whereabouts but not caring a lot where I went. Bookham Common is a lovely place and there are houses on it in the most surprising isolated places. Altogether it was a day of surprises. I was wandering up a ride when I suddenly came across an army camp – an army on the move of which I can’t tell you very much, obviously, but it was a most interesting experience. I’ve read all kinds of propaganda stories about confidence in the armed forces. After talking to some of these lads, British and Canadian, believe me it’s true. Quietly confident certainly is the phrase. No boasting, no under-estimation of the job. A realisation that it will be hell getting in. They know it, but they also know they can’t get back home until it is done. “No Dunkirks and no Dieppes this time” is their slogan and they all feel it in their bones that they can outfight anything Jerry brings forward. That experience was very chastening to a stay-at-home like me, but it did me good and cheered me no end. I was passing one make-shift cookhouse where the lads, obviously amazed to see a sailor(!) there, called me over for a cup of tea. So there I stayed and chatted for half an hour or more. Then I went off to find the bus and got mixed up with the Canadians. One was on sentry go and behind him sat his pal with guess what – a box of chocolates! They invited me over for a chocolate and there we sat discussing Jerry and eating Canadian “candies” and smoking Canadian cigarettes. It was nice to meet these fellows on their own ground, so to speak.
And that is about all the news, I think. I have written myself dry on all subjects but one and, as that concerns unsafe topics, I’ve got to be my own censor and ban it. All I’ll say is that I only wish you could have been with me either at Hampton Court or on Friday. You would have loved either of them. As it was, I kept talking to you and pointing little things out to you like the dead baby bunnies I’ve told Michael about, and some sparrows chasing a cuckoo, and a whitethroat singing on some telegraph wires, and a gypsy encampment with a wild rabble of children such as would have made your womb jealous. One day, dearest, we will try this part of the country for a holiday. Incidentally, I passed Chessington Zoo, which was something of a moral achievement! I could feel cherubs busily polishing up my halo.
Now, sweetheart, I must drag myself away. I do love you, dear heart. And I’m missing you a lot but I try not to let myself dwell on your loveliness too much. Be a good lass and look after yourself for me, wont you?
All my love to you, precious, and to the children. Bye for now.
Ever your own,
Arthur X
Dear Michael,
We have been having such lovely hot days here that instead of going to bed in the afternoons when we are at work all day, we have gone out into the park and slept on the grass, a thing I love doing. I have also been for some nice walks. On Friday I went on a bus to a place called Leatherhead and then I walked round country lanes and across commons until I got lost! It was really lovely for I have never been there before. I saw lots of squirrels among the trees and, by the side of a path, do you know what I found? Four baby rabbits. Do you remember how small Judy was when we first saw her? Well these were even smaller and they had all been killed by a stoat just before I got there! Poor old bunnies, but there were lots and lots more running round in the bracken. That is why I like to get out into the country when I’m not working – to see all the birds and animals.
I wonder what you saw when you went to Formby? Perhaps you will tell me when you write, will you?
Bye for now, son, and lots of love from
Daddy