Aug 301944
 

Wednesday
Normandy
Dearest,
I think I answered all your points in letter no. 9, but what I didn’t say was “congrats” on the 5 guineas from Hulton’s. Nice going, love. I was sorry H.L.B. came home to roost again after being away so long and I only hope you hadn’t begun to bank on the money from it. I’m sorry to say I can’t remember what it was you sent to ‘Woman & Beauty’, nor how long ago. Do you think you have “clicked” there, too? I hope so.
I didn’t notice that Michael’s letter was particularly dirty – in fact I don’t think it is, for I never expect to see paper a child has used really spotless. I thought his writing still very good, even if his spelling is a bit shaky. I had hoped my letters to him would have made him take an interest in his reading. Do you think it would shake him up if I began sending his letters for you to read again? They would lose the feeling of being his letters, I think. Let me know what you think about this idea. You won’t be able to do so in your next letter or rather before his birthday, so I’ll send that one as usual and then make a reversion to the old idea of writing them for you to read to him. I’m not going to waste my time on that laborious script if he is too lazy to learn to read. I’m convinced it IS only mental laziness with him and NOT mental incapacity. He is one of the laziest little beggars I know and Wendy, in her open handed way, has helped to spoil him. She does far too much for him, you know. Michael has the ability to absorb detail, as is shown by his drawings, some of which are very good indeed. If he doesn’t buck up soon I’ll have a go at him and then he will wonder just what has happened! You will be too busy this coming winter to want to spend a lot of time on things like that.
Letter 11. Your weather seems much more unsettled than ours. We had three days of broken weather including really heavy rain, and then things settled down again. I’d just written that when I looked out of the window and found it’s raining now! I wonder what sort of weather you are having on holiday? And what the digs are like. I am looking forward to hearing about it all, and to hearing that you are enjoying the change. You are almost certain to find it cooler there, if only because of the hills. The children will probably be astounded by the hills. Your hopes that I’ll be home while you are still “respectable” are hardly likely to be realised, from what we hear, though again we don’t know if leave will affect us, as we don’t know whether or not we are here permanently or on loan. However, when I do come home, get a couple of pairs of kippers and we’ll develop a thirst together which we will satisfy whether you are “respectable” or not, even if we have to get some beer in. That, of course, is providing you don’t become allergic to drink as you did before.
From what you say in this letter I take it that Mrs Gardner knows all about your “hopes”! If Mrs Smith gets to know, you may find half the road knows before another week or two has gone. What about Chris’s pram? Christian will be in a small pram by then, won’t he? If you do have a woman in, what will you do about sleeping accommodation? If you can get a small electric fire, get hold of it and get a two-way plug for the lamp in Wendy’s room and then one of the children could go back in there with the fire on for half an hour every day in the winter and a hot water bottle in the bed at night. Then the woman could go into the back room with the other child, Wendy or Michael, as the case may be.
Reverting to the pram question for just a moment, if for some reason or other Chris’s is out of the question, why not ask Harry Steele to keep his ears open for you? He is just the sort of lad to hear of something to suit you and he has always been very good, hasn’t he? Failing that, would the bloke in the road who is in the trade get one at cost for you? Vic Slack might know someone in the trade, too. They may even have Muriel’s.
What a pity you didn’t ask Rees in while he was on the spot! It would have saved you a journey and he probably would have been able to tell you just as much now as he will in a week or ten days.
By the way, I see the envelope you used to me was one Lilian had sent you. What happened about the Southport trip? I know you didn’t go, but what was the explanation about the phone and have you made any definite arrangement about going later?
This ink, by the way, is some left behind by Jerry and it’s deadly stuff for writing with as it clogs up a pen very quickly indeed. I’ll go back to good old Stephens when my pen is empty again.
As I told you, I went to a neighbouring town on Sunday, hitch-hiking the 19 miles quite easily. This place is, probably, about the size of Crosby excluding Seaforth – perhaps not quite so big. It’s difficult to tell, really. It’s a funny place, with a big square in one corner of which are sheep and pig pens. All the roads are narrow and some of the buildings are a bit like those in Chester or Shrewsbury. The place was alive with Allied troops but so far as I was able to discover there was no service canteen open when I got here soon after three and, of course, no pub so I had to be content with an apology for lemonade at 5 francs a bottle. Sheer robbery, for it was only coloured water. Everything is “interdit” (forbidden) to the troops – the purchase of butter, meat, cheese, eggs, bread, flour, clothes, materials, shoes, everything. It was interdit for cafe and restaurant owners to sell meals to us and hours for drinking were restricted to 12 to 2 and 6 to 9. I wasn’t there during permitted hours, having got browned off long before then, so I don’t know what drink, if any, there is on sale these days. Personally I think it will all have disappeared – certainly the cognac and decent wines have – though there may be a little local cider still to be had at absurd prices. Local wines are still to be had, I think, if you are known in the local black market. However, I was telling you about this town. Here and there you’d see refugees returning on foot and carrying, or wheeling in a pram, their pathetic little parcels of family treasures and every member of the family would have some bundle or case. There were not may of these refugees, for so far as I could see there had been little need to evacuate it. I couldn’t see any evidence of any shelling or bombing. Incidentally, I was able to read a notice from the Mayor of Caen appealing to refugees from there to return as quickly as possible. “We can do nothing without you,” he said. I was very proud of that achievement! I wandered about the place a bit and one thing that struck me was how dark the homes of the workers are. You step from the street into a low square kitchen and even with the door open it seems impossible to see in the place. And all the houses seem grossly over-populated! Here, as in Scotland, even though this is by no means a big town, the French seen very keen on living in flats, even quite small blocks of them. In one place there was quite a solid block of big tenements marked with the Red Cross and presumably used by Jerry as a hospital. There were concierges in several parts of the building and a tablet in the entrance arch in memory of some famous doctor. In the courtyard were groups of depressed women of the Liverpool Mary Ellen type! The funny thing is that behind ordinary streets of houses you will see quite nice smart villas which looked really inviting. I have noticed them here tucked away behind rows of houses and small shops and yet there is no apparent method of approach! It’s most mystifying!
The streets of this mysterious town which must remain nameless are, as I say, quite narrow, much narrower than you would meet in any but the oldest towns in England. Even the main street, which was jammed with Allied soldiers of all nations. I found some humour in watching an American negro struggling with a French phrase book as he eyed the French girls up and down hopefully. Most of the houses and shops had the tricolour hanging out so, looking down the long narrow main street you saw thousands of servicemen walking under a gaily coloured arch. The people here seemed a little more friendly and it was an American negro who struck the first real response from them I have seen. He began to strum a huge guitar and immediately hands popped out of windows, doors opened and there were broad smiles everywhere. It was only then that it struck me that we are probably far too solemn for these volatile people. They may consider us surly, just as 95% of our fellows seem to consider them unfriendly.
I paid a visit to the cathedral, a really lovely place where I should have liked a guide, but there was no sign whatever of one, though lots of soldiers were wandering about inside. Again I had a sort of mental shock for there was nothing in the way of a porch. You step through the door and you are right in the body of the cathedral. There is some lovely stained glass and, of course, quite a lot of altars bearing jewels etc, though I expect the majority of the most valuable have, like the tapestry, been moved for safety. (That is better, I’ve got some Christian ink in my pen now.) I was sorry the tapestry was missing for I would have liked to see it. I remember seeing some lovely tapestries at Hampton Court. With all these places, however, you need a local guide who knows the history of the places. This is undoubtedly a glorious place, but beyond the fact that there was one tablet to a bishop of the middle 12th century there was no indication of historical connections at all. There was, of course, a chapel to St Jeanne d’Arc. But whether she had any real local associations (I won’t say connections!) I don’t know and the only shop which might have helped (a book shop) was closed, of course. However, if I go down there again I’ll try to do so when the shops are open.
Well, love, this isn’t a very coherent account of the place, I’m afraid. There is quite a good shopping centre there and some of the shops still have lovely women’s clothes, but these would have been taboo even if the shops had been open. And things like silk stockings, even if there were any, would have been absolutely prohibitive. I should have loved to get hold of a roll of silk I saw which looked a bit like wedding dress material. It would have made a lovely evening gown for when we get back to civilised times again. I could just see you in it. You did look nice, sweetheart!
Well, now I really must leave you. Once more, have a nice holiday and loaf all you can for you won’t have a lot of chance to loaf this time next year!
All my love to you, angel, and tell the children I hope they have a nice holiday.
Ever your own,
Arthur X