Friday
Skegness
Darling,
First of all, the latest piece of news. I’m writing this from sick bay – no, don’t get worried. I have a heavy cold, nothing more. As a matter of fact I felt worse yesterday than I do today and if I could have got one full day in bed then I should have been alright now, but it is literally impossible to get a day in bed without going to sick bay. It is too complicated to explain on paper – all a matter of organisation, apparently. Anyway, don’t worry about me, you know I wouldn’t lead you up the garden path and the mere fact that I can start the letter within an hour of getting here shows I’m not so bad. What I wanted when this cold started was some of those chlorodine tablets to loosen my chest up, but I can’t get them in the camp as it is a crime to “doctor” oneself. As a matter of fact I have been expecting to come here for a different reason – teeth. I’m told that if you have a lot of teeth out they give you gas and bring you in sick bay for two or three days. That will probably be in the sick bay in the camp. Where I am now is about half a mile from the camp in what is, in peacetime, a miners’ convalescent home. I have a bed by the window and the sun is shining beautifully, for the first time since we came. Looking from my window, I might be in a house on the front at Blundellsands for there are sandhills covered with that star grass and low growing scrub, and the Wash beyond. Not a sign of life on the Wash. It is a pleasant change to get meals without a scramble. I’d almost forgotten there were such things as saucers!
Another thing I have missed is the radio. There is none in the mess we use, although I believe there was one in our own before it was burned down. Here there is a radio in the ward and it has been on every minute since we came in. I believe we listen to the 9 o’clock news in the darkness (lights out at 9) and then it is switched off for the night.
Well, love, you wanted a timetable for a typical day. We started “square bashing” and P.T. two days ago. Square bashing is the colloquialism for marching etc. Squad drill is the official name. Next week we should begin rifle drill. Well, the day starts at 6.30 with a bloke banging a stick on the door and shouting “Wakee wakee, rise and shine. Now my lads, show a leg” and whatever additions and variations he cares to throw in. Some of them are real humourists. At 6.45 a bugle joins to summon cooks for the day to the mess. At 7 another bugle summons everyone to breakfast. Meals are eaten by almost everyone at an enormous pace, quite unnecessarily. After breakfast, down to the chalet to wash and shave, if you have not already done so and also to fold blankets regulation fashion. At 7.55 we muster and the last 12 to muster are given light fatigues – brushing the roads, chiefly – quite without rancour. From 8 to 8.20 down to the chalet again to give another opportunity to get everything shipshape. At 8.20 Divisions, which means everyone in each Division parades. Men who have to go to sick bay – many go each day just for medicine – go to sick parade. The rest ensemble and run twice round the main camp buildings – which is very welcome in the cold weather. Afterwards we march to prayers, in the open, and at 9 there is the ceremony of hoisting the white ensign on the quarter deck. Then we march back to the top of our chalet row and carry on with our training.
Routine varies a little, but we will have a lecture on, say, different messing arrangements in the Navy. That will last until 10.15, when we get our first “stand easy”, which means we may smoke (we cannot smoke after 8am except at given intervals). We also get hot cocoa served and it is very welcome. If we are lucky enough to get to the counter of the canteen in time we can buy buns. I’ve developed an enormous appetite, by the way. That stand easy lasts until 10.30 and then we do a spot of “square bashing”, which goes a long way to keeping us warm until 11.30 when we have another stand easy followed by a period of P.T. (gym to you) until about 12.45.
Dinner at 1 and freedom until 2. Then there might be another lecture or two periods of square bashing until 4 o’clock when we finish. There is, of course, a stand easy in the middle of the afternoon. At 4.10 we muster for evening quarters, which is merely a question of seeing that nobody has gone “adrift” during the day. At 4.30 we have tea, which may be bread and butter and cake, or bread and cheese, or bread and butter and meat paste. From 4.30 onwards we are free, and on alternate days may go out until 10pm, but there is little to entice people into Skegness. Thursday, by the way, is an exception when nobody is allowed out and everyone has to attend a lecture on some branch of Navy work. This week’s lecture took the form of films of convoy work. Supper is at 7 – the other day we had American hash – after which we usually write letters, or do little odd jobs and perhaps have a drink in the canteen, although not always! What a change, eh?
By the time it gets to 9.30 I can scarcely keep my eyes open! I’ve been in bed before 10 almost every night I’ve been here. Well, there you are. That is a fairly typical day’s programme. What do you think of it?
Have just finished supper and am now waiting for the Tommy Handley programme and shall think of you while it is on, for I expect you will be sitting in the armchair, with your feet up on the stool, perhaps even knitting my gloves. The radio can be a blessing, but it was on the whole of the time I was writing the first half of this letter. In fact the only time it was off was when the doctor was doing his rounds, and it is getting a bit wearing now.
There is one thing about this sick bay business, it’s a good chance to get arrears of letters wiped out – not that I’m really in arrears, but there are so many to write to. I didn’t write you in the middle of the week because I felt the phone call was better than a letter, although we got so little chance to say a lot. The minutes seemed to flash by.
Now I’m going to try to answer all the points in your letters, which I have just re-read. I had a talk to one of the men cooks who has been here a few weeks and he says he has never seen any bromide go into the tea, but one of the lads here thinks it goes into the greens. Speaking of bromide, and allied subjects, I will be waiting next week for the V sign on the top of your letters! Letters bring up another point. I have been here 10 days now and I have only had four letters – three from you, bless you – and one from Mother. That despite the fact that I have written to seven other people apart from you and Mother. Mind you, it’s not so bad now as in the first few days – the isolation period I think you called it. Apart from your letters, which mean more than you can ever realise, I’m not worried who writes or when they write. I love your letters with their intimacies of the home and the doings of the children. I do miss you all but I get a lot of consolation from the photos – tell Dave that, won’t you?
Saturday
Didn’t get a chance to finish this yesterday but I didn’t want to send it off half finished. I ran through your letters again. It’s nice to be missed! Selfish of one, of course, but flattering to my ego. Your date with me is 7.30, but mine with you is at supper time about 7 o’clock, for there is never a quiet moment here except in bed, when I always think of you just before I go to sleep. I like to think of you and the children at 7 o’clock because that was the time, in normal circumstances, when I was getting ready to say goodnight to you all. I hope that by now you are getting more used to your new routine. I don’t suppose you will ever like it, but I know you will do all you can to make the best of it.
So Wendy and Michael loved Donald Duck? I’m so glad because so many of these long-planned big treats fall flat, don’t they? I should have liked to be with you then and on the visit to Sefton Park, about which I know almost nothing. You evidently had a nice time – and finished one penny to the good, eh? Nice work! And beer! By the way, if there’s any beer left at home, don’t save it up for any special purpose, it won’t keep too long you know. Oh! And by the way, be careful not to let Michael take that airgun out in the street at all. He is far too young and the older boys will get hold of it. If it should be in working order – you may not know it – and then if anyone gets injured we will be to blame.
About the clothing card. I had to give that in when I came and I was sorry afterwards that I didn’t cut most of them out because we could have used the loose ones for buying through the post or you could have used them for the purchase of wool. Re your inquiry about my mental state on waking, let it be placed on record that I have not, so far, disgraced myself in that respect. In fact I’m usually awake two or three times during the night. I haven’t settled down to sleeping at night properly. Soon will do, I expect.
On the subject of leave, get this firmly fixed in your head – I will not get any leave from here, but only when I have been drafted to wherever I have to take the wireless course – that is in six or seven weeks from the time I came here.
Proof of the fact that I’m not really ill. I’m allowed out of bed today, “when necessary”. There’s no need to elaborate on their polite phraseology, I’m sure. That means I should be out of here in three or four days.
What a change this morning. Grey skies and quite heavy snow. In the middle of it an air raid and all the bed patients (that’s me) had to roll under the beds, dragging our gas masks with us. Then we were ordered downstairs – this after Jerry had done a spot of machine-gunning. I only heard one bomb dropped but I don’t know what happened. A flutter of excitement for those who were not used to raids, but I would far sooner have stayed in bed. By the way, don’t say anything to Mother about me being here or they’ll need a special train to bring all the patent medicines and then I’ll find myself in trouble.
Well, sweetheart, I’ve just about written myself to a standstill and I have still lots of people to write to, but I shall not do another line before dinner. To hell with them! This letter will last you for a day or two, I hope, and I think it just about brings things up to date, doesn’t it?
Darling, I do love you and it’s nearly two weeks nearer leave! Look after yourself, pet, and let me know if there’s anything worrying you.
All my love, sweet,
Arthur XX