Sunday
Skegness
Sweetheart,
The game is not ruddy well straight. For why? I’ll tell you. When we paraded for tea yesterday, our officer told us that instead of the usual march past today there would probably be an inspection and went on to warn us of the dire penalties for appearing unshaven, unclean in body or dress, long haired or incorrectly dressed. So today everyone dashed back from breakfast to get cleaned up. I even went so far as to put on my No. 1 trousers – they are my Sunday-go-to-meeting pair – which I have never worn before. There we all were, dressed to kill and after all they decided to have a march past. The air was blue and some of the lads were not at all mollified when we were “promoted” to be the leading class in the starboard watch of the division for the march. That only led to another lecture from said officer. “No skylarking. Look the officer at the saluting base right in the eye. And don’t forget, swing those arms right up to shoulder height – they won’t break off, etc etc.” I’m still feeling a bit raw but that may be partly due to the fact that the weather has suddenly turned cold again and there is a cutting wind blowing. Dinner did improve the temper of the lads a bit. Know what we had? PEARS smothered in custard. They did my old gums the world of good. Delicious.
We went to an Ensa concert last night in the big new theatre. A lovely place, although it is not quite completed. The mike broke down and most of the girl singers were very thin in the voice and this combined with the fact that we could only hear half the wisecracks rather spoiled the show. I was disappointed, especially as I had gone without my supper (curry and mash) to save seats for Percy and another lad. That was the first Ensa show I had seen but the lads tell me it was not up to standard. If you should go to the pictures in the near future, keep an eye on the newsreels. Movietone have been here taking shots of one of the Allied navy crowds. I’m not sure which but I think the Norwegians or French.
I think I told you, didn’t I, that we were taking the Chief into Skeg for a drink on Wednesday. Well we went along and had quite a nice quiet night. Not a lot to drink, but some pleasant chat. My only criticism was that they picked out a pub where the beer is 1/- a pint, which I think is daft on service pay. Some of the lads, of course, are better off on service pay, but not all of us are. Still, I enjoyed the night. It was a pleasant change. We have only two more nights ashore here. Tonight and Tuesday. Fire-watching on Monday and Wednesday, lecture Thursday, and off to bonnie Scotland on Friday. If you post a letter early on Thursday I’ll probably get it on Friday afternoon. I’d be glad of it! I can think of nothing more calculated to lighten the 17 hour journey. Mind you, I can’t complain at the number of letters you have sent. You’ve been an angel.
Your reference to washing “smalls” set me going and on Saturday, as we could not go ashore and the water was beautifully hot, I washed two pairs of socks, a pair of underpants, a vest, a towel, and a blue jean (collar to you). Not bad, eh? The snag is not washing, but drying things – a very tedious process. The last pair of socks I washed took three days to dry, which some of the lads considered quite swift.
You have done well on the footwear and blackout problems. I’m particularly glad about the latter. Have you been able to anything with the front of the house? Just before I came away I was getting the willies looking at that great expanse of brown paper whenever I came up the road in daylight. Still, I feel in many ways just as you do about Morningside. I know what you mean when you compare Alexandra Road and Morningside. Only after a long time did I did I realise your deep detest for the other place. There are two days I’ll always remember at Morningside. One was the first day we were there and the second was the day you brought Michael home. You cried on both of those occasions but although I may have been a bit gruff about it, I knew you were crying with relief and, I hoped, a little happiness, as women will sometimes. And about Michael, without going into another long rigmarole, I think you are right about steering a middle course over this question of his worries. That, I’m afraid, is where I cannot help you. You are on the spot and can only deal with these things as they arise. The only thing I ask, and I do so without any reflection on you, is that you should exercise all the patience you possibly can. Patience, more than any other quality, will take you through this difficult period – difficult for you as well as for the children.
You will, of course, have received my letters about Aberdeen by now, and will know all I know on the question of leave, but just to make sure, the position is this: I will not be home during the coming week. When I do come it will be at the weekend, either for a weekend or for a full week. That clears the question of vapours and on the matter of a fresh-from-the-bath woman – tantalising thought – I suggest that a weekly Friday bath might solve that problem. Oh darling, when I think of you in the bath and all the things I could and would and WILL do to you. Just to bury my face in the soft, yielding flesh of your tummy, to feel the velvet smoothness of your thigh, to do oh so many lovely things which loving you impels me to do! Just to think of them and to conjure up my favourite vision of you – remember swimming at Freshfield? – has sent me into a coma. You talk of your innards asking for me. Well just now my outwards are demonstrating violently in your favour. Sweetheart, I’ve kept a very rigorous control of myself and seldom allowed myself to think of you too long at a time. It’s so dangerous that I usually force myself to go and do something terribly prosaic to break the chains of your spell. Oh, my darling, I love you so much it hurts when I think of you too long. But I’m not building any longer on any given time period as to when I will hold you close again. I only know it will come, and when it does time will stand still, the earth will cease to revolve, it will be both day and night at once and I know I shall see only you – yet I think the touch of you will blot out even sight of you. So, you see, my precious girl, I too have moments of desire just to be near enough to lay my hands on you. Even now I cannot say whether I want to be fierce or tender. I think I told you that once before but it still intrigues me.
Darling I’m still in a coma thinking of you and I find my feet have turned to blocks of ice in this damned chalet and that I have ten minutes in which to catch the post.
Now, once more, about leave. If I’m coming from Aberdeen I won’t have much chance to phone you and the odds are that I may arrive home at 8am or 9am on a Saturday. We’ll have to wait and see what the prospects are and what the timetables are like. I’m afraid I can do nothing until I have been there a few days. In any case don’t make any arrangements to go away until I know definitely if leave is right out of the question. Personally I don’t think it will be, but one or two fellows here do. My own guess is that I should be home, if only for a weekend, two or three weeks from now.
And now precious I must leave you for a time. Give my love to Wendy and Michael and tell them I’m pleased to hear they are both helping you so much. Look after yourself darling and do have vapours on time! If you mess up my leave I’ll have your life. Darling I’ll say more with my hands than I could ever tell you when I see you again. All my love,
Arthur X
Mar 221942